Sara screamed. “Leave him alone!” she cried, throwing herself into the fray. A punch meant for Romy hit her in the arm, knocking her onto all fours.
A shot rocked the room. The fight ended as quickly as it began. Not knowing if Romy had been injured she crawled over him. He was gasping for breath from being kicked in the ribs, while blood gushed from the wide cut in his head.
Frantically she searched his chest in fear the shot had hit him. It hadn’t. Meant simply to break up the fight, the man who fired his gun turned unconcerned to his drink at the bar.
Flicker and his renegade group, however, did look concerned. They seemed to know the stranger who had calmly and wordlessly issued the threat. And they weren’t going to take any chances that the fancy pistol would come out of the holster again. Picking themselves off the floor they gathered against the wall, Flicker grabbing a soiled cloth to pad blood on his lip.
“Come on,” Sara urged, helping Romy to get to his feet. He couldn’t straighten because of the pain in his chest and leaned on her without protest. Carpetbag in one arm, Romy in the other, they started for the door.
“I can’t,” Romy complained, halfway across the dusty street.
“You have no choice.” She was tired and barely able to hold him up. Somehow they managed to stagger into the hotel.
“A room, quickly,” Sara pleaded to the attendant.
A door on the main floor was unlocked and the man helped Romy to the bed. “What happened?” he asked. “Is he okay?”
“Yes, but if you could get bandages and a pan of hot water I’d be grateful. Oh, and add to that a bottle of whiskey.” Half for disinfectant, the other to drink, she mused.
Easing him gently back into the bed, Sara held a towel to his head to stop the flow of blood. He grimaced, fluttering a weak smile.
“Did it not occur to you that you’d get your skull kicked in?” Frightened by his condition she was more annoyed at how it happened. “Those guys at the table were all Flicker’s friends, you know.”
“He insulted you,” Romy said, his voice barely a whisper. “I warned him not to insult you and he did anyway.”
“Well, you sure showed him,” she said sarcastically. “He’s learned his lesson.”
Water and cotton bandages were placed on the cabinet. “Can I get anything else, ma’am?” the attendant asked, passing the whiskey to her directly.
“No, thank you kind sir,” Sara said warmly. “Put this on our bill.”
He nodded and after glancing warily at Romano slipped from the room.
Sara peeled back one corner of the towel to examine the cut. This concerned her more than the possible cracked rib, because it still bled profusely. “Least there’s no glass stuck in there but I’ll have to put a stitch in it,” she said.
Romy’s chin dropped. “What?”
“Hold this cloth while I get a needle.”
Romy did as he was told but watched her every move with growing concern. “What are you going to do?”
Finding her emergency sewing kit in the bottom of the bag she held the needle over the candle flame. Romy tried to sit up but winced in pain and slumped into the bed again. “Mother Mary protect me,” he bemoaned.
Bathing the wound, she found it was jagged but clean. A couple of stitches and it’d be fine. Folding another towel beneath his head she smoothed back his hair and positioned herself to work. This was easy for her. Training and experience both had shown her how to clean and stitch several minor cuts in the emergency ward at the local hospital, although there she never worried about sterilized equipment. Here, she had to make do with whiskey and a candle flame and a small tube of antiseptic cream in her bag of tricks.
She dabbed the cut with alcohol and Romy swore, hissing air through clenched teeth.
“Oh, be quiet, you big baby,” she scolded. “This is your fault so grin and bear it.”
“My fault? You’re the one who cheated Flicker.”
“I did no such thing.” Three quick stitches later the skin was sewn. She dabbed more alcohol before tipping the bottle to her lips.
Romy had screwed his eyes closed. Even when she finished winding a bandage round his head, he didn’t open them. “I ache,” he muttered.
Next she loosened his shirt, gently prodding his chest. Nothing was broken or cracked, merely bruised. “You’re going to ache for a while, too,” she said. “I hope Flicker’s friends don’t decide to pay you a sympathy visit. You’re in no shape to be teaching anyone else a lesson tonight.”
