“HOLA, CHICA! QUE PASA?”
Chloe’s voice burst over the receiver. Hearing her friend caused a ripple of homesickness. Back home, they barely went a day without chatting. “Just having breakfast overlooking the ocean,” Larissa replied. After Carlos went back to his office, she remained, using the view to distract her from thinking too hard. “What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be working? Or have you finally decided to quit and help your boyfriend run his coffee empire?”
“Nah, I’m saving those kinds of life-changing decisions for when you get back.”
“We’re on speakerphone in Simon’s office,” a second voice, Delilah’s, chimed in. “We told him we needed to check on you. We were worried because you didn’t return our phone call the other day.”
She’d completely forgotten they called while she was getting sick. “I’m so sorry, you guys, I meant to.”
“Relax,” Chole replied. “We’re only teasing. We didn’t expect you to call back. International cell calls are expensive.”
“Plus, you should be out enjoying your vacation,” Delilah added. “How is Mexico?”
“Wonderful, now that I’ve recovered from your welcome present. I’m never drinking champagne again. Oh, and then there was the tarantula.” Briefly, she told them about her encounter with Hairy.
True to form, Delilah expressed the proper sympathy, while Chloe giggled. “Poor La-Roo,” she said. “So far paradise hasn’t been very nice to you.”
“It hasn’t been all bad.” In fact, she added silently as Carlos’s midnight smile flashed before her, some of Mexico had been very, very good. “I went swimming in an underground cave the other day. And, tonight I’m taking a moonlight cruise on the lagoon.”
“How lovely,” Delilah said, only to pause shortly after. “Wait, I thought those lagoon cruises were a private, couples-only thing. Who are you going with? Don’t tell me you’re taking one by yourself.”
Larissa bit her lip. Should she tell them about Carlos? Normally, the three of them shared everything, but she didn’t feel like talking about her time with Carlos. Not yet anyway. She was having a hard enough time examining the circumstances in the harsh light of day; talking would only expose the flaws and bring her bubble closer to bursting.
Unfortunately, in a huge tactical error, she forgot how her friends could read between the lines, especially the lines of a prolonged silence.
“Something’s up,” Chloe said. “You have a date, don’t you?”
“I—”
“You do!” Delilah squealed. “With who?”
“The general manager and it’s not a date.” This was why she didn’t want to talk. Because Chloe and Delilah would force her to face reality. “Have the two of you forgotten that I’m here on my honeymoon?”
“Without your groom,” Chloe shot back.
“Thank you for reminding me.” Immediately, Larissa regretted snapping. Since Carlos appeared on her walkway two nights ago, she’d hadn’t thought of Tom once, and she’d barely thought of him before that.
“All I meant was that you shouldn’t feel bad if you want to have a little fun while you’re south of the border.”
“Who said I feel bad?” she asked. If anything, she’d felt way too good the past few days.
“So long as you don’t let all those romantic sunsets go to your head.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She didn’t like the way Delilah’s comment made the hair on her neck stand up.
“It means don’t get too carried away. You know what a sucker you are when it comes to romance.”
“For goodness’ sake, Delilah, I just broke my engagement. I’m not looking for a deep relationship.” Even as she said the words, however, she could hear the distant warning bells. Suggesting she might remind herself of her resolve a little more frequently.
“Give the woman a break, wouldn’t you, Del? She’s going to dinner, not running away with the guy. Don’t listen to her, La-Roo. The only advice you need is to not do anything we wouldn’t do.”
Talk about loose guidance. When it came to caution, the two women were at complete opposite ends of the spectrum. “Pretty wide berth, don’t you think?”
“Plenty of wiggle room for a good time,” her friend replied.
“Good Lord, there’s going to be a chef and a launch operator with us. How much wiggling do you think there’s going to be?”
“Depends on how creative a thinker you are. You’d be amazed what you can do when you think outside the box.”
“Very amusing.” She wondered if Chloe would give the same advice if she knew how much wiggling she and Carlos had done already.
After a few more minutes of conversation, mostly about the hotel and her room, and one last warning from Delilah to keep her head, Larissa hung up. Immediately, a server showed up to top off her coffee. Invisible, discreet service. Carlos would be pleased to see his dictate being carried out with such efficiency.
Mug cradled in her hands, she let it hover below her lips while she stared at the horizon. The sky and water met with perfect complimentary colors. Dark navy abutting cerulean. So much of Mexico’s colors seemed plucked from a box of crayons. Bright, bold, beautiful.
Romantic as sin.
