Part 12 (1/2)

”Conspiring has a negative connotation, which is why the common phrase is conspiring against. What we're doing is convincing you, since this is an activity you'd enjoy.”

”You do love the fountain, Mom,” Anna argued. ”Please? It's almost eight already. If we want to go, we should get there before it's too crowded so we can stake out a spot on the gra.s.s, up close.”

”I've never seen it.” Stefano's voice dripped with mock pleading. ”If I don't see it now, I might never have the opportunity-”

”You will so! You're coming back to visit me again!” Anna spun in the seat and landed a fake punch to Stefano's ribs, which sent him careening off the bench with a laugh.

”Fine, fine, I'll visit! But we're supposed to be convincing your mother to go tonight, not pointing out that we can go another time.”

”Oh. Right.”

Megan raised her hands in surrender. ”We'll go. Before you two injure yourselves trying to convince me.”

Anna leapt off the bench and high-fived Stefano. ”Nice work, Mr. Jones. You're very convincing.”

Megan rolled her eyes as father and daughter led the way, arm in arm. So much for semantics. Attending the fountain's water show might not be a negative, as Stefano put it when explaining conspiring versus convincing, but it was definitely dangerous.

Chapter Eighteen.

Stefano stole a look at Megan before drinking in the sight of his sleeping daughter. Half of Anna's hair remained captured atop her head in a bright purple ponytail holder while the rest hung in messy chunks over her face, which was planted just above Megan's left knee. Anna's expression as Megan rubbed her back was one of quiet bliss.

d.a.m.n if he wasn't jealous of a kid.

From the moment he'd spotted Megan in the crowd outside La Boqueria, a lopsided, half-awake smile on her face and her hair gleaming in the early morning light, he'd itched to touch her. He'd fought the urge to put his hand at the small of her back to guide her along the aisles as they'd wandered the market after breakfast, even going so far as walking with his hands in his pockets and keeping Anna between them to act as a buffer.

But then she'd paused to purchase a bar of soap and the fresh green scent, one forever intermingled in his mind with the heat of their shared shower, overrode his common sense. He'd leaned in close. He'd flirted. And when she'd spun face him, he'd seen desire in her gaze.

If Anna hadn't returned to ask about the silly pink candle, he'd have kissed Megan then and there.

He'd managed the cathedral and the chocolate museum without giving in to her pull. It was easier outside the confines of the market, with its rich smells and romantic atmosphere. But there'd been a moment late in the afternoon when he'd caught a view of Megan from the side that made him ache. They'd offered to wait under a Gothic arch while Anna scampered across the street to drop a Euro in a musician's open violin case. The sun streamed between the buildings and through the stone arch at such an angle that it shone through Megan's soft blue irises, making them sparkle like crystal as she'd watched her daughter look both ways, then cross the narrow street.

Their daughter.

It was all he could do not to draw Megan close and kiss her on the forehead, just under the stray strands of hair twisting along her temple, and tell her how fortunate he felt. How amazing and miraculous it was that they shared this vivacious girl. How much he wanted to be with them-with her-and spend all his weekends this way. Instead, he'd turned away, allowing the moment to pa.s.s.

When they'd returned to La Rambla at dusk, tiny lights looped through the trees that grew down the center of the boulevard sparkled to life. The scent of roasting chestnuts floated through the air. Young adults gathered around tables in cafes on either side of the cobblestone street while lovers strolled past, arms around each other's waists. He saw Megan's gaze follow one young couple and thought of gently taking her hand in his-an easy, natural gesture given their surroundings-but she'd drifted away to admire a piece of art in a store window.

She wasn't playing hard to get, as other women he'd been with liked to do. Instead, she was doing exactly as she promised, allowing him the opportunity to spend time with his daughter.

So it was Anna's hand he held under the glittering treetop lights. It was for the best.

The more time he spent with Megan, the more impressed he became with all she'd accomplished. He'd known she was a strong, independent woman before he'd even spoken to her. When he first saw her walking in that alley in Venezuela, she'd been shouldering more pipe than most men would and doing it without complaint. She'd allowed him to help her, but she hadn't liked it. He could tell she wasn't the type who wanted to depend on others for anything.

If he pressured her now, she might view it as a challenge to her independence. But if he could keep his distance, let her see for herself that he could be a good father to Anna and a good partner for her, perhaps she'd reconsider his offer of marriage.

