She shook her head. "I should have taken the time to come up with a better way to break the news to him. But, he's rarely ever hit me. I didn't expect that. And I did goad him. I don't seem to be able to help it." She let out a deep sigh.
"It's not your fault he hit you, Kira."
She nodded, but didn't look convinced. "I think I'd just like to take a long, hot bath and get cleaned up. Maybe order dinner in . . ."
I understood; she was asking to be alone. "Of course. I'll go get settled in the other room." Kira nodded and I moved to the door separating her room from the rest of the suite, picking up my overnight bag from the floor where I'd left it. I would have liked to make myself comfortable in the room she was sleeping in, but after what happened with Kira's father and her ex-fiancé, I knew this was not the time to push my physical agenda on her. I felt a new sense of guilt for trying to push anything on her at all—it seemed she'd had enough of that for one lifetime.
"Oh and Grayson," she said, turning halfway toward me. "Thank you for what you said to my father about me being your wife . . ."
I paused. "You are my wife."
She smiled softly. "You know what I mean. You made it sound like I was your real wife. It was very convincing."
I frowned slightly, but wasn't sure what to say. It was true—she wasn't my real wife. If she were, I would know what to do right now to clear that haunted look in her eyes. I just nodded instead. "I'll see you in the morning."
I went into my room and took a shower, washing the road dust from my body and trying to cleanse the feel of the confrontation with Kira's father from my mind. Everything in me had wanted to punch Frank Dallaire in his face when he'd slapped Kira. But I'd held back. Assaulting someone would only send me back to prison and I wouldn't risk it. In that way, the incident had served to remind me of my shame, brought home my limitations as a man. If I needed to, how would I even fight for my woman now? My woman. No, perhaps Kira wasn't my woman in that sense, but the point still held weight.
I sighed, moving my mind back to Frank Dallaire. I'd never paid a whole lot of attention to San Francisco politics, but I’d perceived him to be a well-liked mayor, tough, but fair, a friend to minorities and the middle class. I guessed it just went to show what a game politics was. I found it hard to believe a man who treated his beautiful daughter so abominably was much of a real friend to anyone but himself.
And now he was my temporary father-in-law. God, what had I gotten myself involved in? I could only hope Kira was right—he'd put some spin on it for the public if need be, and let us both go about our business. Why did I have a bad feeling that wouldn't be the case? I shook it off, got dressed, and went to sit on the balcony for a little while, wondering what Kira was doing in the other room. I couldn't help but picture her naked body submerged in water, her skin slick and wet, that wild hair falling in disarray from whatever clip she'd used to hold it back. Heat surged in my veins, but at the same time, I wanted to take her in my arms and soothe the hurt and embarrassment I’d seen on her face as I'd left the room. I didn't know how to classify these new and confusing feelings. But sitting there, something powerful grew inside me—a masculine need to possess my wife, combined with a protectiveness I wasn't prepared to feel.
Stop this. Stop this right now.
But I couldn't help it. I wanted to put that bright light back in her eyes, to comfort her, see that witchy little dimple. I leaned my head back and let out a groan. This would never work. I had to rein myself in. None of that was my job. We had started this marriage as a business arrangement and even if we gave in to our attraction to one another, it had to remain on those terms. We were married—our relationship had to be all or nothing. We couldn't wade into the murkiness of something that couldn't be defined. It wouldn't end well for either of us. Knowing about Rosa Maria and her father, I had a little more understanding about her hesitance to get involved with me. She probably saw a physical relationship between us as little more than what they'd had. Was it?
Confusion swirled within me. Perhaps I should abandon the idea of satisfying my physical need for her now that I could admit there was more involved than just sexual desire, now that I could admit I cared about her as a person. But for some reason I lost control around her and all my best intentions went by the wayside. Every time. And I still couldn't understand exactly why. What was it about her that unbalanced me so much?
What I did know? Kira was in the same hotel suite and maybe she needed company. Maybe she needed me. Or maybe I was just hoping she did.
After looking over the room service menu and putting in an order to be delivered to our suite, I knocked on the door to her bedroom. She answered wearing a pair of jeans and a black top, her feet bare and her hair still partially wet. Her face was free of makeup and she looked very beautiful and very young. Of course, she was very young, only twenty-two. I didn't think about her age very often, perhaps because sometimes she acted like a naughty child, and sometimes she seemed so very wise. And of course, those glimpses of depth and insight had only served to make her more interesting to me. Intriguing little witch. I entered, inhaling the light flowery scent that was hers.
"Hi," she said, eyeing me suspiciously.
I walked into her room without being invited. "I took the liberty of ordering dinner for us. I know you like Charlotte's beef stroganoff. I'm sure the chef here isn't nearly as good as Charlotte, but . . ." I shrugged. Kira looked slightly unsure, but then let out a breath, obviously acquiescing.