Page 45 of Desire Me
“I know you didn’t want us to come,” she began.
“Mamá.” He shook his head. “I meant it when I said it’s fine. You are always welcome here, you know that. I just don’t want anything or anyone violating Rae’s privacy.” He tossed the sponge he’d used to wipe down the waffle iron into the sink. “I know you probably talked to Mercedes about what’s going on, about Rae being here. But her situation is serious, and I can’t go into it without telling you more than I feel is right.”
Her smile was genuine, understanding, without a hint of offense. “Then we can go.” She stood from the barstool where she had sat, waiting for his father to bring in the food she probably hoped would get on his good side. Her cooking always got on his good side, but this time…
“Mamá, I’m sorry.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful.”
His mother approached, her hands out to cup his cheeks. “Why would I think you’re disrespectful? You’re concerned about your woman; in the end that’s all that matters.”
He almost—almost—protested the use ofyour woman, but she was right. Rae was his woman, and she absolutely came first now, in everything. Staring down, he met his mother’s gaze head-on, observing the wrinkles fanned out from the corners of her eyes, showing all the emotion of a lifetime—all the love, all the passion and happiness and yes, all the pain. And he realized, he’d seen those lines on her face, on his father’s face, a million times, but this time he understood them. He finally understood the emotion that had etched their countenances through the years. He finally understood what it was like to truly love a woman.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Or heart.
Those knowing eyes were watching him, and no doubt she was catching everything. When she gave him a slow, satisfied smile, he knew for certain. “I’m happy for you, son.”
“Happy for what?” his father asked, entering the kitchen with a pot that, from the scent, must hold five pounds of Saint’s favorite dish, paella.
Before his mother could answer, Rae entered the living area. His gaze was drawn to her like a magnet; he was moving before he even realized it.
“For that,” his mother murmured as Saint passed her.
“Oh.”
He ignored his father’s soft realization and hurried for Rae. Her eyes were round, focused on his parents, but he stepped in to block her view, take her hand. “It’s okay. Just”—he couldn’t help a grimace, anticipating her reaction—“my parents.”
But it wasn’t resentment or anger that sparked in her eyes. More like amusement. “Your parents, huh?”
That look had a faint dread starting to swell in his chest. He narrowed his eyes on her. “You’re gonna have fun with this, aren’t you?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” But her smile said she knew exactly what he was talking about, and was definitely going to play it to the hilt.
No use fighting it. At least he didn’t stumble over the introductions. Rae shook his mother’s hand, but his father was having none of it.
“I do not shakemis hijas’hands,” he said firmly and leaned in to give Rae a kiss on each cheek.
Rae blushed prettily. “I can see where Saint got his charm as well as his good looks, Mr. Solorio.”
“Isaias, please.”
“And Linda,” his mother said.
Saint guided them all back toward the kitchen. “You haven’t eaten,” he told Rae.
In short order he had her plate reheated and his family seated around the kitchen, chatting happily while he made more coffee. Listening to Rae’s easy tone, he wondered if this distraction wasn’t exactly what she needed after all.
“So, any more stories about Saint taking off his clothes?”
He knew she was referring to the story Mercedes had told about him at his grandparents’ anniversary party, but still he felt a rare blush creep up his cheeks. His turned back saved his dignity until he was forced to carry their four mugs back to the island. His mother was laughing, and she definitely didn’t miss the blush. “That one always preferred to be naked.”
“That’s okay.” Rae leaned close as he sat beside her, murmuring in his ear, “I think I’d prefer him that way too.” Her hand on his thigh squeezed lightly. “Too bad I haven’t gotten to test out that theory yet.”
He turned his head to bury his nose in her hair, inhaling her coconut scent. “Soon.”
When he straightened, his parents were watching them, smiling.
“Mercedes told us you’d been in the hospital,” his mother said after they’d finished eating. Saint started to protest, his instinct to intervene, to protect, but Rae squeezed his thigh again, and when he met her eyes, she gave him a bit of a sad smile.I have to stand on my own two feet,that smile said. He struggled against it, his own need wanting to push to the forefront, but in the end he gave Rae a slight nod.
“I was,” she said, still looking at him, then to his parents. “I had a head injury.”
