His loyalty to family precluded honesty to anyone else.
Arriving at the silent house, he made sure no one was inside or out, then led the way into the kitchen and offered Mary Beth a cup of coffee. He was stalling, trying to think of the right words to tell her about her brother. He fumbled with the coffeepot.
“You did an excellent job of lulling me into compliance.” Her quietly spoken words carried the force of her barely repressed anger. “I’m surprised you’re trusted by anyone, let alone governments.”
“I’m sorry—”
“What did you expect to gain from that little show in the courtyard? Butter me up, then trick me somehow? Why? I’ve told you all I know.”
“I’m not trying to trick you.” Nick turned, forgetting the coffee. He wished he could call back the tone of his questions. Wished he didn’t have to tell this woman that her brother was in deep trouble, if he wasn’t already dead. “Carlos had some information about your brother.”
She blinked, as if surprised by his words, then her expression became hopeful. But behind it Nick read fear.
“He’s involved in some criminal activities.”
“Not Mark,” came the instant reply.
“San Matean Rangers and American Special Forces are after him for gunrunning.”
“Not Mark,” she repeated, her eyes blazing.
“Two different militaries, the Secret Service, and maybe the CIA are involved.”
“Not Mark.” Shaking her head, she drew in a quick breath. “Why are you saying this?”
“I’m not making this up, Mary Beth,” he said quietly.
“You don’t understand. Mark is … good.”
She spun away from him. But what he saw in her eyes before she turned would remain with him for a long time. There had been a tiny instant when she’d doubted her own defense.
“Maybe there’s been a mistake.” That sounded lame. Except when dealing with family, Nick never tried to soften bad news. That he was doing so now meant he should back away.
Facing him again, she said, “Yes, that’s it. Mark would never do anything illegal.” She paused, staring beyond him. “You don’t know him.”
Nick could think of nothing to say in response.
“Your cousin—” she rushed on. “Daniel knew him well enough to give him a number I could call. If Mark was this gunrunner, this criminal, why would he tell me to contact your cousin?”
Why indeed? Nick wondered. “The only way to know is to find Mark,” he said.
“How long will it take?”
“We’re one day’s drive from The Río Hermoso, two if the weather turns ugly.”
“Then we should be there the day after tomorrow. That still gives me five days to get the ransom to the kidnappers.”
There probably weren’t any kidnappers, but Nick didn’t say anything. “There are well-trained soldiers and agents from different agencies looking for Mark, and now for you, because they believe you’re conspiring with your brother. It’s too dangerous for you to go.”
“You agreed to take me.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.
“It’s rough country. I’ll have to stay off the main roads. I can’t even have a satellite phone for fear I’ll be tracked. It will be difficult—”
“You agreed. That was our deal. I stick with mine. Do you stick with yours?”
He wanted to shout at her, had to force himself to speak softly. “Remember the men who ransacked your hotel?” He watched for her grudging nod. “They weren’t common thieves. They were San Matean Rangers. They won’t ask you politely for anything. They play for keeps. According to Carlos, not even the Americans will give you a chance.”
She bit her bottom lip and stared back at him. Finally, she said, “No one followed us.”
“Just because we haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they haven’t,” he shot back. “It doesn’t mean they aren’t behind us somewhere or ahead, in Los Desamparados or in the Río Hermoso Valley.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t let Mark die.”
“You don’t understand.” He caught himself pointing at her. “It’s dangerous for you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to get out of our deal,” she accused. “That’s typical, isn’t it.”
“Typical? What are you talking about?” A hot tide of anger rushed over him. He never lost his temper.
“You’re just as big a double-dealing, double-talker as—” She cut herself off so quickly, Nick barely had time to react.
“As who?” He bit back his own answer. Paul Martens, the traitor.
“Nobody. Nothing.” Anger flushed her cheeks. “Keep this in mind—if you leave without me, there will be no ransom and my brother will die. You’ll never know what he had to do with your cousin. You’ll always wonder if he was a criminal.”
He watched her walk away, regal in her bearing. He found his gaze drawn to the angry sway of her hips beneath the blue jeans. He hoped she’d given Paul Martens a real good dose of her cool-as-ice act, because the thought of that son of a bitch touching her—
When had he started swearing in English?
***
Oh, Mark, what have you done?
Mary Beth believed in her brother with every ounce of her being. Mark was good—there was no argument there. But she remembered how frightened Paul Martens had been when faced with Mark. She hadn’t thought about that in years except in terms of how lucky she’d been to learn the truth. She had deliberately pushed aside the menacing, dangerous Mark who’d forced the truth from Paul with a single look.
She’d been twenty-one, just out of college, when Paul had swept her off her feet. They had met at an embassy party. Older, sophisticated, elegant, Paul was at home in his surroundings. Mary Beth had been awed by him. The awe lasted two years, until the moment he’d been confronted by Mark and Marine embassy guards. Mark had been the one who’d saved her.
As she stripped and stepped into the shower, she was determined to remember everything Mark said to her during their last conversation. It was her turn to save him.
