by Diana Palmer
“I could drive if you could stop putting your hands over your eyes and making those noises,” he shot back.
“I was trying to say my prayers!”
“See you later,” Apollo told Melissa and Diego. He took Joyce by the arm and half led, half dragged her out of the apartment.
“Don’t they make a sweet couple?” Melissa murmured dryly when they’d gone. “I wonder if they both carry life insurance…?”
Diego smiled faintly at the mischief in her eyes. “An interesting observation, Señora Laremos. Now, if there is nothing I can do for you, you can praise your son’s art while I get back to work.”
Her pale gray eyes searched his face, looking for revelations, but there were none in that stony countenance. “It offended you that Apollo mentioned a resemblance.”
“The boy’s father obviously had some Ladino blood,” he countered without expression. He put his hands in his pockets, and his black eyes narrowed. “You will not divulge your lover’s identity, even now?”
“Why should it matter to you?” she asked. “I had the impression when I left Guatemala that it would be too soon if you never saw me again.”
“I tried to talk to you at the time. You would not listen, so I assumed that my feelings would have no effect on you.”
“Do you have any feelings?” she asked suddenly. “My father said once that if you did it would take dynamite to get to them.”
He stood watching her, his slightly wavy black hair thick and clean where it shone in the light, his eyes watchful. “Considering the line of work I was in, Melissa, is that so surprising? I could not afford the luxury of giving in to my emotions. It has been both a protection and a curse in later years. Perhaps if I had not been so reticent with you the past five years would not have been wasted.”
Her pulse jumped, but she kept her expression calm so he wouldn’t see how his words affected her. “I understood,” she replied. “Even though I was young, I wasn’t stupid.”
“Had you no idea what would happen when you led me into that sweet trap, Melissa?” he asked with a bitter laugh.
“It wasn’t a trap,” she said doggedly. “I’d written a lot of silly love poems and scribbled some brazen note to you that I meant to destroy. I’d never have had the nerve to send it to you.” She colored faintly at the memory. “I tried to tell you, and my father, that it was a mistake, but neither of you would listen.” Her fingers toyed with the hem of her pink blouse. “I loved you,” she said under her breath. Her eyes were closed, and she missed the expression that washed over his face. “I loved you more than my own life, and Dad was on the verge of sending me away to college. I knew that I’d never see you again. Every second I had with you was precious, and that’s why I gave in. It wasn’t planned, and it wasn’t meant to be a trap.” She laughed coldly. “The irony of it all is that I was stupid enough to believe that you might come to love me if we lived together. But you left me with your family and went away, and when you came back and I tried so desperately to catch your attention—” She couldn’t go on. The memory of his contemptuous rejection was too vivid. She averted her eyes. “I knew then that I’d been living in a daydream. I had what I wanted, but through force, not through choice. Leaving was the first intelligent decision I made.”
He felt as if she’d hit him with a rock. “Are you telling me that you didn’t have marriage in mind?”
“Of course I had marriage in mind, but I never meant you to be forced into it!” she burst out, tears threatening in her eyes. “I loved you. I was twenty and there’d never been another man, and you were my world, Diego!”
His tall, elegant body tautened. He’d never let himself think about it, about what had motivated her. Perhaps, deep inside, he’d known all along how she felt but hadn’t been able to face it. He drew a thin cheroot from his pocket and lit it absently. “I went to see your father after he confirmed that you were still alive. He told me nothing, except that you despised me and that you never wanted to see me again.” He lifted his gaze and stared at her. “I was determined to hear that for myself, of course, so I kept searching. But to no avail.”
“I used my maiden name when I applied for United States citizenship,” she explained, “and I lived in big cities. After I was settled, I contacted my father and begged him not to let you know where I was. Later, when the attorney called and told me about my father’s death, I grieved. But I didn’t have enough money to go to the funeral. Even then, I pleaded with the lawyer not to reveal my whereabouts. I didn’t really think you’d come looking for me when you knew I’d—” she forced out the lie “—lost the baby, but I had to be sure.”
