I continue to stroke her back as I turn my stare to the wall ahead again, thinking about that.
* * *
The next day, I’m the first to wake, as usual. I’m beginning to think Leira isn’t a morning person.
The sun has already risen past the mountains based on the light that filters in through the sides of the curtains. I slip out of bed and walk over to the drapes covering the second set of windows furthest away from the bed. I open them just enough to have a view of the vineyards outside.
Something about the parallel rows of green vines, completely uninterrupted by anything for acres, gives me a sense of calm. I haven’t fully relaxed since coming upon Leira in that lagoon. Granted, the past several days have been unusually active, even for me.
But now I see why my grandfather considers this a refuge.
Home.
I turn to find Leira still fast asleep, snoring softly. I’m too restless to go back and join her, so instead, I pull on my clothes from last night. The clothes we brought with us, along with some toiletries, are still in the car. Sebastián only invited us for the night, but I suspect we might be staying here for a while longer.
When I exit the front of the house, my eye catches Sebastián standing on the same hill that Leira and I were on last night. My favorite spot. He’s staring peacefully out at the same view I had from our bedroom. I think about leaving him alone to enjoy it, but his head turns to me and he lifts one hand in a greeting.
I detour to join him.
“I love coming here in the morning before the winery is active. It’s peaceful.”
“It is,” I say, staring out at the expanse of grapevines.
The seconds tick by, going into a full minute before the silence is broken.
“You have your mother’s eyes. Daniela, she inherited them from her mother. So big and brown you could drown in them.”
I drink that in, letting it settle somewhere in my brain that allows me to unlock everything I’ve been holding in.
“When did you first know?”
“After your second visit. A young man on his own, visiting twice? Abaroa is a very nice winery, but the tourists are mostly interested in the bigger ones with fancy buildings and tours. You also have my nose.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “That’s what she says, my...my friend who came with me.”
Sebastián laughs. “A friend with a very lovely voice. It’s good to have such a friend like that. A woman with a nice voice makes the inevitable spats and arguments that much more enjoyable. How can you stay mad at a woman with a beautiful voice?”
I laugh again, thinking of all the arguments Leira and I have had, ironically enough, most of them silent.
“I never told you because of my father, the man your daughter married.”
In my periphery, Sebastián nods, as though that confirms his suspicions.
“When the news that my daughter and the grandson I’d never known had died in a plane crash, even then, I knew that man had something to do with it.”
“If you thought your grandson was dead, why would you ever think that I was him?”
Sebastián smiles. “My niece, Clara. Sister Clara now. She wasn’t supposed to say anything, but she thought I had a right to know you were at least still alive. Like you, she wanted to protect both of us from the whole truth, just in case that man was watching me. So, I never knew where you ended up. She just said that Daniela had decided to leave that man and had died for her effort.”
“Sister Clara was the one who led me back to you. Once I was old enough to appreciate the necessary caution.”
“She is a good woman. My wife’s side of the family, of course.”
We both laugh.
“She never told me what finally got Daniela to leave him.”
“When I was young, I witnessed him kill a man. My mother wanted to use it as leverage to get him to let us go. At least I assume so. I don’t know for sure what happened. All I know is, she was gone and I suddenly had to change my name and be adopted into a new family. I don’t know how he killed her or even where her body is.”
“Bastard,” Sebastián hisses, his fists tightening. “When I wasn’t invited to the wedding, I knew he wasn’t a good man. She may have been stubborn enough not to reach out to us, but what man would even think of marriage without the blessing of the father, no matter the circumstances?”
“He wasn’t a good man,” I confirm, my own fists tightening. As with my mother, my memories of Richard Coleman are vague. But my memories of her are filled with laughter and song and sweet words. With his, there are just flashes of anger and shouting and bourbon-tinged breath.
“I’ve wanted to kill him a thousand times.”
“He’ll get his justice.” I turn to Sebastián and give him an even look. “Directly from me.”
His eyes are solemn as he assesses me. “Good.”
I nod slightly and we both return to gazing out at the vineyard. By now, the first stirrings are taking place in the main building for the winery, the employees starting their day.
“You and Leira are welcome to stay with me as long as you’d like. I would enjoy the company,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
I smile and nod. “We do have a little less than a week to fill.”
“Good, good. Now let’s go down and see if that friend of yours would like some coffee.”
I laugh and head down the slope with him back to the big house. This is the first I’ve felt like I was really and truly home in a long time.
When all of this is done, I’d like to come back.
Maybe with Leira.
Chapter Forty-Four
Leira
It’s our last night here at the Abaroa winery. Enrique and I have passed the days exploring Logroño and other smaller cities nearby. Each night we dine with Sebastián as usual. After dinner, we make love in new and different ways.
Something a girl could very much get used to.
Tonight we’re taking advantage of the huge tub in the bathroom attached to our room. I’m in between Enrique’s spread legs, leaning forward to hug my knees as he washes my back with a sponge. My hair is piled on top of my head because I absolutely refused to let him do anything with it, which might result in a tangled, frizzy mess. It’s a process, I explained.
