Not the bath salts. She inched toward the armrest. “Let me know what the attorneys’ fees are, please.”
“They’re on retainer. Those lawyers also help us communicate with each other. My attorney will know we’re going to see my father if you’re worried about making sure someone is aware of your plans.”
Someone under his employ, all of this bought with Tony’s money that she’d rejected a few short days ago. And she couldn’t think of any other way. “You trust this man, your lawyer?”
“I have to.” The surety in his voice left little room for doubt. “There are some transactions that can’t be avoided no matter how much we want to sever ties with the past.”
A darker note in his voice niggled at her. “Are you talking about yourself now?”
He shrugged, broad shoulders rippling the fabric of his fine suit.
Nuh-uh. She wasn’t giving up that easily. She’d trusted so much of her life to this man, only to find he’d misled her.
Now she needed something tangible, something honest from him to hold on to. Something to let her know if that honor and strength she’d perceived in him was real. “You said you didn’t want to break off our relationship. If that’s true, this would be a really good time to open up a little.”
Angling toward her, Tony’s knee pressed against hers, his eyes heating to molten dark. “Are you saying we’re good again?”
“I’m saying …” She cleared her throat that had suddenly gone cottony dry. “Maybe I could see my way clear to forgiving you if I knew more about you.”
He straightened, his eyes sharp. “What do you want to know?”
“Why Galveston?”
“Do you surf?”
What the hell? She watched the walls come up in his eyes. She could almost feel him distancing himself from her. “Tony, I’m not sure how sharing a Surf’s Up moment is going to make things all better here.”
“But have you ever been surfing?” He gestured, his hands riding imaginary waves. “The Atlantic doesn’t offer as wild a ride as the Pacific, but it gets the job done, especially in Spain. Something to do with the atmospheric pressure coming down from the U.K. I still remember the swells tubing.” He curled his fingers around into the cresting circle of a wave.
“You’re a surfer?” She tried to merge the image of the sleek business shark with the vision of him carefree on a board. And instead an image emerged of his abandon when making love. Her breasts tingled and tightened, awash in the sensation of sea spray and Tony all over her skin.
“I’ve always been fascinated with waves.”
“Even when you were in San Rinaldo.” The picture of him began to make more sense. “It’s an island country, right?”
She’d always thought the nautical art on his walls was tied into his shipping empire. Now she realized the affinity for such pieces came from living on an island. So much about him made sense.
His surfing hand soared to rest on the gold flecked globe beside the sofa. Was it her imagination or was the gloss dimmer over the coast of Spain? As if he’d rubbed his finger along that area more often, taking away the sheen over time.
He spun the globe. “I thought you didn’t know much about the Medinas.”
“I researched you on Google on my phone while we were driving over.” Concrete info had been sparse compared to all the crazy gossip floating about, but there were some basics. Three sons. A monarch father. A mother who’d been killed as they were escaping. Her heart squeezed thinking of him losing a parent so young, not much older than Kolby.
She pulled a faltering smile. “There weren’t any surfer pictures among the few images that popped up.”
Only a couple of grainy formal family portraits of three young boys with their parents, everyone happy. Some earlier photos of King Enrique looking infinitely regal.
“We scrubbed most pictures after we escaped and regrouped.” His lighthearted smile contrasted with the darker hue deepening his eyes. “The internet wasn’t active in those days.”
The extent of his rebuilding shook her to her shoes. She’d thought she had it rough leaving Louisiana after her husband’s arrest and death. How tragic to have your past wiped away. The enormity of what had happened to his family, of how he’d lived since then, threatened to overwhelm her.
How could she not ache over all he’d been through? “I saw that your mother died when I read up on your past. I’m so sorry.”
He waved away her sympathy. “When we got to … where my father lives now, things were isolated. But at least we still had the ocean. Out on the waves, I could forget about everything else.”
Plowing a hand through his hair, he stared just past her, obviously locked in some deep memories. She sensed she was close, so close to the something she needed to reassure her that placing herself and her son in his care would be wise, even if there weren’t gossip seekers sifting through her trash.
She rested her hand on his arm. “What are you thinking?”
“I thought you might like to learn next spring. Unless you’re already a pro.”
“Not hardly.” Spring was a long way off, a huge commitment she wasn’t anywhere near ready to make to anyone. The thought of climbing on a wave made her stomach knot almost as much as being together that long. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”
“Scared?” He skimmed his knuckles over her collarbone, and just that fast the sea-spray feel tingled through her again.
“Hell, yes. Scared of getting hurt.”
His hand stilled just above her thumping heart. Want crackled in the air. Hers? Or his? She wasn’t sure. Probably equal measures from both of them. That had never been in question. And too easily he could draw her in again. Learning more about him wasn’t wise after all, not tonight.
She pulled away, her arms jerky, her whole body out of whack. She needed Tony’s lightness now. Forget about serious peeks into each other’s vulnerable pasts. “No surfing for me. Ever try taking care of a toddler with a broken leg?”
“When did you break your leg?” His eyes narrowed. “Did he hurt you? Your husband?”
How had Tony made that leap so quickly?
“Nolan was a crook and a jerk, but he never raised a hand to me.” She shivered, not liking the new direction their conversation had taken at all. This was supposed to teach her more about him. Not the other way around. “Do we have to drag more baggage into this?”
“If it’s true.”
“I told you. He didn’t abuse me.” Not physically. “Having a criminal for a husband is no picnic. Knowing I missed the signs … Wondering if I let myself be blind to it because I enjoyed the lifestyle … I don’t even know where to start in answering those questions for myself.”
She slumped, suddenly exhausted,
