Tender Triumph

by Judith McNaught

  The Lear was his plane, not the corporation's, but like everything else he owned, including the houses, the island and the yacht, he had put the small jet up as collateral against loans the corporation had need­ed and now could not repay. What would have been the point of flying Katie to Puerto Rico in the Lear today, of giving her a taste of the luxurious life he could have offered her—when doing so would only make the life he was now able to afford appear even more drab and impoverished by comparison?

  Wearily, he leaned his head against the back of his seat and closed his eyes. He had no right to ask Katie to share his exile, to take her from her fashionable apartment, her career, and ask her to live on a farm in a renovated cottage. It was selfish and wrong of him, but he couldn't bear to think of life without her. Once he could have given her everything, now he could give her nothing—not even honesty. Not yet.

  Tomorrow he was scheduled for several meetings, one of which was with his accountant, and he was clinging to the slender hope that his personal finan­cial situation might not be as disastrous as it now seemed. After the meeting he would know exactly where he stood, and then he would have to find some way to explain to Katie who he was and what he had been. He had insisted on honesty between them, and although he had not actually lied to her, he now owed her the truth—the whole truth. The thought of telling Katie that he was a failure twisted his insides into knots. He didn't care if the whole world thought of him that way, but it hurt unbear­ably to know he would be a failure in Katie's eyes.

  It had been bad enough explaining the situation to Katie's father at breakfast Friday morning. Fond­ness for his future father-in-law softened Ramon's taut features as he recalled the unexpectedly hostile beginning of that meal.

  When Ramon had walked into the private men's club where they had agreed to meet, Ryan Connelly had been waiting for him with suppressed anger ra­diating from his entire body. "What the hell kind of game are you playing, Galverra?" the older man had demanded in a low, furious voice as soon as Ramon sat down. "You're no more a small-time Puerto Rican farmer than I am. It's been driving me crazy why you looked so familiar to me. It wasn't just your name that seemed familiar, it was your face. Last night I remembered the article about you in Time Magazine, and—"

  As Ramon had explained to Katie's father about the impending collapse of Galverra International, Ryan Connelly's fury had given way first to amaze­ment and then to compassionate understanding. Ramon had tried not to smile when Katie's father volunteered financial help. Ryan Connelly was a wealthy man, but as Ramon had explained to him, it would take one hundred investors like Ryan to shore up Galverra International. Otherwise it would still collapse beneath its own weight and take everyone who had invested in the corporation with it.

  The big jet dropped sickeningly into a powerful downdraft, then soared upward with a stomach-tightening lurch. "Are we landing?" Katie mum­bled.

  "No," Ramon said. He brushed his lips against her fragrant hair. "Go back to sleep. I will awaken you when we begin our final approach at Miami." Obediently, Katie closed her eyes and snuggled closer to him.

  The cockpit door opened and the pilot started down the aisle toward the rest room. The passenger seated in front of Ramon stopped him with some questions and as the pilot bent down to reply, Ramon watched his eyes rove appreciatively over Katie's face, lingering there as he answered. Ramon felt a flash of annoyance that he immediately recog­nized as jealousy.

  Jealousy—another new emotion with which he must learn to cope because of Katie. After bestow­ing a glacial look on the unfortunate pilot, Ramon reached for Katie's hand and laced his fingers through hers. He sighed. At this rate, jealousy was going to be his constant companion.

  Just walking through the airport with her and watching the men who turned to stare as she passed had set his teeth on edge. Dressed in a turquoise silk dress that showed off her long, shapely legs in their high heels, she looked like a model. No—the models he had known did not have Katie's lush curves or elegant perfection of features. They had glamour. Katie had beauty. Katie flexed his fingers, and Ramon realized that he'd been possessively tightening his grip on her hand. Lightly, sensuously, he stroked his thumb against her palm. Even in her sleep Katie responded to his touch and moved closer against him. God, how he wanted her! Just having her nestled against his shoulder made him throb with desire and ache with tenderness.

