Never Say I Want You

by Pennza, Amy

  He’d watched their exchange with a small, satisfied smile. Now, he sobered as he met Catalina’s gaze. “I’ll go find Juan while you change.”

  Her stomach lurched. Calm. She had to stay calm, or she’d never get through the next hour or so. She plastered what she hoped was a placid expression on her face. “Okay.”

  He gave Ashley a peck on the cheek and went to the door. Just before he pulled it shut, he looked at Catalina, his eyes knowing. “Don’t worry so much, Cat. I know I probably can’t change his mind, but I’ll talk some sense into him.” He winked at her and left.

  As she stared at the closed door, Catalina suppressed a sigh. She had to perfect her poker face. Otherwise, she had no hope of getting through the next year with Juan. “Maldición,” she muttered.

  “I may not understand that,” Ashely said, “but I get the general sentiment.”

  Catalina tore her gaze from the door. “Sorry. It means ‘damn.’ I tend to only lapse into Spanish when I’m around a Salvatierra. Something about them makes me so frustrated, I need two languages’ worth of swear words.” She smiled so Ashley would know she was joking—sort of.

  Ashley laughed. “Oh, I totally get that. I wouldn’t change Smith for anything, but he can be more than a little exasperating at times.”

  Curiosity nudged Catalina. “How did you two meet?” Too late, she realized Ashley might consider it an odd question. As Smith’s foster sister, most people would probably expect her to know something like that.

  If Ashley was surprised, she gave no indication. Instead, amusement shone in her deep-blue eyes. “He pulled me over for speeding on my first night back in Prattsville.”

  “Seriously?” Catalina leaned against the desk. This sounded like a story she needed to hear.

  “He gave me a ticket and everything.”

  Catalina rolled her eyes. “That sounds like Smith.” Although Prattsville was so tiny and boring, he probably had nothing better to do than write speeding tickets all day.

  Ashley waved it off. “Oh, I definitely deserved it. And, anyway, he cut me a break by giving me a warning for driving with expired plates.” Her smile deepened, revealing a dimple in one cheek. “Imagine my shock when I found out he was my new landlord.”

  Catalina widened her eyes. “Smith bought another house?” Last she knew, he’d been working day and night to refinish the old Victorian he bought after he came home from Afghanistan. Typical Smith, he’d learned how to do everything himself, from repairing plaster to recreating the ornate woodwork. A local historical society posted a writeup about him online, and she’d felt a mix of pride and relief that he seemed so content and happy with his project. Smith kept his troubles close to his vest, but his time in the service had left him with serious trauma. Working on the house seemed like a sort of therapy.

  “It’s the house next to his,” Ashley said with a nod. “Actually, it’s my mom’s old place. I grew up there. My mom inherited it from grandmother and then sold it without telling me.” Based on Ashley’s tone, this was an unwelcome development. “He let me stay there when I was between acting jobs, and, well, we got…close.” She blushed, then gave a good-natured shrug. “I decided I can tolerate Prattsville as long as Smith is there.”

  “So you’re not acting anymore?”

  “I joined a theater company here in San Antonio. So far, I’ve been loving it.” Her eyes sparkled. “We’re doing a Shakespeare run right now, and I can honestly say I’ve never enjoyed myself this much. There’s a big difference between television and live theater. One is acting, but the other is acting, you know?”

  Catalina didn’t, but she nodded along. Ashley’s happiness flowed off her like a radiator. Even the iciest heart would have a hard time resisting its warmth.

  “Smith is always asking if I want to audition in LA,” Ashley said. “But I really don’t miss it. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m happy in Prattsville.”

  “You’re happy with Smith,” Catalina said.

  “Yeah.” Ashley smiled—the deeply contented look of a woman who’s loved and knows it. “I really am. He’s…” She shook her head. “Sometimes I can’t believe he’s real.”

  “I’m glad you found each other.” Smith deserved happiness.

  A shadow fell across Ashley’s face, and she let out a groan. “Oh my gosh, here I am, rambling about myself when you’re…” Her cheeks turned a fiery pink.

