Krista tapped him on the shoulder. “I like my eggs fried, not baked through.”
Rafael looked down at the two eggs in the skillet. The yolks were set, and the edges were beginning to curl. “If that’s the best you can do,” she teased, “maybe I should cook my own.”
He tossed the eggs into the garbage can and broke two more into the hot oil. “I can do better,” he assured her, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Krista finished frying the bacon and toasted a half dozen slices of bread while Rafael cooked their eggs. When they sat down at the small table to eat he started a new conversation. He felt guilty for questioning her with ulterior motives, but that didn’t stop him. He often felt guilty for things he had to do in the course of his job. “Are you close to your father?”
“The eggs are good. You can do better,” Krista said, ignoring his question. Then she lifted her shoulders in a fatalistic shrug. “He’s my father.”
“Meaning?”
“Are you close to your father?”
“We were.”
“But you haven’t seen him in seven years.”
“That’s my problem, not my father’s.”
“No, we’re not particularly close. He doesn’t want to be. Years ago he lost my mother, and I was a large part of that problem. It’s difficult to forget, I guess.”
“Lost your mother? Is she dead?” he asked, though he knew she wasn’t.
“No, she’s living in Paris with her third husband and is, I assume, very happy.”
“Any brothers or sisters from her second and third marriages?”
“Heavens, no. Once was more than enough for Selena. She’s not a very maternal person.”
“You call your mother Selena?” Rafael was thirty-four years old, but that wouldn’t stop his mother from smacking him if he called her Isabel.
“What should I call her?” Krista asked with a smile.
“What’s wrong with ‘Mom?”’
“Rafael, I’ve seen my mother twice in twenty-two years. Don’t you think ‘Mom’ is a little bit intimate for a complete stranger?”
“Why don’t you see her more often?”
“Why don’t you see your family more often?”
He stiffened. He was aware that prying into her life gave her an equal right to pry into his, but he still didn’t like the idea. “I choose not to see my family.”
“Well, my family chooses not to see me. And, as of now, I choose not to talk about them. If you want to talk about your family I’d like to listen. Otherwise, I’d prefer to change the subject.”
He nodded somberly. The memories concerning his own family problems were too painful to discuss with anyone, even Krista. He could respect that she felt much the same about her own memories.
She reached across the table to claim his hand. “Do you have to do anything today?”
He shook his head.
“Then let’s stay here and be totally lazy. I don’t want to do a thing.”
“All right.” That suited him fine. He didn’t want to share her with anyone, anyway. He freed his hand and picked up their plates.
“I said be lazy.”
“You be lazy. I’ll do the dishes.”
Krista heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You’re neater than my housekeeper. Maybe you could go to New York with me. My apartment could use a good cleaning.” She rinsed and dried the dishes as he washed them, then insisted on dragging him to the couch with her. There they divided the newspaper, settled into a comfortable silence and read. When Krista finished with her half she laid it aside and tucked herself neatly into Rafael’s arms. He lifted the paper over her and continued to read. She occasionally glanced up as he turned the pages, but mostly she just breathed in the smell of him and appreciated the strength of his chest and the satiny smoothness of his skin.
On the last page was a photograph of some event in San Ignacio. It included the mayor and several women, one of whom was absolutely gorgeous. “Isn’t she pretty?” Krista asked, pointing to her.
Rafael glanced at the photo and, without thinking, commented, “That’s Constancia.” He felt Krista stiffen, and she raised her hand to steady the paper.
“Constancia Aranas,” she read softly. She had never heard the name before, but she knew immediately who the woman was. “She’s your lover.”
Rafael was silent.
The woman was beautiful, and she looked so innocent and so trusting. In comparison, Krista felt dirty. “How could you do this to her?”
Rafael pulled the paper from her hand and dropped it to the floor. “I’m not doing anything.”
“But—”
“We aren’t lovers,” he said in his rough, gravelly voice. “I’m not being unfaithful to her.”
“You broke up? Why?”
Rafael gave her a reproving look. “You’re why. Don’t worry. She was relieved when it ended. I heard she’s started dating Darren Carter.”
Krista was still a bit stunned. No wonder Rafael hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. In her field, Krista had seen many beautiful women, and Constancia Aranas was one of them. She was gorgeous, with black hair, and eyes and skin as dark as Rafael’s.
Rafael sensed her disquiet and understood its cause, and he reassured her in the only way possible at that moment: physically. He pulled her into his arms and tilted her face up for a very gentle kiss, while his hands roamed restlessly over her body. He couldn’t use words to tell her how very special she was to him; that wouldn’t be fair, when their affair was ending tonight, but he could show her with his body. It was all he could offer.
It was a good day. They did nothing after making love except watch television and occasionally talk. Their silences were comfortable; both understood that words weren’t necessary. Besides, what could they talk about? The fact that in a few hours their affair would end by mutual agreement—though Krista felt she had agreed under duress—offered them few topics of conversation.
She wanted to change his mind, but she didn’t know how. She had thought that if he enjoyed the weekend he would want to see her again. Though there was no doubt that he’d enjoyed it, he had given her no reason to hope that there would be anything more.
