“YOUR COBBLER IS WORTHY OF the Nobel Peace Prize, señora,” André announced over his empty dessert plate. Reyna flushed with pride.

“Gracias.” She picked up the pan with only a few crumbs left. “This was the first recipe I learned in Texas.” She carried the remnants into the kitchen.

Gemma had remained in the kitchen another ten minutes after their…truce. No doubt delaying her return as much as possible. Not hiding, of course. He was sure this woman had never hidden from anything in her life. Probably not even from the dark as a child. But she couldn’t delay for much longer. She wouldn’t disrespect Reyna by ignoring a guest. He loved that about her. Valuing the older woman’s preferences.

He meant what he said. He wanted her respect. The first person he’d ever met that didn’t give him instant authority of a room. Who seemed irate over his very presence, yet completely energized when he was near.

André glued his eyes to the doorway, waiting for her to appear. Stefano kept chuckling at him as he finished his last glass of wine. Yeah, it was obvious. At least to the man who knew the prince for over twenty years.

Infatuation was a new feeling for André. He needed a distraction. Especially from the bulky holster at his back. A feeling to which he was completely unaccustomed.

“Do you play cards, Rico?”

“Si, sometimes.”

“Care to play Texas Hold ‘Em or Five Card Stud?” André pulled a deck of cards from his back pocket. The trip to town rewarded him with a chance to buy a pack to keep his mind occupied. His fingers had itched for the tables the last week, for that glorious blackjack.

“Sure,” Rico said. “Señor Lawson had a can of pennies we can use as chips.”

Rico walked out and returned a moment later with a tin can full of coins. It would work. They divided the coins into three piles, the lazy way, and Stefano dealt the first hand.

Gemma’s beautiful face finally emerged from the kitchen, her hair now only damp from the earlier water spray. A steaming coffee mug in each hand, she stopped when she saw the table.

Her reserved smile morphed into cold disdain at the drop of a penny. “What are you doing?”

“Poker. Care to join?” André asked. This woman needs to loosen up, and maybe cards will help. Let’s see if she’s as good at gambling as she is stirring up a fire inside me.

A mug slammed on the table and coffee splashed over his pennies. Everyone glanced up, and Gemma pulsed with rage. Fiery eyes burned into André’s, and then to the others.

Without a word, she turned and clomped up the stairs, disappearing in the darkened hallway. A door slammed at the end.

Reyna appeared, carrying two more coffee mugs, and glanced around.

“Qué pasó?”

Before any of the slack-jawed men could answer, Reyna saw the cards on the table. Her shoulders slumped. She set a mug in front of Rico and Stefano.

“Qué es?” Stefano asked. “Is she all right?”

Reyna’s sigh felt disapproving, scolding even.

“You didn’t know, mijo. Perhaps you could delay your game until after Gemma leaves?”

“She’s sleeping here tonight,” Rico added.

“Oh.” Reyna deflated even more. “Then may I ask you play a different game? Put the cards away.”

“She hasn’t been around cards before?” André slowly sorted the cards in his hand while Rico pushed the pennies back into the can.

“Perdóname, Andr—“

Stefano arched a brow and sucked in his breath. Reyna stopped herself.

“…Señor. Gemma’s been around cards plenty. That’s the problem.”

“Ah. An addict?”

Reyna’s face instantly darkened. “Absolutely not, Miguel. Her father was. Put away the cards.” She grabbed a napkin from the table and swiped the table roughly, cleaning up the spilled coffee. “Do not mention this to her either.”

Her father was an addict. As in, isn’t a gambler anymore, or is dead? Mierda! This was a really bad idea.

“I should apologize to her.” André stood and handed the cards to Stefano. Good Lord, that’s all I’ve been doing here. Apologizing.

“Leave her be,” Rico broke in. “Better to approach her after she’s worked off her anger in kickboxing tomorrow.”

André glanced at Stefano, who hid his embarrassment behind sipping his coffee. He took the cards from André and nodded.

“Very well.” André smoothed his shirt and saw the half-emptied mug in front of him. “Señora Reyna, the meal was delectable. You are an accomplished chef.” Reyna flushed, and André prayed she wouldn’t curtsey. “Thank you for the coffee as well, but I will retire for the evening. I’m quite tired.”

