Touch a Wild Heart

by Vella Munn

  For a moment Chela couldn’t trust herself to speak. Those were gentle words, words capable of touching her heart, but there were too many barriers between them. Kohl had reminded her of who she was. “Don’t do this, Magadan,” she whispered. “We have a business arrangement. It can’t go any further than that.”

  “Magadan?” He spat out the word. “Can’t you call me Joe?”

  Chela kept her eyes on the man pacing in the confines of her room. A deer he’d called her. Did he have any idea how much animal was in him? Animals react to one another on a primitive basis. Tonight Chela was a primitive creature. Her words came hard. “You said that everyone calls you Magadan. Why should I be different?”

  “I don’t know.” He laughed bitterly. “Maybe because I’m tired of the distance inherent in the word. Don’t you ever want to get close to someone, trust them completely?”

  Of course, I do, Chela admitted to herself. Do you have any idea how it’s been for me since my mother died? “Trust takes a long time, Magadan,” she whispered. “You and I haven’t reached that point yet.”

  “Then maybe it’s time we started.” He stopped his pacing, whirled toward her so quickly that his shoes squealed a protest. “I want to know everything that happened with Kohl, how he put those marks on you.”

  Chela didn’t dare take her eyes off the man dominating the room. Whether she wanted it or not, Magadan was putting his mark on her. The difference was that his impact didn’t show physically. She drew in air through flared nostrils and started. “I can’t tell you everything, Magadan. Not yet, and maybe, not ever. But Kohl and I go back a long way. He knows…things about me. He isn’t going to jump into anything that I’m a part of; he has no reason to trust me. Those marks are his way of making sure I don’t forget that.”

  Chela went on. She told Magadan that she’d known Kohl since she was a child and he a teenager, already a pro in the darker ways of making money. She skirted around the question of why or how their paths first crossed, just that no love had ever been lost between the two. “It’s funny in a way,” she wound up. “I can’t help but admire the man. I don’t know anyone else who has been on the wrong side of the law all his life and managed to elude it so long.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Most lawbreakers trip themselves up sooner or later. They have to pay the price.” And so do those around them, she added silently.

  “So now we wait.” Magadan sighed. He sank into the couch Kohl had used, his eyes narrowing as if seeking a private conversation with himself.

  “That’s all we can do,” Chela acknowledged, grateful that he wasn’t kneeling next to her anymore. They were back to talking business. Good, that was what she could handle. “He’ll be back. He smells easy money.”

  “We can’t allow a slipup. I want him…now.”

  “Maybe you’ll get him,” Chela admitted, but with reservations. “Don’t forget, he’s played this game longer than either of us.”

  “I’ll get him. Look, have you had dinner?”

  “What? Yes. I was getting ready for bed when he came.”

  Magadan leaned forward. “Will you be able to sleep?”

  Although her muscles ached, Chela knew sleep would probably never come tonight. “I’ve had sleepless nights before,” she admitted. “Another won’t kill me.”

  “Maybe. But there’s no reason why you should do it alone.”

  What was he suggesting? “I sleep alone, Magadan,” she whispered.

  “That’s not what I meant. When you and I go to bed, Chela, it’ll be because both of us want it, not because I’m bigger and stronger than you. Look, why don’t you change and I’ll take you out for some ice cream.”

  Ice cream—after what she’d been through tonight? Chela thought back to her bland bowl of soup and realized that ice cream was what she wanted more than anything else she could think of. Maybe a cone would cool her inflamed emotions. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” she said quickly, in an effort to take the conversation beyond bedroom talk. “I—do you really want to do that?”

  “I really want to buy you the biggest sundae they have. Why don’t you put on that white sundress you were wearing the other day?”

  Chela rose and braced herself on legs that were slow to do her bidding. She left Magadan and went into her bedroom. He had noticed the difference in her appearance. That wasn’t all Chela was thinking about as she slipped out of her robe and reached for the only true touch of femininity in her wardrobe.

