The Dreaming Of... Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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wine, frowned at her untouched glass and refilled his own. He sat down, crossing his legs, so his thighs were dangerously close to her knee.
Jasmine pulled stronger on her runaway composure. ‘He’s a kind, gentle man and he cares deeply for my mother.’
A look passed through his eyes, but was gone before she could work out what it meant.
‘Where does your biological father fit into this scenario?’
His voice lacked mockery, a fact for which she was thankful. ‘He left when I was barely out of nappies. And he was the first in a long line of “fathers”,’ she quoted, ‘who came and went before I was a teenager.’
Reyes sipped his wine. Said nothing.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she ventured when the silence stretched.
His eyes gleamed. ‘I sincerely doubt that.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, whether you’re thinking it or not, my past shaped me. I was angry with the world and with a mother who couldn’t see how hopeless the men she dated were. By the time my stepfather came along, I was...in a bad way.’
‘How bad?’
Jasmine didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to see the contempt in his eyes, or relive the bleakest point in her life. She’d been there, done that, and wore the shame underneath her skin and physical scars on her body.
She didn’t want to go there, but Reyes’s steady gaze demanded an answer.
‘A spell in juvenile detention when I was sixteen,’ she found herself confessing.
He froze. ‘Dios...’ he murmured.
Thick mortification crept over her. Struggling to cover it, she laughed. ‘Now you know my deepest, darkest secret. I’m guessing you’ll be holding this over my head, too—’
‘Stop talking, Jasmine.’
She clamped her mouth shut. He watched her with a curious expression, his gaze intensely assessing.
‘How long were you in detention?’
Strangely she couldn’t read any judgement in his tone. She reminded herself that as a prince he was skilled in hiding his true emotion. But then, he hadn’t held back so far—
‘Answer me,’ he bit out roughly.
‘Nine months.’
‘What for?’
She grimaced. ‘I accidentally set fire to a drug dealer’s warehouse.’
‘Is that experience why you found the handcuffs distressing?’
‘You mean there are people who love being handcuffed?’ she threw back.
One brow spiked.
Heat stained her cheeks. ‘Yes, well, I didn’t like it at the time. Still don’t. Those days were the most traumatic of my life. Please don’t force me to relive them.’
He put his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His intensity increased a thousandfold. As did the intoxicating scent of his aftershave and warm skin. Jasmine clenched her thighs to keep from moving closer.
‘What happened after you were released?’
‘My stepfather. And yes, it may sound like a fairy tale, but he saved us. And even with his flaws, he turned out to be better than any man out there, even the man whose blood runs through my veins.’
Grey eyes snagged hers. Still no condemnation in them, just a stark curiosity.
‘But the gambling became a problem, obviously,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘He was married before, but his wife died. That’s when the problem escalated for him. He stopped for a while when he and my mother were dating, but after they married he started again. No matter how much we tried, we couldn’t convince him to give it up. It made me sad. I know it worried him, too, that he couldn’t beat it. But I couldn’t condemn him. No matter what, he was the best father I knew. When Joaquin sank his claws into him, I had no choice. I couldn’t let Stephen suffer.’
‘Where was your mother in all of this?’ The question was framed so tersely, with a bitter underlay that grazed sharply over her senses.
She looked at him. Whatever emotion he was holding had triggered tension in his body, like a predator ready to unleash its base nature should its prey fall within his grasp. Despite her nape tingling in warning, she wanted to move closer, experience that overwhelming danger.
Clearing her throat, she answered, ‘My mother is what a psychologist would term wilfully blind. She means the world to me, but doesn’t see what’s right in front of her. Or she chooses to ignore it in favour of burying her head in the sand.’
The misery that her mother’s attitude to life had brought her before Stephen had fallen in love with her had been a stark warning for Jasmine not to travel down the same path. She understood her mother better now, but it didn’t make the pain of her late teens go away.
She glanced at Reyes and saw grudging understanding. But the look was wiped clean a moment later.
‘Understanding the motive doesn’t negate the crime.’
The unexpected surge of tears shocked Jasmine.
What was wrong with her? He’d told her he didn’t have a heart. If she chose to disbelieve him, any hurt she felt was her own fault.
Blinking rapidly, she started to rise. ‘No, but a little forgiveness goes a long way.’
He clamped a hand on her thigh.
Her heart took a dive, then picked itself up and banged hard against her ribs.
* * *
Reyes questioned his sanity. Except the voice was quickly smothered beneath the headier emotions swimming in his head.
His hand was halfway down her thigh, the soft cotton of her sundress crushing beneath his fingers. He moved his hand lower.
She gasped as they connected, skin to skin. Hers was soft, smooth like the fur of his sister’s pet cat. And as with Sheba’s pelt, he wanted to keep on stroking her.
He watched her struggle, knew the emotions she fought were the same as the ones he battled with. The chemistry that had gripped them the first time he’d set eyes on her flared high, spiking through his blood until he didn’t bother to deny its existence any longer.
‘You dislike me for stating the truth?’
‘I dislike the brutality of it. And the complete absence of sympathy.’
Knowing he’d done a good job of hiding his feelings should’ve pleased Reyes. If his feelings weren’t apparent, they couldn’t be manipulated, used against him. So why did the thought that he’d succeeded send a pulse of discontentment through him? Why did he want to wipe that hurt look from her face? ‘I warned you not to search for feelings that don’t exist—’
‘And I told you I don’t believe that emotion doesn’t exist inside you.’
He surged to his feet. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you,’ he said, not sure whether his agitation stemmed from the Tempranillo he’d consumed or the fact that she challenged him at every turn where no else dared to.
She sucked in a breath and her eyes stayed on his. Daring. Searching. Apprehensive. ‘Nor I you. So this should be fun.’
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Fun...
Another word he’d associated with her that first time. A word he hadn’t let into his life for a very long time.
He started to draw back from the brink of whatever fever gripped him.
She stepped closer. Her hands slid around his waist, holding him in place.