Maybe the Irish dance hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
He searched for something to say to distract himself from the gentle give of her under his touch, the occasional skim of her body against his. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I enjoy anything that makes money for the refuge.” Her eyes glimmered in the starlight, loose curls feathering over the top of his hand along her waist. “I love my work here.”
“Your devotion is admirable.”
“Thank you.” Her face flashed with indecision.
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that. But let’s not talk shop right now and spoil the moment. We can talk tomorrow.” She chewed her bottom lip. “I have an appointment to see you.”
“You do? I don’t recall seeing your name on my calendar.”
“Not all of us have a personal assistant to keep track of our schedules.”
“Am I being insulted?” He had a secretary, but not a personal assistant who followed him around all day like his brother did. Although his brother was known to be an absentminded-professor type.
“No insult meant at all. You’ve made a great future for yourself and for Rose. It’s clear you didn’t ride off your family fortune, but increased it. That’s commendable.” She shook her head, sending her curls prancing along his hand again. “I’m just frustrated. Ignore me. Dance.”
Her order came just as the band picked up with a sultry Latin beat.
* * *
Maureen Burke danced with abandon.
Throwing herself into this pocket of time, matching the steps of this leanly athletic man with charismatic blue eyes and a sexual intensity as potent as his handsome face.
Brains. Brilliance. A body to die for and a loyal love of family.
Xander Lourdes was a good man.
But not her man.
So Maureen allowed herself to dance with the abandon she never would have dared otherwise. Not now. Not after all she’d been through.
She breathed in the salty air mixed with the scent of fresh burning wood from the bonfire. What a multifaceted word. Abandon. She danced with freedom. But she’d also been abandoned and that hadn’t felt like freedom at all. The pain. The grief. Being given up on for no good reason other than the fact she wasn’t a good fit for her ex-husband’s life after all she had put up with. After she’d ignored the urgings of so many friends to leave him and his emotional abuse.
Rejection.
She’d known they had problems. Maureen was always willing to work at broken things. Hell, her never-say-die nature made her compatible and adept in a wildlife refuge. Vows meant something to her. She’d always expected if she ever got divorced it would be because of a major event—physical abuse or drugs. But for nothing more than “I love you but I can’t live with you”? Like she’d filled their home with some toxic substance.
More of that negative thinking born of years of his tearing her down until finally—thank God, finally—she’d wised up and realized he was, in fact, the toxin.
So she’d let him go and left their home full of insults and negativity. Hell, she’d left County Cork to get as far away from him and the ache as possible. It wasn’t like she had family or anything else holding her back. Her parents were dead and her marriage was a disaster. There’d been nowhere else for her to go except to the US and accept the job in a field of work she loved so much.
She allowed herself to be swept away by the dance, the music and the pulse of the drums pushing through her veins with every heartbeat, faster and faster. Arching timbres of the steel drums urged her to absorb every fiber of this moment.
Too soon, her work visa was due to expire, and officials had thus far denied her requests to extend it. She would have to go home. To face all she’d run from, to leave this amazing place where abandon meant beauty and exuberance. Freedom.
The freedom to dance with a handsome man and not to worry that her husband would accuse her of flirting. As if she would run off with any man who looked her way. How long had it taken her to realize his remarks were born of his own insecurities, not her behavior?
She was free to look now, though, at this man with coal-black hair that spiked with the sea breeze and a hint of sweat. His square jaw was peppered with a five-o’clock shadow, his shoulders broad in his tuxedo, broad enough to carry the weight of the world.
Shivering with warm tingles that had nothing to do with any bonfire or humid night, she could feel the attraction radiating off him the same way it heated in her. She’d sensed the draw before but his grief was so well known she hadn’t wanted to wade into those complicated waters. But with her return to home looming...
Maureen wasn’t interested in a relationship, but maybe if she was leaving she could indulge in—
Suddenly his attention was yanked from her. He reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out his cell phone and read the text.
Tension pulsed through his jaw, the once-relaxed, half-cocked smile replaced instantly with a serious expression. “It’s the nanny. My daughter’s running a fever. I have to go.”
And without another word, he was gone and she knew she was gone from his thoughts. That little girl was the world to him. Everyone knew that, as well as how deeply he grieved for his dead wife.
All of which merely made him more attractive.
More dangerous to her peace of mind.
* * *
As the morning sun started to spray rays through the night, Xander rubbed the grit from the corners of his eyes, stifling a yawn from the lack of sleep after staying up all night to keep watch over Rose. He’d taken her straight to the emergency room and learned she had an ear infection. Even with the doctor’s reassurance, antibiotics and fever-reducing meds, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Still wearing his tuxedo, he sat in a rocker by her bed. Light brown curls that were slightly sticky with sweat framed her face, her cherubic mouth in a little cupid’s bow as she puffed baby breaths. Each rise and fall of her chest reassured him she was okay, a fundamentally healthy sixteen-month-old child who had a basic, treatable ear infection.
A vaporizer pumped moisture into the nursery, which was decorated in white, green and pink, with flowers Terri had called cabbage roses, in honor of their daughter’s name. A matching daybed had been included in the room for those nights they just enjoyed watching her breathe. Or for the nanny—Elenora—to rest when needed. A glider was set up in the corner and his mind flooded with memories of Terri nursing their baby in the chair, her face so full of maternal love and hope, all of which had been poured into putting this room together. A week before Rose was born, he and Terri had sat on the daybed, his arms wrapped around her swollen belly, as they’d dreamed of what their child would look like. What she would grow up to accomplish. So many dreams.
Now his brother catnapped in that same space, as he so often did these days, quirky as hell and a never-ending source of support. An image of his brother dancing with Maureen Burke flash through Xander’s mind. His brother hadn’t had much of a social life lately, either, and even knowing Xander would help Easton if the roles were reversed didn’t make it fair to steal so much of his brother’s time.
Xander pushed up from the rocker and shook his brother lightly by the shoulder. “Hey, Easton,” he said softly. “Wake up, dude. You should head on back to your room.”
His