by Linda Bond
“I am in love with Havana, with the city, the people, and our culture.”
Our culture. She didn’t feel the same connection. Never had. One thing had always been standing in the way. “But you hate the government.”
His body tensed, and he took a step to the side, putting distance between them. “Yes, Rebecca.” That condescending tone had returned. “You know how I feel about the government.”
For so many of their people, the problem came down to one man and his family, the hate so strong Cuban Americans could see nothing else. Her own mother had forbidden her to even say his name in the house. “Is this a Castro thing?” As if she had to ask. Antonio had the hate, and he had it bad. It had been tattooed all over his face from the moment she’d met him.
He stomped away, putting even more distance between them. “It’s a Communist thing.” He gestured toward the city. “First the government takes away religion.” Turning back to face her, a fire ignited in his dark eyes. “When you do that, you strip people of hope and separate them from their morals and values.” Crossing his arms, he stared across the bay. “Then you shred every iota of what makes a person unique, under the pretense of making everyone equal, but when you do that you take away drive and desire. You create a complacent society, weak from dependence, unable to dream and unwilling to raise a hand toward change.”
Jesus, he spoke like a politician, if a notably scruffy one with his goatee and strands of his crazy rock-and-roll-style hair blowing in the hot Havana breeze. Despite the fact that his words were resonating deep within her, the reporter in her automatically played the devil’s advocate. “Do you think you speak for everyone here in Cuba, or are you just speaking on behalf of the angry Cuban Americans back in Florida?”
He twisted toward her, nailing her to the space where she stood with a stare as hot as glue from a gun. She knew she’d touched a nerve, and she didn’t know why she felt the urge to push him like this. Honestly, this was not a man she wanted to piss off. Like it or not, Antonio was her life raft back to America. And after witnessing him with his family, she was actually starting to like him. At the very least, she admired him. Not every man would be so steadfast in his devotion to his family, risking life and limb to care for and liberate them.
Then there was the way he looked at her at times, with a heated gaze that made her insides quiver. And whenever they touched…
“Let me ask you, do you make more money than your coworkers?” he asked.
Unexpected question. “Most of them. Yes.”
“Do you think you deserve to?”
Now she knew where he was going. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She should probably change the subject, because his fists were balling up again, but words stomped out of her mouth of their own free will. “I have a four-year degree from the University of Florida. I have four Emmys for various stories. I speak Spanish. I broke the biggest story of the year last year by exposing corruption in the school board, and I helped a woman who was burned by her husband get her justice.”
He pointed a finger at her. “All of that is what makes you unique, gives you value and equity.” Gesturing across the bay he continued, “But in a country like this, they would take half of your salary and divide it among others who don’t bring equitable skills to the job.” He drilled her again with that intense stare. “Eventually, Rebecca, even you would give up here. You’d start punching the time card and fall in line.” He walked toward her slowly.
She couldn’t really back up because she was at the end of the wall. “Maybe you should run for office. And bring about change yourself.”
Two steps. That’s all it took for Antonio to tower over her, using his height, she was sure, and the precariously thin stone wall as a way to intimidate her. “If I did run, would you vote for me?”
The hope in his eyes forced her back a half step. She teetered, feeling breathless and dizzy. She reached for his arms, hoping he would anchor her.
His hand flew behind her back, pulling her toward him. “What’s it going to take to make you believe in my mission?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “What’s it going to take to make you believe in me?”
She rocked back on her heels, but the pressure of Antonio’s hand kept her from falling. “I…well.” She swallowed and swayed again. Antonio was holding her too close. He had to be able to feel her heart racing at this proximity. She placed her hands flat against his chest. His heart was pounding, too. Too close. They were too close, and she couldn’t breathe.
Antonio reached out and drew one finger slowly down her cheek, tracing a path to her chin, which he cupped in his hand. “We could do good if we worked together.”
Her breath caught in her lungs, and she couldn’t move. She could smell Antonio’s musky aroma, mixed with the dust from the road. His hold on her chin forced her to see the truth in his gaze. Although he didn’t say anything else, his dilated eyes confirmed what she wanted to know. He values my opinion. He’s attracted to me. His thumb brushed over her lower lip. She inhaled sharply, and raw desire shot through her. And I am attracted to him. Crazy. This is crazy.
For the first time in twenty-six years, someone other than her mother believed she had value. She wasn’t sure what turned her on more: the realization this impressive man appreciated her, or the expert way he touched her, with that controlled restraint, despite all the intensity she knew remained bottled inside him. The skin all over her body bristled. She could only imagine what it might feel like should they both let go.
His gaze rested on her mouth, his chest rising and falling. She had no doubt he was also being swept up in the odd chemistry between them. But she couldn’t do this with this man. He was a revolutionary. Maybe even a killer. And when they got back to America, he’d also be known as her kidnapper.
The public would think she’d lost her damn mind. “I can’t kiss you.” Holy shit, did that just come out?
Antonio blinked rapidly. He was still breathing hard, but this time when he inhaled, he retreated, putting the usual distance between them. As he backed away, she watched the passion drain out of his eyes.
