by Lynn Viehl
“Helen’s legend was born in the Mediterranean,” he told her. “Even today, most of the natives of that region are black haired and have dark complexions. In the art of her era, Helen is portrayed as a statuesque brunette. It was only much later that artists began painting her as a petite woman with fair hair and white skin.”
She seemed amused. “That’s what most men want.”
“Most men are fools,” he assured her.
She ran her hands over his shoulders. “At least guys never have to worry about it. The bigger, the better.”
“On the contrary.” It infuriated him to think the men in her past had made her feel unattractive. “Despite the strapping heroic figures that regularly grace the covers of romance novels, in reality most women find men built like me quite intimidating.”
“Then most women are idiots, mío.” She glanced past him and said in a louder voice, “I’m glad you don’t mind my size. Even big girls like me need love.”
He knew she was only playing to their voyeur, but the fact that she considered herself unattractive infuriated him. “How could I mind having you in my arms? Since the first moment I saw you, I’ve thought of little else.” He stroked his hand down her arm. “Seeing you makes me believe in things I know to be impossible. Answered prayers. Granted wishes.” He traced the outline of her lips with his fingertips. “Wildest dreams.”
“Keep talking like that, mío,” she said, her voice shaking a little, “and you’ll break my heart.”
He dragged her hand from his shoulder to his chest, pressing it over the heavy throb beneath his skin. “Then you can have mine, mía.”
She closed her eyes as she took in a sharp breath, and Taske brought her parted lips to his. He felt her jerk beneath his kiss, but she didn’t pull back, and then she was opening for him, her mouth sweet and hot. Suddenly he didn’t care about the man watching them or what he thought. Putting on a show didn’t matter, and merely tasting Charlotte wasn’t enough. Taske wanted more, he needed more, and she gave it to him, caressing him with her lips and gliding her tongue against his.
Far too soon she tugged her mouth free of his, and Taske saw she was frowning. “Charlotte, what is it?”
“Nothing.” She closed her eyes briefly before she murmured, “I’m not getting anything from him.”
Although the sun no longer appeared in the reflection on the glass wall of the villa, Taske could see some light on the horizon. “Give it a few minutes.”
“Let me try something.” She rested her hand against his neck. “Think of your favorite color.”
“Done.” Taske watched her eyes widen as she brought her fingers to her lips, and knew she had heard his thoughts. “What is it?”
“ ‘Kissed by a Rose’ is the name of a song,” she told him, “not a color.”
The blush that darkened her cheeks, he decided, would be his second-favorite color. “But that’s what your mouth feels like.”
She looked as if she meant to argue, and then she glanced to the right and sighed. “Looks like our voyeur took off.”
“Did you pick up any thoughts from him?”
“Not one,” she said. “I don’t understand it. I can read anyone, but that man … Sam, it was like he wasn’t even there.”
“But you’re certain that he’s gone.” When she nodded, he cradled her face between his hands. “Kiss me again, Charlotte.”
She bit her lower lip. “He’s gone. Show’s over.”
“I know.” He pressed his thumb against her mouth, taking the place of her lip between the edges of her teeth. “Kiss me again anyway.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t just read someone’s thoughts.” She drew in an uneven breath. “I also get the emotions.”
“Then you know how I feel about you.” He was glad; he didn’t want to hide how much he wanted her anymore.
“It’s more than that.” She swallowed. “I feel what you feel, Sam. The physical sensations that go with the emotions. And right now, you’re very …” Her eyelashes swept down as she shuddered. “Hot and bothered.”
“See how this feels,” he said, bringing her mouth to his.
As Taske kissed her again, she groaned and plastered herself against him. Always in the past he had been forced to hold back, to temper his hunger along with his strength for fear of taking too much too fast. But nothing about Charlotte was flimsy or fragile, and she responded with equal passion, demanding as much as he wanted from her.
How long they kissed, Taske didn’t know or care; he couldn’t think beyond the fusion of their mouths and bodies. The strip of fabric binding her breasts floated away, and he pulled her in to feel the luxurious weight on his chest. The soft vise of her thighs settled her sex against him, and there she rocked gently, working with tormenting friction against the swollen ache of his shaft. His muscles bunched as he lifted her, lust blinding him as he suckled at one breast and then the other, scoring her with the edge of his teeth.
He released her when he felt her snarl her fists in his hair, but by that moment reason had vanished. All he could think of was putting his mouth on her.
“Sam.”
He brought her down so he could feel his name on her lips. “I’m here.” He dropped one hand beneath the water to clasp the top of her leg, gripping the taut muscle and smiling as she trembled with reaction. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, Charlotte, let me give it to you. Please.”
“Samuel.” She panted against his mouth, her body shuddering as he followed the curve of her inner thigh up to the soft, full flower of her sex. “I don’t know if …” She trailed off with a groan as he used his fingers to stroke her. “God, that feels … Oh, that’s good.”
He took his hand from her, but only long enough to release the front of his shorts. He splayed his hand across her bottom, urging her closer so he could settle her against his shaft. “There you are.” It had been so long, too long, and the feel of her silkiness on him was almost too much. He clenched his teeth as he ignored the burning ache in his balls. “Look at me.”
