The Love of a Latino

by Ewing, A. B.

  He was nervous. He wasn’t up to meeting this mysterious woman Mamá was hiding out in the kitchen. That meant he would have to plaster a fake smile on his face and act polite to her for the entire dinner. When this was over he would let his mother know just what he thought about her attempts at matchmaking. But tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he would see Dahlia again.

  A knock on the office door jolted him out of his thoughts as his head turned in the direction of his mother. She craned her head around the partially opened door, peering into the room. She had that nervous look on her face again and she was trying her very best to avoid looking directly at him.

  “Dinner’s ready.” She announced and left before either of them could comment. This was unlike his mother. She never announced dinner personally. Usually that would be the maid’s job. Come to think of it, he had not seen any of the servants when he arrived.

  “Papá, do you have any idea why Mom is acting so strange? This is very unlike her. I feel as if…” He turned to look at his father and forgot what he was going to say. The older man was staring into his glass, swirling the liquid as if he was looking for something he lost. When he finally raised his head the poor man looked as if he was facing the hang man’s noose. His father was aware of what his mother was up to!

  “Papá, what is Mamá up to? You know, don’t you?” He growled, and his father had the nerve to smile.

  “Ah hell, Dad, I’m not up to Mamá trying to marry me off to one of her friend’s ‘lovely’ daughter. I swear if she wasn’t my mother I would…” He was fuming, slamming the glass down on the desk, some of the drink sloshing over the side.

  His father pushed away from the desk straightening to a standing position, a ridiculous grin on his face. “I’m sorry, Hijo, but your mother made me swear that I would not say anything to you. How about we go before she comes looking for us again? Maybe then she will let you know what she is up to, no?”

  “Whatever,” Rafe groaned out loud, following his father like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

  He was battling with his desire to give his mother a piece of his mind or silently slip out the front door when they entered the formal dining room. He had decided upon the latter when his father stepped away from his path and he saw the other person that would be joining them for dinner.

  Rafe froze, his gaze clashing with the brown one of the woman that stood before the large table. His lung constricted, the lack of oxygen causing his head to spin lightly. It couldn’t be possible. She was an apparition; something his mind had conjured up because of his need to see her. There was no possible way that the woman standing before him could be Dahlia, his Dahlia.

  ****

  Chapter 8

  He looked so good she could just eat him. The stubble on his face, deepening his already rugged look, his black hair cut short as she remembered it. He was casually dressed in jeans and a shirt, a hint of his Paco Rabanne aftershave teased her senses. God, he smelt so good, just like that night when he had held her in his arms and made love to her.

  He just stood there, looking at her as if he’d seen a ghost. Why didn’t he say something, anything? Didn’t he know how difficult breathing was for her right now?

  “Dahlia?” He croaked.

  She could see the knot in his throat dance up and down as he swallowed. A brief image of her kissing that spot flashed across her mind, causing her to inhale sharply. Not able to speak just yet, she nodded. Her mind silently screamed, yes, Raphael, it’s me. Please, tell me I didn’t make a mistake coming here. Please.

  He swallowed again. “I don’t understand. What are you doing here? Mamá, what is going on?” He turned to his mother, confusion flashing in his eyes.

  “Nothing’s going on. Can’t I invite a friend over for dinner?” His mother was saying and remarkably enough, her voice was very calm. “Rafe, I would like you to meet Dahlia. I met her while I was on vacation. Dahlia, this is my son…Raphael.”

  His head swirled to look at her. “But you were in Milan…” Have

  “No, I never said I was going to Milan, you just assumed. Now, if you are through with all the questions, can we please eat? Tengo mucha hambre.”Oh, she was good. Anyone who didn’t know better would swear she really didn’t know of the connection between the two.

  What was his mother trying to do to him?

  “Mom?”

  “Rafe, please can’t you wait until after dinner to ask your questions? I’m sure Dahlia is hungry.” She asked feigning concern.

  Rafe didn’t know what to think. He would never have anticipated this in a million years. He wanted to run to her, take her in his arms; to kiss those lips that had lingered in his memory, but he didn’t. He didn’t know what circumstances had brought her here, in his mother’s dining room, but he undoubtedly would not be ungrateful for it. Pulling himself together, he stepped forward offering her a hand and when hers came up to clutch it, his blood heated at her touch. This was going to be harder than he even predicted.

  “Hello, Dahlia, it is a pleasure to meet you.” His voice was strained, every nerve fighting not to do anything to give away with this ridiculous formality and just kiss her.

  His grip was so strong, his touch causing her heart to accelerate. He was so close to her now, she could see the stretched veins on his neck. They stood there holding each other’s hand, afraid that letting go meant losing that fire that was coursing through their veins.

  Raphael was captivated, unable to take his eyes away from her. When his father cleared his throat the first time, neither of them heard. The second time was a little louder. Releasing her hand, he stepped past her to pull back her chair, and waited until she was seated before he went around to where his mother had set a dish for him.