Delilah’s remark about Mexican sunsets nagged. Everyone always teased her about being overly romantic. Addicted to romance, Chloe liked to say. All those years helping your grandmother gave you tulle on the brain.
Was it possible she was letting her surroundings color her emotions? Would Carlos’s kisses be as intoxicating if they took place somewhere like the corner of Fifty-ninth and Madison? Did it even matter? In a few days, she’d be back on Madison Avenue, while Carlos stayed here. Was it really important for her to know the answer?
Wow, she thought, setting her coffee down. For a woman whose ex-fiancé accused her of not having deep thoughts, she was certainly thinking herself into a corner, wasn’t she?
* * *
“I heard you booked the open moonlight cruise.”
Carlos looked from his paperwork to see his cousin who stood in the doorway. “That’s right, I did. For Señorita Boyd.”
“And for you, as well.”
“She mentioned the cruise had been a highly anticipated part of her old itinerary. I thought taking advantage of the cancellation would be a nice way to show our appreciation for her help.”
“Interesting. I would have thought visiting her room the past two nights would be message enough.”
Carlos washed his hands over his face. He’d been wondering how long before Jorge said something. His staff might be discreet, but they weren’t blind. Nor had he been overly secretive about his rendezvous. Sighing, he got up and went to shut the door. “You could at least keep your voice down.”
“Little late to be worried about discretion now, don’t you think? The time to worry was before you decided to mix business with pleasure.”
Carlos winced.
“Regardless, I’d prefer to at least try and protect the señorita’s reputation.”
“Relax, primo, I made sure we were alone before I said anything. I don’t want to encourage gossip any more than you do.”
“Gracias.”
“No need to thank me. I’m happy to see you finally moving on.”
“I’m not moving on.” The response was reflexive.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I...” Carlos wasn’t sure. He certainly didn’t set out to become Larissa’s lover. Quite the opposite. The other afternoon, he’d decided to take a drive precisely because he wanted to clear his head of the notion. Until he saw her sitting on the curb. From that moment on, kissing her had been inevitable, and after kissing...well, there was no turning back. He could no more stop himself from going to her room than he could stop breathing. His actions were no longer his own.
Jorge, if he heard such an explanation, would never let it go, so Carlos settled for a half-truth instead. “We’re two people enjoying each other’s company, that is all.”
“Well, I have to say, you’ve got good taste. She is a beautiful woman. She must be very special, too, to get your attention after all these years.”
You don’t know by half. Leaving Larissa each morning proved increasingly difficult. She was sweet, smart and had an uncanny ability for making him feel lighter. By the end with Mirabelle, he’d had a persistent weight pressing down on him. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel the pressure.
“Don’t read too much into the situation,” he told Jorge. Or was he telling himself? “She’s only here for a few more days.”
“If I remember correctly, you courted, proposed and married Mirabelle in the same amount of time.”
And look where that got him. “Larissa is not Mirabelle.”
“Thank goodness.”
Spine stiffening, Carlos turned away. On other side of the glass the ocean looked particularly blue today. Perhaps he’d take a perimeter walk. Clear his head. Because doing so worked so well the last time....
Behind him, the leather guest chair crinkled as Jorge shifted his weight. His cousin gearing up for another comment. How foolish for him to think the conversation over. He held his breath, waiting for what he knew was coming.
“What happened to Mirabelle wasn’t your fault. No one could have loved her more than you if they tried.”
And yet he still failed her. Did his cousin ever stop to think that Carlos might not want to fail again? Some mistakes were too awful to repeat. The most he and Larissa could ever be were two people incredibly and insatiably attracted to one another.
Not that more could happen anyway. Even if he were capable of having a deeper relationship, come the end of the week, Larissa would leave for New York, and their affair would be in the past. Which, he thought rubbing a sudden pang in his sternum, was exactly what he wanted.
* * *
“Why is it women always keep us waiting?”
Carlos shot the chef a look. “I would hardly call five minutes a wait,” he replied.
“Lo siento, señor. It seemed longer.”
Yes, thought Carlos, it did. Fortunately, his employees knew better than to call him on the fact the launch arrived at Larissa’s villa ten minutes early and coasted around the lagoon to kill time.
Turning so his back was to the boat, he wiped his hands on his slacks. “I’m sure the señorita will be outside any moment.”
“She’s outside now,” Larissa said.
She hustled toward him, wearing a curve-hugging red dress and platform sandals. As he watched her hips swing back and forth, Carlos’s mouth began to water.