“You were my responsibility,” he said stiffly. “You still are. Our religion does not permit divorce.”
“My memory doesn’t permit reconciliation,” she said shortly. “I’ll stay here until I’m able to work again, but that’s all. I’m responsible for myself and my son. You have no place in my life, or in my heart, anymore.”
He fought back the surge of misery her statement engendered. “And Matthew?”
She pushed back her hair. “Matthew doesn’t concern you. He thinks you hate him, and he’s probably right. The sooner I get him away from here the better.”
He turned gracefully, staring hard at her. “Did you expect that I could accept him so easily? He is the very proof that your emotions were not involved when we were together. If you had loved me, Melissa, there could never have been another man. Never!”
And that was the crux of the entire problem, she thought. He didn’t realize that he was stating a fact. If he’d trusted her, he’d have known that she loved him too much to take a lover. But he didn’t trust her. He didn’t know her. He’d never made the effort to know her in any way except the physical.
She lay back on the pillows, exhausted. “I can’t fight, Diego. I’m too tired.”
He nodded. “I know. You need rest. We can talk when you are more fit.”
“I hope you didn’t expect me to fall in line like the little slave I used to be around you,” she said, lifting cold eyes to his.
“I like very much the way you are now, niña,” he said slowly, his accent even more pronounced than usual. His dark eyes smoldered as he drew them over her body. “A woman with fire in her veins is a more interesting proposition than a worshipful child.”
“You won’t start any fires with me, señor,” she said haughtily.
“¿Es verdad?” He moved slowly to the bed and, leaning one long arm across her, stared into her eyes from scant inches away. “Be careful before you sling out challenges, my own,” he said in the deep, soft voice she remembered so well whispering Spanish love words in the silence of the Mayan ruins. “I might take you up on them.” He bent closer, and she could almost feel the hard warmth of his mouth against her parted lips, faintly smoky, teasing her mouth with the promise of the kisses she’d once starved for.
She made a sound deep in her throat, a tormented little sob, and turned her face against the pillow, closing her eyes tight. “No,” she whispered. “Oh, don’t!”
She felt his breath against her lips. Then, abruptly, he pushed away, shaking the bed and stood up. He turned away to light a cheroot. “There is no need for such virginal terror,” he said stiffly as he began to smoke it. “Your virtue is safe with me. I meant only to tease. I lost my taste for you the day I learned just how thirsty you were for vengeance.”
She was grateful for his anger. It had spared her the humiliation of begging for his kisses. Because she wasn’t looking at his face, she didn’t realize that her rejection had bruised his ego and convinced him that she no longer wanted his kisses.
He got control over his scattered emotions. “The man who replaced me in your affections—Matthew’s father—where is he now, Melissa?”
Her eyes closed. She prayed for deliverance, and it came in the form of Matthew, who came running in to see why Mama hadn’t come to look at his drawings. Melissa got up very slowly and allowed Matt to lead her into his bedroom, h
er steps hesitant and without confidence. She didn’t look at Diego.
That night, Mrs. Albright bathed Matthew and put him to bed so that Diego and Melissa would be free to greet their guests. Melissa’s leg still made walking difficult, as did the incision where her ovary had been removed. She managed to bathe and dress alone, but she was breathless when Diego came to carry her into the living room.
He stopped in the doorway, fascinated by the picture she made in the pale blue silky dress that emphasized her wavy blond hair, gray eyes and creamy complexion. She’d lost weight, but she still had such a lovely figure that even her slenderness didn’t detract from it.
Diego was wearing a dark suit, and his white shirt emphasized his very Latin complexion and his black hair and eyes. It was so sweet just to look at him, to be with him. Melissa hadn’t realized how empty the years without him had been, but now the impact of his company was fierce.
