A quick shrug told him it didn’t matter to Marisa, but instinct told him she hid her feelings.
‘I made a mistake.’ Bright blue eyes locked with his and he read her shock, almost as strong as his own, that he’d admitted such a thing. ‘But circumstances have changed. It’s in both our interests to understand each other better.’
‘Like you did at the party when you thought I was boozing and—’
‘I was wrong.’ His voice grew loud in frustration and he hefted in a deep breath, willing himself to be calm. This was unfamiliar territory but he was determined to see it through. Whatever it took to secure his child.
‘I know you hide behind that smile of yours.’ As he said it, Damaso realised it was true. How often on the trek had he seen her dazzling her audience with a smile? Yet when she was alone there was an air of sadness about her.
‘You’re an expert on me now, are you?’ Her tone was accusatory but Damaso didn’t take the bait. He had her measure, realising instinctively she’d try to alienate him rather than let him close.
But he wanted to be close. How else could he get what he wanted?
‘No,’ he said slowly, feeling his way. ‘But I know the woman the press talks about isn’t the real you. I know that far from being shallow you have unplumbed depths.’
It had taken him too long to realise that. His thinking had been muddled by emotion—something new and unfamiliar. Now the inconsistencies that had puzzled him coalesced into a fascinating whole.
How would a woman who was nothing but a shallow socialite have the patience for painstaking photography? He’d seen it engross her in the rainforest and again on his private estate.
Why would such a woman be upset at not being able to work if all she wanted was to party?
Above all, why hadn’t she jumped at the chance to marry a billionaire who could buy and sell her quaint little kingdom several times over?
He should have wondered about that when she’d had two full days in the city to shop and had come back to the apartment with just one purchase: the dress she wore tonight.
‘I don’t claim to know who you are, Marisa.’ His voice was raspy with self-disgust at his slowness. ‘But I want to.’
‘You have a strange way of showing it.’ Her clipped words bit into what passed for his conscience. ‘You left me as soon as we got to the party.’
It was true. He’d thought it wise to give her space. He’d kept his distance, more or less, these last weeks because crowding her would be counterproductive. Look what happened that afternoon on the beach.
‘You were nervous?’ He frowned. Marisa was so confident, used to being at the centre of a throng.
‘Not nervous. But it would have been nice...’ She shrugged, her gaze sliding away. ‘Forget it.’
‘No.’ He paced closer. ‘Tell me.’
Her head swung up, her stare impaling him. ‘Let’s just say fielding pointed questions about our relationship and the pregnancy isn’t the best way to relax among strangers.’
‘Someone had the gall to ask you about that?’ He’d been so caught up in his strategy of giving her the illusion of space he hadn’t considered that. He’d believed her status as his guest would protect her.
Guilt squirmed anew in his belly.
What was wrong with him? Usually he was ahead of the game, not six steps behind.
‘Not directly.’ Her mouth and nose pinched tight. ‘But indirectly...’ She shrugged, stress plain in her taut frame. ‘It wasn’t the most comfortable evening.’
‘I shouldn’t have left you.’
One pale brow arched as if she didn’t believe him, then she looked away. ‘The fact you took me there, then ostentatiously left me to fend for myself, sent a very particular signal.’ Her tone was bitter.
Damaso scowled. ‘Who dared to insult you?’
Her head jerked round and he caught a flicker of surprise in her stare.
‘There was no insult,’ she said, her voice clipped and her chin high. ‘But some of the men—’
‘I can imagine.’ Damn it. He could imagine all too well.
He swiped a hand round the back of his neck, massaging knotted muscles. If he’d been thinking instead of trying to find the best way forward with Marisa he’d have realised: he’d inadvertently signalled she was fair game for any man on the prowl for a quick fling with a gorgeous woman.
And she was gorgeous. He couldn’t drag his eyes from her.
But she wasn’t available.
She was his.
‘I’m sorry.’ Ineffectual as they were, he couldn’t stop the words rising again to his lips. ‘I should have been with you.’
He wasn’t used to taking responsibility for anyone but himself. Now he cursed his failure. This woman made him re-evaluate so much he’d taken for granted. It was discomfiting.
Marisa walked to the window, her straight back and shoulders telling their own story. ‘I’m used to fighting my own battles. Tonight was no different.’
But it was—because he’d put her in that situation.
He’d never known guilt or regret before Marisa.
He’d never felt half the things he felt around her.
The laugh would be on him if she knew. She thought his embrace on the beach had been a tactic to seduce her into marrying him.
The truth was he’d wanted Marisa since the day they’d met. He wanted her with a sharp, stabbing hunger that grew daily.
He wanted her body. But he wanted her company too. Her smile. Her attention.
He wanted to keep her safe.
He wanted...
‘I’m not used to apologising.’ His voice came from just behind her and she shivered as its dark richness slid through her, making a mockery of her defences. ‘But, for what it’s worth, I really am sorry. For everything.’
If she wasn’t careful, Damaso would overwhelm her. Over the past weeks she’d seen glimpses in him of a man she could come to care for. Marisa fought desperately to keep her distance but part of her wanted to surrender, give up the fight and be persuaded to trust him.
His hand on her shoulder was firm but gentle and she found herself turning at his insistence. In the soft lighting his eyes were unreadable yet the intensity of his stare made something in her chest tumble over.
‘I should never have put you in that situation.’ His lips twisted in a grimace. ‘I thought to give you a treat.’
‘A treat?’ Marisa breathed deep. ‘I’m not a child.’
But that was how he viewed her. Not surprising, given her reputation. She’d been maligned and vilified and she hadn’t exactly led the life of a nun. There’d been a time when living up to her reputation of partying every night had been her life. But she’d bored of it quickly.
‘Believe me, Marisa.’ His accent thickened deliciously as he stepped squarely into her personal space. ‘I know you’re not a child.’
Lightning jagged through her at the rough, seductive timbre of his voice. At the feel of his hand warm on her shoulder. He seduced her so easily. Desperation rose. How could she resist him when she wanted so badly to give in?
‘I’m not an easy lay, either.’ The words shot out as she fought the sizzle of excitement in her blood. If he’d had a fight with his girlfriend, he needn’t think he could turn to Marisa to warm his bed.
‘I know, querida.’
‘You’re just saying that. At the party—’
‘At the party I couldn’t see straight for jealousy.’