  Leaning his head back, Ramon closed his eyes and sighed with profound pleasure. He had done it! He had actually gotten Katie on this plane with him! She was coming to Puerto Rico. She was going to be his. He admired her independence and intelligence, and he adored the vulnerability and softness within her. She was the embodiment of everything he liked in women: she was feminine without being vapid or helpless; proud without being haughty; assertive without being aggressive. Sexually, she was liberated in her thinking but not her actions, which pleased him immensely. He knew he would have hated it if Katie had casually given her beautiful body to other men. She was infinitely more special, more precious to him because she had chosen not to indulge in casual sex. Which, he supposed, made him guilty of applying the double standard for men and women's morality, considering the number of women from St. Moritz to St. Croix he'd had in the last decade.

  Ramon smiled inwardly, thinking of how irate Katie would be if she knew he felt this way about her morals. She would accuse him of being everything from outrageously old-fashioned to hopelessly Latin, which was rather humorous, because he sus­pected that the reason Katie was drawn to him was—

  The brief pleasure he'd been feeling was promptly strangled by the same doubt that had been winding tighter and tighter within him for the past several days. He didn't know why Katie was drawn to him. He didn't know why she thought she should marry him, had no idea what reasons she was giving herself for doing so. The only valid reason would be that she loved him.

  But she didn't.

  Mentally, Ramon recoiled from that truth, yet he knew he had to face it and come to terms with it. Not once had Katie so much as mentioned the word love. Three nights ago, when he had told her that he loved her, the words had burst out of him, yet Katie had chosen to act as if she hadn't heard him. How ironic that when, for the first time in his life, he told a woman he loved her, she hadn't even been able to say she loved him, too.

  Grimly, he wondered if this was fate's way of re­paying him for all the times women had said they loved him and he had responded with silence, or a noncommittal smile, because he refused to claim an emotion he didn't feel.

  If Katie didn't think she loved him, why was she on this plane? Sexually, she wanted him, he knew that. From the first moment he had taken her into his arms he had been forcing her to want him more, relentlessly fanning the flames of her body's desire for his. Apparently passion was the only thing she felt for him; desire her only reason for being on this plane.

  No, dammit! That couldn't be true. Katie was too intelligent to consider marrying him solely for sexual gratification. She must feel something else for him. After all, there had always been a tremendous mag­netic pull between them, and it was emotional as well as physical. If she didn't love him, could he possibly bind her to him with her body alone? Even if he was able to, could he bear to live with her, knowing his feelings for her were so much deeper than hers for him?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Returning from the ladies' room in San Juan air­port, Katie made her way toward the baggage claim area where the luggage was arriving from their Miami-San Juan flight.

  A thrill of anticipation danced up her spine as she listened to the tide of incomprehensible rapid-fire Spanish interspersed with English, being spoken all around her. To her left, a group of distinguished, fair-haired men were speaking what Katie was cer­tain must be Swedish. Behind her was a large cluster of tourists conversing in flowing French. Puerto Rico, she realized with surprised delight, must be a vacation place for more than just Americans.

  She scanned the throngs of people and saw Ra­mon nod towar
d a porter who immediately changed direction, wheeled his trolley over to Ramon, and began loading Katie's six Gucci suitcases onto it. Katie smiled to herself because everyone else was waving frantically and calling to the busy porters, trying to attract their attention, but Ramon merely had to incline his head. And no wonder, she thought with pride. Dressed in a dark business suit and conservative tie, Ramon was the most impressive-looking man Katie had ever seen. There was an aura of implacable authority and calm purposefulness about him that even a porter couldn't miss. Looking at him, Katie thought he resembled an affluent business executive, not a struggling local farmer. She supposed the porter must have thought so, too, and was probably expecting a handsome tip for his services. Uncomfortably, Katie wondered if Ramon realized that.

  Why hadn't she suggested that they carry their own luggage? Between them, they could have man­aged in two or three trips since Ramon was traveling with only one large suitcase and a smaller one. She was going to have to learn to be thrifty, to remember that Ramon had very little money, that he even drove a truck to earn extra.