“They won’t.” Romy sat up enough to pull off the shirt. The collar was stained with blood. He motioned for the bottle, taking several long gulps. “Where’d you learn to play cards like that?”
“Clyde showed me.”
“The one who owes you money?” Romy muttered. “I remember you mentioning this name. He was ... your amante?”
“What does that mean?”
“Lover.”
Sara washed the last few crimson drops from Romy’s neck, taking longer than necessary. She didn’t want to talk about Clyde. Besides, he was part of a place and time that was becoming a hazy dream. Best if she tried to forget and focus on the reality she was in. Romy’s lids closed as she continued to dab his skin with the warm water, and she was thankful he was resting at last.
“Little rabbit,” Romy whispered, his eyes still shut. He touched her arm, gently, as any lover would. “My angel.”
“Amante,” she repeated. “I like that word.”
Slowly black eyes fixed lovingly on her face. “Si. I like the way you say it, as well.” His voice had grown sultry.
“You’d better get some rest,” she said, wondering how he could have amorous thoughts after being bashed about as badly as he had.
“No. Not yet.” He took her hand, and kissed it. “We are alone now.”
“True,” she laughed, picking up immediately on the underlying tone. “But I don’t think that you’re in any condition to…”
“Don’t misjudge me,” he said quickly. “You are a good nurse. I want to show you gratitude.”
“Oh, really?” He was joking, wasn’t he?
“If you could help me with my boots, I think I can take care of the rest.”
He wasn’t joking. “All right,” she said, still feeling skeptical. She yanked each boot off and watched for a grimace, one that never materialized.
“Please,” he said, the look of hunger in his eyes. “Will you do what I ask?”
“I thought I already did.”
“No, I am selfish and the light dances on your hair. Will you ... undress, slowly, so I can watch?”
It struck Sara as a wicked request, especially for one who had been recently injured. Yet as she scanned his stretched body, laying in wait on the bed, those impure thoughts she had earlier that evening when they were in the stream came rushing back. A tickle in her stomach urged her to honor the request.
“Si, amante,” she said. Maybe she could get the hang of this romantic sounding language after all.
He smiled warmly at her attempt, his eyes sparkling anew. The smile faded as she wiggled from her shirt and trousers. And when she reached behind to unclasp her bra, letting it fall from one shoulder, his lips parted.
“Usted es hermoso,” he whispered, as though she were now fluent in Spanish because she had muttered two words.
“I hope that was a compliment.”
He nodded, blankly. A slow smile crept into the corner of his mouth. Reaching out one hand, he beckoned for her to join him on the bed. He leaned forward without pain, crossing his arms over the flesh of her back while darting kisses to her throat. “Erogenous, you said of this place,” he whispered, his breath searing into her neck. “Places of pleasure. I wish to find every one on your body.” A palm cupped her breast. “And I start here.”
Sara tipped up her chin as though balancing a feather, stroking his arms as Romy fulfilled the salacious promise. A trail of kisses fluttered down her throat, growing in strength, and she co
uldn’t help but drone approval as he delicately dampened her nipple. Submission was a welcome response. Romano sensed the weakening, embracing her with a dominion that stiffened every muscle in his body. And he kissed her flesh, each kiss faster than the one preceding it.
“I thought you were in pain,” Sara teased, lightly touching the bandage she had only just wrapped round his head. “And needed rest.”
“This is my rest,” he said, lifting his lips to hers. “I’d have to be dead to not want you.”
“You are a wicked man, Romano Vasquez,” she said falling back with him onto the quilt.
He smiled, his dark eyes dancing as he studied her. “No, not wicked. I am a goof, remember?”
Laughter was cut short when the extent of his excitement poked against her stomach. At the same moment he thrust a deep kiss, a prelude of talents in other places of pleasure. No longer concerned about his injuries, Sara squirmed over him, accepting the kiss, complete with its sensual implications.
