A Game Of Vows Part 7

"I'm sorry. Your parents were ... They're the only place I've ever seen love, let's put it that way."

"The only place? What about your parents?"

What was the harm in giving him a little? He knew more about her than anyone else. "I don't know. I don't think they ever married. When I was three my mom left me at my dad's single-wide and never came back. She had all my stuff tied up in a little plastic bag. Anyway, he didn't know what to do with a kid. He ... he tried I guess. But he was kind of a mess."

He frowned. "Your mother left you?"

"Not every family is perfect. But I don't dwell on it."

"You don't even acknowledge it."

"I lived in this dirty, dusty mobile home. The park it was in had a dirt road and when trucks would drive by, the dirt was like a cloud. It settled on everything. Everything was always dirty. I actually felt lucky to only have one parent. There was no fighting in my house. I could always hear the neighbors screaming at each other. My father never yelled. He just barely ever said hi, either."

She could stay out all night and he'd hardly ever raise an eyebrow when she'd come in at breakfast. She could still see him, sitting in his chair with a bowl of cereal in his lap and a beer already in his hand.

"How were the sheets?" he asked.

"I didn't have any. Just a mattress on the floor and a blanket. We didn't have a washer and dryer so ... I used to hitchhike to the Laundromat sometimes so I could clean my blankets and clothes."

She shook her head. "I mean ... would you want to talk about that? Who wants that life?"

He frowned. "No one. Is that why you erased your past?"

She swallowed. "One of the many whys. But let's not even get into that." It was one thing to talk about her parents, such as they were. To talk about the things that had been out of her control. The poverty, the neglect. She could handle that.

But she'd made her own mistakes. Those were the ones that stayed closest to her, like a layer over her skin, protective and confining at the same time, impossible to remove. A part of her she wished away every day, and one she depended on to move forward.

"Fine by me." He looked out at the view. "Tell me, Hannah, what is it like to walk away from everything?" His tone was husky, sincere. Surprising.

"I ... It's like walking out of prison," she said. "Like I imagine it might be, anyway. You spend all this time in a place you know isn't right, and yet, you have to stay. Until one day, you just walk out into the sunlight. You'd never go back, even though going forward is frightening. Because there's so much possibility when before that ... there was nothing."

"How did you end up in Spain? Why Spain?"

Admitting she'd sort of put her finger on the globe in a random place would seem silly. As silly as the fact that she'd chosen her new last name from an upscale department store she'd seen on TV. But that was the truth. She'd been so desperate then, to shed who she was, to try and be someone else. To make something else of herself. "I wanted to get very far away. I wanted out of the country because ..."

"It would be easier for you to get away with false transcripts."

"Yes. Of course they were very good, and I had changed my name legally by that point." She didn't know why she was telling him all of this. Only that with him determinedly keeping his focus on the street below, the darkness surrounding them, it seemed easy.

"And where did you get the money for it?"

The fifteen thousand dollars she never wanted to talk about. Fifteen thousand dollars she did her best to never think about. It had bought doc.u.ments; it had supplied her with her plane ticket and pa.s.sport, ID that carried her new name.

A gift. The money had been a gift, not payment, because how could a price be put on what she'd given? At least, that was what they'd told her. The Johnsons, from somewhere in New Hamps.h.i.+re. The couple she'd given her baby to. Oh, they'd paid all the legal adoption fees, and her hospital bill, but in the end, they'd wanted to do more. To get her on her feet. Provide her with a new start so she didn't end up back in the same place.

They had. They truly had. She should be grateful. She was.

But thinking about it was like drawing her skin off slowly. It still made her feel raw, freshly wounded and bleeding. Still made her ache with guilt. Guilt over everything. That it had ever happened. That she'd made the choice she had. And then there was the guilt that came along with the occasional, sharp sweep of relief that she'd chosen to give the baby up. That she hadn't kept him. That she hadn't spent their lives repeating the cycle her parents had been a part of.