“Sorry I made you wait,” she said, her voice breathy. “I ran into Paul and Linda by the pool. We ended up talking about tomorrow’s ceremony and the time slipped away.”
He couldn’t care less about Linda Stevas. The only thing he could think about was how much Larissa’s body resembled an hourglass, and how he couldn’t wait to run his hands over every blessed inch of time. Two people incredibly and insatiably attracted to one another.
Suddenly the launch was over capacity by two. “Disembark,” he barked at the crew. “I’ll handle the boat from here.”
Both staff members’ mouths opened. “But this is the VIP section. How are we supposed to get back to the main hotel?”
“Call for another launch.” There were plenty of boats still available. “Or walk.” So long as they didn’t set sail with them. The men grumbled but did as he requested. Tomorrow there would be gossip, but at the moment, Carlos couldn’t be bothered to care. The gleam in Larissa’s eyes told him that neither could she.
He held out his hand. “Ready to board?”
* * *
It didn’t surprise Larissa that Carlos could maneuver the launch on his own or that he looked completely in command standing at the wheel in his suit. Everything the man did oozed confidence; why shouldn’t steering a boat?
Lifting a hand from the wheel, he slipped an arm around her waist. “You’re standing too far away,” he said. The hum of the engine required that he bring his mouth close to her ear so when he spoke, his lips tickled the outer shell. Larissa shivered.
“How about I open the bottle I saw chilling?” she whispered back, slipping from his grip. Ever since the boat pulled to the dock, her insides had been a jittery mess, more in keeping with a first date than two people who’d been sharing a bed for days. After the things Carlos and she had done the past two nights, that she should feel any shyness was absurd. For goodness’ sake, didn’t she pour herself in to this dress knowing full well what kind of message it telegraphed? A message Carlos received loud and clear, she might add.
The nerves were Delilah’s fault. Her comment about not getting carried away kept replaying itself. The warning was completely unnecessary; both Larissa and Carlos understood the parameters of their relationship. She wasn’t about to build their affair into anything more. Didn’t matter how gorgeous and romantic the setting.
Unlike the regular launches, which featured rows of benches to accommodate multiple passengers, the dinner boats had counter space and cooking equipment. A gauzy curtain divided the stern from the rest of the space, so guests could maintain the illusion of being alone of the water. Since she and Carlos really were alone, the curtain remained open. She made her way to where the ice bucket sat on the floor next to the cushioned bench seat. The bottle had already been opened and left to breathe.
“I see, you’re going to make me break my no-alcohol rule,” she teased over her shoulder.
“What?”
No sense talking over the engine. Clearly, conversation would have to wait. She lifted the bottle only to stare at the label in surprise. Spring water. Carlos must have directed the chef to replace the usual wine for her sake.
How silly, getting a lump in her throat over a bottle of water, but there it was, thick and large, and causing her chest to grow tight.
“Everything all right?” Carlos called back.
Everything was great. Pouring two glasses, she made her way back to his side.
Carlos steered the boat west to where an inlet divided the jungle into two before cutting the ending. From there, they floated in silence toward the trees, where the last rays of sunlight broke through toward the water. “I’m afraid this is the best sunset I can do given how they built the resort,” he told her. “You would get a far better view from the oceanside.”
“It’s perfect,” Larissa told him. Handing off one of the glasses, she used her free hand to pull him close for a deep kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.
“If this is how you thank me for an obstructed sunset, perhaps I should arrange for a glass-bottomed boat cruise so you can see the real deal.” He swiped his thumb over her lower lip, a tease in comparison to the mouth hovering near hers. “Of course, on an ocean cruise, we wouldn’t have as much privacy. My boating skills are limited to small launches.”
“I can’t believe you told your employees to leave.”
“Would you rather I’d asked them to stay?”
“They’re going to talk.”
“They are already.”
“And you don’t mind?” He never did address her comment from earlier.
“Naturally, I’d prefer they didn’t. For your sake, as much as mine.”
“You’re trying to protect my reputation.”
“Shouldn’t I?” he asked, thumbing her lip again.
“Is that why you leave before dawn?”
A look flashed in his eyes, but he shuttered them before she could decipher what it meant. “Ah, querida, I’m not keeping you a secret if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Then...”
“Because if I waited until you woke up, we’d stay in bed all day.”
That wasn’t the reason; the fearful flash she saw said as much, but before she could challenge him, Carlos bent his head and nipped, vampire-like, at the curve of her neck. “Have I mentioned how incredibly beautiful you look in that dress?” It was a distraction of the finest order, because Larissa’s knees immediately buckled. She’d let him skate by for now, but promised herself that at some point, she’d find out the truth.