His fingers played the curve of her spine, resting on the soft flesh of her backside. “You are not shy,” he said. It wasn’t a criticism. In fact, he sounded quite pleased.
Sara peered down at him, her elbows propped on each side. The vein in his throat pulsated wildly but he lay still, returning her look. Fingers continued to explore her waist and then down again. “Neither are you,” she answered.
He shifted, his eyes showing thoughts soaked with seriousness. “This other man, did he love you?”
“Do you mean did he share my bed?” she asked, a little annoyed. Cutting to the chase, however, was necessary to free Romy’s needless concern.
He lowered his glance. “Si, I suppose that is what I mean.”
“I loved him,” she said. “He didn’t love me.”
“So many fools in this world,” he grinned. “You belong to me now. I have rescued you.”
“Rescued me?” Sara asked, taken aback. “Rescued me from what?”
He twisted his hips, pushing her thighs to sprawl a little farther apart. “I will take you, even though you are not a virgen.”
If the theme of this conversation had occurred at any other time, Sara would consider giving him a sound slap. So what if she was virgin or not? It had nothing to do with this, nor should the topic have been brought up. The nerve. Rescue indeed!
The insight into male chauvinism faded quickly, however, as Romano, pleased with his comment and obviously thinking she was as well, leaned up to kiss her again. He certainly knew how to banish all thoughts from her mind, and the hand that had clutched her waist was now dipping around the curve of her backside. His touch had become very intimate. He was exploring her, and it felt exquisite.
“You tell me if I am not careful,” he whispered against her cheek. “For I mean only to make you happy.”
“Oh,” she sighed, her forehead pressing into the pillow, a wave of black hair against her lips. His stroking instigated her to flinch forward, just a little, enough to give him room to deepen the touch. “Oh,” she said again, the pitch higher.
His heart thrashed against her breasts, and with every breath he muttered. Even though her ear was close she couldn’t understand any of the words--if it were indeed words he uttered. Every bone in her body had turned to rubber. She slumped over him, gently swaying to the stroking that turned her into a blissful wave on a hard and stony beach.
“Te amo pequeno conejo.”
Amo. Love. Pequeno conejo. Little rabbit. His tone taught her to understand. The way he pleasured her was because he loved her. He had nurtured, protected, defended; now he sought his prize. She wanted this more than he did, if that was possible. And she wasn’t about to wait any longer.
Sara rolled her tongue around his ear, tasting the silken hair, the smell and flavor of the shampoo still evident. Combined with this was a thin line of sweat that had dampened the hollow of his neck, a slight saltiness that exploded in her taste buds. It blinded her with passion. She was about to show him how shyness was not her forte.
Slowly she lifted, pushing her weight down, settling into his groin, lids drifting to the immensity of what was sinking deeper and deeper inside her body. Through drunken eyes she saw his expression drop, shoulders heaving to a sharp intake of air. He belonged to her now. It was her power, strength and ambition that held at bay the ecstasy that waited. She paused in her moment of dominance, watching his expression contort and his full lips move to words she no longer understood.
As luxurious as the sensations erupting through her body, Sara was intensely fascinated with the handsome dark face that spoke to her where words failed. Not moving her hips, merely her internal muscle, she watched as each flex resulted in another, more sensual expression, especially in his black eyes. They widened, almost as though her dance caused shock, and then they would cloud again as he let the sensations flow. And as she perfected the rhythmic movements his eyes closed completely, yet a tipped chin prompted his mouth to open, and his voluptuous lips were curling to increasing onslaughts of pleasure.
Soft muted sighs were growing more and more audible and Romy now clutched fingers into her hips, lifting and pushing, directing her dance to increase in speed. He rotated his hips slightly. “This feels very good,” he murmured before forcing his lids to crack open.
Wanting him to slow, Sara leaned over his chest, pushing her hardened nipples into his silken patch of chest hair. Large palms patted the small of her back he continued to hold the reins; quick thrusts as though he was instigating his mount to ride faster. She had no strength to argue his will, as she knew she wouldn’t. This felt more than just good, but formulating an appropriate sentence to convey such a message was impossible in any language.