“When I first met you back in the lagoon—”
“Met me?” I interrupt with a laugh. “Is that what you’d call it?”
He does something with his fingers that tickles my back, causing me to arch and yelp in protest. I slap my hand in the water to splash him.
“Okay, when I was gentlemanly enough to carry you back to my boat so you had a nice warm spot to dry off and rest—”
I slap the water again, making him laugh.
“You picked English, not Spanish. This entire week you’ve been speaking Spanish fluently, yes with a strange accent, but fluent all the same.”
“English is my first language, and you had an accent when you spoke it, which meant it probably wasn’t yours. I wanted the upper hand,” I say as he squeezes water from the sponge down my back to rinse the soap away.
“Upper hand?”
I spin around so I’m facing him. I come in closer to straddle his legs and bring my arms around his neck.
“Yes, upper hand. You know, kind of how I enjoy being on top?” I say with a grin.
“Well,” he says, grabbing my ass. “That’s a shame because I also like being on top.”
He somehow maneuvers his legs into a kneeling position, still with me on top. Then, holding onto my ass, he lifts us both out of the tub.
“Enrique! You’re going to break both our necks!” I say, clinging to him as he lifts one leg, then the other out of the tub.
“Do you doubt my abilities?”
“No, but I also don’t doubt the laws of physics.”
“Physics, hmm? Allow me to provide you a very detailed lesson, tesoro mío.”
I love that nickname almost as
much as Diabla. Though, perhaps the latter is more appropriate to how I feel right now with my legs spread wide enough for his erect penis to rub against my exposed clit. When he lands on the bed, both of us sitting on the edge, I moan with pleasure as the hard ridge makes one more run across it.
“You do the honors,” he says, darting his eyes toward the nightstand where the box of condoms is.
I grin and lean over to pull one out. Just to tease him, I take my time opening it and slowly rolling it down his shaft.
“You keep using that upper hand this way and you’ll find out what it’s like when the tables are turned. Lucky for you, I happen to enjoy this position,” he says, eyeing my naked breasts.
“Oh,” I say, lifting up on my knees so I’m hovering just above the head of his dick. “How about this one?”
I lower just enough for my slit to slide across the tip. I’m not sure which of us is getting the most pleasure out of this. I lean forward for him to take the bait, his mouth latching onto one of the hardened nipples so he can tease it with his tongue and lips. It’s almost enough for me, this bit of foreplay, our bodies still slick with bathwater and soapy suds.
But not enough for Enrique.
His mouth slides across my chest and up to my throat where his teeth graze across the skin until he reaches my ear.
“Bastante,” he growls.
In a flash, he lifts me and twists both of us around so I’m down on the bed underneath him.
“My turn,” he says just before entering me.
I groan with pleasure, my legs obediently coming up around his waist as he sinks into me. I thought by now I would have become used to the way he feels inside of me. While there’s no longer that same pain from the first time, it definitely still feels like I’m being invaded in the most enjoyably obscene way.
Enrique’s lips whisper filth against my ears, a mix of Spanish and English that add a deviant coat of icing to this cake of pleasure.
When I come, it’s with all the force of an earthquake, one that shakes me to my core and leaves me nothing but a pile of rubble. Enrique follows, the muscles underneath my palms and in between my thighs going taut before he shudders his release.
I hold onto him, enjoying this last night of peace. This week with him has settled me into a warm comfortable feeling about him, something that I don’t want to let go of. Even in these passionate moments where I feel an overwhelming lust for him, there’s that foundation of…home.
I really don’t want it to end.
I don’t want us to end.
But tomorrow, we head back to Barcelona and the shit hits the fan.
Enrique disentangles himself from me and rolls onto his back beside me. I curl into his side, placing my head on his shoulder as I trace the lines of his pecs and abs.
“Maybe we don’t have to go back tomorrow,” I suggest.
“No,” he says, turning to look at me his face taut with seriousness. “This needs to end.”
“What if it’s Richard Coleman?” I say, hating the man enough to avoid referring to him as Enrique’s father. Although I still don’t know what the connection is, I’m almost certain that he’s the one who killed my mother and sisters.
“Then I’ll kill him.”
As much as the words give me a surge of righteous satisfaction, I can’t help but imagine David going against Goliath, this time with a more realistic outcome. Still, I’m tactful enough to stay silent.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “We have to leave early in the morning to make it back by noon. I want to get there early.” Hi grins toward the ceiling. “All the better to have the upper hand.”
I chuckle against him, feeling a little bit better.
At least for tonight, we can rest easy about it. Tomorrow may be a different story.
Chapter Forty-Five
Enrique
“So this person you are meeting with, be careful, yes?” Sebastián says, clapping me on the shoulder as we stand in the yard in front of the house.
“I will,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile.
The sun hasn’t yet broken into the sky past the mountains but there is enough light to see the beginnings of the day. Leira and I are saying our goodbyes to him before we drive back to Barcelona.
