“I talk to my friends in Europe,” Trini said.
“This one is Pía Isabela,” Téra continued. “She has no English. But ask her anything in geek-speak and she’s your girl.”
It was clear that Pía was not following the conversation at all, but she nodded to Minnie when Téra waved toward her.
“Pía is good at keeping our computers going,” Cristián explained. “There are not many digital experts in Pascuallita.”
Minnie took a deep breath. “It’s very nice to meet you all. But...do I use both your names?” she asked Téra. “Are you always Téra Alejandra?”
Isabela laughed, the same low chuckle as Duardo but with a feminine trill. “Only those three use both their names. It is the one thing they do agree upon.”
“But I don’t understand,” Minnie confessed.
“Téra, Trini and Pía,” Duardo explained.
Téra wrinkled her nose, lifted a finger. “Birds on a wire. Dit, dit, dit.” She dabbed her fingertip three times in the air to point out the rhythm.
Minnie shook her head. “But it’s charming.”
“It’s bad enough we look alike,” Téra shot back, thrusting out her bottom lip.
“Actually, I think you look more like Duardo than Trini or Pía.”
“Jesús Maria,” Duardo whispered, alarming her.
Téra’s face darkened. She put her hands on her hips and vented a long stream of loud, fast Spanish at Duardo, her gaze flickering toward Minnie. Clearly, she was as pissed as a bee in a bottle. Minnie drew in an unsteady breath as Téra yelled. There were words Minnie recognized, enough for her to gain a tiny hint about what Téra was saying.
“Téra!” Isabela cried, dismayed.
Duardo spoke coldly. “Téra, Minnie is a guest in my house.”
“Fine, then I’ll leave.” Téra turned and strode from the room.
“What have I done?” Minnie said to Duardo.
“You spoke the truth, that is all. Do not worry about it. Come and eat.”
Dinner, after that, was a strained affair. The food was delicious and Isabela was a charming woman. But Cristián seemed caught up in his own thoughts, while Pía could not and Trini did not seem to want to keep up a conversation. Téra’s absence was louder than a shout to Minnie. Her appetite evaporated.
Only Duardo’s presence next to her kept her seated.
He spoke with his mother, bringing her up to date with his life. They spoke in English for Minnie’s benefit and the conversation was an unexpected one for mother and son. It seemed that Duardo was more than the nominal male head of the family. Although Isabela ran the household while he was away, between the two of them they weighed up the more important decisions—everything from the scheduling of Cristián’s university fee payments to replacing the solar hot water system on the roof. The others weighed in with observations and answered questions, but Duardo had the last word on what that decision would be.
When the meal ended, Duardo picked up Minnie’s bags. He led her up four winding sets of steps to a landing that had to be up near the roof. He pushed a door aside and let her enter first.
The room beyond was a bedroom in the attic, but the walls were plastered and whitewashed and big dormer windows punched through each roof slope, bringing in lots of daylight. A big bed, covered in a patchwork quilt, was tucked under the eaves.
“It is warm up here,” Duardo explained. “And no one else likes to climb the stairs all the time.”
“This is your room?”
“Yes.” He put her bags on the floor at the foot of the bed. “And yours, if you please, for tonight.”
She tried to smile and failed. “Sure,” she said.
He lifted her chin. “Tell me what troubles you.”
“Téra doesn’t like me because I’m American. The others...she guides them.”
“Why do you say Téra hates you?”
“It’s what she said. Something about me being American. And what was it about China?”
Duardo’s lips twitched. “She called you a china doll.” He shrugged. “I think that is you, too. A delicate china doll.”
“And I thought you knew me better than that.”
“I only meant the appearance. Not in here.” He touched her temple. “Or here.” And his fingertips rested against the upper slope of her breast.
She tried to ignore the sensation of having his fingers right there and concentrate on making her point. “Téra doesn’t like Americans.”
“Téra does not like being like me. We are the same, Téra and I. It causes...”
“Friction?”
“Yes. Rubbing together. Sparks. When I am away, she can be just herself. She can be strong, a leader. When I am home, she gets...bumped?”
“I see. So why did she call me an American like it was an insult?”
“Your Spanish is getting better if you heard that. She did not say it that way to upset you but to upset me. We are so alike, she knows how to hurt me quickest.”
“And did it? Hurt you?”
He laughed softly. “Not at all. How can I get hurt by the truth?”
Minnie realized that his hand had slid down her breast and was now resting very close to the nipple. Intentional or not, the light weight of his fingers had awakened her senses. She wanted to reach for him but couldn’t. “You are different here at home. I knew that would happen, but I didn’t expect you would be this way.”
“What way am I different?”
“There are no words for it. But I know this. The other Duardo, if I wanted him, I could reach for him and he would welcome it. But not this Duardo.”
His cheer faded. “Do not be afraid of me. You must never be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid. But here at home, you are more...Vistarian.”
“You do not like this Vistarian?” he asked softly.
“I like,” she confessed. “I like very much indeed. But I am intimidated.”
He frowned and she translated as best she could for him. “I am overpowered. Cowed.”
