In the Dark

by Marliss Melton

  Sebastian was renowned for his supreme patience, but for some reason Leila robbed him of his usual self-control. Which was probably the reason why he took a sudden left at the intersection, tires squealing to beat the yellow light.

  “This isn’t the way to my condo,” Leila informed him, one hand braced on the seat, the other clinging to the seat belt.

  “Yes, I know.”

  He kept it at that, punishing her for her reticence, for her damnable, icy poise.

  “So where are we going?” she asked, seconds later. There was an edge to her tone this time.

  He slanted her a look. He was so tempted to say something that would cause her to fall apart, to rip the world out from under her feet, to make her feel the way she made him feel. “Are you hungry?” he asked, instead.

  “No.”

  “No?” He let his gaze drift over her deliberately. “You look hungry. You look like you starve yourself.”

  “What business is it of yours?”

  Her cheeks turned faintly pink. Sebastian took it as a good sign. “It is my business,” he insisted. “If you intend to have my baby you’d better feed him.”

  “Him?” She made a sound of disgust. “I guess you assume that just because you ooze masculinity you could only have a boy child.” Her magnificent eyes began to flash.

  He oozed masculinity? “You need some good Mexican food,” he continued, ignoring her jibe. “I’m going to cook for you.”

  Her jaw grew visibly slack. “Excuse me? This isn’t part of our deal.”

  “I think you failed to read the fine print,” Sebastian retorted, though they’d forged no written contract. “The part that says I have every right to insist on the best health and welfare of my child—”

  “There isn’t even a baby yet!” she cried in disbelief.

  “Do you know that for sure?” They’d made love just over a week ago. He guessed it was too early to tell.

  She pressed a hand to her forehead and briefly closed her eyes. “Allah, you make me crazy,” she muttered. “Fine, I’ll eat your food, if it’ll make you happy. But then you are going to take me home.”

  He gave her his best enigmatic look. No need to tell her that the only place she was going tonight was to his house. He wouldn’t put it past her to jump from his vehicle at the next intersection.

  Instead, he put a leaden foot on his accelerator, getting her to his ocean-front cottage as fast as possible. He’d whip up his favorite dish of mole poblano, feed her until she was groaning with repletion, and then he’d make certain they became more intimately acquainted.

  Leila jammed her hands under her thighs so she wouldn’t wring them. What was happening? All this had the earmarks of an abduction. Sebastian had said that he would take her home, only now she was headed to his house, where he claimed he intended to feed her. Bad, bad idea.

  His house was where he’d taken her the night they’d met. It was May back then, the night she’d turned thirty-eight and realized she wasn’t going to have the baby she’d always dreamed of, not unless she did something absolutely out of character.

  She’d rented a car for anonymity’s sake, and with her friend Helen’s help, she’d been cleared at the gate of Dam Neck Navy Base. She’d headed straight to the Shifting Sands Club where Helen had assured her she’d be the focus of male attention.

  The moon had been full. A cool breeze, redolent with the smell of the ocean, had wafted through the open windows. She’d been swarmed by men, but when Sebastian made his way toward her, the others had backed away, in deference to his rank, she later learned. But one look at him, and she’d already made her selection.

  She remembered thinking Sebastian would make the perfect father for her baby, his dark coloring so like her own. With a glass of wine coursing her bloodstream, she’d danced with him on the patio, thrilled by his grace and by the look of intensity in his espresso-colored eyes.

  She’d let him take her home, to his A-frame cottage by the sea. And with the ocean throbbing in the background, she’d relinquished herself to blinding passion. She’d lost count of the number of times they’d made love. The experience had been so intense, so frightening, that she’d slipped away when he fell into exhausted slumber. She hadn’t even told him her name.

  Nor had a baby been conceived that night. The experience had only left her with a gnawing hunger for human touch and a profound curiosity to know more about the man.

  She’d ignored both impulses. Her husband, Altul, had left her after years of marriage—destitute and bankrupt. It had taken every ounce of willpower to put her life back together. She wasn’t about to risk her fragile heart again.

