by Linda Bond
“You will help me, no?” Maria asked.
“I will.”
“I’m thankful for that.”
Rebecca’s stomach growled. “Oh, I’m sorry. The food smells so good.”
“So, the dinner, first?”
Oh God, she couldn’t help herself. Even if her mind had forgotten the food, her stomach could not. And the smells were so delicious. “Yes, please.”
“Almost ready.”
Thank God. “And the piñata? It’s all for me?”
Maria nodded, a little bit of joy returning to her eyes.
Rebecca had to blink a couple of times, breathing slowly to keep the emotion inside. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why you all would do this for me when you don’t even know me.” And you certainly don’t have any extra money.
Tilting her head to one side, Maria smiled. “My brother knows you.”
Rebecca swallowed. “No, he doesn’t.”
“He knows more than you think.” Maria laughed and gestured with her head toward the red wooden shack to the right of the courtyard. “He watches you, even now.”
Following her gesture, she caught Antonio, mostly in the shadow, leaning against the shack. Their eyes met, and her mouth went dry, her heart palpitating. He’d showered, too, his hair still wet, new clothes on his lean body. He looked so handsome.
He raised his eyebrows at her, but his body remained perfectly still.
Suddenly, she had to know why he’d been watching her for months. Stomach fluttering, she quickly squeezed Maria again and then headed Antonio’s way.
He straightened, watching her approach, but his facial expression didn’t change, nor did he hide back in the darkness. He looked like he always did, reserved and in control, but one second away from igniting. The tension was evident in the plant of his feet and the way he shoved both hands into the pockets of his pants.
Then a little hand slipped into her empty one and tugged. “Miss America, Miss America,” a young voice said in Spanish. “You must do the piñata. Mami says it’s for you. I can’t play with it.”
She turned toward the high-pitched voice.
Little Tonito was speaking in Spanish and pleading with his big brown eyes. “Please? Please?”
She bit her bottom lip, risking a peek at Antonio.
He raised his hands as if asking, ‘What does he want?’
She pointed at the piñata.
Antonio smiled, actually smiled at her, and it reached all the way to his eyes.
Heat crept into her cheeks. Quickly she shrugged and smiled back, honestly a little relieved she didn’t have to go confront Antonio right now with so many questions tumbling through her head. Playing with a piñata sounded so much easier.
“Okay, Tonito, let’s go pull the piñata strings together.” She didn’t want any candy, but had even less desire to make this cute little boy cry. Like the Pied Piper, she led a line of kids to the piñata. Could they all be family? Wow. Her heart stretched. Look at what all she’d missed during her childhood. Stripped of her family by Castro’s government.
She shook off the gloomy thought, and in Spanish, told the kids to each grab one of the strings. She counted to three and watched in joy as the young ones pulled so hard the piñata bottom gave way almost instantly, and a flood of candy pieces rained down on the group. A few kids fell on top of one another, rolling around in their effort to grab as many pieces of candy as their small hands could hold. Small M&M’s bags and pieces of Sugar Daddys left no doubt in Rebecca’s mind who supplied the candy for tonight’s party.
She glanced over at the backyard shack, but Antonio had disappeared. Her heart dropped. Shouldn’t he at least enjoy the results of his generosity? That man moved like a ghost in the night, sliding quietly in and out of various spaces, never staying any place too long. Never enjoying the results of his good deeds. And she was learning he was responsible for many good deeds. Her heart fluttered at the thought.
“You forgot this.” Esmeralda reappeared, handing her another shot of the seven-year rum. “I like it much better than your American candy.” She grinned.
Feeling looser than she had in days, Rebecca decided the rum had been good for her, but she declined another shot. Getting drunk had never been her thing.
