‘‘We’ll get some magic cream to put on it.’’
‘‘Can I watch cartoons the rest of the day?’’
Normally cartoons were forbidden.
‘‘Of course, mi precioso.’’
‘‘Will Tía really be all right?’’
When she nodded, he smiled radiantly.
Grabbing his hand, she raced with him to Isabela’s vast bedroom, which was dark and cool after the brilliant, hot sun.
‘‘Isabela?’’ Vivian opened the door softly.
A dramatic moan followed by a sob came from the bed. A voice that cracked after every syllable wailed, ‘‘My face is swo-llen like a watermelon! You can’t let him see me! Not like this!’’
‘‘Isabela—’’
When Vivian raced across the room, Isabela smothered her face in her pillow. Vivian petted her black, silky hair. Slowly, after Isabela calmed a little, she peeled the pillow away.
‘‘I’m so ugly,’’ Isabela sobbed, and then she beat the pillow with her fists.
‘‘At least you’re not allergic.’’
Miguelito climbed onto the bed and stared at his aunt’s purple face. Black eyeliner ran down her wet cheeks. His beautiful mouth made an O. Then, with a gasp, he drew back and clung to his mother, hiding his face in her skirts again.
‘‘See—even mi precioso is afraid of me!’’
‘‘Are you in pain?’’ Vivian asked.
‘‘The doctor gave me several shots. So, no. But you have to entertain Cash for me…until I’m better.’’
Vivian shook her head. ‘‘I’ve got way too much to do.’’
‘‘You have to, Vivi. He can’t see me like this. Things haven’t been going well between us. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. He’s so cold all of a sudden. And now this! Maria says a bruja has cast a spell. She saw a dead bird nailed to the door last night. She says that’s a sign. She sent for a white witch to counteract it.’’
Vivian never ceased to be amazed that beneath the thin overlay of Catholic faith and the rational mind-set of its European conquerors, the Mexican people had at their core a passionate belief in native mysticism and ancient magic.
‘‘Forget about witches. Be logical. Cash cares about your inner beauty. He’ll sympathize. You can spend the day together here—talking and getting to know one another.’’
Isabela’s swollen face contorted. ‘‘Don’t you know anything?’’ She paused. ‘‘This is his fault. We had a date, plans, and he ran off and left me all alone this morning. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going. I—I had a wonderful picnic basket packed—’’
‘‘Then you stay here. Eusebio is back. He can drive Cash to the beach house to sketch. I don’t—’’
‘‘By himself?’’ Isabela seized her by the wrist. ‘‘You have to go with him, but don’t take him to the beach house. Maybe I’ll be well tomorrow and able to take him myself.’’
‘‘I have plans with Miguelito.’’
‘‘Take him with you too. Show Cash some ruins. Uxmal is so lovely…and then go to Loltún.’’ Loltún was an underground cave with a beautiful pool.
Vivian gasped, not trusting herself to be alone with Cash. ‘‘You’re not listening.’’
‘‘You have to do this. Cash is restless. What if he grows bored and goes home? What if he doesn’t propose?’’
Vivian shook her head.
‘‘He has a ring. A huge beautiful engagement ring just my size. Maria was cleaning his room. She saw it.’’
‘‘You got Maria to spy for you?’’
‘‘If he doesn’t marry me, I won’t go to the United States. Then I won’t be able to take you with me.’’
‘‘I—I’m not sure my going with you is such a good idea anyway—’’
‘‘Querida, I’m desperate. Pathetic, I know. But I love him. Look at me. I’m so ugly. You have to help me.’’ Isabela was trembling.
‘‘I want to help you, but trust me, I just can’t do this one thing. I would do anything else. Why can’t Julio go?’’
‘‘Julio made Tammy jealous and they had a fight. He’s sulking and won’t answer his phone. I’ve left four messages. You’re the only person I trust with Cash. You can tell him wonderful stories about me. He’ll believe you.’’
Vivian flushed as she remembered their kiss in the market.
‘‘I love you—like my very own sister,’’ Isabela continued.
Which is why I’m the last person who should go.
