“His liver is failing,” he answered, his voice emotionless other than a thickening of his accent. “During the escape from San Rinaldo, he spent a lot of time on the run in poor living conditions.”
She’d read the basics about the coup in San Rinaldo, but there weren’t many details available. Hearing the event from Carlos, envisioning the terror the Medinas—Carlos—must have experienced, made her chest go tight with pain for them.
“How awful that must have been for your family. I can’t even begin to imagine.”
“It was not an easy time in our lives,” he understated simply. He stroked her shoulders, down her arms, never missing a beat even when his breathing became heavier against her hair. “We were not with him. My mother, my brothers and I went a different escape route once the rebels attacked. My father didn’t want to risk us being captured with him so he attempted to make them follow him instead.”
The picture unfolding in her mind was beyond imagining, but he seemed unwilling to take any comfort from her. Hell, he wouldn’t even let her look at him.
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen,” he answered starkly.
He traced up her arms again and stopped at the back of her dress. He slid a finger inside along her neck, just under the zipper, stroking one vertebra at a time. His sensuous touch was at such odds with their stark discussion, but then Carlos had always been a huge contradiction. The compassionate surgeon, gruff professional.
Tender lover, reserved friend.
And he clearly wanted to keep things on a physical level rather than emotional. How perfect since she’d thought the same thing herself not too long ago. Her head lolled forward and his hand tucked under the cashmere, fanning along either side of her spine, kneading nerve endings.
The zipper parted, only an inch, but still she gasped at the boldness of his move. Cool air brushed the tiny patch of bared flesh a second before his knuckles warmed her skin.
“Shhh,” he coaxed. “I’m not doing anything other than rubbing your back to make the trip more comfortable.”
She laughed softly. “Do you think I’m foolish?”
“Let me rephrase,” he said against her ear. “I will not do anything more unless you ask.”
Her heart stuttered at the image that conjured and the sensual power that gave her. What would it be like to claim the toe-curling bliss he could give her so easily?
So dispassionately?
She forced her thoughts to disengage from the path, dismayed to think he could pull away from her as smoothly as he could set her whole body to flame. No amount of temptation could lure her into that dangerous terrain. She wouldn’t be his next Nancy Wolcott, sprinting to the shelter of her little hatchback car in the rain while Carlos watched with his cool, unmoved gaze.
“Well, take note then, Carlos, because I won’t ask for more from you.” She was only willing to let the physical side go so far. For now? Until when?
“That sounds like a challenge.”
She turned slightly, meeting his eyes, their mouths so close every word was almost a kiss. “Do you really promise not to do anything more?”
With the full power of his intense dark gaze staring at her with frank honesty and desire, there was no mistaking what he wanted. He wasn’t thinking of any woman but her.
“You have my word. Tell me to stop and I will, without hesitation.” His low, husky vow vibrated the air between them.
“Then by all means,” she said, her voice breathier than she would have liked to admit, “continue what you were doing.”
She could handle this.
Carefully, she turned her back to him again, her br**sts prickling with awareness as she wondered how far this game between them would go. His hands spread and the zipper parted further link by link. The top of her dress stayed on even as cool recycled air swooshed over her back. He worked his way south to her waist, thumbs circling along small but persistent knots of tension and strain.
Down, down farther still, he went until massaging almost at the base of her spine, his skillful fingers teasing along the top of her bikini panties. His hands spanned all the way across her lower back, then wrapped forward to rub lightly against her hip bones.
Her dress eased precariously forward, until she crossed her arms to hold it in place. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop. The pressure of his hands so intimately close to where she really wanted, needed, him to touch her only served to stoke the ache hotter.
They played with fire here and she knew it. Yet she trusted him when he said he wouldn’t take this further without her permission. So she surrendered to the sensations washing over her.
The man had the art of touch mastered. The glide of his hands on her back soothed and stirred at the same time, the healer and the infuriating prince.
Oh God, it had been so long since she’d had a man’s touch on her, his touch. Her body soaked up the gentle rasp of his callused fingers, his every move so precise as he explored her, relaxed her, totally in tune as to exactly where she needed his care.
According to the pregnancy books she’d read, the backaches would only grow worse, as if in some cosmic prelude to labor. Nerves pattered in her chest as her mind fast-forwarded, anxiety intensifying at the notion of facing that day alone.
“Shhh,” Carlos whispered in her ear. His hands skimmed around to her rib cage and pulled her back against him. “Whatever you’re thinking about. Don’t. You’re tensing up again. As much as I’m enjoying having my hands on you, I hate to think my efforts here have been for nothing.”
His hands rested right below her br**sts, so close her ni**les peaked against her bra, tight and needy. As he stepped closer, his body against her back, the rigid length of him pressed to her spine with unmistakable arousal. She longed to writhe against him and tempt him higher, harder. How she burned to lift his palms to cover her br**sts, to ease the ache with the warm pressure of him.
It was just physical, she reminded herself. Heaven knew she wasn’t too happy with the man himself right now. But her willpower was beginning to wane.
She cuffed her fingers around his wrists and shifted his touch an inch lower. “I think it’s time to call a halt to this.”
Just that fast, his hands slid away. Not a word, not even a hint of a protest from him. However, her body shouted loud and clear over the loss of his touch. Her skin tightened, tingly and hot with awareness. Dragging in breaths that did nothing to steady her racing heart, she held her dress in place and faced him.