Rina sat in the backseat of the sleek dark limousine next to the eldest del Castillo, yet her mind was filled with the image of her sister’s fiancé. She fully understood the attraction. In fact, she was left fighting it herself.
It was all wrong. She and Sara had never been attracted to the same kind of guy before. Ever. While physically, both Rina and Sara’s tastes had run to the tall, dark and handsome guys, Sara was all about presence. She fell for men with as much charisma as swagger. Rina’s men had always been quiet achievers. The kind of guys who were strong and successful but not necessarily right up there on the podium announcing their achievements—the sort you might not look at twice, but if you did, you didn’t regret it. Men like Jacob, although his quiet achievements hadn’t exactly led them along the path she’d expected. Especially not when he’d told her the woman he now loved was his boss.
“It’s the curse, you know,” Aston del Castillo’s voice interrupted her reverie.
“The curse?”
“I see he hasn’t told you about it yet. Of course, he doesn’t believe in it, but it’s real.”
Her curiosity piqued, Rina started to ask what the curse was, exactly, but instead the old man muttered something in Spanish and seemed to doze off.
Rina leaned forward and tapped Javier on the shoulder. “Is he okay? He just fell asleep.”
She saw Javier’s eyes in the rearview mirror and then a smile split his face. “Sí, the señor is fine. He is tired and refuses to admit he is not as strong as he used to be.”
At the cottage, Javier saw her to the front door and waited until she was inside and had turned the iron key in the large black lock before returning to the car. Rina turned around and faced the main room, this time really seeing it properly.
Uneven beams ran the length of the cottage ceiling. Rather than being dark or daunting, the warmth of the wooden spines that gave the structure its strength was friendly and welcoming combined with the pale creamy apricot-tinted plaster between each. The low rays of the last of the evening sun speared in through the multipaned, deep-set windows. The simple wooden dining suite, and the chintz-covered sofas in the sitting room area, were clearly not new, but retained the patina of time and wear like badges of honor.
Shelves were built into a recess along one wall, and beneath them a modern television cabinet and stereo unit lounged side-by-side. Rina flicked on the TV, suddenly anxious to disperse the silence of being alone.
She dropped her bag onto the wooden tabletop and made her way through the open-plan living area to the small kitchen. A gas stove, with a shiny new chrome kettle on one of the burners caught her attention. She filled it and set it on the stove to boil. An old-fashioned coal range dominated the space beside the stove.
Her stomach growled as she opened the small refrigerator tucked in beneath the bench and was relieved to see her sister had left some food behind. Cheese, some slightly limp vegetables, eggs and a little leftover milk. The expiry date on the milk bottle suggested it was well overdue.
Rina’s brow furrowed. Her sister could be erratic but she’d always been very particular about food safety after a serious bout of food poisoning when they were first flatting together in their late teens. It wasn’t like Sara not to clean out perishables before going somewhere—she was a stickler for observing expiry dates. This whole situation just got more and more confusing. Had Sara first gone to France in a bit of a rush, expecting to return sooner than today? But then why would she have gone back again? Just trying to make sense of it was making Rina’s head hurt.
Another rumble from the pit of her belly reminded her it had been a good eight or more hours since her last meal. As slender as she was, Rina had a high metabolism and usually ate regularly.
She grabbed the eggs and the best of all the vegetables from the fridge and whipped up a frittata for her supper. Tomorrow she’d have to find some way of gathering more groceries to replenish Sara’s supply—especially if there would be the two of them here soon.
Rina had not long finished her meal and had cleaned up her dishes when she heard a car approach on the road to the cottage. She had the door open as the now familiar Ferrari pulled to a stop outside.
Her heart hammered in her chest as Reynard unfolded from the driver’s seat and walked through the gate. The suit coat was gone, as well as the immaculately knotted rich burgundy silk tie he’d worn earlier in the day. With his face cast in relief by the setting sun, she couldn’t make out his expression but weariness and dejection pulled at every line of his body. Each step was slow and deliberate. Rina felt unexpected tears prick at her eyes. Clearly the news about his brother was not good.
“Benedict? Is he going to be okay?” she asked softly as he reached the front porch.
“He’s made it through surgery and he’s in intensive care. Only one of us is allowed in at a time, and only for short periods. Alex and Loren will stay at the hospital tonight and I’ll head in first thing in the morning.”
His voice was flat, as if he couldn’t believe the day his family had endured. Instantly, the urge to provide comfort flooded through Rina’s veins. She opened her arms to him as he entered the cottage and without hesitation he clasped her to him.
He was lean muscle from top to toe, and fraught with a tension that held his body tight like a bow.
“He’ll be all right, Rey,” she murmured into the broad warmth of his shoulder.
“They’ve done everything they can—now it’s up to him.”