‘‘Think of everything I’ve done for you—and for Miguelito—when you had nobody else to help you. Just me.’’
For a heartbeat, Vivian wanted to confess…stripping…kissing…
Isabela’s voice dropped to a teary whisper. ‘‘You’ll do it, yes?’’
Vivian put a fingertip to her lips, and just touching them made her flush at the memory of Cash’s mouth on hers.
‘‘I can’t! I simply can’t!’’
‘‘What happened to avoiding each other?’’ Cash asked, his eyes wickedly alight as he helped Eusebio sling the heavy wicker picnic basket in the back of the Suburban.
Concho trotted up to her and sniffed Vivian’s hamper before she tossed it into the back seat.
‘‘This isn’t my idea! Since Isabela can’t go, she asked me to entertain you. I told her no, but she wouldn’t listen.’’
‘‘If you were Isabela, you’d be more enthusiastic,’’ he teased huskily. ‘‘What about Miguelito?’’
‘‘He’s watching cartoons and keeping Isabela company because he feels sorry for her.’’
‘‘Nice kid.’’
‘‘He has a soft heart.’’
Cash thumped the Suburban with his open hand. ‘‘So, it’s off to the beach house, then. Just the two of us?’’
His green eyes brightened as he studied her mouth and then the rest of her body with an intensity that caused her to blush.
‘‘No. That’s tomorrow…when she’s better. Isabela planned a trip to Uxmal, a picnic, and a visit to a cave with an underground swimming pool.’’
‘‘I’d rather go to the beach with my very own Aphrodite.’’
Nodding toward Eusebio, she glared mutinously at Cash. ‘‘You’d better behave. She has spies everywhere.’’
‘‘Good thing they don’t speak English.’’
‘‘They understand body language.’’
‘‘Body language,’’ he repeated, his gaze drifting over her again.
‘‘Would you quit?’’
‘‘To the beach house,’’ he said, his tone changing. ‘‘I’ll be a good boy and sketch. Then I’ll have a head full of ideas by tomorrow…to share with Isabela.’’
‘‘So, you really intend to work?’’
‘‘What other intentions do you suspect me of?’’ His amused-looking eyes were wide and sparkly beneath dense black lashes.
‘‘Work. That sounds nice and safe.’’
‘‘Nice? Safe? Unless you decide to strip again or seduce me into another torrid kiss.’’ His lips moved closer as if to tempt her.
She jumped back. ‘‘This isn’t going to work—’’
Concho whined.
‘‘Truce! White flag!’’ Cash grabbed a white bath sheet out of her hamper and waved it at her. His eyes flicked over her body again so hotly she feared he could see through tightly woven white cotton.
‘‘Okay.’’
When their bags, groceries, drinks and towels were stuffed into the back, Eusebio banged the cargo doors shut, then went up to the front of the car and lifted the hood.
‘‘And don’t forget your swimsuit,’’ Cash reminded her. ‘‘The red bikini. I have a hankering to see you in it. It’s in—’’
‘‘I know where it is,’’ she snapped, grabbing the white towel from him and slinging it back into her hamper.
‘‘I could get it for you. I mean, if you don’t want to return to the scene of our crime.’’
‘‘I’ll get it myself!’’
Concho caught the emotion in her statement and barked excitedly.
Feeling self-conscious because she was afraid Cash would watch her, which was exactly what he did, she stomped off toward the pool house with Concho bounding across the lawn beside her.
Dios! She could feel Cash’s eyes burning her butt the whole way.
The cutest butt in Mérida, he’d said.
She whirled. Yes, indeedy, his alert tiger gaze was glued to her backside. He laughed and lowered his gaze.
But Eusebio didn’t. The chauffeur’s expression was too keen and speculative for her liking.
Behind Vivian, the glittering green Caribbean stretched to a cloudless horizon. Not that Cash was looking at the aqua sea or admiring the town of Progreso, which he had come to see.
Hell, he had eyes only for her. With the sea breeze in her red hair and the white huipil blowing about her breasts, and her skirt whipping her hips and slim legs, Vivian was beautiful. But it wasn’t just her beauty that got to him. It was the way her cheeks brightened every time he touched her or glanced at her. Her every blush, her every downcast glance to hide her true feelings made him remember their kiss. No one had ever been so responsive to him.