Esmeralda shrugged, grabbed the shot, and tossed it back. Winking, she leaned in to whisper, “Happy birthday, pretty American.” Then she pointed a finger at her, a serious gleam in her eyes. “Don’t leave without me.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
Unlike the fragile Maria, Esmeralda’s energy burned bright every time Rebecca neared her. She liked this woman and would not leave her behind. “I promise.” No matter what the cost. Now, where did Antonio go? She turned to look. She wanted to ask him a few questions about his “research” on her.
“Great! Then we dance to celebrate.” Esmeralda grabbed her hand.
Was this woman always so damn cheerful? Before Rebecca could verbally protest, Esmeralda pulled her into the center of the courtyard, another Los Van Van song playing on the 1980s boom box. Rebecca laughed as Esmeralda took the man’s position and twirled her around. Wow, she liked this family. They were so unpretentious and kind. And fun.
Esmeralda kept pulling Rebecca into awkward embraces, spinning her around as if they were partners. She giggled, attempting to convince her feet to work—one two three-one two three—but either the rum or exhaustion made coordination impossible tonight, and she tripped over Esmeralda’s feet.
Great, I’m going down. Rebecca fell forward, squealing, but before she could hit the ground, two large hands swooped under her armpits and hauled her back onto her feet.
“I think you’ve had enough rum.” Antonio, materializing out of thin air, spun her around so she had to face him.
Her heart bumped against her rib cage. “How do you know?” She wasn’t drunk. Hmmm, she leaned in closer to him. He smelled so clean, of soap with just the faintest hint of rum. A strange yearning throbbed in her center.
One of his hands moved behind her back, sliding, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to cup the top of her butt. The heat from his palm transferred instantly through her cotton dress and down into her core. A naughty, out-of-control feeling rose up, making her dizzy. She stepped back to stop from swooning. Yes, swooning. She’d scarcely thought she’d ever have a use for the word, yet alone find herself succumbing to such a thing.
“You can’t even stand on your own two feet.”
She spun around again, half trying to prove she could dance, half trying to get out of his hold. “That’s because I’m tired and hungry.” And because you knock me off my center every time you get this close to me.
“Another reason why you shouldn’t slam rum.” He allowed her some freedom, but held on to her hand. Then, like a skilled lead dancer, he twirled her in toward his body.
She banged against him, not very gracefully. “I am relaxed, but I’m not drunk.” She laughed at her clumsiness. “I’m just not a good dancer.”
His fingers tightened on her waist. “Aren’t you?”
A slow smile took over her face. She had to admit she liked Antonio’s big hands on her waist, heating up her lower section with a delicious mix of longing and pleasure.
He pushed her at the waist again, spinning her back out, but keeping a tight hold on her hand.
This kind of dancing made her dizzy, and she laughed out loud. He spun her back into his body, directing her until she stood face-to-face with him. Rum danced on his breath. So, he’d been drinking, too. Who could blame either of them? What a day. And it wasn’t over. That thought made her cheeks fill with heat.
She devoured his features, gawking at his freshly washed hair. He’d brushed his rock-star curls until the dark strands hit his shoulders in perfect waves. They looked soft, so opposite of everything about him. She couldn’t resist testing that theory. She reached up and twirled a piece over her finge
r. The strand rubbed against the pad of her thumb like satin against her cheeks.
His goatee was still there, but it had been trimmed; neat, but still seductive. She imagined what that hair would feel like if his face brushed against her skin in her most intimate places. She let the strand of his hair go and scraped her fingers slowly, gently against his short beard.
He stiffened and inhaled.
She loved that her touch could do that to him. She smiled at him, stunned to see how dilated his pupils had become and how powerless he looked in this moment. “You knew today was my birthday.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Thank you for all of this.”
He stopped dancing, pulling his hands off her. “Yes.” His chest heaved as if he couldn’t breathe. “You’re welcome.”
They stood awkwardly in the courtyard, kids dancing around them. Even Esmeralda had taken a new partner and danced as if she had no care in the world.
“How?” Although he’d let her go, he was still close enough for her to feel the heat his body was putting off. And to tell his breathing was faster than usual.
