Rico swore under his breath and his hand dropped from Cesar’s chest.
“No!” Diega gasped. “That’s a repulsive accusation!”
Cesar wanted to believe that was earnest horror, but bringing Tom here set a high bar on how ugly she played. “You just took advantage of the situation once I’d crashed?”
“I will leave,” she said with a lift of her chin. “I won’t stand here to be insulted.” She scanned the crowd.
“See her into her car,” he said to his brother, barely staying inside his skin, he was so livid. “I’ll find Tom.”
* * *
They arrived at his penthouse late. It hadn’t been a long drive from his parents’, but Sorcha had fallen asleep in the car, sliding on the leather seat so she wound up slumped into Cesar’s shoulder.
Disconcerted by his stiff, silent air of threadbare tolerance, she settled Enrique for the night, then moved to the bedroom to begin undressing.
She really didn’t know how to take his mood. He was sipping a whiskey, standing at the door to the small terrace off the master bedroom.
“Mother expected Diega to help her organize a fund-raiser for May. She mentioned as we were leaving that it might be better if we host it at the new house, take the focus off the fact that Rico and Diega won’t be marrying after all.”
“Um, okay.” She removed her earrings. He’d given her the pretty yellow sapphires before they left the house. She picked at the catch on the matching bracelet, trying to open the clasp. “I’ll call her tomorrow to ask the details?”
“Give it a few days. She’ll need to regroup after tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice wispy. It wasn’t just the lateness of the hour. She was worn thin from hours of tension.
“Here.” He came across to remove the bracelet, poured it into her hand, then indicated she should turn so he could open her necklace.
His touch was gentle, but the vibes radiating off him were dangerous.
She’d never seen him like this and didn’t know how to interpret it. After saying, “I’ll be right back,” he’d disappeared from the bedroom at his parents’ then returned thirty minutes later.
“Tom was shocked,” he’d stated. “He said his grandfather on his mother’s side held the purse strings and had a solicitor who was equally ruthless. He’ll review how everything was handled. I said my lawyers will be in touch for a full examination of the will and probate, too. He and Diega are gone now. Will you fix your makeup and come downstairs? Mother would appreciate if we pretend nothing has happened.”
It had taken her several heartbeats to comprehend what he’d said. Then she’d numbly done what he asked. With a fresh mask of makeup in place, she’d circulated on her husband’s arm. He’d been quiet, not unlike the contained businessman she’d worked for. The only difference was that he was in physical contact with her the entire time. Whether it was holding her hand, setting a heavy hand against her back, or drawing her arm through his, he kept her very close to his side.
But it hadn’t been the sort of solicitous affection she craved. It had been protective, but intimidating. Possessive.
Catching her necklace before it slid into her cleavage, feeling her dress loosen as he lowered the zip, she kept her eyes on the floor and said huskily, “I thought it was enough that you knew we were poor and my mother wasn’t married. I should have told you the rest. I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed. It’s only because your respect means so much to me that I...”
She had cried enough earlier. She wouldn’t let another sob release now.
“I didn’t want to lose your good opinion,” she continued in a strained voice. “And I know I have. What do you want me to do? I can’t leave without Enrique. I can’t.”
Her heart twisted inside her chest. She started to move away, but a warm hand closed over her upper arm, strong and firm, keeping her from stepping away. His fingers began searching her hair to release the pins that held it up.
“You are not trash. Do not ever let me hear you call yourself that again.”
His voice was so at odds with his light touch in her hair, she froze. She told herself it was the pull of pins tugging tiny strands of hair as he gently dragged them free that made her eyes sting. She tried to be indignant that he did this so proficiently because he’d removed pins and jewelry and evening gowns from countless women.
But when her hair fell, soft and tickling around her bare shoulders, he hooked his forearm across her collarbone and drew her back against his front, big chest expanding, breath hissing as he settled his jaw against her temple.
It was a quiet, tender moment that she couldn’t help but savor.
“I’m furious,” he admitted in a low growl. “Furious that it happened and furious that Diega, someone our family trusted, deliberately tried to humiliate you. I want you so much I can hardly breathe and I’m afraid to touch you because I’m in a mood I don’t know how to control.” His thumb stroked her skin below her shoulder while his forearm sat heavy across her front, pinning her before him.
He was hard. Not just aroused against her bottom, but tense all over.
She touched the sleeve of his jacket and felt his rigidity through the layers.
“I’ve never had anyone defend me,” she said, turning her face into the fabric of his jacket, letting herself sink against him in gratitude. “Thank you.”
She tried to turn, but he resisted, easily keeping her facing forward, then released a ragged curse and pivoted her into him. Her arms went around him as though he was the one in need of comfort when she felt so exposed and fragile she could hardly bear it.
He wrapped strong arms around her, one hand dragging through her hair to pull her head back so he could scrape his teeth against her throat.
“Stop me now if you’re having second thoughts,” he said against her skin, tongue painting a line to her nape.
“I’m not,” she gasped, transfixed by a kind of paralysis as he conquered her with the simple act of opening his mouth against her neck.
It was basic animal dominance and submission. Her nape was sensitive and his strength disciplined. She folded as any living creature would, succumbing to that strength, trust blooming when he could harm her yet didn’t. She was rewarded by tiny exquisite shivers of pleasure that raised goose bumps down her arms.
He drew back and the look in his eyes belonged to a marauder claiming spoils. His gaze didn’t waver as he pushed down her loosened dress.
She gasped, started to catch at the bodice, but he stopped her, holding her hands in the air as the dress slithered into a puddle around her feet. He kept her hands up as he slowly and thoroughly studied what he’d revealed. Pale skin, heavy breasts that had been supported by the bodice and were bare now. Hips plump enough to give definition to a waistline she’d only begun to start finding again. Thighs that—
All thought stopped as he put her wrists together in one of his hands and dropped his free hand to slide a finger beneath the top of her underwear, slowly working them down. The back of his knuckle grazed her folds.
She jerked, catching her breath.
His gaze came up, holding hers as he deliberately brushed against her again while easing the stripe of green lace so it was a tight line across the tops of her thighs.
“Cesar,” she protested. Hot pressure flooded into her loins, making her ache.
“How close are you?” he asked in gruff Valencian, turning his hand so the pad of his fingertip lightly traced her seam, gently parting and sliding easily in the evidence of exactly