“Ah. I know something about power,” he said. “If you think you have no power over me, Miss Minerva Benning, then it means I am a better liar than I thought.” He picked up her hand and placed it on his chest. She could feel his heart thundering in his chest. “Merely from the mention that you might fear me,” he confessed. “That you might not accept all this,” and he waved his hand around. “My humble home. My competitive family. My life.”
“If I reach for you, what would you do?” she asked.
“Try. See what I do.”
She dropped her hands to his belt and unbuckled it. His eyes narrowed speculatively, but he did not move. “Nothing,” she declared. “That’s not good. That’s not the old Duardo.”
She opened his trousers and let them hang open while she ran her fingers over the soft skin of his pelvis. She could feel the nerves beneath the skin twitch, but he remained as solid as rock. He stood unmoving as she loosened all the buttons of his shirt and slid it from his shoulders. For long moments, she enjoyed tasting and touching his chest, shoulders and arms. He had soft flesh over iron-hard muscles and she had learned he had strength that his lean length hid. He could pick her up with one hand and had done so in the past. But now he stood still. Silent.
She flicked her tongue over the flat disks of his nipples, caressed the soft curve of his pecs. She ran her hands over the ridges of abdominal muscles and the oh-so-sexy pelvic girdle that only really fit men had. She loved the way the ridge of muscle arrowed down to his cock. When she caught a glimpse of that ridge, even when he was clothed, it was like a silent invitation to explore. The invitation was hard to resist.
While Duardo stood unmoving, she slowly stripped him of clothing. His cock betrayed him. It stood fully erect, throbbing in time with his heart and dark with blood. She carefully avoided touching it. Instead she circled him, enjoying the opportunity to explore unmolested. Often, when making love, her explorations would be interrupted by Duardo’s own wander
ing hands and mouth, her attention distracted by his ministrations. Now she could trace every muscle, every curve and study it and delight in it.
She used her lips and hands everywhere. She was rewarded with tiny hitches in his breath, in little motions and twitches of nerves—small signs that made her double her efforts to move him, to break him. Her own body was throbbing with need, but she knew if she could breach Duardo’s control the resulting explosion of movement would be reward enough.
Finally she rounded his body one last time, her fingers trailing over his buttocks and hip, around to his balls. She cupped them and stroked them as she got to her knees. Duardo’s chest was rising and falling hard. Despite the profound silence in the attic she knew she was close to success.
She circled the shaft of his cock with her hands and slid them upward to trip over the ridge of flesh at the tip.
He hissed in a sharp breath and was still again.
Mentally, she rolled up her sleeves. She gripped his cock and guided it into her mouth and used all her skills and experience to draw from him the reaction she wanted. She could feel his body responding. He could not prevent the autonomic responses or control his heart and breathing, but everything else he held rigid as she used her tongue and teeth and lips on his cock. She could feel him tightening up, drawing toward climax.
At the very last moment, he cried “Dios! Enough!” He pulled her from him and flipped her onto her hands and knees on the floor. His trembling fingers pulled aside her panties and he thrust inside her as he gripped her hips.
She threw her head back in reaction and pressed herself against him, opening herself up. “Harder,” she moaned, encouraging him.
“For you.” His thrusts grew deeper, harder. His hands on her hips gripped firmly as he pushed into her.
“Come for me,” she crooned as his breath shortened and the motion of his cock inside her grew choppy and uncontrolled.
Two more quick thrusts and he came in hard, jerking spasms, his breath locking up in his throat and chest.
Minnie smiled at her little victory, but when he pulled out of her and staggered to his feet, she realized that she hadn’t won yet. He scooped her up around the waist, dropped her onto the bed and flipped her skirt up. Her panties he dispensed with one quick jerk, ripping them away at the seams.
Before she could react, he spread her knees and bent his mouth to her clit. High, pleasurable shock ran through her at the touch of his tongue. “There is always retribution,” he murmured against her before attacking her clit again. He was merciless. He used every weapon at his disposal—teeth, tongue, lips. His fingers toyed with her slippery pussy, stroking the inner walls and reaching for the G-spot.
She writhed helplessly. Her moans and exhalations of pleasure formed without thought. She knew she was going to climax harder and quicker than she had ever known. It was swelling and blooming within her—an explosion of pleasure that would dwarf everything.
She felt his hands on her hips, lifting her, but didn’t care. When his cock rammed into her she merely cried aloud her satisfaction. He was moving in her and on her. His fingers were stroking her clit, matching his thrusts.
This was better, this was...oh! This was heaven!
Her climax gripped her, tearing through her mind and nerves. She could feel her body lock up in response and the thundering waves of energy making her channel ripple around Duardo’s cock, stroking it.
He groaned, but his fingers kept up their motion and suddenly another climax hit her unexpectedly. High, sweet pleasure burst across her again. She may have screamed. She may have passed out. She wasn’t sure. For a long moment the world seemed to grey out around her. All she was aware of was Duardo inside her.
That’s all I want, she heard herself whisper inside her mind.
They recovered lying together and she could feel his heartbeat grow slow and calm. Then she giggled.
“What is it?” he murmured, his voice sleepy.
“Do you realize this is the first time we have made love in a bed?”