  Chela turned quickly at the sound of the door opening. She had the dress in her hands, but she was wearing nothing. Her bathrobe lay on the floor. Magadan came all the way into the room and leaned on the doorjamb. “Tell me to leave and I will,” he said softly.

  She should tell him to get out of her room, scream at him that she was entitled to some measure of privacy. But she didn’t. As she reached into her dresser for a pair of panties, Chela acknowledged the caress of his eyes searching her body. She dropped the dress on her bed and stepped into her panties, pulling nylon over the paler flesh untouched by the sun. She straightened, knowing that he had a clear view of her high, pointed breasts with their dark tips.

  It wasn’t until she’d slipped the eyelet fabric over her head and was adjusting the waistline that Magadan spoke. “You aren’t as dark as I thought you were. The sun has left its mark on most of you, but not all.”

  “I had an Anglo father, remember. You’re the one who reminded me of that.”

  “I don’t know why you should be ashamed of that.” Magadan leaned over and then handed her sandals. “The two cultures are a perfect blend on you.”

  “Hardly.” Chela laughed bitterly. “You don’t know my father.” She took a deep breath. “Forget I said that.”

  “How can I forget? All I know about you is that you were a child when your mother died. I take it your parents weren’t living together and your father didn’t lift a finger when you were left alone. Did he know your mother had died?”

  Chela reached up to adjust the dress straps, but her fingers had lost all feeling. “He knew. He learned through the grapevine that exists in the orchards. But why should he care? He’d left my mother before I was born.”

  “What happened then?”

  Chela hadn’t been asked that question enough times to be able to answer it easily. “A social worker came and took me to a shelter home. Some months later they found an older couple willing to civilize a dirty little girl who couldn’t even speak English. Mr. and Mrs. Roberts saw the need to civilize me as a religious duty. They fed me, taught me to sit silently at the dinner table.” Chela tossed her head back defiantly, shaking off the pain. “I was given the material things a child needs. They didn’t want me to have any contact with Mexicans, but Mexicans were the only friends I had at school. I went to their houses, learned to laugh there.” Chela closed her eyes. “That’s why my life is the way it is now. I’m comfortable in a barrio, not surrounded by Anglos.”

  “The Robertses didn’t love you?”

  Chela strangled a sob. No! That was hiding, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to let it color today. “They were doing their duty. No one asked them to do anything more.”

  Chela was still strapping on her sandals when Magadan walked over to her dresser and picked up her hairbrush. She straightened when he started running the brush through her rich hair. For a moment Chela thought about taking the brush from him, but stopped herself before she could put an end to what had quickly become a very sensual experience. Magadan was slowly, gently, brushing the tangles out of her hair, his free hand smoothing down the heavy length. His fingers touched her cheeks, ears, and neck at the same time. Chela tried to stand motionless as Magadan worked on her, but her body flushed and then quivered slightly as his face came closer to hers, his eyes dark and deep.

  “You have beautiful hair,” he said in a ragged voice. “I hope you never cut it.”

  She started to say something about split ends that developed if she didn’t keep it
trimmed, but the words were too every day for what she was experiencing. Magadan was still drawing the brush through her hair, although it now lay smooth and sleek around her shoulders. There was no need for him to continue doing what he was, but she didn’t tell him that. Chela would be content if Magadan never stopped his caressing gestures.

  When she was at the point where she wasn’t sure she would be able to retain her balance without grabbing him for support, Magadan dropped the brush on the bed, took both her hair and her shoulders in his hands and turned her around so their bodies were only inches apart. “I’ve wanted to brush your hair since the first day I saw you,” he said in that same ragged voice.

  Chela thought about never having had a man stroke her hair before and admitting she’d desperately needed that brand of contact, but she couldn’t speak. Magadan was all she could see in the room, the only presence she was aware of. She felt her body being pulled closer and closer to his as if he were a magnet and she the metal filings caught in its grip.

