Page 54 of No One Aboard

The one that meant Francis had been keeping track of Lila’s spending habits. And then, after that... the phone call.

Ernie Carmichael had called Lila—not Francis, not Alejandro, butLila—to tell her he wouldn’t be coming. His mother had fallen, but he didn’t sound disappointed about missing the trip or upset about his mom. He sounded nervous.

“Let’s talk of cleaner things, señora.” Alejandro found her hand and opened it, tracing the fine lines on her palm and wrist.

“I want to talk about this.” His touch sent every nerve in her arm tingling, but she held steady. She would not be as seduced as she was seductive. “Did Ernie Carmichael know about Francis’s... surprise?”

Alejandro’s lips quirked, and he tucked a piece of her hairbehind her shoulder. “What has gotten you thinking about Ernie Carmichael? You could hardly stand him. Or his wife.”

Lila caught his hand before he could lower it. “Tell me if he knew, and I’ll pause my interrogation.”

He nodded, very serious. “Just a pause, hmm?”

Lila waved his trapped hand over his face. “Do you want this back or not?”

Alejandro didn’t break her grip, though she knew he could if he wanted to. “Yes,” he said finally. “Ernie knew.”

And what he said next was barely audible, more mouthed than spoken, as if this particular thought of his had simply spilled out of him, unbidden.

“Ese cobarde...”

That coward.

Lila let his hand go and lay on Alejandro’s chest, her cheek against his collarbone. His heartbeat filled her ears. The blood beneath his skin ran hot and loud. In this moment, Alejandro Matamoros was hers.

Alejandro’s loyalty to Francis held no question. They had been boyhood neighbors, then best friends, then business partners, and at some point, she knew, they had become brothers.

Arthur and Lancelot indeed.

But even Lancelot chose Guinevere in the end.

“Alejandro...” She said his name with an echo of the accent she’d picked up learning Spanish from him.

“Sí, señora?”

She lifted her head, swirls of her silver-blond hair pooling on his throat. “Who are you here for?”

Who are you loyal to?

She let him sit in silence for a minute, wondering if his brain was grappling for a diplomatic escape to the impossible question. He served Francis, no doubt about that. But Francis wasn’t here right now.

Alejandro swallowed, the only hint of nervousness Lila had ever witnessed from him.

“He is like blood,” he told her.

It was an answer of sorts, and the one Lila had expected. She gave him an understanding smile and bent down so that her hair curtained around him and the tip of her nose lightly touched his. “But?” she prompted, and Alejandro was helpless in their proximity.

“But I’m yours,” he breathed.

Lila’s chest swelled, and she bathed him in kisses, marking her territory with each stamp of her lips. He was hers. He was in her bed, after all, keeping her warm and guarding her heart.

Alejandro dissolved at her touch, and they traded kisses for several slow minutes. At last, she settled back onto his chest and looked at his watch. Fifty-two minutes left.

She would have been content to remain quiet until the time seeped away, but Alejandro was no longer on the verge of sleep.

“I know he is your husband, and you know him very well,” he said carefully. “However... I see him in those moments when someone wants something from him. I see how he clenches even tighter onto something when he realizes it’s desirable.”

A part of her knew this. Being with Francis was not at all unlike show business; she had learned that the hard way. Throwing herself into every audition and interview had only lessened her appeal. The movie stars most sought after were the unavailable ones with tragedy-ridden lives that filled up tabloids and gossip columns. She was never going to get back home to rescue her career by badgering Francis. But she was not someone who would hide from him either, like Ernie Carmichael.