  He would murder his mother for torturing him like this. Couldn’t she have seated him closer to Dahlia? If he was close to her he could continue to savor the scent of that vanilla body mist she wore. Her outfit was a simple black, knee length dress but she looked amazing. She wore her hair down tonight, just the way he loved it. She seemed to have put on a little weight but it was good. He didn’t know what game his mother was playing but he would play along if it meant being anywhere near Dahlia.

  “So Rafe, aren’t you going to ask me how I met Dahlia?”

  His mind formed an answer but apparently couldn’t relay it to his mouth.

  “Fine, I’ll tell you. I was so tired of all the bickering between you and your father I decided I needed a vacation. I remembered someone once mentioned this beautiful, little Caribbean island, so I tried it,” she paused to take a sip from her glass, amusement dancing in her powder blue eyes. She loved toying with him, no doubt payback for his loutish attitude toward her the past couple of months.

  After a moment of torturous silence she continued. “Well, when I got there I didn’t have an idea what I was going to do. So the hotel manager…” The shrilling of her mobile phone cut into her conversation. “Excuse me,” she mumbled putting the phone to her ear.

  His father had been silent through the complete travesty and Rafe stole a glance at him. He was enjoying this. Alejandro was busy plowing away at his meal, his head buried in his plate but Rafe could tell from the way his shoulder shook, he was laughing at him. Had his parents gone totally mad? Did either of them have any idea what it was doing to him? Being so close to Dahlia and not being able to touch her was just pure anguish.

  Snapping her phone shut Lauralyn rose from her seat. “I’m sorry, but I need to leave…”

  “Why, what happened?” Rafe asked getting to his feet.

  “Oh… nothing to be concerned with my son, just charity stuff. Something just, um…came up.”

  How convenient! Dahlia thought stuffing her mouth with a forkful of noodles. She wasn’t hungry but if she didn’t find something to do with her mouth, she would positively loose her cool at the confused look on Raphael’s face.

  “Alejandro…Honey, will you drive me?”

  Raking back his chair his fa
ther obliged. “Of course my dear, let me just get a jacket.”

  Rafe knew he was being played. His father never drove his mother anywhere. They had a chauffeur for that. This whole situation was getting stranger by the moment.

  “Dahlia…Darling, I am so sorry about this, but I am quite sure you will be in good company. Rafe will stay with you.” She offered a quick explanation.

  “It’s okay, Lauralyn. I will see you when you get back.”

  “See you then. Oh…I don’t know how long we’ll be long. This may take all night.” She suggested, winking at her son.

  He finally understood what was going. They were both conspiring together, an opportunity to leave him and Dahlia alone. His parents had planned this. Walking them to the door, Rafe pressed a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek—whispering in her ear, “Gracias, Mamá.”

  She pulled away from him and presented him with a watery smile. “You deserve to be happy my son. Quiero lo mejor para ti.” And then they were gone, leaving Rafe and Dahlia alone for the first time in almost five months.

  ****

  He found her in the sitting room, tensely seated in his father’s large wingback chair. She looked up when he entered the room, her pupils dilated, her delectable lips slightly parted. Standing at the entrance of the sitting room, he hid his trembling hands in his trouser pockets, terrified that they would betray how badly being in her company affected him. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask but didn’t know where to start. What if he became too eager about her being here and scared her away?

  Choosing his words carefully he asked. “How have you been, Dahlia?”

  He was taken aback when she didn’t answer his question directly. Instead she asked point-blank “So, how’s your fiancé or is it your wife now?” She was looking him straight in the eye, a defiant tilt to her chin.

  “I’m not married, nor am I engaged anymore.”

  “I take it your fiancé didn’t like the idea that you were unfaithful. You must have been crushed when she broke it off.”

  “Sarafina didn’t call off the wedding, I did.”

  “And you expect me to believe that?”

  Stepping forward he closed the distance between them. “It is the truth, I promise. I do not know why you are here and I do not care, Querida, but I wish to tell you the truth. All I ask is that you listen. ¿Por favor?” He knelt before her, taking her hand in his, desperation straining his voice.

  When she didn’t pull away or say anything, he released a breath. “I was going to marry Sarafina, but I did not love her. Please do not misunderstand me, I am fond of her but I was not in love with her. My mother keeps telling me how much she wants a grandchild and I need a successor. I made her a promise. If I turned thirty-one and did not meet a woman that I could love, I would marry Sarafina and give Mamá a grandchild.” He paused, swallowing. Catching a quick breath he continued. “I turned thirty-one eight months ago and I did not meet that woman, so I kept my promise. I asked Sarafina to marry me.”

  “So you are telling me that you were willing to marry a woman you did not love and have children with her to gratify your parents?”

  “It is called loyalty, Amor. I am an only child and it is my duty to provide an heir.”

  “So if you are such a loyal son, why did you call off the wedding?”

  Shifting his weight in an attempt to make himself comfortable, he brought his face closer to her. Raising a hand, he hesitated for just a moment. When she didn’t shy away he touched the soft skin of her cheek. “I called off the wedding, mi princesa, because I fell in love.” He didn’t blink his gray eyes boring into hers. He heard her indrawn breath and where his hand held hers he could feel her pulse escalate. “I love you, amor mio. Te amo. I did not know this when I left your country; however, it did not take me long to understand what I felt.”

