The Unexpected Honeymoon (12 page)

How silly, getting a lump in her throat over a bottle of water, but there it was, thick and large, and causing her chest to grow tight.

“Everything all right?” Carlos called back.

Everything was great. Pouring two glasses, she made her way back to his side.

Carlos steered the boat west to where an inlet divided the jungle into two before cutting the ending. From there, they floated in silence toward the trees, where the last rays of sunlight broke through toward the water. “I'm afraid this is the best sunset I can do given how they built the resort,” he told her. “You would get a far better view from the oceanside.”

“It's perfect,” Larissa told him. Handing off one of the glasses, she used her free hand to pull him close for a deep kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.

“If this is how you thank me for an obstructed sunset, perhaps I should arrange for a glass-bottomed boat cruise so you can see the real deal.” He swiped his thumb over her lower lip, a tease in comparison to the mouth hovering near hers. “Of course, on an ocean cruise, we wouldn't have as much privacy. My boating skills are limited to small launches.”

“I can't believe you told your employees to leave.”

“Would you rather I'd asked them to stay?”

“They're going to talk.”

“They are already.”

“And you don't mind?” He never did address her comment from earlier.

“Naturally, I'd prefer they didn't. For your sake, as much as mine.”

“You're trying to protect my reputation.”

“Shouldn't I?” he asked, thumbing her lip again.

“Is that why you leave before dawn?”

A look flashed in his eyes, but he shuttered them before she could decipher what it meant. “Ah,
querida,
I'm not keeping you a secret if that's what you're asking.”

“Then...”

“Because if I waited until you woke up, we'd stay in bed all day.”

That wasn't the reason; the fearful flash she saw said as much, but before she could challenge him, Carlos bent his head and nipped, vampire-like, at the curve of her neck. “Have I mentioned how incredibly beautiful you look in that dress?” It was a distraction of the finest order, because Larissa's knees immediately buckled. She'd let him skate by for now, but promised herself that at some point, she'd find out the truth.

“There is one problem,” he whispered, after a moment.

“A problem?” She found it hard to think clearly when his lips were exploring. “What's that?”

“I may have dismissed the chef prematurely.”

“In other words, we don't have anything to eat on our dinner cruise.” Larissa started to giggle. She couldn't help herself. The unplanned nature of his confession, implying he'd been too overwhelmed by her to think clearly, only made the evening more romantic. Pulling back the curtain, she saw for the first time, the containers of food neatly stacked on the counters. “It shouldn't be too difficult to whip something up.”

“You know how to cook Yucatán cuisine?”

“No, but I can turn on a stove.”

Laughing at Carlos' expression, she began peeking in containers. “We've got marinating meat, chopped vegetables, beans, spices. Might not be authentic, but we can throw something together. Sort of a Yucatán stir-fry?”

“Carnita,”
he said, over her shoulder.

“That's a much better word. How is it everything sounds so much more exotic in Spanish?”

“You only think that because it's a foreign language.”

“A foreign language where people roll their
R
s.
Car-r-r-rnita.
” She imitated his pronunciation. “I love how the words drip off the tongue.”

“Just words,
querida?
”

Heat flooded her from head to toe. He'd added the Spanish endearment on purpose for that exact reason, she bet. “Cook,” she said, directing him to the stove.

While the meal wasn't authentic or even close to gourmet, they managed to mix the ingredients into an edible concoction. Carlos also found a fruit platter and prepared appetizers in the refrigerator. More than enough to make a satisfying meal.

They ate from a shared plate, forgoing the dining table in favor of sitting side by side on the bench, forks and hips invading each other's space. While cooking slowed the physical part of the night, it lent an added layer of intimacy. There was a teamwork required of cooking that made Larissa feel as connected to him as she had during their nights together.

With the sun gone, the jungle had turned black, leaving only the light from the boat reflecting off the watter. Her interest in food long gone, Larissa leaned against Carlos' shoulder and listened to the waves as they lapped against the launch. Somewhere in the darkness, an animal screeched.

