do. Remember those words, Frankie?” He smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in his expensive sleeve.
“Stop toying with me, Marcos. And don’t call me Frankie.”
His dark eyes pierced her. “I thought you liked it. Is this your lover’s pet name for you?”
Francesca wrapped her arms around her to ward off the chill creeping over her body. This man was nothing like the handsome young Argentinian who’d been so nice to her. But that had been a game, hadn’t it? He’d only been nice to her in order to win her affection, to fool her into thinking he cared for her.
Once he’d gotten what he wanted, he’d left her to face the shame alone. He’d never even kissed her for God’s sake! She’d been married to him for all of three hours and, aside from a peck on the cheek at the justice of the peace’s office, they’d never shared a single kiss.
“You have to let me go,” she said. “I can’t be gone very long. Jacques needs me—”
“Ah yes, the man who owns the shop. Is he your lover too?”
She gaped at him, too shocked to summon outrage. “You went to all this trouble to find me, to find out who I was, and you didn’t bother to learn that Jacques Fortier is seventy-five if he’s a day, or that he’ll die if I don’t go back?” He looked so cold and unfeeling that a sob burst from her in spite of her best effort to prevent it. She stuffed the rest of them down deep before they could escape. “I need that necklace, Marcos. It’s the only way to save Jacques. I need the money.”
His mouth twisted. “A very likely story, Francesca. You forget that I know you, that I know what you are capable of. This Jacques may be sick, but he is simply the excuse you use to try and make me feel pity for you. You were always very good at that.”
“No.” She leaned toward him, tried to convey her sincerity, her desperation. “I’ll go with you, I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll sign a paper saying I gave the necklace to you and that my mother and sister can have no claim to it. But you must help Jacques. Please.”
He stared at her for so long she began to fear he hadn’t heard her. “I have a better idea,” he said, his voice so low she had to lean forward again. His gaze dropped and she realized that her baggy sweater was dipping perilously low, that he could see her bra and possibly the curve of her breasts.
As if her body could have any effect on him. No, she knew from experience that she did nothing for Marcos Navarre. She shifted position slightly, but only out of modesty. She could parade before him naked and he would not be affected.
“Anything,” she said. “I’ll do anything.”
“Yes, I believe you would,” he replied after another moment of letting his gaze wander.
Heat sizzled in the air between them. Her heart thumped, but she reminded herself it was only anger that charged the air, nothing more. What else could it be?
“You will come to Buenos Aires. Willingly, querida.”
“I will,” she replied quickly, though the thought filled her with dread. So long as he used his resources to help Jacques, she would dance naked on a tight rope if he demanded it. And yet she was curious. “Wouldn’t a sworn statement to the authorities here be enough?”
“It might, but I prefer my solution. You will marry me—again—Francesca. Only this time, it will be a marriage in truth.”
Her breath refused to fill her lungs properly. The blood rushed from her head, making her feel suddenly weightless. Of all the things she’d thought he would say, of all the things she would actually do to save Jacques, he’d chosen the one thing that would surely destroy her.
Marriage to him. Again.
“That’s insane,” she gasped. “I won’t do it.”
“Yet it is my price.”
Francesca closed her eyes as she struggled to breathe normally. He had to be toying with her. This was part of his punishment for her, though she failed to see how it could possibly benefit him in any way. He was not attracted to her. Never had been. So what was the point?
Did he know about her ex-fiance? About her poor baby who’d been taken from her too soon? She hadn’t been with a man since the miscarriage—was this his way of tormenting her? Did he really mean to marry her and bed her?
She’d said anything but she’d not considered this. The one thing that terrified her more than any other. She wasn’t the naïve girl who’d once loved him, she wasn’t in danger of losing her heart, but to be forced into intimacy with him when the act made her think of what she’d lost? Of what she could never have? Of the babies she would never, ever hold in her arms?
“You don’t want me,” she choked out. “You can’t.”
“Not permanently, no. I want you long enough to stop any claims to the Corazón del Diablo that your family might raise.”
She had to find her center of calm, had to disconnect from the swirling emotion and deal with this situation as cold-bloodedly as he did. Her fingers shook as she clasped them together in her lap. She’d learned how to adapt, how to disconnect. She would do it here and now, in spite of how he churned her emotions. “How long, Marcos?”
He shrugged. “Three months, perhaps six.”
Six months. Dear God.
She couldn’t.
“I’ll go with you. I’ll sign papers stating the Corazón del Diablo is irrevocably yours, and I’ll stay in Buenos Aires for three months if you’ll help Jacques. But I can’t marry you. There’s no reason for it.”
“There is every reason,” he said, his voice cracking like a whip against her senses. “I will have no more questions about who owns the stone. It is mine by right, by birth. Any questions of ownership will be dead once we marry.”
She felt like someone was squeezing her, sucking all the air from her space. “How do I know you’ll keep your word, that you’ll help Jacques?”
“I’ll put it in writing.”
He was boxing her in and the box was growing smaller by the second. How could she refuse? How could she deny Jacques the same care he’d given her when she’d needed it? Comfort, care, and love. Francesca closed her eyes, swallowed.
“There would be no need for a marriage in anything more than name,” she said, the words like razor blades in her throat. “You can continue seeing other women. When the time is up, we can divorce and no one will be the wiser.”
The scar scissoring from one corner of his mouth made him look so dangerous, so sensual. When he smiled it made him look more predatory, not less. He truly was a devil.
“Ah, but I would know, Francesca.” He grasped her hand, pulling it to his mouth. His breath stole over her skin in the instant before his lips seared her.
Her body reacted. God help her, it reacted. Sensation spread outward from that one hot touch of his lips. Flooded her senses. Brought parts of her to life that