  But Sebastian was like a magnet of opposing force, drawing her inexorably to him. And when Helen had called in turmoil over Jaguar’s supposedly imaginary fears, Leila had intervened to speak with him. At the time, Jaguar had been living with Sebastian with the belief that his family would be safer without him. Leila had known she would run into Sebastian again. She’d told herself she only intended to apologize.

  And apologize she had, offering him a stammering explanation that had resulted in his offer to give her the baby she still desired—no strings attached.

  So why was he speeding her toward his home, with a glitter in his eyes that told her he was angry, though he appeared relaxed?

  The sky had mellowed to violet by the time they pulled into the carport of his home. Sebastian cut the engine. “Come in,” he invited, getting out.

  Keeping her panic subdued, Leila followed him up the wooden steps. At the front door, he stepped aside to let her in, flicking on a light switch. Recessed lights lit the exposed timbers of the pointed ceiling. The house was small, with a great room and kitchen area downstairs and a loft and bedroom above, where Sebastian slept. He’d built the house himself.

  She took in the depressingly clunky furniture. The cushions and carpeting were a muted gray. The pictures on the wall were uninspiring. The home’s only saving grace was the kitchen—a culinary artist’s dream, with graphite countertops and gleaming stainless-steel appliances.

  “Relax,” Sebastian invited. Glancing his way, she found him unbuttoning his shirt jacket. Her panic spiked. Relax? How could she relax with him undressing before her?

  He shrugged off the jacket, revealing a tan T-shirt underneath, one that clung to his chiseled torso. She watched, dry-mouthed, as he unbuckled his belt, then tugged his T-shirt free. To her great relief, he turned away, pulling it over his head as he turned away. “I’m going to change. I’ll be right back,” he said, taking the steps two at a time, muscles in his naked back rippling.

  Leila tore her gaze away. She headed to the kitchen on wobbly knees and poured herself a glass of water, gulping it down. Ignoring the sounds coming from the loft, she cast an envious gaze around his cooking space. The man’s priorities were in the right place, apparently.

  She dared a peek into his refrigerator. He was also immaculate. The shelves were all wiped down. She glimpsed an array of health and ethnic foods that only made him that much more appealing.

  “I assume you’ve heard the latest about Jaguar.” She jumped guiltily and shut the refrigerator door. Sebastian was coming down the stairs in an impossibly white crew neck shirt, black shorts, and bare feet. He looked like a domesticated panther.

  “Oh, yes, he’s been arrested. Helen’s going out of her mind. Do you know what’s going to happen?”

  Sebastian struck her as grim as he paused by the counter that divided the kitchen from the great room. “An Article 32 is scheduled for Monday. Lieutenant Lindstrom and Westy are working with a DIA analyst to find something that’ll prove Commander Lovitt was responsible.”

  “Poor Helen,” Leila sighed, mourning her friend’s plight. No sooner had Helen rediscovered love in her husband’s arms than it was being put to the test. It just proved the fact that love was painful. “Do you think they’ll find the evidence they need?”

  A crease appeared briefly between Sebastian’s dark-as-n
ight eyebrows. “They have to,” he said simply.

  She knew a sudden and powerful urge to comfort him.

  “Have you ever heard of mole poblano?” he asked, before she found the right words. He moved into the kitchen and started pulling ingredients from the refrigerator, brown sugar and what looked like a hunk of chocolate from the cupboard.

  “Yes,” she said, “but I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted it.”

  “It takes hours to prepare,” he divulged. “I’ve found it easier to make the nut-chili puree in advance.” He unscrewed a glass jar, releasing a savory aroma.

  “What’s in it?” she asked, curious despite herself.

  He slanted her a look with one dark eyebrow raised. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stir-fried almonds, pecans, peanuts, and shelled pepitas are blended with chilies in a turkey broth.”

  “That sounds simple enough.”

  His eyes glinted. “Then you sauté a ripe thick-skinned plantain, setting it aside. Next, you sauté tomatoes, adding raisins and the sautéed plantains at the last minute. Run this fruit blend through a sieve before adding it to the chili puree.”