***
Frantic pounding on his bedroom door made Nick stop undressing. He’d been about to take a shower. Instead, he pulled his jeans back on and opened the door. Mary Beth walked in, clad in jeans and a bulky T-shirt, her hair wrapped turban-style in a towel.
“When we see his safety deposit box, you’ll believe me. Mark hasn’t done anything wrong.” She flashed him a grin, then held up the envelope that held the key. “Otherwise, why would he tell me about it?”
“Mary Beth—”
“Don’t you understand?” Her brown eyes were alive with excitement. “Mark must have left something there that he wanted me to see.”
“Mary Beth,” he said patiently, afraid she was getting her hopes up. “What do you hope to find?”
Her shoulders drooped, her smile faded. “Something. Anything.” The words left her lips on a whisper. “My brother.” With a small shaky voice, she added, “Alive?”
It was that questioning inflection that got to him. With her golden eyes locked to his, he reached for her.
She wrapped her arms around his waist. Her head, still in the towel, rested on his shoulder. She didn’t make a sound, but he felt the wetness of her tears rolling down his bare chest and the soft strength of her woman’s body, so warm, against him.
He wished he didn’t remember how well she’d fit before, didn’t know how well she fit now. He wanted to run his hands down her back, allow himself the luxury of pulling her closer, but her quiet sobs stopped him. He recognized the pain. They had no idea whether her brother was dead or alive. He knew the finality of a death. Because of that, he couldn’t give in to his need.
The towel tumbled off her head. Her hair, wet and tangled, felt cool against his neck. She allowed a single sob to escape, her cheek still resting on his shoulder. When she pulled away, just enough to swipe at the tears that had wet his skin, Nick came perilously close to groaning.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, still swiping at the droplets on his collarbone and chest. Her lashes were spiked, her nose a little red.
How he ever managed to get any words past the lump in his throat, Nick would never know. Empathy and passion warred inside him. “You can cry on my shoulder anytime,” he said gently, feeling the lopsidedness of his own smile. He’d never had a smile hurt.
Mary Beth realized what she was doing when she felt the springy hair of Nick’s chest beneath her fingers.
She’d walked—stormed—into his room and hadn’t noticed the way he was dressed. Half dressed. Too stunned to move, she looked at him, knowing she had never seen anything quite like Nicholas Romero. Broad shoulders tapered to lean hips. The jeans he wore hugged his thighs gently, emphasizing his maleness. And his chest—it was perfect. Not overdeveloped, just firmly muscled with a perfect sprinkling of dark hair. Dark hair that arrowed down to a lean waist and disappeared beneath unfastened jeans.
“I’m so sorry.” The words rushed from her lips. But she couldn’t quit looking at him. Her palms still tingled from the feel of resilient, well-muscled flesh.
He blinked several times, then opened heavy-lidded eyes to stare back at her. She sensed more than felt the movement of his right hand leaving her waist, moving up to cradle the back of her head. The room was suddenly small, lacking in oxygen. She licked dry lips moments before she saw his face descend toward her.
Time stood still. It seemed as if they were again on that patio, before Raquel had interrupted them. But where that had been a taste, this was the promise kept. A sensual feast of sensation, the only contact their lips, and his hand gripping her hair. Her own hands, hanging at her sides, were useless to her.
He was heat and male and solid. She was waking up slowly. Waking to the hunger of his mouth on hers. Suddenly, her hands were no longer useless. She touched the long, firm muscles of his back, the belt loops on his jeans and the gap between the waistband and the indentation of his backbone.
But his mouth was her undoing. Her thumbs caught the material of his jeans at the waist for support and she leaned into him. Want spun out of control, into eroticism and need. Feeding the sensations were his hands, cupping her bottom, pulling her against his wonderfully hard body.
***
Nick couldn’t stop the want. The kiss wasn’t enough, fiery as it was. Mary Beth’s heat beckoned him with a promise he had never thought possible. A promise he couldn’t imagine. Even now, with the softness of her unbound breasts beneath the soft cotton of the shirt she wore, the emotion of that promise was just out of reach.
But she’d come into his room to talk about her missing brother. He couldn’t—shouldn’t—do this. Because he cared about her. About the regal grace she used to handle situations she didn’t like. About that hidden vulnerability. Because she loved her brother and would do anything for him.
He released his grip on her hips, moving with great care to cup her face, and slowly withdrew from the heat of her mouth. Staring down at her closed eyes, her lashes dark fans against the smoothness of her cheeks, her lips swollen and slightly damp from a kiss he’d never forget, he groaned when she moved against him.
When he said nothing, she stared up at him, her eyes half open, her hair wild and still damp. An instant later she was withdrawing from him, both physically and emotionally. The Mary Beth Williams of the high-fashion and cool, polite manners stood before him dressed in a cotton T-shirt and dark jeans. The only thing to give away the fact that she’d been touched was a tiny shiver he felt just before she stepped completely away from him.
“I didn’t mean for that—”
“That was…” she interrupted.