His voice was a guttural whisper. Rina was rocked by the strength of emotion she felt pouring from him. The three brothers had to be close, judging by how distraught he was. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what they were all going through. She struggled to find the words that might provide him with some comfort.
“He’s young and he’s strong, and with you and Alex there for him, he’ll pull through.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t.”
Rina closed her eyes against the building moisture there. The fear in Rey’s voice struck her to her core. She knew if it was Sara there in the ICU, she’d be frantic with worry herself. Slowly she edged from his embrace and pulled away to close the front door.
“Come in, I’ll make you a warm drink—unless you’d like something stronger?”
“No, coffee will be fine. I want to have my wits about me should Alex call.”
Rina nodded and went through to the kitchen and busied herself measuring coffee for the old-fashioned stovetop percolator she’d found in a cupboard earlier in the evening. She sent a silent prayer of thanks skyward that Sara had thought to include in her letter that Reynard took his coffee black and sweet. In her peripheral vision she saw Rey drop into one of the fabric covered sofas, his tall frame all but dwarfing the feminine piece of furniture. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing at his eyes with long, tanned fingers.
Once the coffee had percolated, she poured it into a mug and placed it, a spoon and a sugar bowl on a small tray and carried it to Rey.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the mug off the tray and dropping two cubes of sugar into the steaming liquid and stirred—the clink of the spoon against the ceramic mug loud in the quiet of the room.
Rina settled onto the facing sofa and watched as he drained the mug in a series of slow pulls. “More?” she asked as he put the mug down on the coffee table between them.
“No, thanks. I suppose I should head back into town, to my place.” He gave a massive yawn. “Sooner, rather than later.”
“You could stay here,” Rina offered, even though she had no idea if the cottage boasted more than one bedroom.
An unsettling thought occurred to her. Wouldn’t he expect to sleep in the same bed with her? What if he wanted to be intimate—to seek comfort from the shock of his brother’s near death in her arms? He was her sister’s fiancé—wouldn’t that be normal under the circumstances? What on earth had she been thinking inviting him to stay?
Rey shot her a heavy-lidded look. “Are you sure?”
Oh God, what had she done? She could always plead a headache, a period, or tiredness herself, she supposed. But what if this ridiculous attraction she felt for him enticed her into doing something she knew she shouldn’t?
Reason overcame fear. He was shattered, and she knew firsthand the physical toll emotional exhaustion took on a person. She doubted he’d have the energy to do anything more than hold her while she slept. A prospect that she had to admit, she found almost too appealing. But it wouldn’t go beyond that. Above all, he was her sister’s fiancé—she could never betray Sara’s trust like that. Ever.
“Hey, I think one del Castillo in the hospital right now is enough, don’t you?”
He smiled a sweet, crooked smile. “Two, if you count Abuelo at the convalescent home.”
“Good point,” she agreed with a smile. “They say three’s a charm but let’s not tempt fate, shall we?”
“I’ll get my things from the car.”
His things? Did he often sleep over?
“I always keep a set ready in case I stay with one of my brothers,” he explained, in response to the obvious surprise on her face.
“I’ll, um…I’ll go use the bathroom while you settle in, then.”
Rina bolted for the bedroom and shoved her suitcase in a small closet, then rifled through her sister’s chest of drawers for a nightgown, praying she still possessed at least one or two that were halfway decent. If he had slept here before, he’d know about things like that, wouldn’t he?
She fervently wished, not for the first time today, that Sara hadn’t put her in this position. Her fingers closed around an old, oversize T-shirt. She lifted it from the drawer and shook it out. Should be long enough, she surmised—and not sexy enough, which was even more important. Rina bunched the fabric in one fist and made it to the bathroom even as she heard Rey come back in through the front door.
The old metal lock clicked into place, the sound echoing through the tiny cottage like a knell of some sort. She swallowed against the sudden knot of tension that lodged in the base of her throat. What she wouldn’t give for a chance to talk to Sara right this minute.
She swung the bathroom door shut behind her and reached for the toiletries she’d scattered around the bathroom before her shower. It only took a couple of minutes to wash her face free of makeup and brush her hair. She took her time over her teeth, even as she promised herself it didn’t make any difference. It wasn’t as if she and Reynard del Castillo would be indulging in anything other than sleep tonight.
By the time she pulled the soft, worn T-shirt over her head, her heart was beating erratically. If she didn’t get a hold of herself soon she’d be the next one in hospital. Rina forced herself to breathe slowly; her fingers curled tight around the cool, white porcelain pedestal basin as if it was her only anchor in the world. She could do this. All she had to do was fall asleep. Should be simple, right? Forget that the time at home was something ridiculous like seven or eight in the morning—her body clock was so out of whack she should be on the verge of falling asleep on her feet.