  His voice had a sensual, hypnotic effect on her. Leila felt herself falling under its spell.

  “After that,” he added, “you brown an onion and garlic clove in a clean skillet. Add peppercorn, chickpeas, and anise; a cinnamon stick, Mexican oregano, dried thyme, and sea salt. This, too, is added to the puree.”

  He held up the glass jar before dumping it in a blender. “But I do all that in advance.”

  Watching him at work in his kitchen was fascinating, almost magical. He fried a hunk of bread in oil as well as five coarsely chopped tortillas, adding them to the blender with the chili puree and a cup of turkey broth.

  Warming strips of turkey breast in the oil he’d used for the bread, he poured the sauce from the blender over it, leaving it to simmer. He measured out a half cup of brown sugar and stirred it in. And then came the chocolate.

  Leila had a weakness for chocolate. She watched it melt into the fragrant, spicy-sweet smelling sauce, and her mouth watered.

  “When did you learn to cook?” she wondered aloud. How could he have had time as a SEAL in charge of so many men?

  “My mother needed help in the kitchen,” he replied, reminding her that he was the oldest of eight, that his father had died, postponing his dreams of college, making it necessary for him to join the Navy. “Fortunately,” he said with a half smile, “I enjoyed it.” He ran his rather elegant-looking hands under the faucet, while gazing at her. “And you?”

  She shrugged. “I was made to learn. Turkish women are expected to toil in the kitchen,” she mocked.

  “And when did you learn to dance?” His eyes warmed with appreciation.

  “School dances,” she admitted, looking away. “I was forbidden to go, but I found a way. The cheerleader sponsor saw me on the dance floor and begged me to join the dance team. By the time my parents found out, I was too involved to quit. When I went to college, I majored in it.”

  Having revealed that much, she felt suddenly exposed to him. There were some things Sebastian didn’t need to know about her, even if he did become the father of her child. She turned abruptly toward the sliding-glass doors and unlatched them, stepping outside onto his balcony.

  She took a breath to clear her head, to gather herself.

  The sun had set, leaving the Atlantic Ocean looking like a giant pot of ink. Tonight the moon was not in sight, but the stars winked on, one by one. The scent of seafood wafted on a breeze that carried the sound of laughter. It would be so easy to lose herself, to let her guard down as she had before.

  As if to prove just that, the melodic notes of piano music greeted her ears. Sebastian had turned on the stereo. Leila closed her eyes, lured helplessly into the romantic atmosphere.

  She sensed Sebastian stepping onto the deck behind her and her breath caught as she anticipated his arms going around her. He would pull her against his lean male body. His touch was all it would take to shatter her resistance.

  “Qué bella la noche,” he commented.

  She opened her eyes to find him propped against the deck rail, regarding her.

  “It is beautiful,” she admitted, striving for a conversational tone.

  “Not half so lovely as you.”

  The compliment snapped her out of her trance. “Okay, stop,” she said, propping her hands on her hips. “If you brought me here to feed me, Sebastian, then that’s one thing. But you’re not going to seduce me. We have a deal, and it doesn’t include seeing each other whenever whim dictates, do you understand?”

  To her discomfiture, he merely looked at her, making her feel like she’d displayed unseemly emotion for nothing.

  “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

  “No,” she said. “Thank you.” Wine was the last thing she needed; his company was intoxicating enough.

  “Come and see what I have, though,” he offered, gesturing with his head.

  Recalling the fabulous Crest Chardonnay he’d shared with her on a picnic a month ago, she trailed him back into the kitchen. The aroma of chocolate and chilies filled her senses as she stood beside his wine cabinet.

  He pulled a bottle out for her inspection. “Château Lafite Rothschild Pauillac, 1996,” he announced, handing it to her. “It conveys an essence of limestone, honeysuckle, and pear. But a dark wine would be best with our meal. This is Swanson Cabernet Sauvignon, 1997. It blends cassis and black raspberry, with cedar and ash, sage, thyme, vanilla, and bittersweet chocolate.”

