The Best Bet by Hebby Roman Page A

was as if he wanted to crawl up inside her skin.
    He’d never tried to understand Margarita, or any of his other girlfriends. He’d never really wanted to know their innermost feelings. Maybe that had been what went wrong. Maybe that was what had been missing.
    “Is it that obvious?” she asked. “The way I feel about my mother?”
    She placed her half-eaten lunch to one side and pulled her legs up to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs, as if hugging herself. “Sometimes, I wonder what’s wrong with me.” Glancing up quickly as if to gauge his reaction, she blushed and looked away again. “I was only thirteen when she died. It’s been over twelve years. Will the pain ever go away? Is it supposed to hurt this long? My priest told me it would fade with time, become easier to bear, but it hasn’t.” She shook her head and turned her face away.
     Even though she tried to hide it, he knew she was crying. His guts twisted, and he felt completely out of his element, uncertain of what to do for her. What perverse impulse had made him probe her background? To get to know her? At what price? As an amateur psychologist, he was definitely a flop. But her words haunted him, making him curious, too.
    How long did the pain stay fresh and cutting? Having never experienced it, he didn’t know. It was probably different for each person. Was it the deep hurt in Adriana that drew him, putting his protective on alert? But this wasn’t like him. Usually, he was detached and analytical. But there was nothing detached in the way he felt about Adriana.
    Drawing her to him, he cradled her in his arms, not knowing what to say, hoping his touch would soothe her. Tentatively, he reached up and stroked her hair, wanting to comfort her, as a parent would comfort a child.
    With a sigh, she settled against him. She accepted the simple gift of his touch. He felt her body relax against his, nestling closer. Turning her face, she pressed her cheek against his chest. Her arms came around his waist, locking behind his back, clinging to him.
    Holding her and smelling the lemony scent of her hair, a jolt of pure desire shot through him. He was growing hard and harder with each passing second. But this wasn’t about desire. She didn’t need his passion. What she needed was simple human comfort, the reassurance that there wasn’t anything wrong with her, that she had a right to miss her mother.
    “My father did his best to raise me.  He’s a good man.” Her voice caught. “Sometimes, I feel as if I’ve betrayed him, missing my mother so much. As if I don’t appreciate how hard he’s worked to give me and my brother a good life.”
    “I doubt he thinks that, Adriana. And you shouldn’t feel guilty because you miss your mother. That’s natural. It doesn’t mean that you love your father less, or don’t appreciate what he’s done for you.”
    She lifted her head and looked in his eyes. “You really think so?”
    “I know so.”
    Releasing him, she scooted backward on the quilt, putting distance between them and picking up her plate. With her head bent, she stared at the food and pushed the rice around with her fork. “I’m sorry I broke down like that. It was silly of me.” Raising the fork to her mouth, she took some rice and chewed slowly.
    She’d done it again, distanced herself from him physically as well as emotionally. And it stung, because it was as if she’d rejected his reassurances, the comfort he wanted to give her. He shouldn’t feel that way, though, because he doubted her rejection was personal. Accustomed to being self-contained and independent, she probably felt uncomfortable accepting his comfort.
    He was facing an uphill battle, getting close to her.
    “It must be nice to have a large family,” she said, adroitly turning the spotlight on him. “Tell me about them.”
    “Only if you tell me more about your family.”
    “Okay, fair enough. But you go first.”
    “Well, as you know, I have a twin,