  Being married against my will after a night in jail? As cathartic as it might have been to speak the thought, Catalina couldn’t do it. Ashley hadn’t meant any harm or insult. Catalina would have bet her newly discovered fortune on it.

  She waved a hand. “Don’t apologize. I love hearing about Smith’s life. I haven’t seen him in so long, it’s nice to catch up.”

  Ashley’s voice was shy, as if she worried she might tread into deep family drama. “Smith said it’s been five years.”

  “Yes. The last time we were all together was at his mother’s funeral. Rafe wasn’t there, of course.” Catalina let a bitter smile touch her mouth. “If Juan had gotten his way, I wouldn’t have been, either.”

  “Smith said the two of you have always butted heads.”

  Not always…

  As soon as the thought rose, Catalina squashed it. The door to those memories had to stay firmly shut. Otherwise, she’d never be strong enough to endure the next twelve months.

  Ashley watched her, polite curiosity in her gaze.

  Catalina took a deep breath and held it. How could she explain her tangled relationship with Juan? Not that they had one. Relationships required mutual respect and affection, and goodness knew there wasn’t much of that between them.

  She settled for the simplest explanation. “My father was a teniente—a lieutenant—in the Salvatierra drug cartel. He came from nothing. Like a lot of other young men, he escaped poverty on the streets of Caracas by working for Smith and Juan’s father. He worked his way up the ranks, eventually becoming Arturo’s bodyguard. Arturo was maniacal about security, but he had enemies. There was an assassination attempt. My father fought off the attacker and ended up taking a bullet for Arturo. The whole thing happened in front of us kids. I was only five, and I don’t remember it, but Smith was ten. He saw everything. Juan was twelve. Rafe was fifteen.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Ashley murmured. She put a hand over her mouth.

  “As you might imagine, that was enough for Sarah. She brought us to Texas. It broke her heart when Rafe stayed behind.” Catalina’s chest tightened, regret like a band around her sternum. “She treated me like a daughter, but I never really felt like I fit in.”

  Ashley made a sympathetic sound. “Well, you were uprooted at such a young age…”

  “Maybe that was it.” Catalina braced her palms on the desk and curled her fingers around the edge. “I remember insisting on speaking Spanish at home, even though Sarah preferred English. I understand why now. She wanted us to make a clean break from Arturo and that lifestyle, but I saw it as suppressing my heritage. Without Arturo or Rafe around, Juan sort of took on the role of disciplinarian and authority figure. He used to get furious when I crossed his mother. He has a bit of a temper.”

  Out of nowhere, a memory from earlier in the morning tugged at her. When they faced off in the jail lobby, she said she’d rather sit in her cell than go with him.

  He’d responded with, “You won’t be sitting at all if I—” Then he’d caught the corrections officer’s eye and censored himself.

  A shiver raced down her spine. What was he about to say?

  But, of course, she knew. He’d almost threatened to spank her. Or, more accurately, “Te voy a azotar.” That’s how he said it the last time, only then there hadn’t been anyone around to stop him. Never mind that they’d stood in the middle of the bustling Caracas airport, the building’s air conditioning working overtime to conquer the humid air pressing in from outside.

  She’d gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Oh yeah?” he’d said
, a dangerous look in his eye. “Try me.” After traveling all night from San Antonio, he should have looked rumpled and exhausted. Instead, his dark pants and white shirt were as crisp as ever, his thick hair neatly in place.

  She tightened her grip on her suitcase handle. “Rafe said I could stay, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” As she spoke, she couldn’t help glancing at the two large men in business suits who sat in the terminal lobby. One rested his ankle on the opposite knee as he thumbed through a newspaper. The other drummed his fingers on his seat’s metal armrest, his gaze on a television mounted high on the wall. To passersby, they looked like bored businessmen waiting for their flights.

  But they weren’t. They were sicarios. Hitmen who worked for Rafe. The tailored suit jackets hid holsters and handguns. All she had to do was lift a finger, and they would come running, ready to defend her against any and all threats—including the large, angry one in front of her.