  Chocolate again.

  “Are you sure you won’t try it?” he asked, avoiding eye contact.

  “Perhaps just a small glass,” she conceded.

  She sipped the Cabernet with secretly profound appreciation as he stirred their dinner. For a man who wielded a gun for a living, Sebastian had such sensitive-looking hands, with handsome knuckles and long, slender fingers that knew just where to touch her and just how.

  Before she knew it, her wineglass stood empty. They’d discussed their favorite music and the best places in the world to see. And those to avoid.

  With a start, Leila realized that she was feeling relaxed and warmly alive. She’d let her guard down. Sebastian had ignored her warning earlier. He was slowly, inexorably drawing her in.

  Before the night was through, she was certain he would peel her clothes off in that very deliberate manner of his and kiss every inch of her, beginning with her lips, her neck, her breasts, and so on, moving down the length of her body until she was nothing but a pool of liquid need.

  Only then would he tell her how much he wanted her and what he was going to do to her, interspersing lilting Spanish phrases into his whispered predictions.

  “Let’s eat on the balcony,” he suggested, oblivious to her carnal thoughts. “Would you light this for me?” He handed her a candle in a glass dome and a box of matches.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll set the table,” she added, desperate for some mundane task to take the edge off her traitorous anticipation.

  It took her six attempts to light the candle. She blamed it on the ocean breeze, but her fingers shook as she laid place mats and silverware on the glass top of his wrought-iron table.

  Sebastian brought the food out with a flourish. As they sat down across from each other, an awkward silence fell between them. “I like to say grace,” Sebastian admitted.

  “Yes, me, too. Go ahead.”

  He hesitated. “What faith will we raise our child?” he asked very seriously.

  Leila narrowed her eyes at him. He made it sound like they’d be living together. “I don’t think we need to face that right now, do you?”

  He shrugged, closed his eyes, and gave a simple blessing, and the moment passed.

  Leila found herself ravenous. A whimper of delight escaped her as she dug into her food. The exotic blend of spices teased her taste buds. The chocolate took the
edge off the chili peppers, and the tender fare melted in her mouth. “You’re very good,” she admitted, forking up another bite. Her face heated as she considered just how very good he was, at everything.

  Sebastian’s eyes held the candlelight as he regarded her. “Next time you can cook for me.”

  She wanted to retort that there would be no next time, only that seemed awfully rude under the circumstances. Her car had broken down and he’d rescued her. Not only that, but he’d been a faultless host, going to great lengths to feed her. Of course, she mustn’t forget his ultimate intentions.

  A pleasant shiver rippled over her.

  Conversation moved to other topics, and before she knew it, she’d imbibed a second glass of wine, causing her to stagger as she rose to help clear the plates. Sebastian flashed a hand out to steady her. “Careful.”

  It was all she could do not to turn into his arms.

  “Let’s walk on the beach,” he suggested, unexpectedly.

  They put the dishes away and descended the myriad steps to the ocean. Leila lacked the will to protest when he took her hand, anchoring her to his side as they slogged their way through the dense sand to the rushing waves.

  “Your hair will tangle,” he observed, pausing to gather the long strands, twisting them in a loop, and drawing the ends through it.

  She swayed against him, then, loving the feel of his hands in her hair. It was inevitable that he would make love to her tonight. She might as well be reconciled to it, and if she was honest with herself, she’d admit that she was looking forward to it.

  But then he took her hand, and they began to walk. He talked to her. He told her the names of all his brothers and sisters, where they lived, what they did. His words filled her mind with vignettes of happy moments and warmhearted people. His youngest sister was the last to be mentioned. She’d just had her first son and named him Sebastian. “We are fifteen years apart, Marianita and I. Who would have thought she’d have a child before me, hmm?”

  Leila’s heart did a funny flip-flop. Why hadn’t she considered when she’d made her bargain with Sebastian that he might want to be involved in their baby’s life?