“There is one problem,” he whispered, after a moment.
“A problem?” She found it hard to think clearly when his lips were exploring. “What’s that?”
“I may have dismissed the chef prematurely.”
“In other words, we don’t have anything to eat on our dinner cruise.” Larissa started to giggle. She couldn’t help herself. The unplanned nature of his confession, implying he’d been too overwhelmed by her to think clearly, only made the evening more romantic. Pulling back the curtain, she saw for the first time, the containers of food neatly stacked on the counters. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to whip something up.”
“You know how to cook Yucatán cuisine?”
“No, but I can turn on a stove.”
Laughing at Carlos’ expression, she began peeking in containers. “We’ve got marinating meat, chopped vegetables, beans, spices. Might not be authentic, but we can throw something together. Sort of a Yucatán stir-fry?”
“Carnita,” he said, over her shoulder.
“That’s a much better word. How is it everything sounds so much more exotic in Spanish?”
“You only think that because it’s a foreign language.”
“A foreign language where people roll their Rs. Car-r-r-rnita.” She imitated his pronunciation. “I love how the words drip off the tongue.”
“Just words, querida?”
Heat flooded her from head to toe. He’d added the Spanish endearment on purpose for that exact reason, she bet. “Cook,” she said, directing him to the stove.
While the meal wasn’t authentic or even close to gourmet, they managed to mix the ingredients into an edible concoction. Carlos also found a fruit platter and prepared appetizers in the refrigerator. More than enough to make a satisfying meal.
They ate from a shared plate, forgoing the dining table in favor of sitting side by side on the bench, forks and hips invading each other’s space. While cooking slowed the physical part of the night, it lent an added layer of intimacy. There was a teamwork required of cooking that made Larissa feel as connected to him as she had during their nights together.
With the sun gone, the jungle had turned black, leaving only the light from the boat reflecting off the watter. Her interest in food long gone, Larissa leaned against Carlos’ shoulder and listened to the waves as they lapped against the launch. Somewhere in the darkness, an animal screeched.
“Monkey,” Carlos said, teasing her lips with a piece of papaya. “They live in the canopy. If you watch long enough, you’ll catch one swinging across the branches.”
“Sure don’t see that in New York. In fact, you don’t see any of this in New York. Just buildings. Lots and lots of buildings.” Her sigh sounded overly loud thanks to the silence. “You don’t get this kind of quiet in the city, either.”
“Sounds like Mexico has cast a spell on someone.”
“Maybe Mexico has.” Or someone in Mexico. Delilah’s warning whispered in her ear.
“Well, there’s always the wedding coordinator position here at the resort if you want to stay.”
“Tonight, your offer is very tempting.” Only it wouldn’t be the job luring her to stay.
“I know something else that is very tempting.” Carlos’s breath tickled her cheek as he leaned close to press kisses along her jaw. Fingers cupped her chin, turning her face to his. His tongue flickered over her lips, tasting, teasing. “Why is it I can’t get enough of you?” he asked her.
Larissa had been asking herself the same question. Everything about Carlos—the way he moved, the way he spoke, his very existence—was like an aphrodisiac. He’d spoiled her for other men. And now, to top it off, looking into his eyes she saw a tenderness that took her breath away.
She combed her fingers through his thick curls. Maybe she was falling for a fantasy, but right now, she didn’t care. Reality was overrated. “Do you need an answer?” she asked him?
“No,” he replied. “Not tonight.” He lowered his mouth to hers.
* * *
“Tell me about her.”
Nestled against his chest, Larissa felt him stiffen. He didn’t like the question, but she needed to ask. From the moment the two of them began this attraction, there’d been a third presence in the room. Mirabelle’s ghost clung to Carlos. She was the distance Larissa felt when they made love, and the reason for his shuttered expression. After giving herself so freely, Larissa felt she deserved to know more about the woman who kept her from getting closer.
“I don’t know what tell you,” he replied.
“You said she was beautiful. Start there.”
His laugh was soft, sad. “Women. Always comparing. Yes, she was very beautiful. First time I saw her, I swore my heart stopped beating. I decided then and there I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. We married three days later.”
Three days. The same length of time they’d been together. The coincidence stung. “Love at first sight.”
“Si.” What was it he said in the cenote? Mirabelle had been the center of his universe? Larissa shoved the tightness in her chest aside. If she didn’t want the answer, she shouldn’t have asked the question.
