“No!” she screamed, racing across the room. “Don’t do that!” She threw open the door.
And then, there he was. Carlos. So smart. So sweet. So handsome in his suit and undone tie. So…everything a young girl dreamed about.
For months she’d hoped he would see her as more than the slightly troublesome, sometimes funny teenager who hung on his sister’s every word. For months she’d wished he would see her as the kind of full-grown woman she’d been desperately trying to become. The kind of woman worthy of the attention of someone like him.
But now she thanked her lucky stars he’d never come to think of her as anything more than a kid, his twin sister’s sarcastic little protégé. Because if he felt for her even half of what she felt for him, it would make the lie she’d agreed to tell just that much more terrible.
“Abby.” He pushed passed the two men in black suits and shoulder holsters positioned on either side of her hotel door. Years… If her father won the election, she would have to suffer years more—at least four and possibly eight—of this complete and utter lack of privacy.
For a moment, she considered throwing it all away. If she confessed to Carlos, if she confessed to the world, perhaps her father wouldn’t win and then everything, her life, could go back to normal. She’d never wanted any of this anyway…
For a second, the idea, the temptation, took hold, making her heart race with the possibilities. But in the next breath, she knew she couldn’t ruin her father’s dream, destroy everything he’d worked for his entire life. It wouldn’t be fair to him. It wouldn’t be fair to her mother, who’d spent long, exhausting hours on the campaign trail, giving speeches and living on greasy roadside food. It wouldn’t be fair to Caroline, who was riding on their father’s coattails to possibly win a seat in the House of Representatives.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” Carlos said as she nodded to her security detail and closed the door. “With our parents gone—” He suddenly stopped and ran a hand back through his hair, choking. That sound…that defeated sound coming from the throat of a man who’d always seemed invincible, had tears welling and spilling freely down her cheeks. Her chest burned like she’d swallowed a handful of poison sumac. “Thank the good Madre Maria they didn’t live long enough to see this day. To see her…empty,” he husked the words, “casket lowered into the ground.”
To keep from reaching out to him, she gripped her hands so tightly in front of her that her short nails threatened to draw blood. Touching him was out of the question. She had no right.
“None of our friends loved her like you did.” He turned to her, his brilliant black eyes full of tears. “That’s why I had to come. Because you’re the only one who can understand what I’m—”
A sob cut him off before he could finish. And that’s when he reached for her. Dear God! He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her as he laid his cheek atop her head and cried. Carlos was crying! She could feel his hot tears seeping into her hair, feel his big body shake with the enormity of his grief. And how long had she waited to be taken into his embrace? How long had she dreamed of holding him close and placing her head against his chest?
But it was never meant to be like this. Never like this…
“Carlos.” She tried to pull back even though it was the last thing she wanted. If she were to die right here, wrapped up in him, it would be fine by her. In fact, a part of her wished for it. Then the pain would stop. “I can’t—”
His arms tightened, keeping her close. Oh, the glorious torture of it. Of breathing him in. Of hearing his heart hammer so solidly against her ear. Of knowing that he’d shove her away in a nanosecond if he knew what—
“I’m dropping out,” he confessed. “I’m joining the Army. I need to make sure those—”
“No.” This time she was successful in pushing out of his arms. “Carlos, no! You’re a doctor! A wonderful doctor. Don’t throw that away. Rosa”—the woman’s name stuck in her throat as if she’d tried to swallow a whole grapefruit in one gulp—“wouldn’t want you to—”
“It’s done.” He wiped a hand under his nose. His tan face was splotchy from crying, the whites of his eyes an angry, heartrending red. “I need an outlet for all this violence inside me.”
She grabbed his forearms in a desperate grip. “We’re at war! You could be killed!” The thought was untenable. Intolerable.