“We only finished here,” he pointed out.
“Well, let’s change that, huh?” She rolled over him and straddled him, but Duardo reached for her and kept her still.
“In a minute,” he promised. “But first, you distracted me by making me think you feared me.”
“God, you’re relentless, aren’t you?” she said with a laugh.
His expression was gentle. “It is important to speak of these things, Minnie.”
She let her head hang. “Okay,” she agreed. “They’re just not much fun to speak about.”
“That’s just because you insist on being guilty at them.”
“Guilty about them. And I do not.”
“You feel it is your fault that they do not like you because you are American.” His gaze would not let her go, would not let her hide.
“I suppose,” she said reluctantly.
“It is their fault.”
“Huh?”
“Their problem. You know—you say it all the time. ‘It’s not my problem.’ Right?”
“Sure, but that’s for little things.”
“Big things too, Minnie. Most especially for the big things. It is not you who makes Téra hate Americans. It is her choice to hate Americans. Every action starts with a decision. And you didn’t make that decision. She did. So, not your fault.”
“That’s hardly a comfort when I am an American. Besides, not every action starts with a decision.”
“No?”
“What about falling in love? There’s no decision there. It’s what you do that makes me love you.” She tried to take the words back, but they were already out and she swallowed, her heart thundering.
Duardo laughed. “Army training doesn’t include emotions like love.” Then she saw him put it together. He studied her. “You love me?”
Was there caution there? Was his heart pounding again with fear of a different kind? Very careful, she responded, “I could love you...if only you behave yourself.”
He laughed again and reached for her and the moment passed. As Duardo stripped her of clothing, she tried to shake off her regret for letting it pass, for helping send it on its way. Then it struck her. That was what she feared about Duardo.
She feared the love.
Chapter Seven
Minnie bit her lip to stop herself commenting as Calli moved her queen’s rook forward three squares. It was a bad move, but it was Calli’s game. She put her chin back on her forearm, which was resting across the back of the dining chair. She had pulled the chair up to the game board and reversed it, happy to let her mind drop into neutral as she watched the game.
From the arm of the big sofa in the corner, Carmen gave a breathy wheeze of laughter, quickly muffled. Minnie glanced at her. The woman was wearing a perfectly respectable pair of cut-offs. Her shirt was somewhat see-through, but she wore a bra beneath. For the last three days, Carmen had been behaving herself, but Minnie was still wary of her.
She returned her chin to her forearm. The scratches on her arm were already healing. Only her lip gave out the odd twinge now.
Her father winced and moved his queen. “Checkmate in four, I’m afraid,” he told Calli, looking at her over the top of his glasses.
“Three, actually,” Minnie said.
Her father stared at the board. “Yes, three,” he agreed.
Calli sighed and laid her king down on the board. “I guess I just didn’t learn it young enough. Or practice enough.”
“I don’t get much practice either,” Carmen said, pushing her hands into the pockets of her cut-offs. “And I’ve only been playing a few years.”
Calli bit her lip and Minnie recognized that she was weighing something up. “Would you like to play a game, then?” she asked Carmen. It was a form of peace offering. Minnie wasn’t sure what had happened after the fight in the kitchen, but the air between Carmen and Calli had been strained since then and Minnie’s gut told her it wasn’t all because of the fig
ht. Something else had happened afterwards.
Carmen stood up, showing mild interest. “A game against you?”
“I wouldn’t play her,” Nick said from behind the file he was reading at the desk. “Not unless you like being humiliated twice in an afternoon. Carmen was Harvard’s grand champion four years in a row. She’s selling you a dummy.”
Carmen shoved her hands back into her pockets. “You ruined a perfectly acceptable bluff.”
“If you’d tried to bluff Josh, fair enough,” Nick answered. “But Calli? You just wanted the pleasure of annihilating her in two moves. Ego, pure and simple.”
“¡Mierda!” Carmen hissed.
Nick lifted his head and just looked at her.
After a few moments, Carmen looked away.
Josh, standing at the window, cleared his throat. “The beach sentries are coming up to the house,” he said mildly. “They’re carrying someone.”
* * * * *
The woman was in her early twenties but looked twenty years older. All her exposed skin was terribly sunburned and the house doctor diagnosed dehydration. That damage had been delivered by three days in a one-man sailboat with no water, relying on prevailing winds and currents to get her across from Vistaria to Mexico.
It was the cuts and bruises around her face that aged her and they had not been delivered by the crossing. When she was examined in the tent that served as a hospital, they learned that the bruises covered most of her body and concentrated around the abdominal area.
The doctor had treated her and with great reluctance had allowed Nick, Josh and General Blanco to question her, though he issued a stream of warnings, cautions and conditions.
When Nick had tried to prevent Minnie, Calli and Carmen from entering the tent with them, Calli had simply placed her hand on his arm. “We’re grown women, Nick. We can stand it. We deserve to know what she has to say as much as you.”
Minnie caught his glance at Carmen, who stood shoulder to shoulder with Calli, her arms crossed, her gaze steady. He’d sighed and reluctantly nodded his head. One day soon, she had to sit Calli down and find out what had happened between the three of them.
Black Heart Page 8
