Free His Heir, Her Honor by Catherine Mann Page A

like you.”
    His hands stilled for the first time. “You’re the first to say that.”
    â€œHow would you describe your father?” She glanced back at him, catching a hint of tensed jaw before his face became a smooth, handsome mask again.
    Carlos stared past her, through the portal, his massage resuming. “He’s ill.”
    Not at all what she expected him to say. She tried to turn toward him but his touch became steely for the first time as he held her in place without hurting her, but unmistakably insistent.
    Accepting his wishes to keep his face hidden from her, she gripped the window as clouds obscured the specks of light below. “I’m very sorry to hear that. What’s wrong with him?”
    â€œHis liver is failing,” he answered, his voice emotionless other than a thickening of his accent. “During theescape from San Rinaldo, he spent a lot of time on the run in poor living conditions.”
    She’d read the basics about the coup in San Rinaldo, but there weren’t many details available. Hearing the event from Carlos, envisioning the terror the Medinas—Carlos—must have experienced, made her chest go tight with pain for them.
    â€œHow awful that must have been for your family. I can’t even begin to imagine.”
    â€œIt was not an easy time in our lives,” he understated simply. He stroked her shoulders, down her arms, never missing a beat even when his breathing became heavier against her hair. “We were not with him. My mother, my brothers and I went a different escape route once the rebels attacked. My father didn’t want to risk us being captured with him so he attempted to make them follow him instead.”
    The picture unfolding in her mind was beyond imagining, but he seemed unwilling to take any comfort from her. Hell, he wouldn’t even let her look at him.
    â€œHow old were you?”
    â€œThirteen,” he answered starkly.
    He traced up her arms again and stopped at the back of her dress. He slid a finger inside along her neck, just under the zipper, stroking one vertebra at a time. His sensuous touch was at such odds with their stark discussion, but then Carlos had always been a huge contradiction. The compassionate surgeon, gruff professional.
    Tender lover, reserved friend.
    And he clearly wanted to keep things on a physical level rather than emotional. How perfect since she’d thought the same thing herself not too long ago. Her headlolled forward and his hand tucked under the cashmere, fanning along either side of her spine, kneading nerve endings.
    The zipper parted, only an inch, but still she gasped at the boldness of his move. Cool air brushed the tiny patch of bared flesh a second before his knuckles warmed her skin.
    â€œShhh,” he coaxed. “I’m not doing anything other than rubbing your back to make the trip more comfortable.”
    She laughed softly. “Do you think I’m foolish?”
    â€œLet me rephrase,” he said against her ear. “I will not do anything more unless you ask.”
    Her heart stuttered at the image that conjured and the sensual power that gave her. What would it be like to claim the toe-curling bliss he could give her so easily?
    So dispassionately?
    She forced her thoughts to disengage from the path, dismayed to think he could pull away from her as smoothly as he could set her whole body to flame. No amount of temptation could lure her into that dangerous terrain. She wouldn’t be his next Nancy Wolcott, sprinting to the shelter of her little hatchback car in the rain while Carlos watched with his cool, unmoved gaze.
    â€œWell, take note then, Carlos, because I won’t ask for more from you.” She was only willing to let the physical side go so far. For now? Until when?
    â€œThat sounds like a challenge.”
    She turned slightly, meeting his eyes, their mouths so close every word was almost a kiss. “Do you really promise