“We need to leave. Do you want to take pictures or video first?”
“Video?” He’s thinking about video? “Sure, right. With the GoPro?” What the hell had just happened? She finally exhaled, still shaken by that powerful brush with intimacy.
“Yes, with the GoPro, Rebecca. It is a video camera.” The distant, authoritative tone reentered his voice.
“Right. I know.” Holy cow, she felt about thirteen again, fumbling for words, embarrassed, ashamed. Oh God, I’m shaking. She pulled the GoPro out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Can you shoot?” She didn’t want to shoot video herself, fearing he’d see her jitters and know how much he’d just affected her.
“Can I shoot video?” He raised both eyebrows, and she wondered if he had a gun on him. What else would shooting mean? He didn’t question why she wouldn’t shoot the video herself. He just took the camera. Maybe he welcomed the distraction, too.
“I met Esmeralda, your cousin.” Changing the subject would help her get her footing back. “What does she do?” Her heart was still racing.
He didn’t look at her, pointing the GoPro camera toward Havana. “She studied to be a dentist.”
“So she practices in your hometown?” She kept taking deep breaths.
“No, she raises pigs.”
“Pigs?” Not the Esmeralda she met. The one in the pink hot pants?
“Esmeralda lives with my grandmother. So do her pigs.”
As shocking as that fact was, it did explain the smell in Antonio’s grandmother’s house. Imagine eating in the same place a pig pooped.
Her silence must have indicated her shock. He stopped shooting, looked at her, and grinned. “They keep farm animals in the house sometimes so they aren’t stolen at night.”
That also explained why two chickens had waddled through the hall while they were there. “I can’t pictu
re that sassy woman raising pigs.”
“You do what you have to do to survive here. Even if it’s risky and illegal.” He finished shooting video. “Here you go. Video of Havana.” He handed her the camera. “Esmeralda makes more money selling pigs than she ever made as a dentist working for the state.”
Well, that explained a lot. As their fingers met, that electricity jumped from his flesh to hers again. “She wants to come with us,” Rebecca blurted.
“I know.”
“There’s room on that big yacht of yours.” Rebecca fumbled with the GoPro, debating whether she should risk taking video of Antonio. She wanted to ask him a few questions about that emotional reunion she’d just witnessed. She’d pay a treasure chest in gold to know what he’d been thinking while watching his sister caress that little red shirt he used to wear. After this was all over, she wanted to remember him. “By the way, how can you afford such a spectacular yacht? I didn’t think you even had a real job.”
He shook his head, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “You never asked me what I do for a living.”
True. “Okay, well, I’m asking now.” She raised the GoPro slowly, pointing it in his direction.
His brow furrowed, but the rest of his features remained unchanged. In fact, he actually looked a little amused.
“How about an interview? About your reunion with your family.”
His jaw stiffened. “Absolutely not. You’re not going to pull a Barbara Walters on me.”
Dallas already had him on video crying. “What’s wrong with showing a little emotion?” She cocked her head and gave him her best you know you want to talk look.
He turned his back on her. “Let me ask you a question. Are you really willing to become a smuggler?”
“What?” Now he was interviewing her? This was an odd dance they’d started. She couldn’t keep track of who was leading whom.
“You want to bring Esmeralda with us. To do that, we’d have to smuggle her into America.”
“Is that what you do for a living? Smuggle Cubans to America?” She placed her hand over her heart. “I’m not a smuggler.”
He laughed, but the chuckle sounded very controlled, not heartfelt. “You are if you take an active part in recruiting people to come with us.”
Throwing up her arms, partially in exasperation, partially to proclaim her innocence, she became very aware of the irregular beat of her heart pounding in her ears. “I’m documenting your mission.”
“You’ve been trying to influence my mission, whether you realize it or not.”
Why was he always challenging her, even challenging the image she had of herself? Uncomfortable, she shuffled her feet, loosening a pebble on the stone wall top. She kicked it into the bay. She didn’t trust the strange feelings Antonio unleashed in her. “I don’t want to argue with you.” She let her shoulders drop, but the tightness didn’t go away.
Antonio had moved closer and now stared down into her eyes. “I don’t want to argue, either.”
Oh God, that hot look was back on his face, and his eyes looked a little stoned—on desire.
The same physical charge crept into her center, warming her with want. Damn it, she couldn’t trust herself to stand this close to him. This was going to be a problem. She cleared her throat. “Can we keep this professional?” She put both hands on his chest and gently pushed him away.
As he took a step back, he caught both of her wrists, steadying himself, and stopping her exit. “What is it you want most in the world, Rebecca?”
“What?” She jerked against his hold. She was having trouble keeping up with his changing direction.
“What are your desires?” Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his dark eyes dilated further.
She bit her lip. “What’s with the random questions?”
“What’s wrong? Are you afraid to answer?” He forced her arms down slowly, using his strength to move them behind her back, making her take a step closer to him in order to keep her balance.
I want to be me. “I want to be happy.”
“What makes you happy?”