“Birthdays are easy enough to look up.”
“Your sister says you’ve been looking up a lot of stuff about me.” She licked her lips, wanting him to pull her closer again, craving the feeling of that rough beard against her cheeks. Deep inside she knew that what she was initiating was wrong. She was a reporter. He was a revolutionary. A stalker. And maybe a criminal. She would never be able to bring this kind of man to her charity events. He’d never fit into her world, and she’d never belong in his. But she’d never known this feeling of reckless desire. Like she’d risk anything just to feel Antonio kiss her again, because he kissed with such passion it left her breathless.
…
Antonio looked at Rebecca’s flushed cheeks and the lips she’d just moistened with her tongue. She looked like a woman who wanted to be kissed. “I needed to study you before I picked you.” He had had no idea she’d be this passionate when he was watching her on TV all those months ago, planning her role in his mission, imagining what she’d be like, wondering if she’d live up to his high expectations of her.
She wobbled, and he steadied her with both hands, his big palms resting on the sides of her hips.
Her eyes sparkled up at him. “That’s kind of stalkerish, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t stop the smile. “Is stalkerish even a word?” He reached up to brush a strand of her curly hair out of her eyes. As he touched her, a sting of static electricity jumped between them.
She sucked in a breath.
He wanted to capture that sound with his mouth.
Truth was he had probably started falling in love with Rebecca before he’d even met her. He had been following her, not in person, but on TV and on social media, checking out the kind of stories she did and reading how she responded to viewers. He’d been drawn in at first by her beauty and her strong sense of righteousness and justice. She had always seemed to pick stories that centered on an underdog or a person in need, confronting the injustice, righting the wrong, ending with a resolution for a person who never could have done it on their own.
On social media, she was constantly posting pictures at charity events, and she spent many weekends volunteering her time at a local domestic violence shelter, making him believe her heart was in line with her head, dedicated to serving others above herself.
Then they’d confronted each other in the tent in the Everglades that stormy night. And doubt had rained down on him. And the realization that his lifelong goal was to kill her father made him build up a wall around himself. He’d been determined not to let her in.
The song changed and the tempo slowed. Hesitating, Antonio finally pulled her closer, one hand capturing hers in an old-fashioned slow dance position. Fuck it. He wanted her. Couldn’t control this crazy physical chemistry. The rest, he hoped, would work itself out.
She relaxed into his hold, as if she wanted to be swept away. “For the first time since I met you Antonio, I feel really good.” She exhaled.
He pulled her closer, the hand around her waist drawing her body tight with his until their cheeks touched. “Yes, you do feel good.” He intentionally scraped his goatee against her cheek.
She shivered in his hold, her body seeming to melt right into his, like the final two pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together.
“I like this relaxed side of you,” he murmured into her ear. He also liked what he’d seen since that first night in the Everglades. First, she’d sacrificed her own safety to help a group of strangers. Then she’d pushed him to allow Esmeralda to come with them back to America, even when he told her she could be accused of smuggling. And just moments ago, when he watched her interact with his sister and nephew, that’s when he knew without any uncertainty he’d made the right decision. She belonged here. In his life. In his arms. And tonight he was going to take their relationship one step further. Future consequences be damned.
He pressed his body into hers and waited for her reaction to his brazen move.
Her breath stilled, and she closed her eyes, bringing her lips to his neck, kissing him softly, slowly.
He was hard, and she had to feel it. Yet she was egging him on, baiting him for more.
He strengthened his hold on her, but then hesitated. If they were to take this to the next level, he had to do something very important first. “I…I’m sorry for today.” He wasn’t the kind of man who was used to apologizing, but he would not take advantage of her. Not now that his feelings for her had deepened. She had to know the truth first, and then decide if she still wanted to kiss him.
She stumbled even though he’d been leading her with confidence. “For what part of today? Everything’s kind of blurring together.”