“Kiss me,” she demanded, her cheek raking the heavy stubble of his face. He turned to hungrily greet the demand, obeying her wish with a penetrating tongue, lapping, exploring, the harsh hairs of his moustache tickling her nose. Simultaneously he gripped her backside, thrashing up with a power that threw her whole torso into frantic convulsions. Waves of lovemaking were increasing, tenderness no longer an option.
She pushed into each gyration, her own hunger manifesting with a flush of pulsating heat, consuming her insides from a mind warped to affection through to toes that curled with anticipation. But between the two was the place where the ecstasy grew to the greatest flush and she cried his name when bliss crashed through every nerve ending.
His eyes had widened as he peered at her face, knowing what had just happened, that he was the one that had perfected such absolute pleasure. Wrenching fiercely, quick and hard, the blackness of the shimmering eyes rolled to white, the fingers clawing into the soft flesh of her hips, he let go. He shivered, flinched to the shock of his own joyous release, and then calmed, the vein in his neck the only reminder of a heartbeat gone crazy.
In the next few moments of tranquility Sara guessed he had drifted off to sleep. She continued to sprawl over him, feeling the hardness slowly soften. Even so, she didn’t want to move; the very sensation of gravity’s hold, pinning him to the bed with her breast, was beyond compare. When she did move, and it needed to be soon, she’d wake him. But he wasn’t sleeping. His eyes opened and he smiled up at her, one palm sweeping over her neck and cheek. “Worth waiting for,” he whispered, fluttering another gentle kiss on her lips.
When Sara started to move he flexed each arm around her. “Not yet, little rabbit. This is beautiful, and I wish to say something directly in your ear.” The heat from his breath tickled her neck, a place more sensitive than earlier. Careful to avoid the bandaging around his temple she cuddled into him and waited for the precious secret.
“You made love to me this night. When we wake I will return this favor. Then we shall be completely committed to each other. My brother’s family will be happy to prepare a wedding.” He turned to peer longingly at her, and Sara in return tried not to look startled as she absorbed the information. “You will never be afraid again. I will take care of you.”
Romy’s
forehead creased with a wrench of pain and his fingers stroked the bandaging on his wounded temple. “We will care for each other,” he said, the ache passing.
Sara couldn’t think of options. This seemed so perfect, in the arms of a man who loved her like no other, regardless of the setting. For the past evening time hadn’t been of consequence, but as he spoke of the future she was immediately reminded of its existence and her proper place in it. Making love to Romano felt right but being in this time did not. Still, she was growing too tired to come to any logical conclusion.
He rolled to his hip and Sara slipped to the bed. He still held her though, not ready to give up on their embrace. Perhaps by holding her like this till they woke he would feel assured she had no chance to run away again. The thought made her smile. God, how she loved him!
“My promise is true,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. “As soon as I finish helping Dev I will build a home, for you and the babies I shall give you.”
His voice was distant as sleep crept in to dissolve her consciousness. Drifting to a dream she floated away and as she floated the cloud spoke. Te amo, it said. I love you.
Chapter Five
The mattress, although lumpy, had been far more comfortable than the ground or Bear’s porch. Sara had slept soundly and woke slowly, thinking perhaps this might be a good place to stay for the whole day. She reached across for Romano to suggest her wicked plan, but the spot where he had slept was cold.
“Romy?” she said sleepily, shielding her eyes from the bright sunshine that streamed through thin laced curtains. The smell of coffee caused her mouth to water.
“You awake now, little rabbit?” he said, smiling to her through the reflection in the mirror. He had taken the bandage off, the skin round the cut puffed and purple. He stropped a razor before returning to the task of shaving the thick stubble, each scraping stroke clearing his olive skin. Almost finished, the cleared features made him look younger and by far more handsome. Sara fluffed the pillow and sipped the cup of black coffee he had placed on the cabinet beside the bed.
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