Marry A Man Who Will Dance

Through it all, Roque stared at her. Only at her.

“—all that messy yellow hair. She doesn’t look like a border saint to me—”

“—there’s too many of them—”

“—shouldn’t help them—”

“—overrunning us—”

“—her work at the colonias was just her excuse to get away from Josh so she could sleep with all those other men—”

Roque’s aquiline features hardened.

Her own nerves clamored as if every cell in her being was tuned to him. Only to him.

She was pregnant…with his child…again. And he knew it.

He wasn’t a powerless boy from Mexico, the despised son of his evil rich white father anymore.

Jet had the towel around Ritz’s arm now and was squeezing. “It’s just a scratch. You’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Thank you,” Ritz whispered brokenly. “I—I think I need to go upstairs and lie down.”

“—didn’t shed a single tear at the wake,” came the unstoppable Mrs. Beasley.

“I did, too!” Ritz whispered. “When I was chopping onions…for Mother Evans’s caviar.”

Just then Roque’s dark, masculine eyebrow flicked upward in sardonic mockery.

“Shh,” Jet said.

“I promised Josh I would cry. That’s why I chopped….”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jet said, pulling her gently away from the others.

“No…not that way…” she pleaded when Roque stepped in front of them.

But it was already too late.

“I’ll take it from here,” Roque said, blocking their path. His jaw was square, his fierce eyes dark emerald. The cut on his cheek blazed.

Everybody held his breath, but anyone who expected a scene was disappointed. Jet stepped meekly aside. And Ritz let herself be led by Roque Blackstone upstairs to her bedroom.

Not even Irish attempted to rescue her.

The minute they were in her room Roque closed the door, his eyes zeroing in on the pile of slashed strips of black fabric scattered messily all over the floor and then on her open suitcases spread across her bed.

Ritz went white. Why hadn’t she thought? She should have directed him to any other room. But she’d been too upset to think.

Roque knelt and lifted a scrap of black wool and then another of silk and waggled them beneath her nose. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing.” She took a breath. “While you amuse yourself, I’ll go brush my teeth.”

Next he leaned across her bed to finger a lacy bra and a pair of sheer panties that spilled out of her suitcase. “Nothing? Taking a trip?”

Her cheeks heated. “Give those to me!” When she tried to snatch her panties from him, he held on, stretching the elastic.

“Nice panties,” he said. “Fit for a princess.” He let them go with a snap.

“I—I…went to the closet to hunt for a black dress…to wear today,” she began in a rush, wadding her panties, throwing them at her suitcase.

“Really?” he drawled even as he absorbed every detail about her, every nuance of expression—reading her.

She turned her back on him and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She wasn’t about to tell him she’d been like a crazy woman last night. That suddenly she’d been snipping, first her best black silk, then her favorite black wool jersey, not that she could have worn anything that hot today.

She’d cut and torn—until she had piles of tiny squares that she couldn’t cut any smaller. Even then she’d started shredding the remnants.

Hours later, Jet, who was a fancy lawyer now, had found her in the middle of the bed, yanking at the tangles of black threads like a madwoman.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t cry and I’m supposed to wear black. Only I cut up my best black dresses,” Ritz had said. “Even my slinkiest black nightgown.”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to wear a slinky nightgown to a funeral.”

Ritz had started laughing and hadn’t been able to stop.

When Ritz came out of the bathroom, Roque’s face was hard. Every muscle in his body was like a coiled spring. No, Ritz couldn’t tell him any of that.

Suddenly she burst out laughing just as she had last night with Jet.

“Get a grip,” he said quietly, rushing toward her. “It’s a good thing you’re packed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re pregnant with my child.”

“No….”

“A very simple test will prove me right.”

“You wouldn’t….”

His hard eyes lingered on her belly. “I would do anything to protect my unborn child this time—even marry you.”

“I…I’m never ever getting married again.”

“Oh, yes, you are. Very soon. To me, querida.”