Within Reach

by Marilyn Pappano

  She couldn’t let it end tomorrow, no matter what Rafael said he wanted, no matter what she’d promised. This man with no smiles, this man who was colder and harder and tougher than any man she’d ever known, had affected her in a way that took her breath away. He’d touched the depths of her heart, her soul, without even trying. She wouldn’t let him end the most wonderfully fulfilling time she’d ever lived.

  Rafael lowered his head the inch or so that separated his mouth from her ear, and his tongue traced the shell-like outline slowly, his breath hot. His teeth caught at the lobe, nibbling gently, his tongue bathing the cool gold of her earring before returning to the ear itself.

  Goose bumps had risen on Krista’s arms, and she whispered breathlessly, “When you do that I think I’m going to die from the feelings….” Her hands tightened around his neck, and slowly she forced her head up, moving her ear out of his range. Not one to be discouraged, Rafael simply turned his kisses to her throat, sampling the soft, golden skin. The taste was sweet, as every part of her tasted sweet, and also bitter, from the musky perfume she wore. To Rafael, even the bitterness was sweet.

  “Rafael, please,” she whispered.

  He kissed his way back up the long column of her throat while his hands caressed her and their bodies swayed only slightly to the music. “I do,” he said, finally reaching her mouth and sucking gently at her full lower lip. “I do please.”

  “Make love to me, Rafael.” Krista opened drugged blue eyes to meet his. “I need you.”

  “Here?” One black brow rose slightly. “Now?”

  “Yes, now. Take me out of here, Rafael. Don’t try to pretend that you don’t feel it, too, because I know you do,” she continued to whisper in that husky, aroused voice. “I can feel how much you want it.”

  Unmindful of the other customers, he lowered his hands to her buttocks, pulling her firmly against his hips. “It, querida? I want you.”

  The music stopped, and very slowly he released his hold on her. He untangled her hands from around his neck, grasped one and pulled her toward the door. When they reached the Bronco, Krista slid her arms around him, and her mouth sought his. She barely had time to part his teeth with her searching tongue before he put her away. “When we get home,” he said.

  “Now,” she demanded, reaching out again, but he held her wrists easily.

  “Later.”

  “Oh, please, Rafael…” When she saw that he was very serious—had she ever seen him when he wasn’t?—she gave a sigh of frustration and climbed into the truck.

  Rafael got in and backed out of the dirt and gravel lot. “We’ll be home in thirty minutes. You can wait that long, can’t you?”

  “I suppose so—though there’s really no reason to wait, is there?”

  There it was again, she thought, that little tug that looked as if he might be on the verge of a smile, though in the dim light it was hard to tell. “I’ve waited all my life for you,” he said, his voice flat and disapproving, and she knew she’d been mistaken about a smile. “I can wait another thirty minutes.”

  Krista crossed her arms over her chest and tried to pout, but in a few minutes she found herself humming the tune they had danced to. “I like that song. Who sings it?”

  Of course a rich, sophisticated New Yorker couldn’t be expected to recognize one of country’s biggest stars. “Willie Nelson.”

  “I liked it.” She laid her head back and looked out the window at the moon. “The sky is so clear. Sometimes, in New York, I forget what it looks like.”

  “I couldn’t live in a city again,” he said unexpectedly.

  Krista rolled her head to the left, studying his dark profile. “No,” she agreed after a moment. “You couldn’t. The desert suits you.”

  She became silent. Into her idle mind came the memory of their other trip along this road, the night she had wrecked the Mustang. They had been silent that night, too, but it had been a tense, uncomfortable silence. Tonight she was relaxed. She was beginning to understand this man a little better, accepting that silence was very much a part of him.

  The house sat in darkness, waiting for them. They were home. Krista smiled to herself, liking the sound of that. How upset Rafael would be if he knew that this house felt more like home to her than la casa grande ever could.

  He was already upset. When he opened the door and Krista entered the house with him, it felt so right. As if she belonged here. He was stupid. His time with her was almost over, and he was indulging in little fantasies of keeping her with him, making a place for her in his life. He couldn’t let himself care that much!

  Krista watched him move restlessly around the room. He stopped at his desk, took a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches from a drawer and headed for the door. The air-conditioning was off, the door open. She watched him light a cigarette and inhale deeply before turning his back to her.

  She removed her jewelry and laid it on the coffee table. She pulled the bands from her hair, tossed them on the table, too, and worked her fingers through, separating the braid. Her next move carried her out onto the porch, behind Rafael. Unhesitatingly she put her arms around him, pressing herself against his back.

  “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I don’t.” He glanced at the cigarette with disgust before taking another drag. “I used to. I used to smoke, drink and sleep around.”

  His sarcasm didn’t fool Krista. “Did it help?”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “Help what?”

  Slowly she moved around to stand in front of him, on the second step down. “Ease the pain.”

  Damn it, she was supposed to be shallow and self-centered, like Rebecca. Where did this perceptiveness come from? He stared at her, his eyes darker than the night. He didn’t want to answer, but the words came anyway. “No. It didn’t.”

  “Do you want to be alone?”

