another twenty minutes, the explorers returned to the boat, all in one piece as Gabriel pointed out, poking Maria in the ribs with a sly smile.
“No thanks to you,” she said, settling into her original seat and sparing no glance for Alex.
The captain started up the boat, and the rest of the afternoon passed without incident. To Alex’s critical eye, Maria seemed to flag by the end of the day, but he had abdicated any right to check on her well-being. When the Montoros dropped off Alex and Maria at the guesthouse, Maria disappeared into her bedroom without so much as a word.
Though they later rode in a golf cart together up to the main house, the journey was silent.
Dinner that night was both pleasant and awkward if such a thing was possible. Isabella was in attendance, her wheelchair pulled to the edge of the table at Rafael III’s right hand. Her nephew encouraged her to tell stories of the old times, and the elderly woman did so with enthusiasm.
She’d had one of her rare good spells today. Though her body trembled and her voice was weak, it was clear to everyone present that her spirit was unquenched. Isabella had been a very young child when the royal family was overthrown. In all likelihood, she didn’t actually remember any of the details. But the tales of the traumatic events had been repeated often as she grew up, and to her, the end of the Montoro reign was still vivid.
Alex knew—as did her family, he supposed—that Isabella would not be happy until another Montoro ascended the throne that was rightfully theirs. She was in a fragile state. The span of her life was uncertain. What would happen if she died before a decision had been reached? Would the Montoro family choose to stay in Miami?
Alex had plenty of questions and not enough answers.
Gabriel asked Maria to stay for coffee after dinner adjourned. He glanced at Alex. “I’ll bring her home before curfew, I promise.”
Alex managed a smile, but his gut churned. Walking out of that house and leaving Maria with Gabriel was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. The hollow feeling in his chest told him he was in deep trouble. He had been lying to himself about the intensity of his feelings for Maria.
With that knowledge came stinging regret. Had he crushed something new and beautiful beneath the heel of his duty and ambition?
He should have been proud of his dedication and resolve.
But it wasn’t pride that kept him awake until three in the morning, when he heard the front door of the villa open and shut...
* * *
By Monday morning, Maria was able to conceal most of the vestiges of her contact with Gabriel’s spiked volleyball. The swelling around her eye had gone down, and, with artful concealer, her appearance was close to normal.
She had never been more thankful for the presence of the lawyer, Jean Claude. Having a buffer meant that she and Alex were able to work side by side on the draft of the official proposition without acknowledging the events of the weekend. By noon, they were so deeply involved in the knotty questions of language and ceremony that personal situations were pushed aside.
The document was shaping up nicely. Alex and Maria were composing the actual words. Jean Claude was guiding them with the necessary legal language. The collaborative effort flowed well, though as Maria worked feverishly at her laptop, transcribing the conversations, she couldn’t help but wonder if all of this would be in vain.
That night she ordered room service for dinner and fell into bed soon after, too tired from the intensity of the day’s efforts to do more than dream of Alex. The same pattern repeated itself for the following three days. On Friday morning, the rough draft of the document was complete. Though satisfying, it was only the first step. It would have to be faxed to the prime minister back in Alma. In addition, the entire delegation was to meet the following week to pick it apart and look for weaknesses.
Unfortunately, Jean Claude received a phone call midday summoning him back to Alma for a family funeral. Harried and sad, he offered Alex a bulging folder. “You and Maria can handle editing and polishing over the weekend. Here are all my notes. I’ll check in with you before Monday to see if you have any questions.”
When he was gone, the silence in the room became oppressive. Maria swallowed hard. She and Alex had shared barely half a dozen personal words since the day of the airboat ride. She hated the rift between them. For years they had worked together in harmony.
Even when she was promoted to a new position and no longer reported directly to Alex, they still had frequent contact in the Department of Commerce. And of course, here in Miami, he was her boss. She had been thrilled to be picked for the delegation, especially knowing it would be a chance to work with Alex again.
Since coming to Miami, she’d seen him in a new light—in all honesty, as a potential lover. And it had seemed to her as if Alex was experiencing the same shift in dynamics. There was awareness between them. An unspoken bond that had bloomed out in the open in Miami’s atmosphere of hedonism and fun.
Their first kiss had rocked her...had forced her to be honest with herself about the fact that her admiration for Alex had segued into something much deeper and more volatile. She wanted him.
When she was injured and he cared for her with such wildly intimate results, she’d been sure he was feeling the same desperate, crazy passion that she was. But almost in the next instant, he had shut her down. Which said that his emotions were unengaged.
He might have a physical response to her as a woman. But she needed and wanted far more. So much more.
“Shall we continue?” she asked. “With the editing, I mean.”
His face was hard to read. “I think not. We’ve worked incredibly hard this week. Why don’t we take the rest of the day for ourselves? Call a truce. Play tourist.”
Her heart sank. He was offering an olive branch at the worst possible time. “That’s very kind of you, Alex. And very tempting. But I’m meeting Bella and Gabriel and Rafe for an early dinner.”
His dark eyes flashed fire for a brief second before his expression shuttered. “I see.”
She shoved her hands through her hair. “No. I don’t think you do. They’re concerned about the future. And they know I’m not a native of Alma, so they think I can be objective.”
“And can you?”
The derision in his voice hurt. “I’ve given a hundred percent to the work of the delegation. And I’ll do everything in my power to convince them the monarchy is important for everyone.”
“Anything else?”
The sarcasm was overt, but she was angry enough now not to be affected by his scorn. “If you must know, I’m trying to get closer to Gabriel.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“Oh, grow up,” she said. “Somebody has to ferret out his bad-boy secrets, not to mention defusing anything that might embarrass the Montoros once they return to Alma.”
“And that has to be you?”
“Do you have a better idea? He likes me. I think he trusts me. So I’m going to use that connection to do my job.”