Good question. She hadn’t been so sure lately. I want to be respected. “I want to get married, have a family.”
“Family is important. I’d do anything to protect mine.”
She believed him. “Your loyalty to your sister is admirable.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
She’d also witnessed his threat to kill that government watchdog. Was Antonio really capable of murder?
“And you love your family?” he asked.
Rebecca dropped her gaze. “Well, my mother died last year.” Antonio knew so much about her, he probably already knew that, too. So why make her say it? She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.
“So you’re all alone in the world now.”
A chill snaked down her spine. She detected the shift in his tone and felt his changing energy. What did Antonio want from her? Maybe it wasn’t the obvious.
Anger flushed through her, and the image of a man in a picture materialized. “I’m not alone in the world. According to you, I have my father.” She lifted her chin. “You say he’s still alive.”
“He is.” His stare, heated only moments ago, turned cold.
His new disposition gave her goose bumps, and not for the right reasons. Why did she feel like a fish about to swallow deadly bait? “He lives here in Havana?”
“He does.” Antonio tightened his hold on her wrists. “Your father works here, too.”
The blood slowly left her fingers. Pretty soon her fingers would be numb. “You’re hurting me.”
He lessened his hold, but only slightly.
She swallowed and looked out over the beautiful sun-kissed water. “He’s working here, today? Right now?” She could find her father. He was only a bay away.
“I can take you to where he usually works.”
“You can? I mean, you know exactly where my father works?” Her heart danced, but her insides quivered with uncertainty. “We can go right now?” So that’s why they’d come here before Johnny’s farm. She was right to be thinking maybe Antonio wasn’t such a bad guy. He wanted to take her to her father.
He looked directly at her, as if he’d been waiting for this moment all of his life. “Yes.”
The energy around them crackled, but this time it wasn’t lust or excitement overwhelming her, it was fear. Antonio had gone arctic. Even his fingers, still holding her hostage, had an icy feel to them. What was going on here?
“You can walk right into his office building and ask for him.”
“I don’t know.” His changing moods were confusing her.
“I’ll be with you.” He barely moved a muscle as he spoke.
She shuddered. Maybe the reality would be better than she had dared to dream as a child. Or maybe it would be worse. Her papi could reject her. “What if he won’t meet me?” What if he didn’t believe that she was his blood? Or worse, what if he did, but didn’t care? Worry ripped through her stomach.
“I bet he’s as curious about you as you are about him.”
That did make sense, but the odd way Antonio said it made her heart clench. Something wasn’t right. His eyes looked hooded. Still, she couldn’t resist jumping at this once-in-her-lifetime opportunity. “Let’s go,” she whispered, even though she felt like Alice, the heroine in her favorite childhood story, tumbling headfirst down the rabbit hole.
Chapter Eight
As they rumbled into Havana, Antonio watched his speed, knowing that where they headed was far more dangerous than where they’d just been. He didn’t want to be killed before he had his chance at revenge. His heart thumped against his chest as he realized how close he was to achieving this lifelong dream of revenge for his father’s murder.
Rebecca gripped his waist as he guided the bike into the Plaza de la Revolución. She squeezed him, her heart thumping against his back. If she knew his true int
entions, she wouldn’t be nervous, she’d be furious. And terrified.
He tightened his thighs around the bike seat. The moment was finally here. He would have his chance to confront that bastard of a man, Rebecca’s father. Why didn’t he feel more satisfaction? Because he was letting his personal feelings, his desire for Rebecca, get in the way. Emotions! This is what happened when you let them influence you. He jerked the handles, the bike rising onto the edge of its tires as he turned into the parking lot.
Rebecca gripped him even tighter, gasping.
Her heart was beating faster, pounding between his shoulder blades where her chest pressed against his back. He could feel it. So was his. He needed the adrenaline spike. He was going to kill the son of a bitch. It was now or never.
He’d secretly made Jose Carlos promise to take his family and the news crew to the dock to wait for the yacht if anything bad happened to him. But what if the “bad thing” happened to Rebecca as well? He’d brought her here as bait. He shook off the thought. Concentrate on the plan.
Antonio had seen pictures of the plaza before, many of them while doing research online. The buildings circling the plaza were exactly as he expected. Each had been stripped of anything that made them unique. He grunted. They were ugly concrete. Sterile. Typical Communist style.
The only two exceptions, as far as he was concerned, were the statue of José Martí and the iron sculpture of Che Guevara. The statue of Martí looked across the plaza at the face of Guevara hanging on the front wall of the Ministry of the Interior.
He didn’t remember ever coming here as a kid, so, although he’d seen plenty of pictures of the marble tower with Martí’s statue at its base, actually being here caused bumps to rise up on his skin.
He’d finally made it. But being in the center seat of what he thought of as true Communism, illegally, with a weapon in his bag and revenge in his heart, was crazy, even for him. A knot lodged in his throat, and when he swallowed, it wouldn’t go down. Could he really do this? With Rebecca watching? He’d be damning her to his same fate. To watch a father fall from the bullet of an enemy. The thought brought actual pain to his chest.
