Heaven Sent

by Rochelle Alers

  He halted, staring at her. There was a silent plea in his gaze that implored her to understand his predicament. It was enough that he was injured, helpless, and naked. But it was an entirely different matter that he needed to relieve himself.

  Something in his expression communicated itself to her, and Serena nodded slowly. She understood his embarrassment. “I’m a nurse. This is what I do—every day. You’re my patient, David Cole, and I’m going to take care of you whether you like it or no, or whether you’re embarrassed because you have to do what every living organism must do to survive.” Pausing, she noted resignation in his expression. “Now, are you going to cooperate with me?”

  Did he have a choice? The pressure in his lower body was so intense that he doubted whether he could make it to the bathroom before he shamed himself.

  He hated the weakness, his helplessness. He had always prided himself on having excellent health, only succumbing to exhaustion after a multi-city tour. But exhaustion was a part of his past once he left the band.

  Relenting, he said, “Yes.” The single word came out in a lingering sigh.

  Serena braced a shoulder under his armpit, supporting his greater weight against her hip, and helped him to his feet. He put one foot in front of the other, taking long strides despite the fact that his knees shook uncontrollably.

  “Easy there, Sport,” she teased. They made it to the adjoining bath, she helping David over to the commode. Sitting down heavily, he sighed in relief.

  Stepping back, Serena smiled down at him. “I’ll wait outside for you. Call me when you’re finished.”

  “Thanks.” The single word conveyed assuagement and appreciation.

  She returned to the bedroom, busying herself smoothing out the sheet and straightening the lightweight blanket on the bed. The rain had stopped and she opened the floor-to-ceiling French doors. The sweet, cloying fragrance of tropical flowers and damp earth was redolent in the humid air. A rising fog hung over the nearby rain forest, turning the landscape a wispy, heather gray.

  Ten minutes passed and still David hadn’t called out to her. Shrugging a bare shoulder, Serena stood at the open French doors staring out at the land surrounding La Montaña, recalling the happy times she had spent there.

  Her family moved into the large, beautifully designed house twenty years ago, the day she and Gabe turned ten and six, respectively. The move had been planned to coincide with a most lavish birthday celebration, and never had she felt so grown up as she did that day. The housewarming/birthday gala was never duplicated—not even when she was formally presented to Costa Rican society during her fifteenth year. Her mother had gone along with the Spanish custom of presenting her daughter at fifteen instead of the customary American Sweet Sixteen and coming-out observances.

  Gabe, mesmerized by the grandeur of the house and the number of people filling the expansive living room, never spoke more than ten words all that day. After all of the celebrants left he spent the night sobbing uncontrollably. He wanted his old house and old room back.

  Serena realized at an early age that her younger brother detested change. He only wanted what appeared to be safe and familiar. Gabe surprised her and his family when he decided that he didn’t want to attend a Costa Rican college. He wanted to follow his sister to the United States.

  She was elated when Gabe was admitted to a college in South Florida. They were more than thirteen hundred miles apart, but they got to visit each other more often than if he had remained in Costa Rica.

  Their roles were reversed once she decided to end her marriage to Xavier. Gabe flew up to New York from Miami and stayed with her until she settled into her new apartment, and she suspected that he had confronted Xavier about his treatment of his sister. Xavier had alluded to it when they met again at her lawyer’s office, but when she asked her brother about the incident he refused to discuss it with her.

  From the time that he was born she had taken care of and protected Gabriel Diego Vega. However, at twenty-eight she’d let him protect her for the first time.

  Serena found it hard to believe that two years had passed so quickly. It was only two years ago that she had become the wife of Dr. Xavier Osbourne. Determination hardened her delicate jaw. Xavier was her past, and she had taken a solemn oath to never marry again.

  All thoughts of her brother fled when she glanced down at her watch. David Cole had been alone in the bathroom for almost fifteen minutes. Retracing her steps, she hurried into the bathroom and went completely still. Anger and annoyance pulsed through her as the sound of running water filled the space.