“I’m sorry for setting you up.”
…
Antonio’s words sounded like a confession. Her body tingled with his every touch, and right now, as they swayed to the music, his body touched her everywhere. She did register that he was trying to tell her something meaningful and important. “What happened with the cops today?”
Their cheeks touched, and his breath bathed her ear. “Yes.”
“You didn’t know they’d come after me.” With her left hand, she slowly stroked his back, something she’d wanted to do but was too ashamed to even admit to herself. She freed the hand he was holding and placed her arm around his neck, forcing an even greater intimacy between them, because now they had to look each other in the eyes. “We survived.”
“We did.” His lips moved down to her neck, and his tongue caressed the area where her artery pumped. Just as she’d done to him. Holy cow, she couldn’t lie about her desire now. He had to be able to feel how quickly the blood was rushing to her brain. As quickly as his pulse had been pumping.
“You smell so good, Rebecca,” he whispered against her skin.
She inhaled, but she couldn’t form a reply. He’d literally taken her breath away. Again.
As he nipped and kissed his way down her neck, she sighed at the delicious sensation sizzling through her. “We escaped, and it was kind of fun.” She ground her hips into his, hoping to make him even more excited.
He moaned, pulling her closer. “You handled yourself admirably today. But we need to talk about what happened. And why.”
She frowned. “I don’t want to talk about today.”
He broke their embrace. “I need to talk about today. I have to tell you something. Before we do this.”
Her heart froze. Whatever he was about to say would ruin the moment, ruin the slow, sexy mood they’d created, she knew it. She gazed up into his eyes, watching as guilt clouded his gaze.
“Rebecca.” It was a plea.
She swallowed. “Don’t, Antonio.” She placed one hand on his chest, right over his heart. It was beating madly, showing her a side of him he’d never revealed in his expression. That scared her even more. “I want to sleep in peace tonight,” she whispered, hoping he could hear her ov
er the blaring music. “Whatever confession you are dying to unload, please don’t do it right now.” She guessed it had to do with her father, and in this moment, she didn’t want to know the truth.
He stroked her cheek. “I never expected this.”
“Expected what?” Her heart sped up.
“To care.” He dragged his thumb against her bottom lip, his eyes following his movement.
A rush of excitement shimmied down her spine. “To care about what?”
“To care so much about you.” He parted her lips with his thumb. “To want you so much.”
She licked his thumb. He tasted salty. Her head spun. Now she did feel drunk. But it wasn’t from the alcohol. She was drunk with lust. Closing her eyes, she allowed the pleasure to wash over her. She sucked his thumb, longing to do the same to his rum-soaked tongue. Yes, she was acting like a crazy woman. But she didn’t care. She’d never felt this turned on in her life. And she feared she never would again. She was in Cuba, on a farm, far away from America. Who would possibly know? It’s not like they had surveillance cameras or iPhones here. She had to explore this feeling further.
As if reading her mind, Antonio’s lips pressed against hers with a need that matched her beating heart. He tasted of the seven-year rum, which she now loved. She gave in and played with his tongue, savoring the flavor. Sucking on it softly at first, she dragged it through her teeth, wanting to, hoping to inflict the slightest bit of pain. Truth be told she wanted to hear Antonio express his needs. He was usually so locked up. She was desperate to know he longed for her the way she longed for him.
He inhaled sharply, but didn’t yell or stop her. If anything, her naughtiness provoked him further. His big hands moved down to her butt, his fingers gently caressing her there. She could only imagine what it would feel like if those long fingers stroked her underneath her thin little sundress. She willed his fingers to find their way there.
So lost in this glorious sensation, it didn’t register at first that the music had stopped. The kiss ended, and Antonio leaned away. Maybe he noticed, too? A round of applause erupted, and a few adults whistled. Oh God, was the whistle for them? She’d totally forgotten where they were. She dragged her hand across her mouth. There were kids here. Oh Lordy.