Why did he have to be so stubborn? If he had a legitimate reason for not wanting to see her, why didn’t he just tell her what it was? And what reason in the world could be so important that he would deny her—and himself—something that was so right?
Krista sighed deeply. It was five o’clock. Only a few more hours before she had to go. Then what would she do? More importantly, what would Rafael do? Would he someday want to see her again or would he go back to the beautiful Constancia Aranas?
“Are you hungry?”
Lunch had been forgotten in the hours since they’d returned to bed. Now Krista nodded.
“Let me up, and I’ll cook dinner,” he said.
This time she didn’t offer to help. She turned around on the sofa, lying so she could watch him as he worked. He was aware of her steady gaze, but he didn’t speak to her. He was also aware of her thoughts. Since he couldn’t offer any answers, he said nothing.
Dinner was uncomfortable, and so was doing the dishes afterward. When Krista dried her hands and saw Rafael looking at his watch for the tenth time in an hour she clenched her jaw in frustration. “Do you want me to go?”
He was unkindly honest. “Yes.” Their weekend was over. The sooner she left, the sooner he could start working at forgetting her. His mouth tightened impatiently. “You agreed to go home tonight and stay there. You asked for a weekend, Krista, and I gave it to you. What more do you want?”
Anything. Anything he could give her. A familiar feeling was stirring in her chest—pain. The pain of rejection. Though he’d enjoyed the weekend with her, he was certainly eager to be rid of her. She was determined not to let her pain show. She went down the hall to his bedroom and quickly packed the small overnight bag she had brought. Rafael waited for her in the living room.
“Thanks,
Rafael,” she said, and somehow she forced a convincing smile onto a mouth that wanted to frown, into eyes that wanted to cry. “Walk to the car with me?”
At her Mustang she said goodbye silently, eloquently. She twined her arms around his neck and took his mouth with hers in a kiss so hungry it fired Rafael’s desire anew. His hands slid down to her buttocks, cupping her close against his hips and the hardness that jutted there.
One more time, he thought, greedy and weak with wanting her. He wanted just one more chance to hide himself away inside her, to find that incredible release within her, to simply be with her, a part of her, before he had to go back to living without her.
One hand had found its way beneath her shirt, and now her breast swelled to fit it. She was like satin or silk; he didn’t know which, and didn’t care. He just knew she felt good, so damned good. He would never forget the feel of her. Tonight he had to have her. It was insane, but he had to make love with her one more time.
Krista knew she was going to cry, and if she cried Rafael would know how important this time had been to her. He would know that she loved him. But he didn’t trust women who claimed to love him, and he would never let her come around again. If he didn’t know, maybe, just maybe, she would get another chance. She broke the kiss and brushed her tender lips across his mustache. “Thank you for a lovely weekend, Rafael.” She swallowed hard and blinked to clear her eyes. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” She eased out of his embrace, got in the car and drove away, her tears breaking free as she left him behind.
Chapter 7
Five days had passed since Krista had driven away from Rafael. It hadn’t been easy to leave, knowing he wanted her, but the knowledge that her need was stronger than his would ever be had helped her to go. She had gone home and cried herself to sleep, but in the light of morning she’d pushed her fears and pain to the back of her mind and concentrated only on positive things, such as how to make Rafael fall in love with her.
That was difficult. Because she was pretty and friendly and rich, men had been attracted to her automatically. She had no idea how to go about attracting one as elusive as Rafael. She knew he cared nothing about her money; he would probably like her better without it. Being introverted and very much a loner, he was, she suspected, wary of her friendliness. He thought she was pushy and aggressive—and probably shameless and immoral, as well. And he wouldn’t like her any less if she were homely; he wasn’t a man to be swayed by a pretty face.
All in all, she had nothing to offer that he would value. Just a body that fit so perfectly with his, and a heart that was filled with hopes and dreams of him. No, she had nothing at all to interest him.
Krista accepted Royce Ann’s invitation to lunch that day for two reasons: she enjoyed Royce Ann’s company and needed to be cheered up, and she knew her friend wouldn’t make the long drive into town without going to the border-patrol station to see Jim. Maybe she would see Rafael. As they were paying for their lunch Royce Ann asked, “Do you mind stopping by to see Jim?”
Krista smiled, pleased to be proven right. “Of course not.”
Rafael was there, studying a map spread out on the table in front of him. His concentration was intense; though he was aware of the arrival of the two women, he paid no attention—at least, not obviously. He knew Krista was with Royce Ann. He could sense her, could smell that musky perfume she always wore, but he didn’t look at her. With one long brown finger he traced a trail across the map, picturing the area in his mind. The image was hard to sustain, because of the woman who kept intruding.
“How are you, Krista?” Jim asked after greeting his wife.
She had kept her gaze off Rafael, looking at everything in the room except him. Now she gave Jim a too-bright smile. “I’m fine.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Rafael, then smiled gently. “Why don’t you go back and say hello?”