"From a friend," she said. It was a lie. But it was the kind of lie she was used to. The kind of lie that kept all the events from her past glossed over. The kind that kept it hidden away. Kept it from being drawn out into the light and tearing her apart.

"Good friend."

"Oh, yeah. Great friend." She cleared her throat and blinked hard. "And you, Eduardo, what's it like to have a place you can call yours? What's it like to feel at home?" She wished she hadn't asked. It was too revealing. The ache in her voice was so obvious, at least to her own ears.

"I have never thought very much about it, or rather, I never had. Not before. I always took it as my due. Vega was to be mine, my position in both society and my family always sure and set. Now that I know what it's like to feel like a stranger to myself? Well, now I wish I would have appreciated the ease a bit more."

Silence fell between them and she closed her eyes, listening to the traffic below, music coming from somewhere nearby.

"Did we just have a moment?" she asked.

"A what?"

"A moment. Like, a human moment where we talked without fighting or snarking or trying to put each other down."

"I think we did. But we need never speak of it again."

She opened her eyes and looked into his. Even in the dim light, she could see a glimmer of mischief there, something like the old Eduardo.

"It's a deal," she said.

For one moment, her mind went blank of everything. Everything but his face, and what it had been like to be in his arms earlier. What it had been like to kiss him. And in that moment, she couldn't remember why kissing him wasn't a great idea. But just for that one moment.

Then that blank simplicity got crowded out by reality, by the reason why she couldn't kiss him. Not now, not ever.

She wasn't building a life here with him. When this was over, she had to go back home. To her clients, to her job. a.s.suming Zack wasn't having her blacklisted.

"I'm tired now," she lied. She didn't think she would ever be able to sleep right while she was here. While she knew he was right across the penthouse from her, sleeping. Possibly naked. It hadn't bothered her five years ago. She didn't know what had changed in her since then.

That was a lie. She did know. Eduardo had changed. And there was something about him now that called to her.

She really had to get a grip on herself. And the weak, mushy emotion she seemed to be tempted to wallow in the past few days. She didn't have time, she didn't need to, she didn't want to.

She was Hannah Weston. She was her own invention, her own woman. And she could do this.

"Good night, Eduardo," she said, bringing a little steel back into her tone. "See you at the office tomorrow."

CHAPTER SIX.

"YOUR wife is back and you didn't tell your mother?"

Eduardo turned to face Hannah, who was sitting at his desk, holding his phone more tightly to his ear as his mother's voice rang through loudly.

"Lo siento, Mama. It happened very suddenly. I have been working at ... making amends." Bringing his mother into the charade wasn't ideal, but he would do what had to be done. He'd been avoiding her for weeks. That period of avoidance had clearly ended.

"You've been making amends? For what, Eduardo? She was the one who left you without a word. After six months of marriage. Divorced." She said the word like it was something truly foul.

"Ah, yes, but we were not divorced. We never have been. Hannah and I are as married today as we were that day in the cathedral."

Hannah's focus snapped up from the computer, her blue eyes trained on him, her expression hard. "What?" she mouthed.

He covered the mouthpiece on the phone. "My mother," he mouthed back to her.

Then her lips formed a soundless version of a truly filthy word. He chuckled and uncovered the phone.

"We will come to see you this weekend. In fact, let's make it a long weekend at the rancho. Bring Selena, of course."

Hannah threw her hands in the air, her eyes round. He offered her a half smile and she put her hands on her throat like she was choking herself, then pointed at him. He suppressed a laugh and listened to his mother's response.

"See you then," he said, cutting off any last protests. She would be there. She would never disappoint him.

"What did you do that for?" Hannah exploded.

"Because, it's what I would do if we were really reconciling, which means it's what we should do in order to make it look like we're reconciling. Entiende?"

"No. No entiendo. I don't understand at all. Why bother bringing your mom and Selena into this? It's not ... fair."

"To them or to you?"