  Juan spoke. “They won’t help you, you know.”

  She jerked her gaze back to him. “What do you mean? Of course they will.”

  “Not when one of Arturo’s sons is giving the orders.”

  The beginnings of panic wriggled through her. Was he right? He hadn’t lived in Maracaibo in over a decade, but she didn’t doubt those men knew exactly who he was. Rafe would have gotten a message the second Juan entered Venezuelan airspace—possibly even before.

  “Your choice, Catalina,” he said, his voice soft. “You can leave with me now, voluntarily, and we return to Texas without further incident. Or you can fight me, in which case I’ll ask for the assistance of those two gentlemen over there.” His hard face left little doubt he was prepared to do just that. His soft tone grew silky. “Either way, you’re leaving with me. If you choose the second option, however, I promise I’ll yank that skirt up and tan your ass once we’re in the car.”

  Her throat went dry. At the same time, heat blasted her core. She should be furious. That’s what her brain said. But her traitorous body responded to his threat of physical punishment like he just offered her a treat.

  Judging from the way his eyes gleamed, he knew it, too.

  Dangerous. If she let Juan have an inch, forget about a mile. He’d take the whole damn continent.

  She lifted her chin. “No, you won’t.”

  He stepped forward until they were almost toe to toe. In Spanish, he said, “I will, and I’ll enjoy it.”

  “You have a lot of nerve threatening me, Juan Salvatierra.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Not as much as you, leaving town with no explanation.”

  “I…” She took a trembling breath. “I needed time to think.”

  His expression told her he wasn’t buying that for a second. “You needed to run all the way to Caracas to think.”

  “I’m nineteen years old—”

  “Then we’ll wait. In San Antonio, where you belong.” He reached for her arm.

  “No.” She stepped backwards. Two women with rolling suitcases looked over as they passed, the wheels clicking against the hard floor. Catalina refocused on Juan and lowered her voice. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

  He didn’t try to touch her again, but he didn’t have to. His eyes kept her rooted to the spot, and his voice was almost hypnotizing when he said, “That’s where you’re wrong, bonita. You belong with me.”

  She sucked in a trembling breath. He said it like a promise. Like a vow.

  His gaze didn’t waver. “You belong to me.”

  A car horn blared outside, startling Catalina back to the present. Ashley jumped and went to the window. She leaned forward and peered between the wooden blinds. “Just a taxi,” she said, turning around. “But we should get moving before the guys come back.”

  Before Juan comes back. Catalina’s heart beat faster. She looked at the garment bag. “Are you sure you’re okay with me wearing your dress?”

  “Oh my gosh, of course!” Ashley said, walking to the chair. She bent and unzipped the bag, then folded the plastic back. “I’m thrilled someone else is getting use out of it.”

  Catalina pushed away from the desk as Ashley lifted the dress from the bag. It was a simple white sheath with a delicate lace overlay. A row of tiny buttons marched down the back, and the undergown was cut low, putting the lace center stage. It was tasteful and elegant.

  It was perfect.

  Ashley ran a palm down the lace, a little frown puckering her brow. “I’m a lot shorter, so it’ll probably hit around mid-thigh on you.”

  “That’s okay.” Catalina smiled. “It’s beautiful. Exactly what I would have picked.” It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. If she was marrying for love instead of Juan’s twisted idea of revenge, she might have chosen a dress like this.

  “Really?” Ashley beamed.

  “Really. Thank you.”

  “Here.” Ashley draped the dress over the chair. “I’ll unzip you, and then I’ll turn around so you can change.”

  Catalina swept her hair over her shoulder and presented her back.

  “I have shoes, too,” Ashley murmured. “Unless you’d like to stick with what you’ve got on. What size do you wear?”

  “Seven,” Catalina said, catching the Valentino before it could drop to the floor.

  Ashley sighed, sending a puff of air over Catalina’s shoulder. “Darn. I’m a six, but these have a buckle around the ankle. Maybe we can adjust it.”

  Catalina faced her, clutching the cocktail dress to her chest. “It’s worth a try.” Hopefully, Ashley’s shoes had a decent heel. She needed all the inches she could get when it came to squaring off with Juan.