He had to give up control. Let her guide their relations.h.i.+p.

He also had to be patient. Patience, however, was hard to come by when Megan sat shoulder to shoulder with him in the near dark. As much as his brain told him to appeal to her logical side, his body craved an entirely different approach.

”She hasn't crashed like this since she was a little girl.” Megan s.h.i.+fted so Anna's head rested more comfortably in her lap.

The three of them had selected spots in the gra.s.s near the fountain to wait for the show to start, with Anna asking Megan to sit in the middle, since that put Anna in a better position to see the fountain. But as more couples and families filled the open s.p.a.ce around them, Anna put her head down for ”just a sec” and was out.

”It's understandable. She woke up early and walked a long way today.”

Stefano removed his amber sungla.s.ses and propped them onto his tattered baseball hat so he could better see Megan. He could feel divots on either side of his nose as a result of wearing gla.s.ses for more than twelve hours and his leg muscles ached from sitting cross-legged. He wasn't used to being in the midst of such a crowd outdoors and hadn't counted on the discomfort of folding his legs under him. To buy s.p.a.ce, he leaned back and propped his hands behind him.

”Think she'll wake up when it starts?” he asked.

”Hard to say. Maybe. It's all right if you'd like to call it a night.” She leaned forward to study Stefano's face. Her eyes clouded and a small crease appeared between her brows. ”You look tired, too.”

”It's been a long day. Didn't think I looked that bad, though.” He scrubbed a hand over his chin. ”Maybe it's the beard. Makes me look like I haven't slept.”

”I must say, this” -Megan reached up to touch the stubble covering his face- ”is something else. I've never seen you with a five o'clock shadow. Even in Venezuela.”

He froze as her warm fingers glided over his cheek and chin, then wondered if his sudden stillness alerted her to his intense reaction to her touch. If not, his desire must have shown in his eyes, for when she met his gaze with her own, she slowly withdrew her hand and lowered it to the gra.s.s.

At that moment, cla.s.sical music blasted from speakers surrounding the fountain. Hundreds, if not thousands, of voices cheered as plumes of water sailed skyward in time to the music. The sight had to be spectacular, judging from the sounds of the crowd and the mult.i.tude of camera flashes, but he didn't dare look.

Megan sat motionless, her eyes turned toward him rather than the fountain. Despite the cacophony around them, Anna didn't stir.

In that moment, a sensation gripped his heart he'd never before experienced.

He didn't simply admire this woman. He loved her. He loved her strength. Her independence. Her open smile. Her ability to forgive the fact she'd been blocked from informing him about her pregnancy, and that he'd become engaged so soon after leaving her. And he especially loved her honesty, when she could've continued to keep Anna a secret. All of it spoke to the kind of woman she was. Unique in the world. Unique in his life.

He could never, ever let her go.

But he couldn't tell her, not until he was certain she felt the same. If he breathed a word, she'd think he was trying to manipulate her into marriage.

”No one has seen me like this,” he finally said, running a hand over his face full of stubble. ”Other than during field training, when I didn't have access to a razor for a few days, I haven't let it grow. I've certainly never been photographed with it.”

A muscle jumped in her throat as she lowered her gaze to his mouth. ”Good way to disguise yourself, then.”

He was losing the battle now. His fingers curled in the gra.s.s as he grappled with his overwhelming need to kiss her. To show her, even if he couldn't tell her, how he felt. Perhaps, just once- ”Stefano? Is that you?”

Megan's eyes rose to his in a mix of surprise and concern. The voice had come from beyond Megan, beyond the middle-aged couple seated in the gra.s.s next to her. Shaken back to reality, he leaned forward, seeking out its source.

”It's me,” the feminine voice came again. ”Ilsa.”

Then he spotted her sitting about fifteen or twenty feet away with a group of young women who, judging from their dress, were planning to spend the evening barhopping or dancing after the water show. When Ilsa saw he'd located her, she fanned her fingers in a small wave.

Cautiously, he glanced around. Everyone else's attention was riveted on the fountain. He looked back to Ilsa and smiled, then put a finger to his lips.

”Ilsa?” Megan hadn't moved. She seemed afraid to look. ”The woman from the Grandspire party?”