“How long were you married before she got sick?”
Again, he stiffened. “I think she was sick all along. I didn’t see the signs, is all. We seemed so happy in the beginning. Everything was such a whirlwind. The rush of falling in love had us high for weeks. But eventually, it wore off. I tried to keep her happy, but...” His voice drifted off, despair hanging heavy in the words he didn’t say, and it was then Larissa realized Mirabelle’s sickness hadn’t been physical. She wrapped her arms tighter about his waist. If she held him close enough, perhaps she could soften the hurt. “What happened?” she asked. The hair on the back of her neck stood on edge. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
“She drowned,” Carlos replied. “In the pool.”
Dear Lord. She expected something about fighting or their struggle with mental illness, not such a blunt, flat answer. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Jorge and I found her. We tried to revive her, but it was too late.” His body trembled along with his voice. “She’d been drinking heavily those last few days. The authorities said she probably tripped and her legs became tangled in the gown she was wearing.”
In her list of imagined horrors, drowning was one of the worst. Your body screaming for air. Nothing but water filling your lungs. How the poor woman must have suffered. No wonder he’d been so frightened when housekeeping called him to her room.
There was more to the story; she could tell because Carlos’s body had grown tenser than ever. With her heart in her throat, Larissa held on tight and waited for him to go on.
When he did, his voice was barely above a whisper. “She was a strong swimmer.”
Larissa sat up. “I don’t...” Understand? But she did; she simply didn’t want to contemplate. “Are you saying she deliberately...?” She couldn’t even say the words.
Carlos shook his head. “She was so unhappy. I tried—we all tried so hard—but nothing every worked. The darkness, the insecurities, they always won.”
“Oh, Carlos.” Larissa couldn’t imagine living with such uncertainty. Carrying all that grief and guilt. No wonder he emanated such pain. She’d only heard his story, and her own heart ached on his behalf.
“You can’t know for certain,” she said. Cradling his jaw, she forced him to meet her eyes so he could see the reassurance she so badly wanted him to feel. “It still could have been an accident. The authorities—they have ways of knowing what happened. They’d know if...”
“If she got tired of trying?” He brushed the hair from her face, his hand coming to rest in a mirror image of her own. “You’re right, querida. We will never know for sure. It doesn’t matter. I hate her all the same.”
“What?” The harshness caught her off guard. How could he hate the woman who owned his heart?
Giving her forehead a kiss, Carlos eased himself away from her. The absence of his body made the bench a cold and lonely place, and she drew her knees close to stay warm. She watched as he poured himself a glass of water, graceful even in distress. “I suppose you think I’m heartless for saying so.”
“I— No.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t.”
In fact, she understood better than he realized the questions those left behind were stuck dealing with. Why did she leave? Weren’t you enough to make her happy? Hadn’t she asked all those questions herself as a child? When a person walked away, the betrayal lingered.
“You’re angry with her.”
“Angry is not a strong enough word for what I feel.” He jammed the bottle into the melted ice. “I loved her. I worshiped her. But my love wasn’t enough. She always needed more. Excitement, fireworks. She wanted the honeymoon to never end, and I obliged. I gave and I gave until I was drained dry. And it still wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.” The sentence came out close to a sob.
Her poor, poor Carlos. His cynicism made sense now. How else could he feel when he gave his heart, only to come up short.
“I was such a fool,” he said. “I believed love would solve everything. But no. Love does nothing. And now...” He looked away with a sigh. “And now, I can’t love anyone anymore. I’m empty.”
“No,” Larissa whispered. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, querida. I am. Best I can do is a night like this.”
A wonderful, magical night. He wasn’t empty. Far from it. The ache in her heart shifted, deepened. If only she could make him see. Knew the right words to say. She opened her mouth, but inspiration didn’t come.
Without words, she’d have to use the next best thing. She closed the space between them. He looked so beautiful standing in the dim light, his skin streaked by shadows. Unable not to, she traced the patterns with her finger. Across his collarbone, down his breastbone. The beat of his heart rose up through his skin to greet her. Strong, full. Not empty at all.
For three days, she’d been standing on the edge of an emotional crevasse, and now the gap wrenched open, propelling her over the edge. She pressed her lips against the sound, and gifted his heart with her own.
A groan broke the silence. Carlos’s hands tangled in her hair. “Larissa...”
She held him tight, and prayed for Mirabelle to disappear.
* * *
Morning was streaming through the mango branches when Carlos pulled the launch to Larissa’s villa. Long—long—past when the other cruises had returned.