“This is crazy.” Her dazed eyes met his. “We don’t know each other.”
“Yes, we do.” He shifted his hips so that his shaft parted her folds and dragged along her inner tissues. He could feel the small protrusion of her clit as his cock head nudged over it, and shifted again. He moved just enough so that the heavy ridge of his glans slid over the little knot before he went still. “Go ahead, Charlotte. Use me however you like. Let me feel your pleasure.” He cupped her buttocks as her thighs tightened against his hips. “It’s only fair.”
“No, it’s not, you wicked man.” Her hands clutched his shoulders as she moved, rocking herself slowly against him. “But, God, you feel so good.”
Taske braced himself, watching her face as she rubbed herself over him. Her sweet lips parted as her breath quickened and the water churned around them. The delicious glide of her sex tugged at his foreskin, pushing his own needs to the brink, but he held back, unwilling to find his own release until he saw hers.
When she came, it was with a long, graceful roll of her hips, her folds engulfing the straining head of his penis. It took every last shred of his control not to push in and pump himself deep. He drew his hips back, just enough to position the tip against her clit, and then with a groan that came from his heels let his climax jet against her.
“Sam.” She came again, this time with a cry, writhing under his hands as the tremors racked her a second time.
Taske tucked her face against his neck and held her, soothing her through the aftershocks by stroking his hands along her spine. Her breathing slowed and her body gradually went limp, and when he murmured her name, she barely stirred.
Like an exhausted child, she’d fallen asleep.
Taske shifted her so that he could support her legs, and carefully stepped up and out of the pool. Water streamed down his legs as he stood for a moment and realized what he didn’t feel. Yesterday lifting something as insignificant as a briefcase had be
en impossible for him. Now he held Charlotte without difficulty, without even thinking about it. He barely felt her weight at all.
As a boy Taske had been as healthy and active as any other child, and had spent every moment he could outdoors. When he’d joined in games with other children, his size had given him some advantages, but his physical strength had never been anything out of the ordinary. Now something was changing him on the physical level, and from the surges of energy he felt, he suspected the process was continuing. As if whatever had healed him hadn’t finished with him yet. He could almost feel the power growing inside him.
Taske looked at the villa, and then at the woman sleeping in his arms. Twenty-four hours ago he had thought only of saving one more life before he ended his own. Now, because of her, everything had changed.
Now it was time to find out why.
Drew stood on the whitewashed steps outside the hillside home of the fifth witness to Tacal’s murder and watched as Agent Flores spoke to the old woman who had answered the door. After being unable to speak to four of the witnesses, he was convinced they were only wasting their time, but his companion had insisted on trying one more address.
Drew didn’t mind letting her take the lead, not when she spoke the language and knew every street in Manzanillo. He’d left his rental in the guest lot at the small but scrupulously clean hotel Gracie had recommended, and from there had let her drive them around town in her old but well-maintained Subaru, both out of deference to her and to have time to think over the situation.
Someone had set up Samuel Taske and the paramedic for Tacal’s murder; of that Drew had absolutely no doubt. Even if somehow Taske had been physically capable of beating a man unconscious, he was too intelligent and fastidious to do so in front of a crowd in a strange country. There was always the possibility that his friend had been drugged or had suffered some kind of psychotic break as a result of being abducted, but if that were the case, why would he stop and let the EMT finish the job?
At first the old lady seemed only a little suspicious, until Gracie asked a question and gestured toward the bay. A few sharp words, a shake of the head, and the elderly woman scurried back inside.
“Let me guess,” Drew said as the door slammed shut. “The witness left this morning on an extended trip and won’t be back until sometime near Christmas. Again.”
Gracie closed her notepad and tucked it away. “I do not understand this. How could every witness to this one murder leave the city at the same time?”
“By not leaving and telling their families to say they did.” He glanced out at the horizon, where the sky was darkening from deep purple to black. “It’s getting late. We might as well call it a night.”
“Of course.” She gave him a perplexed look. “What else would we call it?”
“That’s American slang for ‘it’s time to quit,’ ” he explained. “Or ‘it’s time to go and have a drink with me.’ ”
She started down the steps toward the narrow street at the base of the hill, her heels clicking against the stone. “Well, which is it?”
He grinned as he followed. “I’ll leave the interpretation up to you, Agent Flores.”
“I have to work in the morning.” She stopped to unlock the passenger door before she went around to the driver’s side. She glanced across the car roof at him. “And you are returning to the U.S. tomorrow, no?”
He couldn’t lie to the only person interested in helping him. “I’m not leaving until I find out what really happened to these people. I’d also like to know why you were taken off this case, and why you decided to help me anyway.”
For a moment she looked as if she wanted to turn and walk off. “Bueno. One drink.”
Gracie drove back toward the police station, but parked on the next block over in front of a small café. As soon as Drew stepped out he smelled coffee and burned sugar, and saw two women wearing colorful aprons removing trays of pastries from the glass cases inside. “It looks like they’re closing for the night.”
