Emma turned to watch, her words on hold. On the shoulders of half-a-dozen men, now coming up the pavement, rested a statue of the orphanage’s patron saint. Painted in bright colors and tinted with gold leaf, the carved wooden image commanded a position above the throng. Behind it, the girls walked hand in hand, their white dresses starched and ironed, gleaming in the dying light of evening.

Above the music and shouts of the crowd was another noise, something more pressing. Emma looked at the clouds over the cathedral. Just as she did, a jagged streak of lightning lit up the sky. A moment later, the rain began.

THEY REMAINED in the café while the crowds in front of the window fled from the downpour. Raul studied Emma as they waited. She could feel his steady stare and knew he wanted to ask her what was going on with Kelman. But he didn’t.

After an hour, it was clear the rain was not going to quit. It came down in sheets, cold and without mercy. The street was already flooded, the muddy water floating over the curb to splash along the sidewalk. They discussed the situation, Raul deciding finally they couldn’t wait any longer. He dashed outside into the rain to retrieve the truck only to return a short time later with bad news.

“There’s something wrong with the Rover.” He shook his head, which sent out a flurry of raindrops. “I can’t get it started. I seriously doubt I can get it looked at this late, either. Is there somewhere we could stay the night?”

Her pulse quickened. “There’s a small hotel over by the orphanage.”

“I suggest we head for it,” he said, his dark eyes gleaming. “There doesn’t seem to be another alternative right now.”

She nodded once, her eyes on his. If there was a different option, she didn’t really want to know what it was.

The small hotel had been a convent a hundred years before. They ran into the lobby, dripping wet from their dash from the cab they’d taken. With cash in hand, Raul quickly made his way to the front of the line, and a minute later, he returned with two keys.

They followed the bellboy out of the lobby and down a dark corridor. After a few minutes of twisting turns and blind corners, the hallway unexpectedly opened into an interior atrium. The wind and rain hadn’t relented and, in fact, seemed to be growing. The roses planted in the tiny, protected area whipped about under the cruel onslaught, their bloodred blossoms trembling as they brushed the ground. The temperature had dropped, as well, and Emma found herself shivering.

They continued down the hallway, making so many more turns that Emma was completely disoriented. She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, but it was only shadows, perhaps the ghosts of the long-ago nuns. Finally, at the end of one particularly dark corridor, the bellboy stopped in front of a set of double doors. They looked heavy and solid, and were made of carved wood. Taking Emma’s key, he unlocked them and pushed them open to reveal a tiny room.

It was as spare as it had been when the nuns lived in it. Whitewashed walls. One lone window set high up. Two twin beds with a small chest between them. A single door led to an even smaller bathroom. There was nothing else.

“It’s all they had,” Raul told her. “Mine’s down the hall-even smaller, they said.”

“This is fine,” she said. “Just fine.”

But it wasn’t.

It was lonely and stark and totally without warmth. She’d go nuts in there by herself, and she didn’t like it a bit. She wanted one room and one big bed.

And Raul’s arms around her the whole night long.

He looked down at her, and that was all it took. He turned and gave the bellboy a handful of bolivianos and the key to the other room. Neither of them heard the doors close.

EMMA DIDN’T SPEAK. She simply moved into his arms and laid her head against his chest. Raul wanted to tell her to stop, that what they were doing was wrong, that she’d hate him later, but he couldn’t. She was too beautiful and too warm and too sexy, and if keeping secrets from her was what he had to do, then he’d just have to add that to his growing list of sins and pray for mercy later.

He folded his arms around her and pulled her closer. Kelman had done or said something while Raul had been away from the table, and it had sent Emma over the edge. He was a bastard for knowing this and taking advantage of it, but he was a man, as well. He’d been able to think of little else but holding her in his arms ever since the last time they’d made love.

She moved into his embrace and made a sound deep in her throat, a sound that echoed inside him, then she lifted her face to his and started to speak. He stopped her by kissing her. Whatever she wanted to tell him, he didn’t want to know. All he wanted was to feel her body against his and somehow ease the pain he saw in her eyes. Nothing else mattered but that. The feel of her lips, so soft and giving, swept away the very last chance he had at resisting.

She accepted his kiss and opened her mouth to his. Beneath her sweet taste, he could sense her trembling desire. She wanted to forget as much as he wanted to erase.

They stood that way for another moment, consumed with the need to feel, then Raul picked her up and carried her across the tiny room to one of the beds. He set her down and began to undo her buttons, but she shook her head almost impatiently and replaced his fingers with her own. In seconds, she’d shed her blouse and her slacks and stood before him in a pale pink bra and panties edged with lace.

She was so beautiful, so perfect, and all she wanted from him was himself. She wasn’t getting who she thought she was, though. Once he had been a man a woman like her might have loved, but not now. He was too hard, too cold, too unforgiving. Women like Emma Toussaint didn’t make love with the kind of man he’d become, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

Instead, in the cold darkness of the tiny hotel room, as the thunder rumbled and the rain pounded, he took off his own clothes. And then he reached for her.

HIS HANDS WERE COLD as they gripped her shoulders, but almost immediately, they warmed against the heat of her skin. Emma let Raul bring her closer, the wall of his chest flattening her breasts. The first time they’d made love she’d registered nothing but the passion inside her. This time, the details came into focus. His body was lean, hard and trim. Underneath the expensive clothing and polished appearance, he had the physique of a man accustomed to physical labor. She wondered about it briefly, then all thoughts fled as she was consumed by the sensations assaulting her-his fingers brushing her neck, his mouth pressing her own, his broad back beneath her hands.

Once again, his touch was magic, and the feel of his heated caress was more than she could handle. He seemed to sense her reaction and started to pull back…but she tightened her hands on his waist and murmured her assent. He moaned his own answer and cradled the back of her head in his hand, kissing her even more deeply, demanding she give just as much.

And so she gave-her tongue sought his, and her fingertips smoothed his body. She couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t fill herself with his strength as quickly as her heart demanded. Her hands flitted over his body, stopping here and there, the contact both hot and cold at once. He met each of her strokes with one of his own, his hands playing against her skin and making her tremble with a need she hadn’t ever known until meeting Raul.

A moment later, he lowered her to the bed behind them. The rest of her clothing-the bra and panties-disappeared under his expert touch until there was nothing between them. In the barest light coming through the high window overhead, his dark muscles gleamed against her pale skin.