She had barely a minute to savor it before the doorbell rang and the guests came in. Apollo and Joyce were together, if reluctantly, and Melissa mused that since the black man hated his secretary so much it was odd that he’d bring her along on a social call. Behind them was a slender blond man with the masculine perfection of a movie star and a mountain of a man with dark, wavy hair.
Diego introduced the blond man. “Eric ‘Dutch’ van Meer. And this—” he smiled toward the big man “—is Archer, better known as J.D. Brettman. Gentlemen, my wife, Melissa.”
They smiled and said all the right things, but Melissa could tell that they were surprised that Diego had never mentioned her. They apologized for not bringing their wives, Danielle and Gabby, but their children had given each other a virus and they were at home nursing them. Melissa would be introduced to them at a later time.
Melissa smiled back. “I’ll look forward to that,” she said politely. These men made her oddly nervous because she didn’t know them as she knew Apollo. They formed into a group and began talking about work, and Melissa felt very isolated from her husband as he spoke with his old comrades. She could see the real affection he felt for them. What a pity that he had none to give her. But what should she have expected under the circumstances? Diego was responsible for her, as he’d said. He was only her caretaker until she was well again, and she’d better remember that. There might be the occasional flare-up of the old attraction, but she couldn’t allow herself to dream of a reconciliation. It was dangerous to dream—dreams could become a painful reality.
Joyce had eased away from the others to sit beside Melissa on the huge corner sofa. “I feel as out of place as a green bean in a gourmet ice-cream shop,” she mumbled.
Melissa laughed in spite of herself. “So do I, so let’s stick together,” she whispered.
Joyce straightened the skirt of her beige dress. Her long hair was a little unkempt, and she slumped. Melissa thought what a shame it was that the woman didn’t take care with her appearance. With a little work, she could be a knockout.
“How did you wind up working for Apollo?” Melissa asked.
The other woman smiled ruefully. “I was new to the city—I moved here from Miami—and I signed up with a temporary agency.” She glanced at Apollo with more warmth than she seemed to realize. “They sent me to him and he tried to send me right back, but the agency was shorthanded, so he was stuck with me.”
“He doesn’t seem to mind too much,” Melissa murmured dryly. “After all, most bosses don’t take their secretaries along on social engagements.”
Joyce sighed. “Oh, that. He thought you might feel uncomfortable around all these men. Since the wives couldn’t come, here I am.” She grinned. “I’m kind of glad that I was invited, you know. I’m not exactly flooded with social invitations.”
“I know what you mean,” Melissa said, smiling. “Thanks for coming.”
As Apollo had promised, they didn’t stay long. But as the men said their goodbyes and left, J.D. Brettman shot an openly curious glance in Melissa’s direction.
Later, when the guests had gone, Melissa asked Diego about it as he removed his jacket and tie and loosened the top buttons of his shirt.
“Why was Mr. Brettman so curious about me?” she asked gently.
He poured himself a brandy, offered her one and was refused, and dropped gracefully into the armchair across from her. “He knew there was a woman somewhere in my life,” he said simply. “There was a rumor to the effect that I had hurt one very badly.” He shrugged. “Servants talk, you see. It was known that you fell and were rushed to the hospital.” As he lifted the brandy to his lips, his eyes had a sad, faraway look. “I imagine it was said that I pushed you.”
“But you didn’t!”
His dark eyes caught hers. “Did I not?” His chin lifted, and he looked very Latin, very attractive. “It was because of me that you ran into the night. I was responsible.”
She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry that people thought that about you. I was too desperate at the time to think how it might look to outsiders.”
“No importa,” he said finally. “It was a long time ago, after all.”
“I need to check on Matthew. Mrs. Albright left with the others.” She started to stand, but the torn ligament was still tricky and painful, like the incision. She stood very still to catch her breath and laughed self-consciously. “I guess I’m not quite up to the hundred-yard dash.”
He got up lazily and put his snifter down. His arms went under her, lifting her with ridiculous ease. “You are still weak,” he murmured as he walked down the long hall. “It will take time for you to heal properly.”