He was glad chance had forced her to come with him.
Behind her, waves rolled lazily up to the beach. In the distance a few swimmers splashed in the surf. The dense warm air, cooler here than in the city, smelled of salt, and mariachi music drifted from an open-air bar. The beach town had a laid-back feel.
He didn’t want to sketch. He wanted to romance her, to get to know her slowly, to talk over beers and fried fish, to dance together afterward.
If only he wasn’t so acutely aware of the dark figure leaning against the hood of Isabela’s parked Suburban, watching them as they strolled the promenade along the beach.
‘‘Before the hurricane, Isabela used to let Miguelito and me use her beach house anytime.’’ Vivian’s blue eyes sparkled.
Cash frowned with annoyance as he glanced from Vivian to the chauffeur. He felt increasingly guilty about not feeling more for Isabela—the last thing he wanted to talk about was her.
‘‘Can’t we talk about something else?’’ he said. ‘‘I wanted to know about the henequen plantations we passed getting here, but, no, all you would talk about, the entire twenty-two-mile drive to this beach, was perfect Isabela. Surely no living mortal is as perfect as you describe her.’’
‘‘Oh, but she is,’’ Vivian gushed.
‘‘Then why are you so anxious to leave her and Mexico?’’
‘‘Not because she hasn’t been incredibly generous to me and to Miguelito. I just need to find myself. To do my own thing.’’
‘‘Are you lost?’’
She ran her hand through her hair and turned away. ‘‘Maybe ‘homesick’ is a better word. Or ‘unchallenged.’’’
‘‘How about ‘unfulfilled’?’’
She blushed at the charged innuendo. ‘‘When I came down here, it was to study for three months. I thought I would finish my degree before I married. Maybe work a while. But here I am—trapped by fate and bad judgment.’’
‘‘Because you’re a dedicated mother of a darling little boy.’’
‘‘You think he’s darling?’’ she asked.
He looked beyond her to the four-mile-long pier the natives had had to build to reach deep water because the Yucatecan limestone shelf declined so gradually into the Caribbean.
‘‘You chose well,’’ he said, after a moment, ‘‘to put him first.’’
‘‘Back to Isabela,’’ Vivian began.
‘‘Stop—’’
‘‘I feel so guilty being here with you…when she can’t be.’’
He grabbed her hand and pressed her fingers inside the warmth of his. ‘‘I don’t want to think about her. I’m perfectly happy here with you.’’
Again she blushed as if his touch and his words gave her too much pleasure. ‘‘Me too. Which is the problem…’’ She bit her lip.
He felt a warm flush of pleasure at the revelation that she liked him, and he drew her closer. The wind made her beautiful red hair ripple like a multicolored banner, the sunlight changing it from shimmering copper to auburn to honey gold and then back to copper again. Why the hell couldn’t he forget seeing her naked or kissing her? Or how much fun it had been to tease her over breakfast?
‘‘No more talk about Isabela,’’ he whispered, letting her go but continuing to stare into her eyes.
‘‘She’s your future bride,’’ she whispered. ‘‘And she’s better to me than any sister ever could be.’’
‘‘Right,’’ he agreed in a bored tone. ‘‘But since we’re here in Progreso, and she’s not, maybe you wouldn’t mind playing tourist guide and telling me a few things about the town.’’
‘‘For instance?’’
‘‘Where the hell is everybody?’’ Cash pointed to the empty street and the Caribbean. ‘‘I thought Progreso was a resort like Cancún.’’
‘‘It is, but on a smaller scale. Cancún is more for foreigners. This is for Mexicans.’’
‘‘Hell, it’s a village compared to a real Mexican beach resort,’’ he said.
‘‘You wouldn’t say that in the summer when all of Mérida is here.’’
‘‘Well, nobody’s here today.’’
Her deep blue eyes seemed to speak to him. ‘‘Nobody but us.’’
Quickly she averted her eyes. ‘‘Puerto Progreso was built in the mid-nineteenth century to ship henequen to the rest of the world. There? Do I sound like a proper tourist guide?’’