  "Ready?" Ramon asked, placing his hand be­neath Katie's elbow and guiding her through the crowded airport.

  Taxis were lined up outside waiting for fares. The porter started for the first one at the head of the line with Katie following beside Ramon. "Is the weather always this beautiful?" she asked, lifting her face to the azure sky decorated with fluffy white clouds.

  The pleasure in Ramon's smile told her how much he wanted her to like her future home. "Usually it is. The temperature generally remains in the upper seventies, and the easterly trade winds provide a breeze that—" Ramon glanced up to see how far ahead the porter was, and whatever he'd been about to say was left unfinished.

  Following his angry gaze, Katie was shocked to see their luggage being loaded into a gleaming

  maroon Rolls-Royce, which was waiting at the curb ahead of the line of taxis. A chauffeur wearing an immaculate black uniform and visored cap was standing at attention beside the Rolls. As they neared the car he swept open the back door with a flourish, stepping aside for them to enter.

  Katie stopped short and looked inquiringly at Ramon, who snapped questions at the chauffeur in Spanish. Whatever the man replied seemed to make Ramon positively furious. Wordlessly, he put his hand against the small of Katie's back and forced her off the curb and into the cool luxury of the Rolls' white leather interior.

  "What is going on?" Katie asked as soon as Ramon slid in beside her. "Whose car is this?"

  Ramon waited until the chauffeur had closed the passenger door before replying. His voice was tight with the strain of controlling his inexplicable anger. "The car belongs to a man who has a villa on the island, but is rarely here. Garcia, the chauffeur, is er, an old friend of my family. When he found out we were arriving today, he decided to meet us."

  "What a thoughtful thing for him to do!" Katie said brightly.

  "I specifically said I did not want him to do it."

  "Oh," Katie faltered. "Well, I'm sure he meant well."

  Turning his attention to the chauffeur who was now seated behind the steering wheel looking expec­tantly into the rearview mirror, Ramon pressed a button that opened the glass partition separating the driver from his passengers. In a clipped Spanish voice he issued instructions, then the glass partition glided back into place and the Rolls slid smoothly away from the curb.

  Katie had never been in a Rolls-Royce, and she was enchanted with the car. She ran her fingertips over the seat, luxuriating in the feel of unbeliev­ably soft, white glove leather. "What's this?" she asked, leaning forward and pressing a button in the back of the driver's seat. She laughed as a small rosewood writing desk lifted electronically out of the seat and flipped down over her lap. Raising the top, she looked inside and found it equipped with thick parchment writing paper, gold pens and even a tiny gold stapler. "How do I put it back?" she asked, after trying unsuccessfully to push it into place.

  "Press the same button again."

  Katie did. With a faint mechanical whir the rose­wood desk lifted off her lap, flipped up, and retract­ed into place as the concealing panel of white leather slid down to cover it. "What does that one do?" She smiled, nodding toward the button above Ramon's knees.

  Ramon was watching her, his face completely ex­pressionless. "It opens a liquor cabinet concealed in the seat in front of me."

  "Where's the television set and stereo?" Katie joked.

  "Between the desk and the liquor cabinet."

  The delighted smile faded from her lips. Ramon, she realized, was not sharing her enjoyment of the luxury car's unique equipment. After an uncertain pause, she said hesitantly, "Whoever owns this car must be extraordinarily wealthy.''

  "He was."

  "Was?" she repeated. "Is he dead?"

  "Financially, he is dead." With that curt, inscrut­able reply, Ramon turned his head away and stared out the window.

  Bewildered and hurt by his coldness, Katie looked out her own window. Her dismal musings were in­terrupted as her hand, which was lying limply on the seat between them, was suddenly enclosed in Ramon's warm, firm grasp. With his head still averted, he said harshly, "I wish that I could give you a dozen cars like this one, Katie."