She had to fight not to lay her cheek against his shoulder, drinking in the scent of his cologne, savoring the warmth of his body and its lean strength as he carried her. “I like your old comrades,” she remarked quietly.
“They like you.” He carried her through the open door to Matthew’s room and let her slide gently to her feet. The little boy was sleeping, his long lashes black against his olive skin, his dark hair disheveled on the white pillow. Diego stared down at him quietly.
Melissa saw the look on his face and almost blurted out the truth. It took every ounce of willpower in her to keep still.
“There is so little of you in him,” he said, his voice deep and softly accented. “Except for his hair, which has traces of your fairness in it.” He turned, his eyes challenging. “His father was Ladino, Melissa?”
She went beet red. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“You loved me, you said,” he persisted. His eyes narrowed. “If that was so, then how could you give yourself, even to avenge the wounds I caused you?”
She knew she was barely breathing. She felt and looked hunted.
“What was his name?” he asked, moving closer so that he towered over her, warming her, drowning her in the exquisite scent of the cologne he wore.
Her lips parted. “I…You don’t need to know,” she whispered.
He framed her face with his dark, lean hands, holding her eyes up to his. “Where did you meet him?”
She swallowed. His black eyes filled the world. In the dim light from Matthew’s lamp, he seemed huge, dangerous. “Diego…”
“Yes,” he breathed, bending to her soft mouth. “Yes, say it like that, querida. Say my name, breathe it into my mouth….”
He brushed her lips apart with the soft drugging pressure of his own, teasing, cherishing. Her nervous hands lingered at his hard waist, lost in the warmth of his body under the silky white shirt. She hadn’t meant to give in so easily, but the old attraction was every bit as overwhelming as it had been years ago. She was powerless to stop what was happening.
And he knew it. He sighed gently against her mouth, tilting her head at a more accommodating angle. Then the gentleness left him. She felt his mouth growing harder, more insistent. He whispered something in Spanish, and his hands slid into her hair, dragging her mouth closer under his. He groaned and she moved against him, her body trembling with the need to be close to him, t
o hold him. Her arms slid around him, and suddenly his arms were around her, molding her body to his with a pressure that was painful heaven.
She gasped under his demanding mouth and he stopped at once. He lifted his head, and his eyes were fierce and dark, his breathing as quick as hers.
“I hurt you?” he asked roughly. And then he seemed to come to his senses. He released her slowly, moving away. He turned his eyes briefly to the still-sleeping child. “I must ask your pardon for that,” he said stiffly. “It was not intended.”
She dropped her gaze to the opening of his white shirt, where dark olive skin and black hair peeked out. “It’s all right,” she said hesitantly, but she couldn’t look up any farther than his chin.
He shifted restlessly, his body aching for the warm softness of hers, his mind burning with confused emotions. He raised her head. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to go to bed.”
She wasn’t about to argue. “No, I…You don’t need to carry me,” she protested when he moved toward her. “I can manage. I need to start exercising my leg. But thanks anyway.”
He nodded, standing aside to let her leave. His dark eyes followed her hungrily, but when she was out of sight they turned to the sleeping child. His face was so like Melissa’s, he thought quietly. But the boy’s Spanish heritage was evident. He wondered if Melissa still loved the boy’s father or thought about him.
The bitterness he felt drove him from the child’s room and into his study. And not until he had worked himself into exhaustion did he fall into his bed to sleep.
Chapter Seven
The atmosphere at breakfast was strained. Melissa had hardly slept, remembering with painful clarity her headlong response to Diego’s ardor. If only she could have kept up the front, convinced him that she wasn’t attracted to him anymore. She’d almost accomplished that, and then he’d come too close and her aching heart had given in.
She felt his eyes on her as she tried to eat scrambled eggs and bacon. Matthew, too, was unusually silent. He was much more careful of his behavior at the table than he’d ever been when he and Melissa had lived by themselves. Probably, she thought sadly, because he felt the tension and was reacting to it.