  His lips were on hers before she had to admit that she was offering hers to him. The touch was a soft caress and yet spoke of a strength that rocked her entire body. Chela moaned, tears filling her eyes as she surrendered to the emotions surging between them. She was being kissed by Joe Magadan, a man she’d been physically aware of from the moment she first saw him staring at her in an orchard. Given the determination of the man, his lips were softer than she thought they’d be. She took that knowledge and locked it deep inside her. It made the man even more complex than she was; she welcomed that complexity.

  Magadan’s hands left her shoulders and pressed against her back, pulling her close to him with a determination that both frightened and thrilled her. “When we go to bed together,” Magadan had said. If he wanted her tonight, there was no way she’d be able to fight him off. His power over her was that great.

  Chela no longer tried to keep her eyes open. She wanted to block off the world, even Magadan’s image. She needed, without thinking about it, to experience this kiss, this embrace with no outside distractions. She was no longer aware of eyelet fabric brushing against legs unaccustomed to a skirt, sandal straps over her ankles. What she was aware of was her breasts being flattened against Magadan’s chest, the deep rhythm of his breathing that became her rhythm as well. Her arms found his neck and gave her the support her strangely weakened body needed. She felt the corded muscles along the side of his neck and thought, fleetingly, that they didn’t feel like the muscles of a businessman who spent his life at a desk.

  Magadan’s hands were sliding slowly down her back. They found her waist and the swell of the upper part of her buttocks. His hands stopped there, but they were pressing against her until she was forced to arch her body toward him. Even that more intimate contact wasn’t something Chela wanted to fight. In her present state, she might have been willing to do anything this man wanted her to do.

  Why she’d never felt this way before, why she should be so willing to surrender her separate self to him, were questions that would have to wait for saner moments. All Chela knew now was that she needed to feel the pressure of Magadan against her, a pressure that bordered on the painful but was eased because of the gentle touch of his lips.

  When her hands started to ache from having to reach so high, Chela let them slip down Magadan’s shoulders until she was clinging to his upper arms. She couldn’t completely spread her fingers across the expanse of his arms, and that bothered her. She wanted more control over this man, wanted to feel that she could draw him to her as surely as he’d drawn her to him.

  “Are you sure you want ice cream?” Magadan asked, tearing his lips from hers. His mouth found the side of her neck, lips and teeth and tongue exploring the long, taut line of her neck as Chela, breathing deeply, arched her body to give him greater access to her flesh.

  I can stop anytime, she told herself, anytime. But that moment didn’t seem to want to come. It wasn’t until his hands left her hips and started to seek her breasts that Chela took a shuddering breath and pulled away. “Strawberry sundae, with nuts,” were the only words she could manage.

  “You’re sure?” Had his voice always sounded that far away or was he having trouble speaking himself?

  “I’m sure.” Another deep breath for composure and a firm shove of her hands against Magadan’s chest accompanied her statement. Now Chela was free. “You said something about our going to bed when we both want it. That hasn’t happened yet.”

  Chapter Six

  Once they were in Magadan’s truck, Chela didn’t pay attention to where they were going. She knew they were heading toward the main part of town, but driving and making decisions about where they were going was Magadan’s responsibility. She trusted him; she didn’t even question that trust. Chela was content to sit with her head resting against the backrest, lazy eyes vaguely aware of the interplay of neon lights and night sky passing by them. The hot breeze coming in the open window brushed Chela’s cheeks, adding to the heat that remained in her body.

  Chela was glad Magadan didn’t feel a need to fill the truck’s interior with talk. She had things to talk about that had to do with emotion, and hunger, and wanting, stirring inside her that had never before seen the light of life.

  Until those moments in her bedroom, Chela hadn’t thought about a hunger that had to be satisfied. Surrendering herself to a man hadn’t happened yet. She had never found a man she wanted to get that close to, but more than that, until Joe Magadan entered her life, she hadn’t been challenged to take the risk of letting a man touch her heart.