‘‘Keep going.’’
‘‘The henequen plants—you saw them growing—produce strong fibers that can be used in twine-and rope-making.’’
‘‘I read synthetics have largely destroyed the industry.’’ His eyes caressed her.
‘‘Hence—Progreso is a lazy beach town.’’
‘‘The hotels are so small,’’ he said, wondering if he couldn’t send Eusebio on some sort of errand.
‘‘Intimate,’’ she corrected. ‘‘It’s the middle of the week and not yet high season. Isabela loves it here. You should see her….’’
Vivian began to repeat her monologue about what a perfect wife Isabela would make.
He nodded. ‘‘But Isabela isn’t here.’’ His gaze skimmed her mouth. ‘‘You are.’’
She licked her lips and cast a sideways glance toward Eusebio, who was watching them.
‘‘You don’t have to use Isabela to erect a wall between us,’’ he said.
‘‘I would never forgive myself if I ruined her chances.’’ She broke away from him and moved quickly toward the SUV.
Eusebio smiled, and Cash watched the way the loose, white huipil shivered around her waist as she ran. Her black skirt fluttered against her knees, shaping itself against her hips. Since he’d seen her naked, it wasn’t hard to imagine her naked with the green Caribbean sparkling beyond her.
Botticelli’s vision of Aphrodite stepping out of the sea sprang to mind. Vivian was a far more glorious depiction of Venus than the master’s rendition. At least Cash thought so.
Vivian. Venus. God, what he would give to be able to rip those awful, embroidered, handmade rags from the perfection of her body.
He wanted his wife in sleek, figure-fitting, designer gowns…. In the finest jewels. She would be a queen.
Wife? The truly crazy notion slammed him like a fist to his solar plexus, and he stopped, watching her as she climbed into the SUV. Even when she hung her head out the open window and smiled at him, he stayed put.
Her white smile warmed him. But the warm quickening that that sweet little smile caused was just physical, he told himself as he began walking toward her again—just something he needed to fill his loneliness.
Why then did he feel as if his world had shifted? As if he could finally see light at the end of a tunnel instead of perpetual darkness.
He wanted her, not Isabela.
He wanted h
er despite the fact that she was a poor divorcée, a nobody. Despite the fact she scarcely had any formal education. She was a poor girl and the mother of a sweet, trusting little boy.
She was completely unacceptable to his family. What would Jake, his brother, the ambitious senator, make of her?
Hell, who gave his cold family the right to make the rules he lived by?
When Vivian beat on the side of her door like it was a drum and called to him to hurry, he felt himself in the grip of something that felt an awful lot like destiny.
Leo believed fate was stronger than human will. Cash was too rational to entertain such an idea. But what if a rational man struck a compromise with the gods?
Cash had come here for a bride. Why not Vivian?
Why the hell not?
Nine
It is strange how life goes along in a familiar pattern, and then it changes—sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly. For Vivian that afternoon with Cash in Progreso was such a day.
One minute she was standing on the Malecón with Cash, determined to be loyal to Isabela and resist him, and in the next she was in the Suburban smiling at him until his dark face lit up and his fierce grin thrilled her to the point of insanity.
Suddenly her spirits were rocketing higher than the sun. Her loneliness and her lack of fulfillment, her desire to escape Mexico and become somebody on her own, and even her fear of what she felt for him, were all eclipsed by something grander and more mysterious.
She didn’t stop smiling until he swung his tall frame into the back seat beside her. Cash asked her about her uncle and New Orleans, and she found herself talking easily about the fact she’d grown up with ‘‘two daddies.’’ She spoke of her old interest in archaeology, and in the Mayans, and of her more recent work with the Mayan villagers. She said maybe on their way home they could stop at one of the villages where she worked and he could meet the people.
‘‘You’d do that—even if I ruined your reputation in the market?’’
She went still for a moment. Then she told him about Mexico and how a thousand years of western civilization was but a thin veneer on top of ancient traditions.
‘‘So, the Mexican is never what you think he is or what he says he is,’’ she said in her best schoolteacher voice.
Ready for Marriage? Page 38