But instead all she could think about was how it had felt to be pressed hard up against the strength of Reynard’s body. How his scent had filled her nostrils. Not just the scent of the male fragrance he wore, but him. The man exuded pheromones, if her body’s reaction was any judge. Any poor judge, she reminded herself. But the desperate truth was that she craved to be held like that again—to be made to feel precious and treasured. Safe. Wanted.
She blinked and slowly peeled her fingers from the basin. He’d be waiting to use the bathroom by now. She forced herself to turn and pick up her clothes from the tiled floor and open the door.
In the bedroom Reynard sat quietly on the edge of the bed, a small, black leather toilet bag between his hands. He looked up as she entered.
“Are you sure you’re all right with this?” he asked.
“Of course I am,” Rina breezed, with what she hoped was the right amount of savoir faire.
“I won’t be long,” he replied, rising from the bed and heading for the bathroom. “I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather.”
“As if you’d fit.” Rina forced a smile. “Don’t be silly. It’s fine, really.”
Rey gave a short nod and went through to the bathroom and closed the door. Rina scuttled under the crisp white sheets on the bed and inhaled the faint scent of lavender. Maybe he’d take his time. Maybe she’d even be asleep before he got into bed with her.
She lay facing the edge of the bed, closed her eyes and tried to let her head sink into the pillow, but every tense muscle in her body had other ideas and she felt as if she was rigidly surfing on top of the scented cotton. By the time she heard Reynard come back into the bedroom, switch off the bedside lamp and felt the mattress depress under the weight of his body, she could barely breathe again.
“This isn’t how I imagined we’d spend our first night together,” Reynard’s voice murmured from close behind her. Their first night together? It was true in more ways than he knew. Rina mumbled something indistinct in response. Beneath the sheets she could already feel the heat of his body only inches from hers. He shifted and she felt the weight of his arm over the top of the sheets and the thin bed cover as it draped across her body. The muscles in his arm bunched as he drew her up against his length. His bare chest seared through the thin cotton of her shirt and she felt his warm breath against the exposed skin of her shoulder.
“Sleep well,” he said softly. “And thank you. It’s good not to be alone with my fears tonight.”
Rina remained silent. Sleep well? It was ironic. The last thing she wanted right now was sleep. His body, curled around hers, felt so right, yet everything about this was so very wrong. She listened carefully, her eyes burning in the darkened room. Soon his breathing settled into a deeper rhythm. His body relaxed against hers.
In the distance she could hear the sea. It was as if each breath from Rey’s lungs matched the slow susurration of the waves as they caressed the coastline. Inch by slow inch she felt her body begin to relax, felt her own breathing slide into the gentle flow of the tide and the man behind her.
Rey knew the exact instant Sara accepted his presence behind her and slid into sleep. Her soft curves nestled against the planes of his body. It felt good to hold her, too good, he acknowledged as a certain part of his body showed no immediate signs of wanting to rest. He reminded himself why he was here—of the circumstances that had led to him being in Sara’s bed tonight. It was as effective as a bucket of ice in his lap.
The memory of Benedict in that hospital bed, tubes and pipes snaking out from his body to various machines and apparatus—the knowledge that without them he wouldn’t even be breathing on his own—was almost more than he could bear.
Rey’s arm tightened around Sara’s sleeping form and she instinctively snuggled closer against him, her neatly curved buttocks firm against his groin.
Dios, under any other circumstances he’d delight in waking her again. In losing himself, and the events of today, in the softness of her feminine curves. In spite of his plans to keep their relationship platonic to ease the sting when it ended, there was no denying that for the time being, they were engaged, even if it was mostly just for show. They were still a pair of normal healthy adults with normal healthy appetites.
But a del Castillo had more honor than that, he reminded himself. He’d been relieved at Sara’s old-fashioned attitudes—allowing no more than a few kisses, a little light petting—because they’d given him the comfort of knowing that when they went their separate ways, there would be no serious heartbreak or recriminations. Tonight, however, he’d needed to hold her in his arms, and the realization shocked him on a new level. He hadn’t expected to need her.
She seemed different today, he thought, even taking into account that the circumstances were completely out of sync with their normal lives. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. It was more than the coffee she’d drunk at the hospital, when he hadn’t seen her drink the beverage since before she went to France. There was a sense of calm about her that was at odds with the party girl he’d first been attracted to.
Sure, he knew she could be focused. The accolades she’d earned on the dressage and other equestrian event circuits were mute proof of that. But her attitude today had been more. It was something that went beyond the superficial, something that spoke to him, instead, on a deeper level. A level that drew him to her for the comfort he now hungered for. How had that happened in the space of a few hours when before he’d had no difficulty keeping his emotional distance?
Whatever it was, he acceded—as sleep finally drew him under and he lost himself in the soft and slightly unfamiliar fragrance of Sara’s hair as it streamed over her pillow—she had been exactly what he’d needed today.