Standing in the cabin doorway, Larissa hugged her coffee mug, and watched as he neatly abutted the dock. “You were right,” she told him. “Café D’orzo is way better than regular coffee. I’m going to have to tell Chloe’s boyfriend to add it to the coffee shop menu. He can call it Carlos’s Special.”
The specter of a smile graced Carlos’s mouth. Since they woke up, awkwardness had hung between them, heavy and uncomfortable, more in keeping with a one-night stand than two people who shared an intimate encounter. Their lovemaking had been open and honest, but immediately afterwards, Carlos closed down. Regretting he’d shared too much or afraid of the way he let Larissa in? Most likely both.
There was a soft bump as boat met wood. “Guess this means the moonlight cruise has come to an end,” she said.
“Seeing as how the moonlight ended a few hours ago, I’d say so.” He took the coffee cup from her hands, then pulled her in for a cinnamon-flavored kiss. The ardor was the same as always, along with his guarded expression. She’d so hoped things might have changed.
Since they only had a couple days left, she decided it was better to go with what they had than push a fight. “Sleep well?”
“When you finally let me sleep.”
“Let you sleep? I wasn’t the one demanding thirds.” She smacked his shoulder. This, they could do. Banter and light conversation.
“I was simply going the extra mile to keep my guest happy.”
His teasing stung more than it should, largely because, after his confession, Larissa wasn’t sure he didn’t partially mean what he was saying. The line delineating commitment and casual still existed, and she remained planted firmly on the temporary side.
A voice in her head reminded her she should be fine with the position. You’re not looking for more, remember?
She turned to topics more practical to keep from listening. “Thank you for the jacket. It made for a very comfortable blanket.”
“You mean I wasn’t enough?”
Pink crept into her cheeks. “Would you like to come in?” she asked. “You know, to shower before work?”
“Oh, querida, if only I could.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, igniting the now familiar shivers. “But I need to return the boat to the boathouse before people on the staff start to wonder what happened.”
Of course, he did. Thank goodness for convenient excuses. Larissa kept her disappointment to herself. At least now she understood his reasons. Maybe after she got some sleep, she wouldn’t take the rejection so personally.
“It’s just as well,” she replied. “I wanted to head over to the resort to check on preparations for Paul’s and Linda’s ceremony later this morning anyway.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure catering will have everything well in hand.”
“I want to.” She was invested in the couple having the perfect ceremony. “Will I see you there? At the ceremony?”
“I’ll be by.”
“Good. Maybe we could steal a dance.” As much as it killed her, she managed a smile as she rose on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for last night. I couldn’t ask for a better memory.”
“Larissa, I—” She gasped as he gripped her shoulders. His dark eyes searched her face. He was on the edge, she could feel him struggling to open up. Instead, he kissed her long and hard. When she tasted his desperation, Larissa knew he’d backed away. “I’ll see you at the ceremony,” he told her.
She waited in her doorway as he steered the launch back toward the center of the lagoon. After tomorrow, she’d never see Carlos again. She’d leave him and paradise behind. Her heart began to splinter.
Delilah’s warning sounded. Don’t let the atmosphere go to your head. Larissa had a very bad feeling she’d failed to listen.
* * *
It wasn’t technically a lie. Carlos did have to return the launch to the boathouse. It simply wasn’t the real reason he rushed off. Staring at the sky half the night didn’t clear his head. If anything, he seemed to be losing his grip.
Once Larissa was safely in her villa, he pulled away from the dock. He intended to drive straight to the boathouse, but when he reached the center of the lagoon, he suddenly cut the engine, letting the early morning silence envelop him. Perhaps the quiet would settle his thoughts.
Last night was... He didn’t know what to call it. A rawness assaulted his body as if he’d been cut open and his insides exposed to the world. Certainly, he didn’t expect their lovemaking to feel so intimate. Or for him to share so much of himself. The latter he blamed on the former. Larissa’s arms gave him courage and before he could stop, his history with Mirabelle poured out. The exchange left him torn in two, with one half wanting nothing more than to lose himself in Larissa forever while the other screamed to push her away.
Closing his eyes, he saw Larissa’s blue gaze. So full of comfort and reassurance. An indefinable longing gripped his soul. The desperate sensation reminded him of the days when he first met Mirabelle. Those heady, infatuated days of new love he swore would never happen again.
Fear squeezed at his chest. They wouldn’t happen again. They couldn’t. He’d only fail, and Larissa was far too special for him to hurt.