“In me,” she said, and her voice was hoarse. “I want you in me.”
“Take it,” he returned and his hands fell away.
She nodded her understanding. It was her turn to take. She reached back behind her and found his hip. She slid her hand around to his cock and curled her fingers around it. It was thick, hot and throbbing. She guided him, bringing the head to her moist entrance.
He needed no further guidance. She felt his hands settle on her hips and she closed her eyes as he slid his length into her. The satisfaction in finally being penetrated was deep, almost fulfilling. There was a primal joy in having him inside. She gave another shuddering sigh.
He was moving. Little shifts and thrusts that told her she was not the only one who had been driven to the point where nothing but the fulfillment of pleasure existed. She pushed her hips back, encouraging him, and heard his guttural groan. His hands tightened on her hips as he pushed back into her.
Harder, she thought, but did not voice it.
He withdrew almost all the way with agonizing slowness. His hands gripped and he thrust back into her. Harder.
Her hands curled, gripping the sheet into a tight ball as he withdrew and rammed into her again.
She pulled his hand from her hip and guided it beneath her. That was the only direction he needed. His fingers slipped between her lips and found her neglected clitoris and fondled it.
Her climax was so powerful that for an endless moment the world dimmed around her and her heart seemed to stop. The aftershocks tore through her in shuddering, silvered waves.
But his fingers did not stop moving, nor his cock cease plunging inside her. Even as the pleasurable peak passed and the waves fell, she could feel her body quicken, leaping toward another climax. She gasped, stiffening, as the pleasure clawed to another hot, hard explosion.
She fell forward, all the strength draining from her, and sprawled across the bed. He followed her down. She heard the chain rattle as it slithered to the floor on the other side and didn’t care. Her whole body quivered and nerve endings zapped with little hitches and spurts.
He was turning her onto her back, rearing over her, and her breath caught. With the barest sliver of moonlight to illuminate them, she could look up and see only Duardo over her. The patch, the moustache, were hidden. The hard mouth was hidden.
“Duardo,” she sighed.
He froze. “Duardo?” he repeated. She felt him move, so that he was next to her again. “This is your soldier? Duardo?”
The microphone...she had forgotten about the damn microphone. But Duardo had not. He was reacting as Zalaya would.
She winced. How to cover this up? How to keep Duardo safe from discovery?
“Don’t speak his name, animal,” she said hotly. “It sounds foul on your lips.” And her fear was so thick and hot in her chest that she began to weep with it. Had she made the mistake that would kill him? Again?
The thought made her cry harder.
His hand touched her shoulder, curled around her waist and she was pulled up against his hard chest, so that the whole hot length of him cradled her from behind. Gently, he stroked her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Your tears are wasted,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “Your soldier, your Duardo, would have understood the choices you have made here.”
Later, when her tears tapered off, Duardo’s hand continued its gentle, relentless touch and Minnie felt herself responding to it. She could not ignore the body pressed against her or the iron-hard length of his cock between them. She stirred, restless, and his lips touched her shoulder and traveled swiftly to her breast, capturing the nipple and sending a sharp barb of pleasure straight to her clitoris.
She reached for him and this time she really did take, over and over again. She reached for the exhaustion and oblivion that would be the final reward.
She achieved it.
Chapter Fourteen
She was woken once more by the rattle of the window blind and the flood of hard sunshine. There was no disorientation. She sat up, bringing the sheet with her, knowing exactly who it was that stood beside her bed. The chain clinked softly. It had been returned to her wrist. Of course.
Zalaya leaned heavily on the cane. He was dressed and looked fresh and clean. He had showered and shaved while she slept.
He pointed to the bedside table next to her. “There is food. I advise you to eat it. It is better that you keep your strength, for now.” He was standing next to the closet and reached down to tug open the first drawer at the foot of it. He withdrew a garment that he tossed on the bed. “I will also allow you to wear this. I have meetings most of the day and will have no use for you. You may use the shower.”
He made his way to the door leading to his office then turned to face her. “Captain Eduardo Peña y Santos,” he said flatly.
It was so unexpected that Minnie couldn’t halt the slither of shock that ran through her. When Zalaya’s one good eye narrowed, she knew she had given herself away.
“Then I have the right Duardo,” he said softly, sounding pleased. He put both hands on the cane, studying her. “I knew this man,” he added.
She was already shaken, so this time it was easier to ride out the surprise and keep her face stiff. She stared at Zalaya, daring him to make something of her lack of reaction.
His smile broadened. “Very good,” he said cryptically and left, moving heavily and slowly.
Minnie gobbled down the food—every last crumb. She was ravenously hungry. As she showered afterward, she considered the implications of Zalaya knowing about Duardo and realized with a sinking sensation that when those around Zalaya put it together, as they would most certainly do, it would place Minnie far too close to Nick for their comfort. She would become either a pawn or a danger in their eyes. Either way, her cover story about being a lost Australian, or a member of the harmless Knights Errant would not hold up.
