Within Reach

by Marilyn Pappano

  An image of a laughing Krista McLaren flashed before his eyes. Life with her would certainly never be dull. She could make him look forward to getting up every morning and coming home every night. She could brighten his life, chase away all the dark shadows that haunted him, and she could give him beautiful children.

  And those things made her dangerous. Rafael instinctively knew how easily he could care for Krista and how disastrous that caring would be. She was a shallow, spoiled, rich girl, and there was no way she could possibly be the kind of woman he wanted her to be. Why risk getting hurt again?

  No, he’d learned his lesson from Rebecca, and he was far too smart to need a refresher course. Krista McLaren could never be a part of his life. If he ever allowed that, it would destroy him.

  Saturday was a very hot day. Krista had been restless that morning, had felt a desire to get out in the desert, into the heat. She tried swimming in the pool behind the big house, but it didn’t help, and neither did lying on the tiles in the sun. So she had changed from her swimsuit to light cotton pants of baby blue and a thin, ribbed-knit tank top of white. It clung to her breasts and her midriff and accented her golden tan, and it was cool. She put on a pair of leather sandals that laced around her ankles, then left the house for the stables.

  The black stallion, Diablo, was sleek and powerful. Nearly impossible to handle, he lived up to his name, “devil,” with everyone but Krista. She had so thoroughly charmed the animal that he docilely let her ride without a saddle, dutifully obeying her slightest whisper.

  She gave the horse his head, letting him wander where he wanted. She wasn’t very familiar with her father’s property, but she trusted Diablo to take her home again when he was ready. She sat astride the stallion, soaking up the sun’s heat, letting it relax and soothe her.

  They passed through yet another of the gates in the fences that crisscrossed McLaren land, Krista leaning down to close it behind them. Then suddenly Diablo stopped, his ears pricked. He sensed the presence of someone else, and he didn’t like it.

  “You’re trespassing.”

  Krista nearly fell from the horse’s back at the sound of the soft voice behind her. She wheeled Diablo around to face Rafael Contreras. “What?”

  “This is my property.” He was standing next to an unsaddled palomino whose rich gold color almost matched that of Krista’s hair. The horse reacted nervously to the strangers, both woman and stallion, but Rafael calmed him with a hand on his neck.

  She shifted uncomfortably. Though she’d had no idea that she was even near his land, after the way she’d popped up three times last Monday she knew he wouldn’t believe her.

  He was standing there in boots and jeans and nothing else save a red bandanna rolled tight to serve as a headband, and she let her eyes sweep over him, from his wide shoulders to his bronzed chest to narrow hips covered with faded denim. They made the trip back up his body to his head, skimming over the thick mop of black hair, black eyes, the perfect nose, the sexy mustache and the grim, unsmiling mouth.

  Her long, silent scrutiny instead of her usual blinding smile brought Rafael’s eyes to her, and he scowled with open hostility. Then that damned smile appeared. “Hello.”

  It was his turn to look, to study. He already knew her face; it had been etched in his memory since the first time he’d seen her, at the Blue Parrot. He skipped it, moving on to study her body.

  It was a body made for a man. Everything about it was absolutely perfect, from her small, high breasts and tiny waist to her slender hips and long legs. But Rebecca’s body had been perfect, too, he reminded himself.

  Though Krista knew he would prefer not to talk to her ever again, she sat in silence, knowing that eventually he would speak. At last he did. “I don’t recall inviting you here.”

  “I thought that in the friendly Southwest you didn’t have to wait for an invitation.”

  “I’m not friendly.”

  She grinned. “No kidding.”

  Turn away from her. Pretend she isn’t here. Pray to God to send her away, he told himself. But he continued to look at her for a long moment, until the golden horse nudged his shoulder. He began walking, the palomino at his side. “How did you know where I lived?”

  “I didn’t. Diablo was doing the navigating. I’m just along for the ride. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She tightened her grip on the reins that had been resting lightly in one hand, intending to leave, but Rafael reached up and took them from her. Forgetting his name and reputation, Diablo placidly allowed the stranger to lead them.

  They crested the hill, and in the valley below was Rafael’s house. He led the two horses to the corral, where another one waited. Broken railings on one side showed how the palomino had gotten out.

  When Rafael picked up the hammer resting on the top railing, Krista commented, “It’s a bit hot to be working, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a bit hot to be chasing that horse across the desert,” came his surly reply. He turned his back on her, cursing himself for bringing her here. Why had he done such a damned foolish thing? Then she swung to the ground and moved to the side, where he could see her from the corner of his eye, and he knew why: it had been five days since he’d seen her, and that was too long.

  “Jim said you’d bought the Moreno place, but that isn’t the Moreno house, is it?”

  He didn’t look up from his work. “I tore it down and built that one.”

  “I like it.”

  “Yeah, sure.” His entire house would probably fit into her bedroom at the beautiful old McLaren home.

  She turned back and reached out to steady the board he was nailing into place, raising her voice to be heard over the banging of the hammer. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Not long.”

  “Why did you buy a place so far out of town?”

  “I wanted to.”

  “Do you like the desert?”

  “Yes.”

