He was missing the real issue. Sure, some of her being “worse” had to do with her carrying visible consequences of something other people did behind closed doors without anyone else being any the wiser. But the biggest part had to do with the fact that Gabriel had been a married man, with a wife. Children. But admitting that was too … it was too hard. To look Rodriguez in the eye and confess that she’d been seduced by a married man? That she’d been so stupid she’d missed the signs? She’d already had to admit it to her father. He was the only one she’d had to explain anything to. And that was enough.
“So you think women have just as many rights as men when it comes to sex?” she asked.
“I think it’s a ridiculous double standard. Men want to have sex with whoever they want while they limit women. Then who are the men going to sleep with?”
“A philosopher,” she said dryly.
“Just all for equal rights.”
“Wow. Well.” She stood from the couch, her insides feeling oddly jittery. “I’m going to go and see if I can find something suitable for tonight.”
“It’s been taken care of. Come on, I’ll show you.”
She wished he wouldn’t, because she kind of needed a Rodriguez reprieve, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him.
“All right, lead on.”
She followed him back to her room, her mind going over the conversation they’d had in the study. He didn’t look at her any differently for having a child out of wedlock. Her family was so traditional, that she was the only Santina to ever give birth to a bastard had been major news. It had made her mother hardly able to meet her eyes. Had made her father look at her as though she were dirty, something almost beneath contempt at times.
To have someone simply not see that dark mark on her record … that was something she hadn’t thought possible.
It had altered her own parents’ perception of her so profoundly she’d assumed everyone must look at her and see a big scarlet A branded across her chest, even without knowing the full story.
He pushed open the door to her room and stood there, allowing her to enter first. Rodriguez had that smooth, surface chivalry down to a science. It probably made women melt at his feet. If his dark good looks, hot body and wicked grin hadn’t already done the job.
“I went out today and I was driving through downtown when I saw this.” He took a garment bag out of her closet. “And it made me think of you.”
“Did you go through my things?”
“No, I asked one of the household staff to put it in the closet.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t like it when people go through your belongings?”
“Would you?”
“I don’t know. I live alone so I don’t have that problem.” His eyes locked with hers. “I did live alone anyway.”
“Now you have us.”
“And servants. You can never be truly alone in a castle. Even if all of the staff left there would still be ghosts wandering the old dungeon.”
“You have a dungeon here?”
He smiled. “You interested?”
A reluctant laugh pulled up from her stomach. “Not really my thing.” She took the garment bag from his hand. “You should be used to staff. You lived here when you were a boy.”
“Until I was old enough to go to school. When I was eight I went to boarding school.”
“That’s so young! I could never send Luca away. Not in three years’ time. I don’t think I ever could.”
He looked at her, his eyes blank, that darkness that lay beneath the surface a palpable force. “I liked school.”
“Good.” She unzipped the back and her mouth dropped when she saw the black lace dress that was nestled inside. “This is … there’s not much to it.”
“It will look perfect on you.”
“I don’t flaunt. I’m a mother.”
“You are a woman,” he said, his voice firm, insistent. “Don’t forget that. Whether you’re Luca’s mother, my wife or the Queen of Santa Christobel, you are a woman and there’s no crime in remembering that.”
“I … I know that. I remember. How could I forget?” Of course, for her, being a woman was basically a crime. She didn’t know what to do with that part of herself. The part that wanted occasions to dress for. The part that wanted a man in her bed. It was easier to simply be Luca’s mother and ignore everything else.
“You dress nicely,” Rodriguez said. “But not sexy.”
She frowned. “I thought my press conference dress was sexy.”
“No, you were sexy in it. It would only be considered sexy at a tea party.”
She looked him over, at his black pants and shirt, so lovingly fitted to his body, making him look dangerous and attractive. “Well, you dress like you’re on the prowl.”
“I generally am,” he said, offering her a crooked smile. “Now go try the dress on.”
She shot him a deadly glare and folded the bag over her arm, heading for the dressing room that was just off the main portion of the bedroom. She got out of her beach clothes and tugged the flimsy dress up over her curves.
She contorted her arm and tugged the zipper midway up her back, unable to finesse it all the way up. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. So, she’d ask him for help. He was going to see her naked after the wedding anyway. And this wasn’t even naked, this was just a partially exposed back. A bathing suit, even a modest one, would show much more than the dress put on display.
But it wasn’t so much about the amount of skin as it was about what Rodriguez made her feel.
Well, she wasn’t giving him that power. She owned her body, and she wasn’t a slave to errant desires.
She opened the door and poked her head out. “Can you zip me?”
The teasing light in his eyes vanished again, like a candle thrust into the wind. He frightened her when he looked like that. Because he lost that easy manner completely and he became someone—something—else entirely. Dangerous. A predator. And she had the feeling she was the prey.
“Sure,” he said, walking to the dressing room door. Her heart pounded in rhythm with his steps and she did her best to ignore it. To ignore the languid heat that seemed to be inside her bones, spreading through her, making her feel weak and shaky.
She turned and braced her hand on the door, anything to disguise the slight trembling in her fingers.
He didn’t bother to pretend, even for a moment, that the brush of his skin on hers was accidental, didn’t pretend he was simply helping with the last bit of the zipper. His finger trailed up the line of her back, hot and exciting.
She tensed, drawing her shoulders up.
“Relax, querida,” he said softly, his knuckle brushing against her shoulder.
“Then you’re going to have to stop touching me.”
She felt his fingers toying with the zip tab, his other hand moving to her waist, his touch light but so … present. She felt it all the way down to her toes and every interesting point in between.
“Not possible if you want me to help you with your dress.”
“You’re taking liberties,” she said, her voice stiff.
“Don’t