  Now the risk, the challenge, was sitting next to her. His intense eyes were on the road, his mouth a tight line, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. His body language told her that he was wrestling with something that couldn’t be translated into words, but Chela didn’t have the emotional energy to wonder about the thoughts going through his mind. She had enough to do looking deep into her heart and trying to understand what was happening to it.

  Chela had lived wondering if she’d always be alone, that losing her mother and feeling nothing for her father would be the overriding emotions in her life. It wasn’t until this night that Chela started to experience another emotion: She wanted to truly get to know another human being and make him part of her life.

  “I think it’s going to be a sundae, all right.” Magadan broke into her reverie in a voice that was so every day it was a slap to Chela’s emotions. “I’ve got a real weakness for chocolate syrup. I know just the place.”

  Chela pulled back and matched, at least on the outside, his mood. “I still want strawberry.”

  Magadan laughed and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Good. I went with a woman once who was always on a diet. We never got to go anywhere fun to eat.”

  Chela didn’t want to hear about another woman. “Are you sure you can afford this?” she asked, amazed at her ability to keep the conversation light. “I’m not a cheap date.”

  “If I wanted a cheap date, I wouldn’t be with you. Do you know what I was thinking about the other day?” The teasing had gone out of Magadan’s voice. “I’d like to take you out to the most expensive restaurant in town. I want to order lobster and a carafe of wine and maybe take you dancing afterward.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever done that before?”

  Chela forced a laugh. “You know I haven’t. I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “That’s why I want to take you to that restaurant. Indulge me. I want to see you pampered. I want to see you in a dress that would knock everyone’s eyes out and have you try a vintage wine and lobster with drawn butter.”

  Chela sighed. She’d never wanted that before, but somehow tonight she did. “Do you think I’d like lobster?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. We’re going to do that soon.”

  “But I don’t have a knock-out dress.”

  “I’ll buy you one. But first”—Magadan slowed and then pulled into the parking lot o
f an ice-cream shop—“two sundaes, chocolate and strawberry.”

  Chela was at the public park helping Jeff Cline coach the soccer team through another game, grateful for the diversion. For the first time since she’d last seen Magadan three days ago, she had something else to think about.

  “I think the team would like to see the big roller back again,” Jeff admitted after an unsuccessful attempt to get the boys to listen to what he and Chela were trying to tell them. “It isn’t often someone comes around to treat the team like that. Have you heard anything more from him?”

  Chela frowned. She wanted to talk about soccer, not about a man with the power to make her question everything she’d come to believe about herself. She didn’t want to remember a silent drive home and a light kiss that didn’t go far enough. “A little,” she admitted.

  “Yeah? Who is he? He acts as if he has the world by the tail. What is he, a lawyer, a banker?”

  “I don’t know. He won’t tell me that about himself.”

  “Sounds mysterious. You don’t think he’d like to adopt a starving college student, do you? He might have some extra money he doesn’t know what to do with.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Chela admitted before turning the conversation back to soccer. And yet even when her team scored another goal, Chela found it impossible to shake off the sudden depressed mood that had settled over her. She didn’t know nearly enough about Magadan. He was putting up the money needed to snare Kohl, and yet she had no idea where that money was coming from. It wasn’t fair! He knew where she lived, how she supported herself, that her mother was dead, that she’d been raised by people who had remained strangers to her. Why wouln’t he tell her anything about himself?

  When the game was over, Chela and Jeff managed to scrape together enough money between the two of them to buy the boys a small soft drink apiece, but it wasn’t the same thing. They obviously wanted the stranger with the fat pocketbook to come back. “Now I’m going to have to eat beans for a week to make up for what I spent tonight,” Jeff complained as they were carrying the soccer gear to his battered old car. “I hope those characters appreciate my sacrifice. I also hope your mysterious friend realizes that he’s spoiled the team and we’re having to live with the consequences.”