“Monkey,” Carlos said, teasing her lips with a piece of papaya. “They live in the canopy. If you watch long enough, you'll catch one swinging across the branches.”

“Sure don't see that in New York. In fact, you don't see any of this in New York. Just buildings. Lots and lots of buildings.” Her sigh sounded overly loud thanks to the silence. “You don't get this kind of quiet in the city, either.”

“Sounds like Mexico has cast a spell on someone.”

“Maybe Mexico has.”
Or someone in Mexico.
Delilah's warning whispered in her ear.

“Well, there's always the wedding coordinator position here at the resort if you want to stay.”

“Tonight, your offer is very tempting.” Only it wouldn't be the job luring her to stay.

“I know something else that is very tempting.” Carlos's breath tickled her cheek as he leaned close to press kisses along her jaw. Fingers cupped her chin, turning her face to his. His tongue flickered over her lips, tasting, teasing. “Why is it I can't get enough of you?” he asked her.

Larissa had been asking herself the same question. Everything about Carlos—the way he moved, the way he spoke, his very existence—was like an aphrodisiac. He'd spoiled her for other men. And now, to top it off, looking into his eyes she saw a tenderness that took her breath away.

She combed her fingers through his thick curls. Maybe she was falling for a fantasy, but right now, she didn't care. Reality was overrated. “Do you need an answer?” she asked him?

“No,” he replied. “Not tonight.” He lowered his mouth to hers.

* * *

“Tell me about her.”

Nestled against his chest, Larissa felt him stiffen. He didn't like the question, but she needed to ask. From the moment the two of them began this attraction, there'd been a third presence in the room. Mirabelle's ghost clung to Carlos. She was the distance Larissa felt when they made love, and the reason for his shuttered expression. After giving herself so freely, Larissa felt she deserved to know more about the woman who kept her from getting closer.

“I don't know what tell you,” he replied.

“You said she was beautiful. Start there.”

His laugh was soft, sad. “Women. Always comparing. Yes, she was very beautiful. First time I saw her, I swore my heart stopped beating. I decided then and there I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. We married three days later.”

Three days. The same length of time they'd been together. The coincidence stung. “Love at first sight.”

“Si.”
What was it he said in the
cenote?
Mirabelle had been the center of his universe? Larissa shoved the tightness in her chest aside. If she didn't want the answer, she shouldn't have asked the question.

“How long were you married before she got sick?”

Again, he stiffened. “I think she was sick all along. I didn't see the signs, is all. We seemed so happy in the beginning. Everything was such a whirlwind. The rush of falling in love had us high for weeks. But eventually, it wore off. I tried to keep her happy, but...” His voice drifted off, despair hanging heavy in the words he didn't say, and it was then Larissa realized Mirabelle's sickness hadn't been physical. She wrapped her arms tighter about his waist. If she held him close enough, perhaps she could soften the hurt. “What happened?” she asked. The hair on the back of her neck stood on edge. Maybe she didn't want to know.

“She drowned,” Carlos replied. “In the pool.”

Dear Lord.
She expected something about fighting or their struggle with mental illness, not such a blunt, flat answer. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

“Jorge and I found her. We tried to revive her, but it was too late.” His body trembled along with his voice. “She'd been drinking heavily those last few days. The authorities said she probably tripped and her legs became tangled in the gown she was wearing.”

In her list of imagined horrors, drowning was one of the worst. Your body screaming for air. Nothing but water filling your lungs. How the poor woman must have suffered. No wonder he'd been so frightened when housekeeping called him to her room.

There was more to the story; she could tell because Carlos's body had grown tenser than ever. With her heart in her throat, Larissa held on tight and waited for him to go on.

When he did, his voice was barely above a whisper. “She was a strong swimmer.”

Larissa sat up. “I don't...” Understand? But she did; she simply didn't want to contemplate. “Are you saying she deliberately...?” She couldn't even say the words.