  “You love…love…me?” Her breath came out in almost inaudible whisper.

  “Yes, Querida. I love you. The night when we made love I wanted to tell you about Sarafina, but I was so happy to see you that I didn’t want to ruin it. I planned on telling you when you woke up but…”

  “I answered your phone,” she finished his sentence.“I was so hurt; I didn’t let you explain. Oh Raphael...”

  “It is okay, Princesa, you know the truth now. Now you know that you hold my heart. I belong to you only.” His hand on her cheek trailed down to her lip, rubbing the soft skin, Rafe wanted nothing more than to kiss her but her next words stopped him.

  “Raphael, I need to tell you something.” Taking her hand from him she rose. She stood with her back to him, her gaze set on the fire.

  “What is it, Baby? Please do not be afraid to tell me anything. You are my heart.” Rafe was almost fearful to hear her words. Was she going to tell him that she had a lover? Was it the man that had answered the phone? If it was, he would have to show her that she should be with him not that other man.

  She turned and came to where she left him standing. Stopping in front of him, she raised her head to look him in the eye. One stray tear rolled down her cheek. Rafe brushed at it but it was followed by another.

  “Please, mi amor, do not cry. You can tell me anything, I promise.”

  But she didn’t answer. Instead, she took the hand on her cheek and gently guided it down, palm open, to rest on her belly. Rafe was confused at first as to the slight swell of her stomach, but when he felt the faint fluttering movement against his hand he realized what she was trying to tell him. There was no other lover, she was pregnant. This is what she wanted to tell him. He looked down at where his hand rested, hers resting above his, then back up at her.

  “Mi amor, is it true?”

  She nodded and then once again he felt the slight ripple as if his baby was aware of its father’s touch.

  “You are pregnant?”

  “Yes Raphael, you are going to be a father.” She answered, her free hand coming to rest against his jaw.

  Dahlia was pregnant. She was carrying his child inside her. He wrapped her in his arm pulling her against him, lifting her off the ground and whirling her around gently. When she was safely on the ground again, he held her at arm’s length, surveying her closely. She wasn’t showing through the dress. Looking at her again he said, “¡Dios mío! I am going to be a father. Mi mamá…she is going to be so happy.” He stopped and looked at Dahlia with accusing eyes. She was smiling at him confirming his thoughts “She knows doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, she does and so does your father.”

  “But…how? It was no coincidence that Mamá met you. She went looking for you, didn’t she?”

  “Yes she did, but I do not want to speak about that now. I want you to kiss me, Raphael. Please.”

  “Ah, mi amor, it will be my pleasure.” And he did.

  He gathered her into his hands but his kiss was slow. Trailing his thumb across her lips, he kissed her eyelids, her nose, and her temple as he whispered Spanish endearments. When his lips finally rested on her mouth, she moaned.

  “Oh mi corazón, Te amo—te amo con toda mi alma. I love you.” He groaned his mouth working feverishly against hers.

  “I love you too, Raphael.” Dahlia responded to his kisses leaning fully into him.

  His hands swept down her back to tangle in her curls, nudging her head back a little. Her mouth parted and his tongue touched hers. Desire rocketed through him causing him to pull her tighter against him. The plumpness of her pregnant belly pressed against his arousal, causing him to stir. He wanted to see her, all of her, to kiss his child through her skin.

  Her hands were playing in his thick hair, but when he angled his head they travelled down to encircle his neck. He had missed her, more than he thought possible. Having her close, after so long, was like satisfying an addict. But like any addict, he wanted—needed more. Breaking the kiss she pulled away from him. He stood silently, one of his hands resting on her shoulder the other on her waist, as she glided a finger down his neck to toy with the button on his shirt. Ho
lding her gaze he encouraged.

  “Por favor mi amor, do not stop.”

  Both of her hands came to his chest and he watched her, his breathing ragged as she undid the buttons of his shirt one by one. Halfway through her hands stilled, leaving the last few catches untouched. Raphael groaned when she parted his shirt and leaned forward to touch her lips to the matted hair on his chest, but she did not stop there. Her hot mouth blazed kisses upward, her wet tongue darting out to torture the taut skin of his neck. Closing his eyes against the need that was roaring through him he leaned his head to allow her admission to the throbbing vein where his neck met his jaw line.

  Feathering a light kiss against his mouth, her lips found its way down the other side of his face, moving back downwards to his chest. This was pure hell, having her touch him like this. He wanted to wrench her lips away from his skin and back to his mouth but he didn’t. Beneath her bold love making, he could still sense her innocence. She was trying to be brave and he would let her. In love making Rafe always was the mentor but now this innocent was teaching him. She was teaching him how much more enjoyable a touch could be when it was being done by someone he loved.

  Rafe gasped, tightening his grip on her shoulder when he felt her hands on the base of his spine. His eyes flew open and when he looked down at her, his lids were heavy with the weight of passion. Her lips were moist; her breathing labored, her cheeks flushed. She was a princess,his princesa, his woman, his love.

  “Querida, you are so beautiful. I look at you now and I see a woman that is in need of loving. Your cheeks are flushed with need. Tell me mi amor, do you want me? Do you need me?”