She hesitated. Being familiar with rejection didn’t mean it became any easier. What if he refused to speak to her? What if he pretended that the weekend had never happened? And what if he didn’t? She went to the back of the room, moving around the table to stand directly in front of Rafael. “Hello.”
He looked up, his eyes unwelcoming. “What do you want?”
She was stung by his attitude. Her mind told her to leave before he could hurt her, but it had been so long since she’d seen him. “How are you?” she asked softly.
“I’d be better if you’d go away.”
That hurt, but she stood her ground. “It’s hard to believe that you’re the same man who made love to me so passionately last weekend.” She was rewarded by a slight stiffening of his shoulders.
The muscle in his jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his weight on his hands. “What do you want?” he repeated, his voice low and cold and hostile.
Her hands folded into tight fists, her fingernails biting into her palms. Every cruel word from him increased her pain, but she couldn’t leave. She had to keep talking, to keep asking for more. “Do you swim naked at the pool often? If I rode Diablo out there again at night—’
“I wouldn’t be there,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I think that was the best time,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Of course, every time was marvelous, but that first time, by the pool, that was…exquisite.”
A quick glance told him no one could hear, but he ordered her to precede him into a small, private office anyway. There he turned a stare on her that intimidated men twice her size. “What game are you playing?”
She didn’t flinch one bit; she hurt too much. “I don’t play games. I’ll leave that to you. You’re much better at it.”
Anger turned to puzzlement. “What are you talking about, Krista?” He had thought the terms for the weekend had been clearly stated, that they both had understood them.
“You took everything I had to give, then sent me home Sunday night like a good little whore, well paid for her services,” she accused.
Rafael was shocked by the hurt in her thick voice. She hadn’t seemed at all angry or bitter Sunday night. He had lain awake most of that long, lonely night, aching to have her beside him, in his bed, in his arms. He had relived every moment of the weekend, but he had never imagined for one minute that she’d been hurting when she left.
“Did it amuse you? To have Art McLaren’s daughter beg you to use her?”
He reacted as if he’d been slapped. His hands gripping her upper arms, he furiously demanded, “Is that what you believe, Krista? That I was using you?”
Her lower lip quivered, and tears blurred her view of him. Finally she shook her head. “No,” she admitted, the word a quiet sob. She freed herself from his grasp and went to the window to stare out. “What is it that makes you hate me? Is it because I remind you of that other woman? Because I’m Art McLaren’s daughter? Or is it just me?”
He wanted to hold her, to soothe away her fears and pain. Instead he hurt her again. “I can’t have an affair with you. Last weekend was a mistake. I never should have touched you. I never should have made love to you, because—”
Krista whirled around, pale and desolate. “No! Don’t say that!” Please don’t regret what we did!
Rafael raised one hand to silence her. “I never should have made love with you,” he repeated quietly, “because now I can’t forget you, and I have to. Every night I lie in the bed that we shared, hard and wanting you, but I can’t have you. I can’t make love with you again.”
She went to him, stopping a few feet away. “Why not? What’s wrong with me?”
He touched her hair, watched it shimmer as it sifted through his fingers. “It isn’t you, querida. It’s me.”
But she couldn’t believe him, not without reasons, without explanations. “Don’t you know this is special? How can you just throw it away?”
“I have to.”
Krista took a deep breath. She despised herself for this scene, for crying, for pleading with him. With the tip of her finger sh
e wiped each eye, drying the tears. “I’m sorry,” she said when she was sure she could speak clearly again. “The restrictions you placed on last weekend were very clear. I chose to ignore them.”
She rubbed her eyes again, and Rafael said quietly, “You look fine.”
There was a knock at the door, and a man’s voice called, “Contreras, Thompson wants his office. Hurry it up.”
Rafael continued to watch Krista, ignoring the interruption. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She smiled to support the lie. “I’ll try not to bother you again. I’ll try to stay away, but I doubt that I can. So…if someone shows up at your house late one night without an invitation, don’t overreact. It’ll just be me.” She reached out to gently touch his cheek. “It was a hell of a weekend, Rafael.”
“Yes, it was.”
She let her hand fall, moved around him, opened the door and left the room.
Rafael didn’t move for a long moment. They’d had two days together, less than forty-eight hours, and he’d managed to hurt her. Her smiles, her cheerfulness, didn’t fool him now. He’d seen the pain in her eyes, and it was something he would never forget. He cursed himself for ever letting her come near, but he wouldn’t give up the memory of those two days for anything in the world.
“Do you want to see me, or do you just like the view in here?”
Rafael glanced briefly at Thompson, who was seating himself behind the desk. Without a word he left the office.
“So,” Royce Ann began as she turned the car onto the street, “how’s Rafael?”
“Just about perfect,” Krista replied absently. Perfect. He didn’t need anything, least of all her.
“I don’t understand what it is you see in him,” Royce Ann said. “He’s so serious. He never smiles. Have you noticed that? He never smiles.”
No, Krista thought, not since some woman, some white woman, betrayed him with words of love. He must have loved her deeply—but, of course, that would be the way he’d love: passionately, intensely. How she must have hurt him, to take away his smiles.
Within Reach Page 11