  Taking the few remaining steps to the shower stall, she flung open the door. David sat on the floor of the stall, water beating down on his head and rinsing a layer of soap from his large body. She reached over and slapped the lever controlling the flow of water.

  David’s head came up slowly and he glared at her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Serena swallowed back the angry retort threatening to spill from her constricted throat. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Taking a shower,” he shot back.

  “I said you could relieve yourself, not shower.”

  “I needed a shower.”

  Resting both hands on her hips, her gaze narrowed. “What you needed to do was keep those stitches dry for at least forty-eight hours.”

  “I was beginning to smell.”

  “Let me determine whether you smell, Mr. Cole. And if you do begin to smell, I’ll wash you.”

  Bracing a hand against the tiled wall, David pushed himself to his feet. He rested his forehead against the cool tiles as a wave of dizziness gripped him, while managing to swallow back the bile rising in his throat.

  “You will not wash me.” His refusal came out haltingly, from between clenched teeth.

  Her hand went to his thick wrist and she led him slowly out of the stall. “What are you, David Cole? Stubborn, stupid, or maybe just obsessively vain?”

  David leaned heavily against her side when she picked up a thick towel and blotted the water from his body. His gaze was fixed on the profusion of curling hair, neatly pinned up off her long neck. As she leaned closer the soft curls brushed his shoulder, causing him to jerk his arm away.

  Her head came up and their gazes met. Even with his limited vision he was astounded by the perfection of the face only inches from his own. Her rich, dark beauty was hypnotic, and he couldn’t look away. Silken, black eyebrows arched over her large, round eyes, giving her the look of a startled little girl.

  But there was nothing girlish about her body. It was slender as well as lush. The loose-fitting slip dress could not disguise the curve of her full breasts or her rounded hips. From his superior height he could easily see down the bodice of her dress whenever she leaned over, and he felt like a pervert because he liked what he saw. The rich, even layers of browns on her face extended to her shoulders and breasts, reminding him of spun sugar. He didn’t know why he thought of her in terms of foods. Perhaps, he mused, because she looked good enough to eat.

  “To answer your question, Miss Morris, I am neither of those adjectives. What I am is hungry, thirsty, and in lots of pain. And what I don’t like is not being able to take care of myself.”

  Reaching up, Serena dabbed lightly over the bandages covering his wound, using a corner of the towel. “What you don’t have right now is a choice, Mr. Cole. Someone opened your head like a ripe melon, resulting in a severe concussion. You are also running a temperature, which means there is evidence of an infection. You’re in my parents’ home, where they have assumed responsibility for your safety and recovery. And that means I give the orders and you’ll do exactly what you’re told to do. Is there anything about what I just said that you don’t understand?”

  He went completely still, one dark eye focused on her mouth. “Are you in the military?”

  His question caught her off guard and she stared back at him, a frown creasing her smooth forehead. “No. Why?” />
  “Because you give a lot of orders,” he shot back.

  Her frown disappeared and she gave him a slow, sensual smile. “I only give orders when I have to.”

  David stared mutely at her smiling face. She’d half-lowered her lids over her hypnotic eyes and stared up at him through her lashes. It was a gesture he’d seen many times when women flirted with him. But this woman was not flirting. What she was doing was ordering him about like a storm trooper.

  “Then you must be a supervisor, Miss Morris.”

  She opened her mouth to come back at him, but didn’t. She wasn’t going to explain herself. Not to David Cole. He needed her, not the other way around.

  Tossing the towel on a chair, she curved an arm around his waist and steered him out of the bathroom. “You’re going back to bed and I want you to stay there until I bring you your breakfast. After you eat I’ll see if I can’t find you something to put on. La Montaña is beautiful. However it is hardly the Garden of Eden.”

  David sat down heavily on the side of the bed, his legs shaking. They weren’t shaking because of the weakness wracking his injured body, but because of what Serena had just said.

  “Where am I?” he whispered.

