around barefoot on the rancho had been like living in a fantasyland. It had had nothing to do with real life. Nothing to do with survival. And she had been placed in a survival situation after her father had died.
She hadn’t known how to take care of herself. Hadn’t known how to go out and get a job. Because she had never needed one.
And she did not know the ways in which women operated in this part of the world. She had very purposefully looked away from the way her mother moved through life, because it both enraged her and made her feel small. Inadequate.
Because truth be told, though she might like to pretend she didn’t hold beauty in high regard, it had always felt futile to want to be beautiful when she was always destined to be outshone by her own mother.
But now she wished she had learned a little bit more of the world. Now she wished that she knew more about controlling her own body, her own femininity. At the moment she felt as though it was all controlling her. It felt as though she was at the mercy of all of this. Of him, of her own self.
That strange, glowing woman that she had seen in the mirror with a luminous face and an enticing figure wrapped tightly in an orange dress.
And then they began to move.
As he had said, he led, his confident steps somehow dictating her own. He made her feel like she was flying, floating, his strength the only thing keeping her from collapsing onto the high-gloss marble floor.
It was like magic. The closest thing to freedom she had felt that wasn’t on the back of a horse.
She was lost. In the effortless way he manipulated her body, and that handsome face of his, all those glorious planes and angles.
He held her so tightly, and yet somehow she still felt like she was flying.
Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might burrow its way out of her chest, but it wasn’t because of exertion, or because she was tired. It was a strange, exultant spike of adrenaline that was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
The closest thing to it was the first moment she had seen him. The way her body had reacted that very first time she had spotted that strong, masculine form walking across the stables. And now he was holding her. Now he was going to be her husband.
That thought made her pounding heart jerk forward suddenly, slamming it against her breastbone.
Her eyes flew to his, and he looked down at her, clearly unaffected by this. Of course, for him, this was routine. For him, there was nothing different about dancing with a woman. For him, at this point, there wasn’t even anything different about being engaged.
She was a replacement. That was all. A tool that was being used to aid him in acquiring this estate.
She meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. If she left him tonight he would have her replaced tomorrow by an unwitting maid.
And for her, this would always be dangerous. Because for her, this was singular. This experience of being held by a man. This experience of wanting. To touch him. To kiss him.
That thought took root in her mind, skittered down her spine like an electric shock.
Kiss him. Did she really want to kiss him?
She looked at that dangerous, sculpted mouth and imagined what it might be like to press her own against it. To test the shape of it. To test its strength.
It made her melt, dissolve at her core, and when he tried to sweep her into the next step, she stumbled, and found herself pressed yet more tightly against him. She had to wonder if this had been a bit of calculation on the part of her body.
If this was some kind of latent feminine instinct propelling her toward the things she desired.
It was certainly not a decision she would have made consciously. She would be too frightened to do it. Too timid. She was bold in so many ways, but not in this.
The fear of rejection, of being told she wasn’t enough, of him laughing at her even, asking why a woman such as herself would imagine she might have some impact on a man that women fell in love with every other day...
Yes, that would have held her back. But here she was, pressed tightly against him, her mouth but a whisper away from his.
The world seemed frozen, even though she knew they still moved.
But then they did stop. He lifted his hand, warm and rough against her cheek as he drew his forefinger along the edge of her jaw, down to the center of her lower lip. She felt her eyelids begin to flutter closed, helpless to do anything but lean into his touch.
His eyes were so intense as they looked into hers. So very purposeful. She could feel the tension between them like a physical band, drawing them together.
She waited. Waited for the press of that mouth against hers. But it didn’t come. Instead, he released his hold on her and left her standing there, shivering in the sudden chill of his withdrawn heat.
“I have a ring for you,” he said, walking across the room, his footsteps slow and steady, echoing in the vast, empty space.
It was so quiet in there. Then she realized that it had been silent except for their footsteps the entire time they were dancing. It had felt like there was music.
But there hadn’t been.
Not ever.
It had all been in her head.
She looked at his dispassionate face and felt foolish. Felt as if a magical spell had been lifted and suddenly she could see clearly again. And it was clear that this was nothing to him.
He moved to an ornate side table and opened the drawer, producing a small, velvet box.
“Were you able to convince Diego to overnight your engagement ring?” she asked, feeling the arch, brittle tone in her words and not able to do anything to modify it.
She felt hideously exposed. As if he could read every last one of her insecurities. As if he could see her disappointment. The thwarted desire for a kiss that she should never have wanted.
“Liliana’s ring would not have suited you,” he said. “It was classic. Quite delicate.”
She bristled. Of course she was not delicate. Of course she did not rate the sweet little antique design that his fragile American flower would have.
“For you,” he continued, “I thought I might select something stronger.”
She was awash in shame. In embarrassment. She felt as though he was just as likely to produce a ring made of Teflon as he was an actual engagement ring.
But then he opened the lid on the box and her breath caught. It was gold, and it was brilliant. The diamond in the center was yellow, and it glowed like the center of the sun.
“You are not a traditional woman,” he said. “You are unique. And you are fiery. I thought you deserved a ring that reflected that.”
She clenched her teeth tightly together, trying her best to look unaffected. “You think you know me?”