  Again he gave an answer he didn’t want to give. “No.” He exhaled a stream of smoke, careful not to send it in her direction.

  Krista continued to gaze up into his eyes while she slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, tugged it free of his jeans and pushed it back. His chest was smooth, practically hairless, and so soft that her fingers glided over it.

  She rose on her toes to kiss the base of his throat, then laid her cheek against his chest while her hands continued to explore. As her fingertips traced along the waistband of his jeans his stomach muscles contracted, their hardness a sensual contrast to his velvety skin.

  Rafael stared down at a crown of golden hair, the cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers. When he felt its heat he tossed it to the sandy ground a few feet away, where it sparked, then died. He started to raise his hand to touch her hair, but Krista felt the movement and captured his arm, forcing it to his side. Her message was clear: she was in control. She would take her pleasure in touching him and would give him pleasure in receiving her caresses.

  Softly, gently, her lips tasted his flesh, sampling, until they found his flat nipple. It hardened at the flick of her tongue. She made Rafael groan when she sucked at it, gently at first, then hungrily. He wanted to drag her to him and make love with her, but through sheer will he forced himself not to move. It was torture letting her tease him like this, but it was the most exquisite torture he’d ever known.

  Krista gave equal worship to his other nipple, already hard in anticipation, before she moved behind him. She removed his shirt, her fingernails grazing his skin as she pulled off each sleeve. She learned his back, feeling the bone and muscle, the small scars.

  His face was her next goal. Standing beside him, she turned his face toward her with her left hand. Her right hand remained on his shoulder while the other touched his face, tracing his smooth jaw, then his brows, feathering over his eyelids as his eyes fluttered shut. She shaped his nose and the high cheekbones on either side, and one finger combed over the soft wiriness of his mustache before resting on his mouth.

  His lips parted slowly, and his tongue came out t
o moisten her finger. His eyes were open again and never left hers while he bit gently at her finger.

  “Do you want me to finish this here or inside?” she asked in a voice made thick with desire.

  Rafael continued his erotic kiss for a moment. His entire body was hard and aching with true, physical pain to join with hers, and it didn’t care where. Even wanting her so badly, though, he thought it would be better for Krista if they were in a soft bed. He didn’t trust his voice to work, so he gave his answer by taking her hand and pulling her inside the house to his bedroom. He paused long enough on the way to lock the door, turn out the lights and kick off his sneakers.

  Krista had half hoped he would choose to stay outside. She feared she would lose her advantage if they took time to move. But Rafael was perfectly willing to let her continue her agonizing seduction. She knelt before him, her shirt gracefully swirling around her, and lifted each foot to remove its sock. When she stood again, her hands rubbed along his thighs but ignored his groin in favor of his waist.

  She lovingly pressed her lips to his chest while she worked the silver belt buckle loose. The snap of his jeans separated with a pop, and the zipper rasped harshly to its end. She began inching the denim and his briefs down, and she moved down with them until she was kneeling before him again.

  Rafael’s breathing was heavy and ragged. He had knotted his hands into tight fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her. It was a struggle he couldn’t win much longer.

  She guided his clothes off first one leg, then the other, and discarded them. His hips were so slim, she marveled, his abdomen so flat. She stroked and caressed and kissed, and when her lips brushed across him, he groaned aloud and jerked her to her feet, crushing her to him. His restraint had snapped, and it showed in the near brutality of his kiss.

  He didn’t bother to undress her; there wasn’t time. He lowered her to the bed, raised her skirt, removed her lacy panties and plunged deep inside her. “Forgive me for this,” he murmured in his last sane moment.

  He took her with a ferocity, a savagery, that would have frightened Krista in any man but Rafael. It was a great burst of madness that was over quickly and followed by a deep silence except for their breathing.

  When he could speak he said in shame, “I’m sorry.” He looked at her, expecting to see horror or disgust on her lovely features. Instead her eyes were closed, and she was smiling serenely. Rafael was confused. “I tried not to hurt you…I am sorry, Krista.”

  She opened her eyes and propped herself on one arm, then leaned over to give him a deep kiss. “That was for you,” she said, satisfied and smug and teasing. “Now it’s my turn.”

  “I don’t understand you,” he said later.

  Krista yawned. She was totally relaxed, totally drained, after the explosive releases Rafael had brought to her. Her limbs felt leaden. She couldn’t have moved away from the intimate warmth of his body if her life had depended on it.

  “You wanted that to happen.”

  “Yes.”

  “I could have hurt you.”

  “No, you couldn’t have.” She patted his chest reassuringly. “It’s not in you to cause physical pain. Did you enjoy it?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “So did I. That’s what matters.” She raised her head to kiss his chin. “Good night, Rafael.”

  He answered her softly. She fell asleep almost immediately, but Rafael continued his thoughts. He’d known he would lose control, but he’d never dreamed it would be so brutal. His fingers moved fleetingly down Krista’s body as if to reassure himself that there was no damage.

  It wasn’t something he would want to do often. He liked being in control and, no matter what she said, still feared hurting her like that. But—and a grin came and went—it had been an interesting experience. One hell of an experience.