  Serena eased his legs up onto the bed and waited until he lay back against the mound of pillows cradling his shoulders. Pulling the sheet up to his chest, she said, “You’re at my parents’ house.”

  “But you said that this is La Montaña.”

  “It is.”

  A fist of pain gripped his temples. Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes. She was lying to him. Her name was Morris, not Vega. Raul Cordero-Vega owns La Montaña, he wanted to shout, but the words never came out. He tried to concentrate on what she’d told him, but his thoughts were a jumble of confusion. She’d said La Montaña was her parents’ home, and if she wasn’t a Vega then what was her connection to the man? Another wave of dizziness accompanied the pain, and within seconds darkness descended and he slipped into a world where there was no pain, no haunting scent of the woman who stood over him.

  Serena’s fingers grazed David’s stubbly cheek before going to his forehead. His brow was moist and clammy. He had overexerted himself by attempting to shower.

  “You’re a vain fool, David Cole,” she whispered softly. He had lied to her, saying he needed to shower, while the scent of cologne and aftershave still lingered on his large, hard body. The scent of his cologne suited him. It was subtle yet dramatic. It was like its wearer—she knew after less than twelve hours of meeting David Cole for the first time that he was powerful and dramatic.

  Despite his physical state, he exuded power and confidence. There was no doubt he was used to giving orders and having those orders followed without question. She recalled some of the rich and powerful people who had been invited to social gatherings at La Montaña. They came wearing haute couture and priceless jewels, looking down their noses at the household staff as if they were insects who annoyed them.

  A smile softened her lush mouth. Many wealthy people had come to Costa Rica to retire, taking advantage of the weather, Central America’s purest democracy and highest standard of living, and the highest degree of economic and social progress. Some came to conduct business because of the nation’s political stability, strategic location, infrastructure, inexpensive labor force, and various government incentive programs.

  Raul Cordero-Vega, as Minister of the Interior, oversaw the Ministry of Economy, Industry, and Commerce like a despot. The president and his cabinet ministers were aware of her stepfather’s zealous nationalistic fervor and did nothing to curtail it. Raul protected Costa Rica for all Ticos.

  Serena left David and went downstairs to the kitchen to see if his breakfast was ready. As an American, David Cole was a foreign businessman, and even though Raul had taken David into his home she knew it still did not bode well for the younger man. Like her mother, she had never become involved in Raul’s work, but like her mother she knew that he detested all foreign businesses. He referred to them as locusts. They swept through his country, devouring everything in sight before they disappeared like apparitions.

  It would be best if David recovered quickly so he could conclude whatever business he had come to Costa Rica to conduct, she mused as she walked into a large kitchen. A large assortment of cooking utensils hung from overhead hooks in the brick wall space.

  Luz Maria Hernando smiled and handed Serena a covered tray. “It is ready,” she said in accented English. The talented cook took every opportunity she could to use the language. She had come to La Montaña a month after it was built as an interim cook and never left. She had secretly asked that Serena teach her to speak English, becoming completely bilingual in the twenty years she lived at the house. She remained in residence at La Montaña even when Raul and Juanita returned to San José during the intense summer season. She and Serena were alike because they both loved the heat and the surrounding rain forest.

  “Thank you, Doña Maria,” Serena said, smiling. She had taken to calling the never-married, middle-aged woman Doña out of respect. At first Luz Maria lectured her sternly, saying she was not worthy of the title Madam, but Serena persisted over the years and Luz Maria accepted the title as well as she accepted accolades for her superior culinary skills.

  She had not disclosed the identity of the man sleeping in one of the guest rooms to the cook, telling Luz Maria that one of her father’s guests was not feeling well and needed a special diet of soft foods and her special tea, which everyone claimed had magical powers of rejuvenation.

  “He will feel much better after he drinks my tea,” Luz Maria said in a soft, mysterious tone.

  “I have no doubt,” Serena agreed. Turning, she walked out of the kitchen with the tray.