“And when you’ve done what you need to do, I would like to see you again.” He gives me a level gaze as a silent understanding passes between us. He breaks it to smile at Leira. “Both of you.”
“I’d like that,” Leira says. She’s wearing the white dress I picked out for her, freshly laundered and looking spectacular as ever.
“Good, good,” Sebastián says, clapping his hands together.
We hug our last goodbyes and Leira and I get in the car to go. The trip is mostly quiet, filled with the occasional small talk and Leira taking naps. We reach Barcelona with two hours to spare and decide to pass the time getting something to eat at a cafe near the marina.
“I think I need something stronger than beer,” Leira says, her brow wrinkling with worry.
I’ve tried to maintain a calm facade mostly to put her at ease, but as the time has clicked closer and closer to noon, she’s been fretting more and more.
“One week at a vineyard and you’re a heavyweight.”
“How am I supposed to just sit here when any moment one of Richard’s men could come out of nowhere and…well, I don’t know. Kill us?”
“First of all we don’t know if it’s him. Second, like I said, if they wanted me dead, we’d both be long dead by now.” My mind races back to Ibiza and the woman in the car. They certainly seemed capable enough and me sussing them out seemed to be their intent all along. Whoever it is I’m meeting isn’t afraid of me, but definitely needs or wants something from me.
“When this is all over, I’ll buy you an entire pitcher of sangria. I think there’s a cafe near the nude beach,” I say with a grin.
Leira twists her lips at me, but eventually breaks out with a smile. “You aren’t scared?”
I mull that question over. “I’m more curious than anything. Mostly I just want this over with so at least I know what’s going on.”
She looks around as though searching for suspicious characters. I know better. When these people want to be seen, they’ll be seen. Otherwise, they’d blend in too well to be noticed.
“We should go,” I say, checking my phone for the time. “We have less than half an hour. The marina has a restaurant with a bar that you can sit at. I want you in a safe spot just in case.”
We make our way to the marina and I’m relieved to see that the restaurant attached is filled with a lunchtime crowd. I find a spot at the bar and deposit Leira into a chair.
“I’m going to leave my card with you to use, just in case they try to kick you out. Don’t drink too much.”
She nods and swallows hard.
“Use your judgement. If I’m not back within a reasonable amount of time, don’t go to the hotel. Go to the police and claim your purse and belongings were stolen. From there you can find a way to safety.”
This time she doesn’t nod or swallow, she just stares at me with wide eyes.
I reach out and bring her forward to kiss her. “It will be fine, Leira. Trust me.”
“I do,” she says quietly.
I hold onto her for a moment longer.
“You’re early.”
We both turn at the sound of the woman’s voice, a voice with a slight Eastern European accent. It’s the same woman from the car back in Ibiza. She has a lazily sardonic smirk on her face, as though this intimate moment is a bit too sickly sweet for her tastes. She also has two men behind her just in case either of us is tempted to try anything.
“We saw you both walk in, so we thought we’d get started ahead of schedule. Unless of course, you’d like a drink first,” she offers before looking at her watch. “We do have ten more minutes.”
“I’m ready,” I say in a level voice.
“Very good. Come with us,
” she says, leading the way out to where the boats are docked. I follow her, and her two cohorts fall in line behind me. They seem to have completely ignored the fact that Leira was with me, which is a good sign.
For her.
The prior use of her as leverage seems to have been just that, leverage. They have no interest in her whatsoever, except as a tool to get me to show up.
Which does nothing to narrow down the list of suspects.
Considering the meeting location, I fully expected a boat to come into the picture but when the woman leads me to one of the midsized boats, I hesitate. Once I step foot on that boat, there will be little in the way of escape.
I turn to look at the restaurant and barely have a glimpse of Leira inside at the bar. If I run now, she’ll be used as leverage once again, and I have no doubt about them following through on any threats.
I get on the boat.
“Where is it we’re headed?” I ask, knowing full well I won’t get an answer.
The woman just gives me a mild smile as though she’s only slightly amused by the question.
They haven’t handcuffed me or pulled out any weapons, so I sit back on the padded bench in the rear, bookended by her and one of her men as the other guides the boat out of the marina. At least it’s a nice day. This is Barcelona in summer; of course it’s a nice day.
We travel for a good twenty or so minutes until I see a yacht in the distance.
A familiar yacht.
Joder!
Now, at least I partially understand why I’m not dead yet. When the boat slows to a stop alongside the yacht, I’m once again led by the woman up the ladder to board.
We head straight for the aft, where a large deck with several lounge chairs are situated. Lying back on one of them is the man who is responsible for all of this.
Constantin Papadopoulos.
“Ah, the Pirate makes his return,” he says in a deceptively amicable tone, sitting up and snatching away his sunglasses to reveal bluish-green eyes that some Greeks are known for.
Spanish Pirate: A BWWM International Legacies Romance Page 20