“I would tell you to thank Gemma for the coffee, since it was her idea,” Reyna corrected as she sat at the table, a slight glimmer in her wrinkled eyes. “But that would be hazardous to your health at the moment.”

André smiled, with only a trace of hesitation. Granted, Gemma was tough, but violent?

André climbed the stairs and hesitated by his room. He gazed at the last door down the hall, the only other bedroom Gemma could be in. Was it a large room? Did she have personals tucked away in there? Or would she go to bed in her jeans and cotton shirt?

André moved to her door, placing his steps carefully to prevent the floor from creaking, and listened through the wooden planks. Nothing. Not a sound. It was either that heavy of a door, or the woman moved like a shadow. What was she doing in there? Did she like to read before bed? Or, God forbid, she was crying. Silent tears he doubted she would dare show to others.

The thought struck him like a chisel to the chest. What the hell?

The door swung open, the flow of air sucking him forward a few inches, and Gemma’s glorious head of blonde hair ran smack into his chin. André reeled back, holding his jaw, when something jabbed him in the stomach with the force of a sledge hammer.

He doubled over, groaning and fighting to stay on his feet.

“What the…dammit, Miguel! How many times are you going to spy on me?”

Once André could breathe, he mumbled, “I came to apologize.” Though he didn’t know if the words made any sense to her.

Gemma gripped his arm and jerked him upright, shoving him against the wall. “What did I tell you about sneaking up on a Texan?”

André winced at the holster at his back, jammed into his spine. He moved his hand away from his jaw to hold his abdomen and saw the anger flash on her face, but her eyes were full of apology. Holy shit—she punched me. Or kicked me. Whatever she used, she flattened my ass in a second.

“Who did you think I was?”

“Doesn’t matter. When someone sneaks up on me, I hit first and think later. You’re lucky I didn’t have a gun.”

Stefano bounded up the stairs and was at André’s side instantly. In full bodyguard mode. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she replied.

“Yes,” he grunted simultaneously, gripping his gut.

Stefano glanced between them and eventually relaxed. André could tell before his bodyguard opened his mouth, he fought back a laugh by clearing his throat.

“Señorita Gemma, I must ask you to please refrain from using violence with Miguel.”

Gemma glared at him. “Are you his mother, Stefano? From what I can see, this Colombian needs to toughen up.”

“That may be,” Stefano replied, his serious side in full control. “But for now, I insist.”

“Everything is fine,” André interrupted. “Please, my friend, go back to visiting with your aunt.”

Stefano stood erect, his customary hidden salute, turned and walked away. Gemma brooded in front of him with the mastered glower of a raging bull. This woman had punched him. The only person who’d ever hit him. Normally, his band of bodyguards prevented anyone from getting near him, let alone touching him. And not only did she sock him, he was soundly beaten. In two seconds.

André cleared his throat, regaining his composure despite the throbbing in his chin and abdomen. “It seems all I’ve done since I came here is apologize to you. As if my presence alone offends you. Though this is the first time to grant me a sore jaw.”

“Maybe now you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Yes. To stop apologizing.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed.

“Maybe then I’ll earn your respect.”

“Doubtful,” she tossed back.

André smiled. What he wouldn’t give to see hers. He’d only seen that unforgiving glare, as if it were the only emotion she knew.

“To what do I owe your fury?”

“What?” Gemma stammered.

“Why did you open the door?”

She blinked and stood there, gaping at him.

“What did you want?” he asked after a quick dry-heave. “Or was it your intention to beat me up this evening for the gambling downstairs?”

Those gorgeous lips pursed and she swallowed her first few words, which were sure to be curses. “Get out of my way,” she finally managed.

Pushing past him, she threw open the door to Stefano’s room and André heard her rifling through drawers. Keeping a laugh buried in his chest was easier than hiding his smile as he waited for her out in the hallway. She returned hiding something behind her back.

“Good night,” she threw at him with her familiar, burning blue eyes. She strode into her room, chin high, with black boy shorts and tank top with a peach hem crumpled in her hand. The Victoria’s Secret spring collection. Before she closed the door, André grinned, meeting her fiery gaze.

“Sleep well,” he teased. Just before the door shut, André caught her blush.

Not a cotton nightie or steel armor for bed. Interesting. Perhaps Stefano and I should switch rooms.