The garment he had tossed on the bed was a simple floral dress in a light cotton fabric, with little ties over the shoulders and buttons up the front. She slipped it on, pleased to have some protection against the ever-present camera and found it barely came down to mid-thigh.
As she fastened the buttons, she focused on the low sound she could hear from Zalaya’s office. It was the murmuring of voices. But Zalaya had implied he was going elsewhere.
Minnie crept to the door, carrying the chain so it would not clink and tried the handle. The door wasn’t locked. The handle turned without resistance. She eased the door open a few inches and saw the room beyond was empty. She slowly opened the door the rest of the way, checking the rest of the room. It was completely empty.
The voices were coming from the control console. Zalaya had obviously been monitoring something before going to his meeting and had failed to switch off the sound feed before he left. The voices coming from the speaker were in Spanish, but loud and clear enough that Minnie could hear most of it. She crept closer to the console and found the chain was long enough to let her stand at the near corner of it.
She glanced around the banks of screens, looking for the one that matched the conversation she was listening to and found it. The black and white image showed a magnificent room with a huge table. A boardroom? Serrano sat in the big chair at the head of the table. Minnie frowned when she spotted Zalaya in one of the other chairs. There was no one else.
She leaned close and concentrated, listening hard.
* * * * *
Zalaya pushed his chair back from the table, brought his ankle up to the other knee and rubbed at the thigh.
Serrano realized that he’d been doing that more and more often lately. In all other respects, the man was a machine. He barely slept. He did nothing but work, except for occasional bouts of his peculiar form of self-indulgence. Was his body finally protesting at the driving pace he set? Serrano rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If Zalaya self-imploded it would be devilishly difficult to replace him. Men of his caliber and odd talents and tastes were rare. On the other hand,
it might solve a few problems that had started to set in.
“Is there anything else?” Zalaya asked, glancing at his watch.
“In a hurry to get back to your little toy?” Serrano asked.
Zalaya smiled. “There’s plenty of life left in that little toy. Why waste it?” The smile faded. “Relax, Serrano. Your latest production is not in jeopardy.” He tapped the folder in front of him. “You just heard the progress report.”
“I still see no reason why this could not have been provided to me during a full council meeting. There’s nothing delicate in any of it.”
“It’s all delicate,” Zalaya shot back. “You of all people should know that within these walls there is more than one agenda at work. Why give anyone ammunition and ideas by discussing this subject in front of them?”
Serrano nodded shortly. Zalaya was right, as usual.
The tap at the door was peremptory. Demanding. Zalaya glanced at the door, his eyes narrowing. “You told someone we were meeting here?”
“Only my secretary. He would not have handed the information out to anyone unnecessarily.” He lifted his voice. “Come!”
The door immediately opened and a man strolled into the room wearing one of the brand new uniforms that had just begun to emerge from the garment factories in Mejia, on the western coast of Vistaria. He was upright, crisp, pleated...everything a proper soldier could be, except Serrano knew for a fact that Torrez was anything but a proper soldier.
His hair was completely white, though he was not an albino. Serrano had wondered since he’d met the man just what had created that coloring, for in every other respect, Torrez was genetically an average Vistarian.
Torrez saluted Serrano. “I’m sorry to interrupt you when you’re busy, General, but it is important.”
Serrano waved away the apology. “You know Colonel Zalaya, don’t you?”
Torrez spun to face Zalaya and his face shifted, surprise flickering there just for an instant. “My God. Bruno....” Torrez took a step toward him. Another one. Strong emotions made his face work. “Who would have thought I would see you again? Here, of all places?”
Serrano pressed a finger to his lips, watching closely.
Zalaya showed shock, swiftly followed by a warm pleasure. “Jose Torrez. I did not know you had traded teams.” He got to his feet, grasping for the cane. “It has indeed been too long.”
Torrez brought his hand up to curl it around Zalaya’s neck. “Too long,” he murmured and kissed him, his lips firmly against Zalaya’s.
* * * * *
Minnie staggered in shock, her back slamming up against the wall of file cabinets, making them rattle and rock on their bases. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the monitor as the white-haired man kissed Zalaya with open passion. It was unmistakably the kiss of a lover.
Her heart thundering, she found her own fingertips touching her lips. What was more frightening was that Minnie knew the man who kissed him. The white hair was just as unmistakable as his passion for Zalaya. He had been one of the men General Blanco had gathered around him in the big house. He had sat at the table with Nick’s officers.
What was he doing here?
At Serrano’s cough, the man stepped back, embarrassed. Zalaya rested his cane against the boardroom table. “I suggest you avert your gaze, Serrano,” he told the general. He took Torrez in his arms, his hand holding the back of the man’s head and kissed him again, thoroughly.
Serrano politely kept his eyes averted but couldn’t fail to hear the soft moan. It didn’t matter who had uttered that moan. That it had been uttered was enough.
After sixty seconds he cleared his throat again and gave it another ten seconds before looking up again. The two men had separated and Zalaya was seating himself, the customary hard expression back on his face. He glanced at Torrez as the man made his way around to the other side of the table and his expression softened just for a fleeting moment. Then he looked back at Serrano and the emotion was wiped from his face.
