Rina settled onto the facing sofa and watched as he drained the mug in a series of slow pulls. “More?” she asked as he put the mug down on the coffee table between them.
“No, thanks. I suppose I should head back into town, to my place.” He gave a massive yawn. “Sooner, rather than later.”
“You could stay here,” Rina offered, even though she had no idea if the cottage boasted more than one bedroom.
An unsettling thought occurred to her. Wouldn’t he expect to sleep in the same bed with her? What if he wanted to be intimate—to seek comfort from the shock of his brother’s near death in her arms? He was her sister’s fiancé—wouldn’t that be normal under the circumstances? What on earth had she been thinking inviting him to stay?
Rey shot her a heavy-lidded look. “Are you sure?”
Oh God, what had she done? She could always plead a headache, a period, or tiredness herself, she supposed. But what if this ridiculous attraction she felt for him enticed her into doing something she knew she shouldn’t?
Reason overcame fear. He was shattered, and she knew firsthand the physical toll emotional exhaustion took on a person. She doubted he’d have the energy to do anything more than hold her while she slept. A prospect that she had to admit, she found almost too appealing. But it wouldn’t go beyond that. Above all, he was her sister’s fiancé—she could never betray Sara’s trust like that. Ever.
“Hey, I think one del Castillo in the hospital right now is enough, don’t you?”
He smiled a sweet, crooked smile. “Two, if you count Abuelo at the convalescent home.”
“Good point,” she agreed with a smile. “They say three’s a charm but let’s not tempt fate, shall we?”
“I’ll get my things from the car.”
His things? Did he often sleep over?
“I always keep a set ready in case I stay with one of my brothers,” he explained, in response to the obvious surprise on her face.
“I’ll, um…I’ll go use the bathroom while you settle in, then.”
Rina bolted for the bedroom and shoved her suitcase in a small closet, then rifled through her sister’s chest of drawers for a nightgown, praying she still possessed at least one or two that were halfway decent. If he had slept here before, he’d know about things like that, wouldn’t he?
She fervently wished, not for the first time today, that Sara hadn’t put her in this position. Her fingers closed around an old, oversize T-shirt. She lifted it from the drawer and shook it out. Should be long enough, she surmised—and not sexy enough, which was even more important. Rina bunched the fabric in one fist and made it to the bathroom even as she heard Rey come back in through the front door.
The old metal lock clicked into place, the sound echoing through the tiny cottage like a knell of some sort. She swallowed against the sudden knot of tension that lodged in the base of her throat. What she wouldn’t give for a chance to talk to Sara right this minute.
She swung the bathroom door shut behind her and reached for the toiletries she’d scattered around the bathroom before her shower. It only took a couple of minutes to wash her face free of makeup and brush her hair. She took her time over her teeth, even as she promised herself it didn’t make any difference. It wasn’t as if she and Reynard del Castillo would be indulging in anything other than sleep tonight.
By the time she pulled the soft, worn T-shirt over her head, her heart was beating erratically. If she didn’t get a hold of herself soon she’d be the next one in hospital. Rina forced herself to breathe slowly; her fingers curled tight around the cool, white porcelain pedestal basin as if it was her only anchor in the world. She could do this. All she had to do was fall asleep. Should be simple, right? Forget that the time at home was something ridiculous like seven or eight in the morning—her body clock was so out of whack she should be on the verge of falling asleep on her feet.
But instead all she could think about was how it had felt to be pressed hard up against the strength of Reynard’s body. How his scent had filled her nostrils. Not just the scent of the male fragrance he wore, but him. The man exuded pheromones, if her body’s reaction was any judge. Any poor judge, she reminded herself. But the desperate truth was that she craved to be held like that again—to be made to feel precious and treasured. Safe. Wanted.