“Not yet.” Gracie gestured toward a small garden courtyard beside the building. “Go, sit down.” She went inside, and one of the women came out from behind the counter to hug her.
Drew watched them chat for a moment before he walked back to the courtyard and sat down at a table in one shadowed corner. A few minutes later Gracie joined him, a small tray in her hands.
He eyed a plate heaped with tiny pastries and two steaming mugs. “More hot chocolate?”
“Café de olla y conchas.” She unloaded the tray before setting it aside and sitting down next to him. “Mexican coffee and pastries.”
He tested the drink, which was dark, flavored with cinnamon, and came with a powerful kick. “That’s not just coffee. I thought you had to work in the morning.”
“That is why I bought the conchas.” She selected one, nibbling at the edge of the shell-shaped pastry before she licked the crumbs it left on her lips. “You’re staring at me, Agent Frasier.”
“You’re more interesting than the garden, Agent Flores.” He reached over to rub his thumb over some sugar she’d missed. “So why are you helping me?”
She cleared her throat. “It is only a professional courtesy. You would do the same if I were in your country.”
“Oh, I’d do a lot more.” Drew grinned. “You’re blushing again. Admit it. You like me.”
“If I were a man,” she countered, “we’d be in a cantina, drinking and talking about women.”
“If you were a man, I’d be too busy crying. But we can talk about women, if you like.” He sat back. “What made you decide to become an environmental cop?”
“It was the right thing to do,” she said slowly. “Mexico has not always been a poor country. When your ancestors were living in animal-skin tents and hunting with bows, mine were building temples to the gods.”
“Actually my ancestors were probably drinking, poaching deer, and thieving from the British.” He studied her expression. “You take your job very seriously, don’t you?”
“How can I do anything else?” Idly she broke her pastry into small pieces. “The first invaders, the conquistadores, came here looking for gold. They burned our cities and butchered thousands trying to find it. Today the oil companies, the tourists, and the sportfishermen are not so brutal, perhaps, but they, too, have no conscience. If we let them do as they please, they will steal or destroy the few treasures we have left.” Her lips twisted. “It would be easier if I were not a woman. Men in my country think we belong at home, cooking their meals and having their babies.”
He glanced at the police station across the street. “Do you think that’s why they took you off this case? Because you’re a woman?”
“I did not—” A ring from her mobile phone interrupted her, and she retrieved it from her case. As soon as she looked at the display she rose to her feet. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Drew watched her walk a short distance out to the curb, and then checked his own mobile. His signal status still stood at one-half bar; he’d have to ask her what service she used so he could piggyback a call to their tower once he returned to the hotel.
Gracie returned after a minute. “I am sorry to rush you, but that was the clerk from your hotel. He says a detective is there, waiting to see you.”
Her back was to the streetlights, and her face shadowed, but Drew heard the tension in her voice and saw the rigid set of her slim shoulders. She wasn’t looking at him, either.
His gaze shifted as a dark car pulled up to the front of the police station. Two men emerged and stood for a moment beside the car; one was the police chief.
The other was his old boss, Jonah Genaro.
Drew slid off his copper bracelet, holding it in his hand briefly before opening his fingers. His ability reshaped the dark metal cuff, straightening and elongating it before it blunted itself on one end and formed a point-tipped blade on the other.
He moved quickly around Gracie, clamping his free hand over her mouth as he hauled
her out of sight. “Hold still and don’t make a sound,” he murmured against her hair as he watched Genaro shake hands with the police chief before he got into the back of the car.
She shook her head and gripped his arm with her hands, trying to free herself.
“I mean it, Gracie.” Drew let her see the copper blade and felt her stiffen against him. Although he’d stab himself before he’d hurt her, he couldn’t let Genaro see either of them.
Once the dark car left, the police chief went back inside the station. Drew waited another few seconds before he relaxed a little and removed his hand from Gracie’s mouth, although he kept his arms around her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, pulling at his arm again. “Have you gone crazy? Let go of me.”
“I’m not crazy, and I’m not hallucinating, either.” He turned her around to face him. “Why is Jonah Genaro here in Mexico?”
All the emotion left her face and her eyes went flat. “I don’t know who you mean, Agent Frasier.”
“You’re a lovely woman, Gracie,” he told her as he marched her back over to the table to retrieve the keys to her car. “But a lousy liar.”
When they reached her car he put the keys in her hands. “Unlock the door.” As soon as she did he opened it and hustled her inside, moving her over to the driver’s seat as he climbed in after her.
“This is kidnapping,” she said as he clipped her seat belt over her. “You will go to prison for many years, Martin. Our prisons are nothing like those in America.”
“Compared to what Genaro has planned for me, trust me, it’d be a vacation.” He pushed the key in the ignition. “And my name’s not Martin. It’s Andrew. Start the car.”
She didn’t move. “I will do nothing more for you.”
“Then I’ll lock you in the trunk,” he told her. “Start the damn car, Gracie.”
Reluctantly she turned the key. “I will take you to the airport. You can put me in the trunk there and leave on the next plane.”
He chuckled. “I thought you weren’t going to help me.”
“I am not helping.” She lifted her chin. “I am ridding myself of you.”