  His short, gruff answers didn’t put her off. At least he was talking to her, she consoled herself. And it had been his idea that she come down to the corral with him.

  Rafael drove the last nail into the board and turned around to get another. He was surprised to find himself only inches from Krista; he hadn’t realized they’d gotten so close. He took a step forward, and she took one back, but that put her against the rough boards of the corral, and she couldn’t move when he came still nearer.

  He wasn’t going to touch her. He just wanted to be close to her, to smell her scent, to feel her heat. He wasn’t going to touch her at all, yet his hands came up to her shoulders and pulled her away from the boards and against him. His entire body responded to her, his muscles tightening, his jaw setting in a taut line.

  She was warm and soft, and she felt so good beneath his hands. Blue eyes locked with his as he slowly rubbed his hands along her bare arms, down to her wrists, then up again. A funny feeling settled in Krista’s chest, making it hard to breathe. Rafael’s hands settled at her waist. She raised hers to his shoulders, then across to rest, fingers spread wide, on his chest.

  He couldn’t let go of her; he couldn’t pull his gaze from hers. He wanted her—oh, God, how he wanted her! He wanted to forget who she was, who he was. He wanted to forget everything and simply make love to her until he could no longer move or feel or think. But that would be a fatal mistake. There was no way he could keep her, and no way he could walk away from her in one piece, unscathed.

  Krista felt the tension in him and realized at last that he wanted her. Whatever his reasons for keeping her at arm’s length, lack of attraction wasn’t one of them.

  Let go of her—send her away!

  Rafael ignored the frantic commands of his brain and continued to look into her sky-blue eyes, eyes he could drown in. He sensed the danger she held for him, and it made his mouth form a thin, unsmiling line, made his eyes turn hard.

  Only inches separated them.

  Slowly, unwillingly, his hands left her waist for her hips, sliding arou
nd to cup her buttocks. He pulled, closing the distance so that her breasts rubbed his chest and her hips were snug against his and his hardening arousal.

  He held her with one arm around her waist and brought his free hand up to cover her breast. Krista’s eyes widened; she was frightened by the intensity of the feelings he roused in her. He made her want him in ways she didn’t understand. His hand was sending marvelous sensations through her breast, and as his masculine hardness pressed erotically into her belly, she forgot everything. Slowly she twined her arms around his neck and sought his mouth with hers.

  She wasn’t as skilled as Rafael had expected, but in her kiss there was an eagerness to please, to taste, to explore, that he found exciting. He forgot all the reasons why he couldn’t get involved with her, ignored his mind’s warnings and took control of the kiss, his mouth ravaging hers. His hands were on her back, pulling her shirt free of the waistband of her slacks, gliding beneath the damp white fabric, along her spine, over soft silken flesh.

  Diablo snorted impatiently, but Krista heard nothing, felt nothing but her desire for Rafael. While he continued his intimate exploration of her mouth, she let her hands explore his body. The muscles in his back were taut, well developed, covered with bronzed skin as soft as her own.

  Rafael pushed her back and removed her little white shirt, tossing it over the top rail of the corral fence. She was gold, except for the coral-colored peaks of her breasts. A rich gold, like expensive wine, that gleamed in contrast to the darker bronze of his hands on her. He cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs rubbing slowly over her aching nipples.

  “Rafael,” she whispered.

  His hands became still at the sound of her voice, and he stared at her for a long moment, appalled by how close he had come to losing control. He took a step back, picked up her shirt and wordlessly handed it to her, hoping that his hand wouldn’t tremble or disobey his brain’s commands and reach for a small, perfect breast again.

  She pulled the shirt on, then searched his eyes for some hint that the intimacy they had just shared had touched him. There was only a brief flicker of something she thought might be regret; then it was gone, and his eyes were empty.

  “Go home, señorita,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing for you here.”

  “I just want you,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “I could make love to you, but it wouldn’t be worth the effort. Go home. Stick to your own kind.”

  Krista stared at him for a long moment, until her fragile hold on her emotions had strengthened; then she forced a smile. “I think, Señor Contreras, that you’re afraid to stray from your ‘own kind.’ Afraid that you won’t measure up to my standards?” she speculated.

  Rafael neither agreed nor disagreed.

  She moved Diablo so she could mount him from the fence. “I’ll see you again, Rafael.” There was no challenge, no threat, in the soft-spoken words. Just a statement of fact.

  “No.” He picked up the hammer and a handful of nails and turned his back on her.

  Her laugh was as light as the wind. “Goodbye, Rafael.” She bent low over the stallion’s back and gave a quiet command, and he leaped forward.

  Rafael watched her go, his mouth forming a succinct curse. She was gone, but she would be back. He had escaped this time, and maybe he would the next time, but eventually he was going to make love to her, and when he did, he would be lost.

  He worked hard the rest of the day, ignoring the heat, the sweat that trickled between his shoulder blades, the unsatisfied ache in his groin.

  The sun had set, and the heat had gone. His work was done. Only his desire remained. He stood on the porch, his body still damp from his shower, wearing only a pair of cutoff jeans. He was drinking his last bottle of beer, staring into the darkness, and thinking.