“Jose Torrez does not appear on any payrolls or duty rosters. I would know if he did.”
“Your memory does not fail you,” Serrano assured him. “Torrez has been doing some work for me. What the Americans call ‘going undercover’.” Serrano turned his chair to face Torrez. “You would not have left without dire news. Tell me.”
Torrez glanced at Zalaya. “Given your proclivities, Bruno, I assume that you are running Serrano’s security and communications now?”
“That is correct.”
“Then you both need to hear what I have learned. Escobedo’s household is in turmoil. Two of their women have disappeared. One of them is Jose Escobedo’s daughter. They believe both of them are here on Vistaria.”
Zalaya spread his hands on the table. “Then I know who the other is,” he said.
Serrano put it together swiftly, aided by the expression on Zalaya’s face. “That little split-tail spitfire you’re keeping in your room?” he said. “I told you she was not Australian.”
“You have her?” Torrez breathed, sitting upright. “She is the daughter of one of Escobedo’s American business associates, a man called Benning. Actually, she’s more than that. She was the lover of one of Escobedo’s favored lieutenants, just before the war broke out.”
“Captain Eduardo Peña y Santos,” Zalaya breathed.
Serrano frowned, reaching for the associated memory the name tickled. He dredged it up. “That’s right. That’s the officer you killed in the hospital,” he said to Zalaya.
* * * * *
Minnie stared at the monitor. Her heart was thundering in her ears and she grew dizzy. Finally, she remembered to breathe.
How had Duardo managed to survive his time as Zalaya with his facilities intact? The things he must have been forced to do to keep suspicions from rising! That kiss he had given Torrez...there must have been other moments like that.
Then there was the conversation about killing Duardo. It confirmed her suspicion that the exchange had taken place in the hospital.
But it also crystallized a fact that she hadn’t faced before. In order for that exchange to take place, Duardo had dealt with Zalaya in some way. Had he killed him, as Serrano believed Zalaya had killed Duardo?
* * * * *
“This Peña—he was a mere captain,” Torrez pointed out.
“The rank was inconsequential,” Zalaya said dismissively. “Through the American woman, Peña became first a friend and then a trusted officer to Nicolás Escobedo. They worked side by side until the beginning of the war. He arrived at a position of trust through friendship.” He speared Torrez with one of his unrelenting gazes. “Much like you, Captain Torrez.”
Torrez grinned.
Zalaya got to his feet and reached for the cane. “Regardless of rank or authority, the fact is the woman we have is important to Escobedo. She is known to him. We can use that. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have much to do this day. General.” He inclined his head toward Serrano, tucked the files up under one arm and worked his way to the door.
“That bullet did not spare you much, did it, Bruno?” Torrez murmured.
Zalaya stopped level with him. “It spared my life. That is enough for now. The rest will come.” He considered his words and grinned. “It will come, or I will take it.” He nodded at Torrez and left the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Torrez sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “So, he has a woman tucked away in his rooms?”
“He always has something tucked away. You know him better than I, Torrez. You really need to ask?”
Torrez frowned. “But something about this one bothers you,” he said.
Serrano forced air through his teeth in a quiet hiss. “This one is becoming something of an obsession,” he admitted.
“Obsessions can be dangerous,” Torrez returned.
“They can also be considered a weakness,” Serrano pointed out. “Weaknesses can be exploited.”
* * * * *
She scrambled to her feet, the extended chain tugging at her wrist, as Zalaya shut the door behind him. His gaze went from her to the screens and back.
“You fucking bastard!” she cried. “You knew. You knew all along!”
Both his hands came to rest on the top of the cane. It was eerily like the top-hat gentlemen of the Victorian era. “Until this morning I did not know your soldier was the one in the hospital. How could I?”
“You killed him!”
Zalaya shrugged. “He was the enemy.”
“He was wounded!”
“So was I.”
She clawed the top of the file cabinets behind her and felt something solid and heavy come under her hand. She lifted it and heaved it at him. He swayed and the paper punch whizzed past his thigh to smash into the door behind him. It fell apart and paper confetti scattered across the floor.
“That achieves nothing,” he told her.
“Like hell.” As he took another step toward her, Minnie grabbed for another blunt object. “Don’t you dare come any closer!” she screamed.
He took another step, as if she had not spoken.
She threw the stapler at him. It was a big, industrial-strength one and only missed him because he dodged sideways again, ducking. She was out of ammunition. She backed up into the bedroom, searching for more missiles. She found the tray the food she had eaten had been sitting upon, plus the plates and heavy-based water glass. As soon as he appeared in the doorway, she let fly. This time she took the time to aim properly. All the plates and the tray missed him, but the missiles were too close together and she had adjusted her aim as he reacted. As a result, the heavy water glass smashed into his shoulder, tearing a gash in his shirt and the shoulder beneath. The shirt instantly turned red with blood.
Black Heart Page 18