  Luz Maria never disclosed the ingredients she used to make the tea, but openly promised Serena she would reveal the brew’s properties to her when she married and had a child. The older woman said she would pass along her secret recipe because Serena would need it when her children encountered the discomfort and elevated temperatures that usually accompanied teething.

  Serena had married, but hadn’t remained married long enough to plan for children, and her future plans did not include marrying again or having children.

  Her footsteps were soft on the carpeted stairway as she made her way up to David Cole’s bedroom.

  Chapter 8

  Serena placed the tray on one of the bedside tables, then shook David gently. He didn’t stir. It was only after she called his name that he opened his eyes.

  Flashing him her sensual smile, she said softly, “It’s time for you to eat.”

  He stared up at her, studying her face as if he had never seen her before. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he ran a hand over his hair. It was still damp from his earlier shower. The sheet had slipped low on his flat belly, and he’d made no attempt to adjust it. When he was fully conscious, his concerns had been where he was and who the woman was who took away his pain and fear and offered him comfort and peace, not his nakedness.

  Serena sat down on a chair beside the bed and pulled the sheet up over David’s belly. “I’m going to feed you something that is quite similar to oatmeal,” she informed him, smiling.

  David did not like oatmeal, but he was too hungry to protest. He nodded as she picked up a bowl from the tray. He stiffened noticeably when she spooned a portion of cereal from the bowl and put the spoon to his lips.

  “I’ll feed myself.”

  Serena shifted an eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Cole. Not the way your hands are shaking.”

  He looked down at his long, well-groomed fingers, fingers that floated over the keys of a piano and strummed the strings of a guitar with a skill that had elicited chills and tears from those listening to his playing. They were trembling.

  “The shaking should go away along with the headache, vertigo, and delirium in a few days.” What she didn’t tell David was that it would take a lot longer for the br
uises over his eye to fade.

  Curling his fingers into tight fists, he opened his mouth and closed his eyes, but just as quickly they opened again. The cereal was delicious. It had a sweet, nutty flavor. Within minutes he devoured the cereal.

  He was nearly overcome by the warmth and scent of Serena’s body as she moved from the chair to sit down on the side of the bed. He wanted to move, yet couldn’t. Watching her intently, he saw her reach for a delicate china cup filled with a dark liquid.

  “What is that?”

  Leaning in closer, her shoulder nearly touching his bare chest, Serena said mysteriously, “A magic brew.”

  David managed a lopsided, dimpled smile. “Will it turn me into a prince?”

  Serena, stunned by the deep dimples in his lean cheeks, held her breath, her gaze fixed on his wide, generous mouth. Even with one eye nearly closed and bruised and one half of his face scarred, David Cole was a beautiful man. His dark eyes, sun-browned, olive skin, and the heavy, silken hair covering his scalp added to his masculine beauty.

  “You’re already a prince, David Cole,” she whispered, verbalizing her thoughts.

  His smile vanished as he felt the warmth of her breath on his face. Her round eyes were unblinking, her slender body rigid. It was as if she were waiting—for what he didn’t know. He was also waiting, waiting for the spell she had woven to break.

  “Frogs don’t become princes until they’re kissed by a princess,” he countered.

  She blinked once. “I am not a princess.”

  Reaching up with his right hand, he smoothed back a curl from her forehead. “Oh, but you are, Miss Morris.”

  What he did not say was that all of the men in his family thought of beautiful women as royalty. And all of the men in his family had a penchant for beautiful women.

  Serena put the cup to his lips, breaking the spell. “Drink.”

  He took several swallows of Luz Maria’s tea, surprised at the flavor. It was unlike any tea he had had before. As a musician he had visited more countries than he could count on both hands and feet, sampling the cuisine in each of them. There were times when he discovered that the most unappetizing looking concoction was the most palatable. The other band members always teased him about experimenting whenever he ordered the unknown, saying he was going to come down with ptomaine or dysentery. Much to their astonishment it never happened, while some of them did succumb to various intestinal maladies.