"Either one," she said. "Look, I liked your family-a lot-when I was here. They were really good to me and I hated lying to them. I don't want to do it again."

"You're sparing my mother from the possibility of losing Vega. I think she'll forgive you."

"I'll be honest with you, Eduardo. I don't think you're in danger of losing Vega. Things aren't quite as good as they were a few years ago, but that's true for a lot of companies. And anyway, your personal a.s.sets are quite healthy. Once you get your financial manager in place-"

"But if I don't figure out a system ..."

"We will," she said, moving into a standing position and grasping her hands behind her back, arching forward, stretching, a short little kitten sound escaping as she did. His body kicked into gear, a hard and serious reminder of the power she seemed to command over him.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were perfect. Small and round. He ached to have them in his palms. In his mouth.

"We had better," he bit out, averting his eyes. He had to get a grip. He had other things to worry about, things much more important than his neglected s.e.x drive.

"I'm confident that we can figure something out," she said, rounding the desk, her hips dipping with each step. She was still angry. Her hips moved more when she was angry, her lips pulled tight. "Now," she breathed out, "do we really have to spend the weekend with your family?"

"Yes. My mother will not let it go ... you know it as well as I do. And I think it would do us both good to get out of the city."

"It's only been a few weeks. And anyway, I like the city, so I feel no such need."

"Ah, but you do." He started to circle her. Her head swiveled as far as it possibly could as she tried to track his movement. He put his hands on her shoulders, savoring the heat of her body coming through her thin top. "You're very tense." He moved his thumb into her muscle and discovered that tense was an understatement.

"Ow," she groused.

"You will feel better in a moment." He moved his thumb on the other side, digging deeper. She arched back, whimpering.

"It doesn't feel better yet."

"Your muscles are like rocks. It doesn't help that you hunch at the computer."

"Shut up, I do not hunch."

"You do." He worked both of her shoulders until he felt some of the tightness ease, until she stopped fidgeting and started melting into his touch. He swept her blond hair to the side and slid his thumb up the back of her neck. This time, the sound she made was decidedly pleased, and more than a little bit s.e.xy.

"Yes, just like that," she said, arching into his touch, instead of trying to escape it.

"I do like to hear you say that," he said. He tilted his head to the side and pressed a kiss just beneath her earlobe. She stiffened, then pulled away from him.

"I'm still mad at you," she said, turning to face him, her eyes looking a little glazed, her cheeks flushed.

"That's okay. It doesn't mean you can't kiss me. You were mad at me last time, too."

She drew her plump lower lip between her teeth and shook her head. "Nope. Not kissing you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not what we're here to do."

She was right. He knew it. And until he'd touched her again, he'd firmly believed it. There was too much at stake for him in so many ways. And yet he couldn't find it in him to suppress the desire. "That's true. But mixing a little pleasure in with business doesn't have to be detrimental."

"Maybe not, but it usually is."

"Speaking from experience."

"No, I'm way too smart for that. I keep business and personal very, very separate. And you, my dear, are business. Always have been."

She was lying. He extended his hand and drew his finger along the curve of her cheek, felt her tremble beneath his touch. Now she knew she was lying, too.

"We'll finish up work for the day, and when we get back to the penthouse, we'll get ready to drive to the rancho first thing in the morning."

Eduardo owned a Jeep, which surprised her almost as much as his insistence they make the drive out of Barcelona and into the countryside with the top down.

But the air was warm and the scenery was beautiful, so she wasn't going to complain. Even though her hair was whipping around so violently she nearly swallowed a chunk of it. She tugged the strands from her lips and shook her head, hoping to get it somewhat back into place.

"I don't think I ever came out here with you ... before, I mean," she said, competing with the wind and the engine.

"No. This is new. I bought it after my accident. I liked going to a place where I could think. Somewhere away from the city and ... people."

"You have horses?"

He nodded, his eyes never leaving the road. "Yes. I don't ride them."