A hell of a kiss. If she were any other woman, they’d be in the bed, against the wall. Somewhere. And they wouldn’t be talking. He shut down those thoughts before he made the mistake of reaching for her again. “I—”
“Please.” She looked down at the floor. “I, um—”
“Why don’t we agree that neither of us was thinking clearly and let it go at that?”
When she looked up, a turmoil of emotions shone in her clear brown eyes. She had absolutely no idea of the temptation she presented. If he touched her again after feeling her passion, he wouldn’t stop. And inevitably, he could hurt her. The way Martens did. With lies, and possibly betrayal.
“I didn’t mean to burst in here like that,” she said.
He took a deep breath, knowing when she’d realized he was only barely dressed. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll go to bed now.” She was all frantic energy, eager to get away.
“We’ll go to the bank in the—”
The telephone rang from the nightstand next to the bed, sharp and shrill. Reluctant to let her go, he grabbed her hand just as she made the move to turn away. With his other hand he reached for the receiver.
Cristina’s voice, so late at night, alarmed him momentarily. Then she explained why she was calling and put Alex on the phone. The little boy’s nightmare poured out in jumbled sentences as Nick listened. He did his best to soothe the momentary fears.
“Papi, when will you come to Miami?” The small voice, the loving term for father, so easily spoken after a night of so much emotion, weighed heavily on Nick’s heart.
“Very soon, Alex. As soon as possible. But you must let your mother go to sleep. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you,” he replied. Then he spoke with Cristina, telling her everything was fine, and hung up.
“Is he okay?” Mary Beth asked.
“He had a bad dream.”
She nodded. “You’re a very patient father.” But he could sense she wanted to say more.
She’d probably heard about the hurried marriage. He had always been able to count on his cousins to talk too much. “I love him.”
She looked at him as if she was trying to figure something out. He wanted to explain, but there was no way to do that. He was still trying to come up with what to say, when she spoke.
“You don’t publicize him,” she said with some surprise in her tone.
“I would never do that—”
“But you’re there for him. He was a month old when—” She stopped herself, turned her head just slightly, as if studying him, then continued. “You named him after your cousin.”
Where was she going with this? Had he given something away? “Cristina and I agreed, in honor of—”
“Because he’s not yours, is he? He’s Daniel’s son.”
No one had ever guessed. No one had questioned. Well, no one but his mother. Why had Mary Beth? It was as if she’d seen something no one else had. She’d surprised him so much, he couldn’t think of a way to prevent the looming disaster.
“Yes, he’s Daniel’s.” He never intended to say it aloud.
“Why?”
He understood what she was asking. It was so simple, yet so complicated. And the real answer could not be spoken. “No child should be without a name. Alex was a week old when Daniel died. He and Cristina planned to marry but he was sent off for training in the States, then, with no time between that and his last deployment, it didn’t happen. As you probably know, here in San Mateo, we use our maternal last name after our paternal one. Daniel’s name was technically Daniel Vargas Romero. Alex couldn’t have the Vargas last name, but I could give him the Romero. Cristina and I agreed. We wanted him to have at least part of Daniel’s heritage.” He’d said way too much. “No matter what happens, Alex is the one important thing in my life.”
“You’re lucky to have him, to have each other, then.”
Her words didn’t disappoint him. Any other woman would have mouthed an insincere platitude.
“As I’m sure you realize after hearing my cousins’ gossip, no one knows. Cristina and I want it kept that way.”
“Why did you admit it to me?”
He paused, trying to answer honestly, even though he really didn’t understand why. “Because I trust you to never hurt a child by re
vealing the truth.” But it was more than that, and he knew it.
She freed her hand from his grasp. She had more questions, he could sense them. In the muted light of the bedroom, he could see the ripeness of her figure beneath the bulky shirt. He’d made a terrible mistake, much worse than using her to get Antonio Vargas.
He’d confided in her. He’d tasted something he couldn’t have. Something that would haunt him forever. He had to stop this. Stop before he hurt her. And himself.
“We’ll go to the bank in the morning,” he said.
Her expression said she expected more, but she nodded. “What time will we leave?”
“Around eight-thirty,” he replied.
“I’ll be ready,” she said, then walked to the open door. “And Nick—” She stood in the hallway, looking back at him. “Thank you for being honest about Alex.”
She couldn’t guess how he felt when she said that. Because by the time it hit him, she’d turned away. He stood in somber silence, knowing he hadn’t been honest. Honesty about some things was a luxury he could not afford.
Ever.
Chapter Six
The bank didn’t match Mary Beth’s expectations. She’d envisioned one of the old banks she’d seen in San Mateo—high ceilings, marble floors, bars on the teller windows. Instead, it boasted yellow brick, glass doors—though security bars were visible—and beige carpet. A little disappointed that it looked so American, except for the guard armed with a machine gun, she followed Nick as he approached a receptionist positioned in the lobby.
Sleep had eluded her. The idea that Mark could have done anything wrong, that soldiers as well as government agencies thought she had something to do with gunrunning, of all things, colored everything, especially her response to Nick. His honesty about Alex had touched her, made her more susceptible to him. Still, there was too much unknown about him, too much she couldn’t trust.
To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3) Page 8
