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An hour later, Quinn dropped a third empty beer bottle onto the thick grass and leaned back in the lounge chair. She took a deep breath, but the smell of the vaho hibiscus suddenly seemed artificial and alien. Pete’s visit had torn away her illusion of security. The past would catch up with her no matter how far she ran.
Tomorrow she would have to tell Mikel about Pete’s visit. She didn’t want her boss to think she had anything to hide.
Self-pity slid through her, and for a minute, she let herself wallow. But when a tear slithered down her cheek, she scoured it off with the back of her hand and shoved out of the chair.
Grabbing her three empties from the grass, she headed for the back door, nearly dropping the bottles when her phone shrilled with the sound of the electronic doorbell.
“If that’s Pete…” She fumbled her cell out of her pocket and checked the video feed to see Gabriel propped against the railing of her front steps, staring at the camera in a slightly unfocused way. “Holy shit!”
Racing into the kitchen, she dumped the bottles in the recycling bin. The doorbell squawked again. She wanted to check her hair in the powder room mirror, but her phone screeched another time, so she kept going to the front door. “Keep your pants on, el duque!”
She yanked open the door and yelped. A horse stood at the foot of the steps, tethered to the railing. “You brought your horse?”
She turned to find Gabriel smiling at her crookedly. “You can’t drink and drive, but there’s no law against drinking and riding.”
He was drunk. Now she realized that he was using the railing to hold himself up, his hip braced against it while his long denim-clad legs slanted out from under him at a slight angle. “You rode your horse into San Ignacio, and no one stopped you?”
“I had to explain that it wasn’t illegal to a couple of people, but then they understood.”
More likely they figured out who they were dealing with. No one would dare to detain the Duke of Bencalor. She hoped they had let palace security know, because she had no idea what to do with the horse.
“What happened to your bodyguard?” she asked, scanning the street again.
“I was on a secret mission on horseback, so I didn’t need one.” He listed sideways on the railing.
“You’d better come inside before you fall over,” she said, amazed he had stayed in the saddle. “Will your horse be okay out here?”
“He is a loyal beast. He will wait for me.” Gabriel tried to push himself away from the railing and stumbled. Quinn caught him by his left arm to steady him, her fingers digging into the hard swell of his bicep under the black cotton of his T-shirt. He staggered against her, his weight throwing her against the doorjamb and startling a grunt out of her.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, hauling himself upright by grabbing the doorframe. “I’m very sorry. I just need to find my balance. It’s here somewhere.”
“You need a chair and some coffee,” Quinn said, wrapping his arm over her shoulders to steady him. “This way.”
It was impossible not to notice the heat and heft of his body as he leaned on her. She held on to his wrist to keep his arm in place and felt the strong beat of his pulse against her fingertips. The faint exotic fragrance of his soap was overlaid by the odors of garlic and alcohol, yet she still wanted to bury her nose in his shirt and breathe in.
As the shock of his presence wore off, she wondered why the heck he had come to her house. In fact, how did he know where she lived? Scratch that, he was a royal duke. He had people who would find that information for him.
“I like your home,” Gabriel said, his words barely slurred.
“I’d be a lot more flattered if you were sober,” she said, guiding him in a less than straight line to the sectional in her living area.
“Being drunk does not affect my…my aesthetic judgment.” Gabriel sank onto the sofa without releasing his hold on her shoulders so she ended up sitting pressed against his side.
“Just all your other kinds of judgment, although I give you credit for saying ‘aesthetic’ pretty clearly.” She attempted to disentangle herself from his grip, but he pulled her in closer.
“Don’t leave me,” he said.
“I’m going to make you some coffee.” She tried again to get up.
“I don’t want coffee.” He splayed his long fingers over her shoulder so that one brushed over the upper curve of her breast. Her nipple hardened with a tingle of pleasure.
“Okay.” She turned within his grip and wedged one knee against his thigh to put some space between their bodies. “Then why are you here?”
He tilted his head back against the cushion and draped his free arm over his eyes. “Why am I here?”
She’d had more experience than she wanted with inebriated men. She needed to ask him an easier question. “Where were you before you came here?”
“At a bar. In Jaca.”
