Although he’d deny it, she suspected that might be the case. Christmas decorations, no matter how beautiful or expensive, didn’t solve her problems, but the gesture was so thoughtful she didn’t want him to feel he hadn’t pleased her. Especially because it did please her. “Sí. Of course.” She fingered the Christ child that would remain absent from the nacimiento of her fellow Guatemalans until placed there on Christmas Eve. “This is…pretty, as you say.”
“Cierra…” A serious expression claimed his face.
“Yes?”
He hesitated as if he didn’t know how to say what was on his mind. Instead of trying, he ran a finger down the side of her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
At his touch, her disappointment vanished beneath a giddy excitement the likes of which she’d never experienced before. She couldn’t breathe. At first, she’d tried to tell herself that she preferred Brent to his more complex brother, but it wasn’t true. Brent just seemed safer. And he probably was—because she wasn’t attracted to Brent in the same way. “You—you have nothing to be sorry for,” she managed to say. “You have been very…generous to me.”
When his finger reached her chin, his gaze dropped to her lips. “You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No.” But she was afraid of how he made her feel. She couldn’t fall for a man with whom she had a far better chance of getting pregnant than getting married. In her situation, she had to make sacrifices, had to trade her youth, beauty and sexual favors for marriage, money and citizenship. Maybe what she had to do was too mercenary for most Americans to understand, but that was her reality. And there was no way that deal would hold any interest for Ken, who could have any woman, even the gorgeous blonde from the diner. Marrying another man like Charlie was the best Cierra could hope for. She had to be practical, understand her limitations. Her sisters were counting on her.
“I think maybe I’m a little afraid of you,” he said.
She would’ve laughed, except she was pretty sure it wasn’t a joke. “Do not worry,” she said. “I will be gone soon. I promise.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
KEN DIDN’T UNDERSTAND what had come over him in the kitchen. All the while he’d had lunch with Russ, picked out the tree, which he’d strapped to the top of his Land Rover, and shopped for the decorations, he’d been cursing whatever had led Cierra to his doorstep. And yet he would’ve kissed her a few minutes ago if she hadn’t backed away.
He should get on the phone, see if he could find someone else who might be able to hire her as a cook or a housekeeper. Maybe one of his married football buddies needed a nanny for his kids—except he couldn’t imagine any wife being pleased about living with another woman as attractive as Cierra. There was a reason that men having affairs with their nannies had become a cliché. Also, because she wasn’t a citizen yet, he’d have to be discreet in his inquiries, which would take time, and it was spending time with her that worried him. When he’d told her he hadn’t been able to find the address she seemed to think would be her salvation, she’d tried so hard to bear up under the disappointment, to show her gratitude for the little he’d done, that he’d wanted to pull her into his arms.
He would’ve assumed that reaction came largely from a desire to protect and console the less fortunate, except that whenever he imagined holding her, they were both naked. That was the part that shocked him. He’d pointed a finger at Mr. Baker for having a prurient interest. He certainly didn’t want to be guilty of the same thing.
“Can I ask you a question?” He’d already dragged in the tree and wrestled it into its stand. Now they were putting on the lights. So far, they’d worked mostly in silence, probably because Ken hadn’t been able to think of anything except the softness of Cierra’s cheek and the way she’d looked up at him when he’d touched her, which wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. Her rapt expression had sent a charge of sexual awareness through him, and he was still fighting its effects. He was pretty sure she knew that—and understood that getting involved with him would not be good for her. Every time they accidentally brushed hands or stood too close, she moved out of reach.
“Cierra?” he prompted when she didn’t respond.
Her expression remained guarded. “You may ask, sí.”
“Will you answer?”
“Maybe yes.” She gave him a tentative smile. “Maybe no.”
He’d tried convincing himself that her personal life, especially her sex life, was none of his business. But ever since she’d mentioned her seventy-something-year-old fiancé, he’d been burning with curiosity. “Did you sleep with him?”
She didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know who he was talking about. “Why do you ask, Señor Holbrook?”
It was too intrusive a question. He’d been aware of that. “Well, señorita—” he winked as she grinned at his response “—my mind keeps going back to it.”
“Because…”
Because he was a man and any man would wonder. Because he was turned on by her. And because he didn’t like what she’d been through.
In the interests of keeping things simple, however, he chose Answer Number Three. “Allowing the old men of one country to exploit the young women of another because of economic need is…wrong.”
“But I was grateful to Charlie,” she explained. “Without him…I had no hope for…so many things.”
Now that Charlie was gone, was that hope lost? It had to be, right? Her situation had grown even worse. And yet Ken couldn’t help being glad that old Charlie had kicked the bucket. Picturing someone fifty years her senior pawing at her made him cringe.
She continued to talk, picking her words slowly, carefully. “He offered me…a fair offer, one I…say yes. I make the choice.”
But she’d had no choice. Not really. Not with her sisters’ well-being on the line. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he said.
No longer willing to meet his gaze, she insisted they finish winding the lights around the tree. “We were engaged. And I was living with him.”
“Only the two of you were there?”
“Sí.”
“For how long?”
“Two months.”