  He could drive across the border to San Ignacio and have dinner with Constancia. But Rafael had learned long ago that he couldn’t satisfy his desire for one woman by using another, and he respected Constancia too much to try. Years ago he had tried desperately to stop wanting another blond-haired, blue-eyed witch by using every woman he knew, but it hadn’t worked. Only time had blunted his desire for Rebecca.

  Rebecca. He closed his eyes and called up the picture of the woman he had loved, but the image that appeared wasn’t Rebecca’s, but Krista’s. Lovely, beautiful, sexy Krista, who had been in his arms less than seven hours ago. He was a damned fool for letting her go.

  Krista had been pleasantly surprised by Rafael’s response to her on Saturday, and she spent the rest of the weekend thinking of ways to see him again. She felt reasonably sure that if it were left up to him, she would never lay eyes on him again. But maybe he wouldn’t feel so threatened by her if they were in a group, and so, with Royce Ann’s help, she decided on a party, to be held the following weekend at her father’s house. She would just keep her fingers crossed that Rafael would bother to show.

  She decided to deliver the invitation in person on Tuesday. When Rafael returned from lunch he found her there, perched on the edge of his desk. Royce Ann was with her.

  He cursed silently. Each time he saw her, his desire for her grew stronger, and it was harder to remember the reasons why he had to stay away from her. She was getting under his skin, occupying his thoughts and even slipping into his dreams.

  “So what time do you want us Friday night?” Nick was asking.

  “Seven o’clock.” Krista was aware of Rafael, studying the bulletin board near the door. She wondered how long he would try to avoid her by standing there. She put on her most charming smile and called, “What about you, Señor Contreras?”

  She had brought the attention of everyone in the room to him, including his boss, Martin Thompson, so he couldn’t ignore her. Slowly he raised his head and turned toward her. “What about me, Miss McLaren?” His cool tone of voice held a warning, but she chose to ignore it.

  “Royce Ann and I are having a party Friday night to welcome me back to town. I’ve invited all your co-workers. Will you come?”

  Rafael walked to his desk, everyone’s eyes on him. While he pointedly waited for her to move, he could smell her perfume, the same musky scent she’d worn last Monday night and again on Saturday. He decided he liked it very much. “I don’t go to parties, Miss McLaren,” he said flatly.

  “There are a lot of things you don’t do, aren’t there? Your life must be very dull.”

  No, dull was not the word, Rafael thought, not since this woman had come into his life, determined to—to what? To seduce him? To use him? To be entertained by him while she was bored?

  “I like my life,” he said, his voice still flat and unemotional.

  “Do you?” Krista stood up and brushed past him, intentionally rubbing against him. “Excuse me, señor,” she teased softly. “I’ll put you on the guest list as a definite maybe. You might change your mind between now and Friday. I assure you, it will be worth the effort.”

  Her reference to the remark he had made on Saturday would have brought a blush if Rafael hadn’t held such tight control over his emotions. Would she be worth the effort? What effort? He snorted. He got hard when he looked at her or thought of her. His body begged to do what his brain refused. The only effort was in holding back.

  “See you guys Friday,” Krista called as she and Royce Ann left.

  The other men were watching Rafael speculatively, all wondering why Krista had singled him out for attention. One who didn’t care why was Martin Thompson. “In my office, Contreras.”

  His jaw set in a stubborn line, Rafael followed the older man into a small, private office.

  “I want you to go to that party.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need any help you can get investigating Art McLaren. His girl seems to have taken an interest in you. Use her.”

  Rafael’s face remained impassive, but inside he winced. He was certain that Krista McLaren couldn’t be the kind of person he liked, despite his desire for her, but he di
dn’t want to use her. “There’s no evidence that she’s involved in her father’s dealings. She should be left out of this. Completely.”

  “She’s his daughter. She knows things.” Thompson sat down behind his desk and folded his hands over his stomach. “Things she’ll tell a man under the right circumstances. Don’t be a fool, Contreras. Krista McLaren is interested in you for a little fun. She’s probably never slept with a Mexican before. You’re hardly the kind of man she’d want anything permanent with. You’d be using each other. You sleep with her and get whatever you can on her old man before she gets bored with you.”

  In that moment Rafael decided that he despised his boss with every ounce of feeling he possessed. “I won’t sleep with anyone for you, or this department, or the DEA, or the President of the United States.” He opened the door of the office, then glanced back. “But I’ll go to the damned party. Anything else?”

  “No.” Thompson was grinning smugly. “That’s all—for now.”

  Rafael left the building and went to a pay phone down the street to place a call to New York. It was inconvenient, but since no one in the department knew of the McLaren investigation besides Thompson, it was a necessary precaution. McLaren was a rich man, and he ruled this part of the state. He could easily persuade someone to pass information along to him.

  “Houseman.”

  “Contreras.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I need some information on McLaren’s daughter.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  Rafael scowled. Sure, tell me she’s not like Rebecca. Tell me it’s all right to sleep with her. “Everything for the last couple of years.”

  “Sure,” Richard Houseman agreed. “You think she might be involved?”

  “No. Just checking.”

  “All right. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Has McLaren been doing anything?”