  Comprehension dawned, and for a moment Katie was too stunned to speak. Relief washed over her, followed by unabashed amusement. "I wish you could afford to give me just one like it. After all, an expensive car is a guarantee of happiness, isn't it?" Ramon's sharp gaze veered toward her, and Katie widened her blue eyes with exaggerated innocence. "David gave me a Porsche for a wedding present, and look how happy my life was with him!"

  The stern line of Ramon's mouth relaxed into a faint smile as she continued. "Now, if David had given me a Rolls-Royce, I would have been perfectly content with our marriage. Although," she said as Ramon's arm went around her shoulders, drawing her close to him, "the only thing that would have made my life absolutely ecstatic was—" Her sen­tence was smothered by the abrupt descent of Ramon's mouth as he covered her lips with his, kissing her deeply.. .kissing her, Katie realized, with gratitude.

  When he finally lifted his head she basked in the tenderness of his smile. "What would have made your life absolutely ecstatic?" he teased huskily.

  Katie's eyes danced as she snuggled closer to him. "A Ferrari!"

  Ramon burst out laughing and Katie felt the ten­sion leave his powerful body. Now things were in their proper perspective, out in the open where they could be laughed about, which was exactly what she had intended.

  Puerto Rico took Katie completely by surprise. She had not expected a mountainous tropical para­dise with lush green valleys and tranquil blue lakes sparkling in the sunlight. The Rolls climbed steadily along smooth, curving roads bordered with spec­tacular flowering trees, their branches covered thickly in pink and yellow blossoms.

  They passed through picturesque villages nestled between the mountains; each village with its own town square in the center of which was the church with its spire pointing heavenward. Katie craned her neck, her eyes delighting in the vivid colors nature had splashed over hills and meadows, her voice happy as she exclaimed over everything from ferns to farmhouses. Throughout it all, she could feel Ramon's piercing eyes on her, watching her beneath their heavy lids, observing her every reaction. Twice she had turned abruptly to make some enthusiastic comment, and had glimpsed the anxiety in his expression before he could cover it with one of his bland smiles. He desperately wanted her to like his homeland, and for some reason, he seemed unable to believe that she really did.

  Nearly an hour after they left the airport, the Rolls passed through another small village and turned off the paved road onto a dirt track, continu­ing to climb. Katie gasped in speechless wonder; it was as if they were driving through a red silk tunnel illuminated with gossamer sunbeams. Blossoming royal poinciana trees marched along both sides of them, their laden branches meeting overhead, their fallen scarlet petals literally carpeting the road bene
ath the tires in deep red. "It's absolutely unbe­lievable," she breathed, turning to Ramon. "Are we getting close to your home?"

  "About a mile and a half farther up this lane," he said, but the tension was back in his features, and his smile was nothing more than a slight curving of his tight lips. He was staring straight ahead as if he were as intent upon discovering what was at the end of the drive as she was.

  Katie was about to ask him if the pretty flowers with the scarlet cups were a variety of tulip, when the Rolls emerged from the poinciana's two-mile-long red canopy and pulled into an ugly overgrown yard surrounding a run-down white brick cottage. Trying to hide her appalled disappointment, Katie turned to Ramon who was staring at the house with an expression of such murderous fury that she un­consciously pressed back into the seat cushions. Before the car had come to a complete stop in the yard, Ramon had flung open his door, lunged out of the vehicle, slammed the door violently behind him and was striding across the pitiful lawn with rage in every step.

  The elderly chauffeur helped Katie out of the car, and they both turned in time to see Ramon rattle the cottage door, then throw his shoulder against it with so much explosive power that it flew off its hinges and crashed onto the floor of the cottage.

  Katie stood frozen to the spot, looking at the gap­ing black hole where a door had been a moment before. Her gaze moved over the shutters hanging at drunken angles over the windows and the paint peel­ing off the wood trim.

  In a flash, all of Katie's optimism and courage deserted her. She missed her beautiful apartment complex with its gas lamps and enclosed patios. She could never live in a place like this; she had been a fool to try to deny her own love of luxury, her own upbringing.