  Once Ashley turned away, Catalina let the Valentino slide over her hips and puddle on the floor. In just her stilettos and G-string, she stepped into the white dress. It was a tight fit, which was to be expected, given Ashley’s smaller frame. And as Ashley predicted, it fell to about the middle of her thigh. As she tugged it down, a twinge shot through her shoulder. She clenched her teeth. When the ache quieted down, she took a deep breath and said, “I’m ready.”

  Ashley swung around. Her blue eyes warmed, and a dreamy smile spread across her face. “Ooh, it looks stunning! What I wouldn’t give for a figure like yours.” She waved her hands. “Okay, okay. Turn around so I can do up the buttons.”

  Catalina pivoted once more. As Ashley tackled the buttons, tugging the material even tighter, Catalina sucked in a breath. The movement sent another stabbing pain through her shoulder, ripping a gasp from her before she could stop it.

  Ashley froze. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no.” Catalina turned her head. “I just pulled something in my shoulder.” She thought fast. “Probably during yoga. It’s been bothering me for a while.” She hated lying—especially when Ashley had been nothing but kind—but telling the truth meant talking about last night, and that would open doors she’d rather not walk through.

  Ashley started back in on the buttons. “Yoga is the thing in LA. There’s even a class with goats.” Her hands fell away, and she said, “Okay, all done.”

  Catalina faced her. She didn’t need a mirror to know how she looked—the knowledge was there in Ashley’s eyes.

  “You look about a billion times better in it than I did,” she said without a trace of envy.

  “I sincerely doubt that,” Catalina said. The lace was soft against her skin—a sign the dress was expensive and well-made. Cheap lace was always scratchy.

  Ashley looked wistful. “I wish we had a veil, or even some white flowers. The contrast would be gorgeous in your hair.”

  A veil. Catalina swallowed. What would Juan think when he saw her dressed this way? Dressed in white? Her stomach flipped over, and she looked at the cocktail dress on the floor. Maybe she should put it back on…

  “Catalina?” Ashley’s voice was concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah…” Catalina stared at the discarded cocktail dress as the memory of muffled laughter drifted through her mind. The men in the hot
el lobby had nudged each other and laughed. The vacationing family had hurried away like she had the plague. In the jail lobby, Juan’s face had been hard, his gaze angry as he ran it down her body. Absently, she fingered a bit of lace near her thigh. Ashley’s dress revealed nearly as much as the Valentino, yet it was different. Funny how something as simple as a color could offer protection against judgment. Against scorn.

  “Catalina?”

  She snapped her gaze back to Ashley. “What? Oh…yes. I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “But I’d kill for some Tylenol.” And a shot of vodka.

  “There’s a drugstore across the street.”

  Catalina looked at the door. “I don’t know…” Walking out there meant dealing with Juan. Would he question her need for painkillers?

  Yep.

  Ashley followed her gaze. “If I know Smith, he’s busy giving Juan a piece of his mind. We’ve got time.”

  Excuses crowded Catalina’s thoughts. Just as she was about to laugh it off, claiming she didn’t really need the pills, something made her look Ashley straight in the eye. “Juan likes to think the worst of me. He’s not above launching a cross-examination over a bottle of pain reliever.”

  Determination entered Ashley’s gaze. “Oh yeah? Well, he’s not the one wearing five-inch heels.”

  Laughter burst from Catalina. Who could have predicted her first meeting with Smith’s wife would turn into a Thelma and Louise type adventure?

  Ashley offered her elbow like a Victorian gentleman might to a lady. “Shall we?”

  Catalina linked her arm with Ashley’s. “We shall.”

  5

  “I’m just saying maybe you should rethink the marriage part.”

  Juan pinched the bridge of his nose as Smith embarked on what felt like the twentieth version of the same lecture. They faced each other across a conference table in one of the small meeting rooms he reserved for new client consultations. Mid-morning sunshine streamed in through two large windows, its cheery light doing little to lighten his mood.