  Rafael slept easily that night, undisturbed by the body that pressed against his. His subconscious mind, so used to protesting when anyone disturbed his sleep by coming too close, seemed to accept that Krista was special and welcomed the comfort of her closeness.

  When he awoke Sunday morning she was already awake, watching him sleep. Her blue eyes were heavy, evidence that she wasn’t quite alert, and her smile was sleepy. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” His voice sounded raspy from a night’s disuse, like rusted metal scraping against itself.

  They simply looked at each other for long, silent moments; then Krista yawned. “I’m still sleepy.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  “If I do, you’ll get up. Besides, I’m hungry. Do you have stuff for breakfast?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll fix it after I’ve had a shower, all right?”

  “I can cook.”

  “So can I. You make the coffee, and I’ll cook.” She stretched her arms over her head, then grabbed at the sheet as it fell. Rafael suppressed a smile at her modesty.

  “I’ll close my eyes if you want,” he offered dryly. He’d spent hours with her naked in the last day and a half; he knew her body intimately, but he found her shyness touching.

  She escaped to the bathroom while his eyes were closed. When he heard the door down the hall shut, he got out of bed and put on a pair of wheat-colored cutoff jeans. He started the coffee, got a glass of orange juice and went outside to get the Sunday newspaper.

  “How do you get the paper delivered out here?” Krista asked, standing in the doorway, wrapping a towel around her wet hair. She was wearing black running shorts of some silky material and a white tank top. To Rafael she looked as nice as she did dressed up. “Dad tried to get delivery, and they said it was too far.”

  “So he sends Ruben into town every Sunday morning to get a copy.” Rafael put the paper down and went into the kitchen with her. “And Ruben leaves a copy on my porch every Sunday morning.”

  “Neighborly.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “What your father doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him. Like us.”

  Krista stopped, a carton of eggs in her hands. “I don’t care if my father knows.” She knew her father wouldn’t approve, but she saw no reason to tell Rafael that. Besides, she didn’t think her father would care enough to do anything about it. As long as Rafael kept her busy and out of his way…

  Out of his way until tonight. Krista’s eyes darkened. Somehow she didn’t think Rafael was going to change his mind. When this evening came he would expect her to go home and stay there. She didn’t know if she could.

  Rafael was taking some bacon from the refrigerator, and he didn’t notice her sudden little frown. “If you think your father wouldn’t mind that you’ve spent the last two days here with me, then you don’t know him,” he was saying.

  “Why do you think he’d mind?” she asked cautiously.

  “Because Art McLaren hates Mexicans, and he hasn’t bothered to keep it a secret. We can work for him and make money for him, but he can’t stand us.”

  Krista felt uncomfortable, because she knew the truth of his statement, so she shrugged and smiled brightly and asked, “Why are we discussing my father? Usually the only time the men I’m with want to talk about Dad is when they’re far more interested in his money than his daughter. Does money mean a lot to you?”

  Beneath his mustache his mouth twitched again. “If it did, would I be working for the border patrol?”

  “What would you do?” Without waiting for his answer she went on, “Do you like your eggs scrambled or fried?”

  “Fried.”

  “Me, too. You’d better do it, and I’ll fry the bacon. My fried eggs never come out quite right. So what would you do if you wanted a lot of money?”

  Rafael carefully cracked two eggs into a small bowl. While he waited for the oil to heat he looked at Krista to see the effect of his answer. “I don’t know. I think I’d become un contrabandista. A smuggler.”

  “And smuggle what?”

  “People. Drugs. Whatever paid the best.”

 
; She turned a dark frown his way. “That’s disgusting. No one should be allowed to profit from all the people who come into the country illegally. They’re breaking the law.”

  “And making a fortune.” Like your father.

  “It’s still wrong.”

  “The people will come anyway. A smuggler can make it easier for them.”

  “A smuggler can also take them out in the middle of the desert and kill them.”

  Rafael shrugged. “It happens. And do the drugs bother you, too? Or just all those poor Mexicans coming into your country?”

  She arranged long strips of bacon in a skillet. “For the record, I don’t drink, and I don’t use drugs. I never have, and I don’t ever intend to start. I don’t approve of either. However, if grown, mature adults want to spend their money on drugs and kill themselves with them, that’s their business.”

  “What about the children who kill themselves with them? You’re not naive, Krista. A lot of kids use drugs, too. Is that their business?”

  Krista was silent for a long moment. Finally she smiled tautly. “Like most people, I prefer to ignore a problem that doesn’t directly affect me. No, I don’t approve of drugs being made available to children, but what can I do about it? I’m not responsible for it, and I don’t know who is. Please, Rafael, let’s drop this. We both know you would never do anything illegal, anyway. You’re too honest for that.”

  He agreed, though in his mind he reviewed her answers. The conversation had accomplished something: it had convinced him that she knew nothing about her father’s sideline. She did know the person responsible for supplying those children with drugs, and through him, the problem was going to affect her far more directly than she could imagine. By the time he and Houseman were finished, she was going to lose her father. He wondered what that would do to her.