Carlos shook his head. “She was so unhappy. I tried—we all tried so hard—but nothing every worked. The darkness, the insecurities, they always won.”

“Oh, Carlos.” Larissa couldn't imagine living with such uncertainty. Carrying all that grief and guilt. No wonder he emanated such pain. She'd only heard his story, and her own heart ached on his behalf.

“You can't know for certain,” she said. Cradling his jaw, she forced him to meet her eyes so he could see the reassurance she so badly wanted him to feel. “It still could have been an accident. The authorities—they have ways of knowing what happened. They'd know if...”

“If she got tired of trying?” He brushed the hair from her face, his hand coming to rest in a mirror image of her own. “You're right,
querida.
We will never know for sure. It doesn't matter. I hate her all the same.”

“What?” The harshness caught her off guard. How could he hate the woman who owned his heart?

Giving her forehead a kiss, Carlos eased himself away from her. The absence of his body made the bench a cold and lonely place, and she drew her knees close to stay warm. She watched as he poured himself a glass of water, graceful even in distress. “I suppose you think I'm heartless for saying so.”

“I— No.”

“You don't?”

“No, I don't.”

In fact, she understood better than he realized the questions those left behind were stuck dealing with. Why did she leave? Weren't you enough to make her happy? Hadn't she asked all those questions herself as a child? When a person walked away, the betrayal lingered.

“You're angry with her.”

“
Angry
is not a strong enough word for what I feel.” He jammed the bottle into the melted ice. “I loved her. I
worshiped
her. But my love wasn't enough. She always needed more. Excitement, fireworks. She wanted the honeymoon to never end, and I obliged. I gave and I gave until I was drained dry. And it still wasn't enough. I wasn't enough.” The sentence came out close to a sob.

Her poor, poor Carlos. His cynicism made sense now. How else could he feel when he gave his heart, only to come up short.

“I was such a fool,” he said. “I believed love would solve everything. But no. Love does nothing. And now...” He looked away with a sigh. “And now, I can't love anyone anymore. I'm empty.”

“No,” Larissa whispered. “That's not true.”

“Yes,
querida.
I am. Best I can do is a night like this.”

A wonderful, magical night.
He wasn't empty. Far from it. The ache in her heart shifted, deepened. If only she could make him see. Knew the right words to say. She opened her mouth, but inspiration didn't come.

Without words, she'd have to use the next best thing. She closed the space between them. He looked so beautiful standing in the dim light, his skin streaked by shadows. Unable not to, she traced the patterns with her finger. Across his collarbone, down his breastbone. The beat of his heart rose up through his skin to greet her. Strong, full. Not empty at all.

For three days, she'd been standing on the edge of an emotional crevasse, and now the gap wrenched open, propelling her over the edge. She pressed her lips against the sound, and gifted his heart with her own.

A groan broke the silence. Carlos's hands tangled in her hair. “Larissa...”

She held him tight, and prayed for Mirabelle to disappear.

* * *

Morning was streaming through the mango branches when Carlos pulled the launch to Larissa's villa. Long—long—past when the other cruises had returned.

Standing in the cabin doorway, Larissa hugged her coffee mug, and watched as he neatly abutted the dock. “You were right,” she told him. “Café D'orzo is way better than regular coffee. I'm going to have to tell Chloe's boyfriend to add it to the coffee shop menu. He can call it Carlos's Special.”

The specter of a smile graced Carlos's mouth. Since they woke up, awkwardness had hung between them, heavy and uncomfortable, more in keeping with a one-night stand than two people who shared an intimate encounter. Their lovemaking had been open and honest, but immediately afterwards, Carlos closed down. Regretting he'd shared too much or afraid of the way he let Larissa in? Most likely both.

There was a soft bump as boat met wood. “Guess this means the moonlight cruise has come to an end,” she said.

“Seeing as how the moonlight ended a few hours ago, I'd say so.” He took the coffee cup from her hands, then pulled her in for a cinnamon-flavored kiss. The ardor was the same as always, along with his guarded expression. She'd so hoped things might have changed.