But this was different. This was... He shook his head, unable to put a name to the vast, nameless void that had taken up residence in this chest the moment he’d seen Marisa in the squalor that had been the only world he’d known.
Nevertheless, he held himself in check as they entered the apartment and Marisa headed to the bedroom they shared.
Did he expect her to pack her things? Was that the source of the tension knotting his belly?
But she merely dropped her bag on the bed and headed for the bathroom. His hand on the door stopped it closing behind her.
‘I’d like some privacy while I take a bath.’ Her eyes fixed on his left ear and turbulent anger rose in a coiling wave. He would not be dismissed.
‘Since when have you needed privacy for that?’ Deliberately he let his gaze rove her body, lingering on the swift rise and fall of her lush, pert breasts, the narrow waist that always seemed impossibly tiny beneath his hands and the delicious curve of her hips.
‘Since now, Damaso.’ She turned away, unclasping her chunky silver bracelet and putting it on a tray beneath the mirror. ‘I’m not in the mood for dealing with you.’
‘Dealing with me?’
His gaze collided with hers in the mirror and he realised when she flinched that he’d shouted.
Her chin inched up as she took a silver and turquoise stud from her ear and let it clatter onto the tray.
‘Your disapproval.’ Her throat worked and something dragged at his belly, like a plough raking deep and drawing blood. ‘You couldn’t have made it any clearer that you don’t want me meeting your friends. And don’t try to tell me those people aren’t important to you. Anyone could see they mean more than the social set you party with.’
Her hands worked at the other stud yet she couldn’t seem to drag it free.
‘But if you think you can just dismiss me as not good enough because I don’t have a vocation or a career, because I haven’t yet made anything of my life, then you can think again.’ Her voice wobbled and the raw furrow in his belly gaped wider, sucking his breath out as pain stabbed.
‘I don’t—’
‘I don’t want to hear it, Damaso. Not now.’ Finally she loosened the earring and it clattered onto the tray then bounced to the floor. Marisa didn’t notice. ‘Not while I’m trying to decide whether to leave.’
Her gaze dropped to her watch as she fumbled with the band.
Damaso didn’t realise he’d moved till he saw his hand reach out and brush her fingers aside.
He swallowed down a toxic brew of self-disgust and anger as he unclasped her watch and placed it on the crystal tray with her jewellery.
‘I don’t want you to leave.’ For a miracle, the words emerged steadily. He told himself Marisa was grieving and insecure. She’d misunderstood his actions. There was no danger of her leaving. He’d stop her, one way or another.
She shook her head and tendrils of spun gold feathered her cheeks. ‘It’s too late for that.’ She put a hand to his chest and shoved.
As if that would move him. For all her energy, she was tiny. He captured her hand in his, pressing it hard against his chest.
‘Marisa, you’ve got it wrong.’ Damaso searched his brain for an explanation. That was it: the child. ‘You have to be careful of the baby. In an area like that—’
‘Stop it! I don’t want to hear any more.’ The way her voice suddenly rose silenced him. He’d never heard Marisa so...desperate.
She drew a shuddering breath. ‘I know the baby is ultimately all you care about, Damaso, but don’t try to dress up what happened today.’ Her eyes met his, boring right into his soul. ‘You disapproved of me being there because you disapprove of me. It was plain as the nose on your face.’
He saw the bright sheen of her eyes and knew he was on the verge of losing her.
‘Disapprove of you?’ His laugh was harsh. ‘You have no idea.’ He crowded her back against the vanity unit, his hands running over her as if learning her body’s shape all over again, or ensuring she was whole and unscarred by today’s outing.
‘Don’t try to seduce me, Damaso. It won’t work. Not this time.’
He shook his head as he searched for the right words.
‘I didn’t want you there. It’s not safe. It’s not...’ The words dried as his throat constricted. How could he explain that awful blank fear that had consumed him, seeing her there? His hands balled into straining fists. ‘You shouldn’t be in such a place.’
‘I might have been born a princess, Damaso, but I don’t live in an ivory tower.’
‘You don’t understand.’ He hefted a deep breath that didn’t fill his lungs. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘For the baby. So you say.’
He gripped her shoulders and her startled eyes met his. ‘Not just the baby. You too.’ He ground the words out past a clenched jaw. ‘You have no idea what can happen in a place like that. I needed to protect you, get you away from there.’
His breath sawed loud and fast, competing with the drumming blood in his ears. He knew he held her too tight but he couldn’t get his hands to relax.
‘What can happen, Damaso?’ Her quiet voice penetrated the thunder of his pulse. Her eyes held his and for the first time he had her full attention. Maybe she’d listen now.
Her hand touched his cheek and the delicacy of it against his unshaven jaw reminded him of all the differences between them. Differences he’d ignored until today, when their two worlds had collided with shattering impact.
The palace and the slum.
‘Too much.’ His voice was hoarse as he ran his hands up and down her back, reassuring himself she really was all right. ‘Disease, danger, violence.’
‘Those people live there every day.’
‘Because they have to. You don’t. You’re safe here. With me.’ He planted a possessive palm over her breast, feeling its warm weight, satisfaction rising at the gasp of delight she couldn’t stop.
She was his and he’d protect her.
He pressed closer, his thighs surrounding her, one arm wrapping around her, drawing her to him, while the other slipped under her top and flicked her bra undone.
‘Damaso!’ Her voice wasn’t strident this time. She wasn’t fighting him any more, gra?as a Deus. But something in her tone stopped him. Her gaze was steady and serious.
‘How do you know so much about the favelas?’
He felt his lips hitch up in a mirthless smile. No point denying it; she’d find out sooner or later, even if it wasn’t public knowledge. ‘Because it’s where I’m from.’
Damaso waited for the shock to show in her eyes. The disgust.
Her hand brushed his cheek again then tunnelled through his hair, pulling his head down till his forehead touched hers.
‘The place where we were today?’
Slowly he shook his head and drew another breath into cramped lungs that burned as they expanded. ‘Somewhere much worse. It’s long gone, bulldozed and redeveloped.’
She said nothing and with each second’s silence he waited for her to pull away. Now she knew what he really was.
The opinion of others had never mattered. He’d been too busy clawing his way out of poverty to care about anything but climbing each successive step to success. But Marisa’s reaction mattered.
His fingers flexed against her satiny skin, his hands big and rough against her delicate, refined body.