by Kim Harrison
Though Cat had spent most of her life in the dynamic world of urban Los Angeles, she found Taos no less stimulating. The locals were easygoing and sometimes eccentric, reminding her of people she’d met in Berkeley and San Francisco. The mood was both peaceful and inspiring.
She felt remarkably free as she rambled about the town, stopping as the mood struck her, listening to a Mariachi band in Kit Carson Park and Finnish folk music at an eclectic coffee house. She had a sandwich and iced tea for lunch, browsed shops on the plaza for several hours and then decided to have a drink at a bar off Paseo del Pueblo. She found music there as well; a young, long-haired man perched on a stool in the corner and played melancholy airs on a Native American flute.
Cat claimed an empty bar stool and sat, feeling in great good charity with the world. Though she seldom enjoyed beer, she tried a pale ale from a local microbrewery and found it quite congenial. She’d just started on the second glass when the young flautist stepped down and another musician took his place. She didn’t pay much attention until she heard the first golden strains of the guitar, beginning a melody rich with the distant and exotic sounds of another age.
The voice that accompanied the music sang in liquid Spanish, a voice she recognized even before she turned to see the man who owned it.
Even from his corner, Andrés dominated the room. He sat with one knee drawn up, cradling the guitar like a lover while his fingers danced over the strings. He sang with such intensity and sorrow that every eye in the room was drawn to him, yet he never glanced up from his intricate finger work. The melody curled around Cat like a silken rope, binding her limbs and her loins and her heart.
“Do you understand the song?”
She started, turning toward the bar. The bartender, a man of middle years and a slight Spanish accent, leaned on the scarred wood and nodded toward the singer.
“It is a very old song,” he said. “The words he sings are from an ancient form of Spanish…one only scholars would know today.”
“Really?” Cat said, feeling stupid and confused. “Is he a scholar?”
“He doesn’t look like one, does he? But looks can deceive.” He smiled. “I was a teacher myself, once. Shall I translate?”
“Please.”
The bartender began to recite.
“‘I don’t know how I can reveal to you
the ardent fire
that burns me to the bone
and I can’t see any time or place;
alas, I’m burning in the fire
without any comfort.’”
Cat shivered. She could almost imagine that Andrés was singing directly to her. But surely he hadn’t even noticed her. Surely the fact that they were together in this bar was the sheerest coincidence….
Andrés looked up. His gaze met hers.
“Do you know him?” the bartender asked.
“No.” She heard her own trepidation and deliberately turned her back on Andrés. “Do you?”
“I’ve never seen him here before. Would you like me to ask around?”
“No. No, that’s all right, thanks.” She placed several small bills on the bar and headed for the door.
“Where’re you going so fast, beautiful?”
The man at the table caught Cat’s arm and held on, stopping her in her tracks. He was blond, muscular, and handsome; plenty of women would have been flattered by his attention. Cat wasn’t.
“Excuse me,” she said, shaking him off.
“Hey. No need to be so unfriendly.” He gave her a dazzling grin and patted the chair beside him. “Have a seat. I’ll get you whatever you want.”
“Sorry. I’ve got…things to do.”
“It can’t be all that urgent. Come on.” He grabbed the hem of her jacket and tugged. She lost her balance and banged her hip on the table. The blond looped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Cat could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“I’d advise you to let me go,” she said.
“Advise?” He laughed. “You a lawyer or something?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oooh. I’m seared.” He pushed her into the chair. “You need some loosening up, princess. And I’m just the man to do it.”
“You will unhand the lady, cabrón, or you will regret it.”
The jerk looked up into Andrés’s face with blank incomprehension. “What did you call me?”
“Do you require a translation, pajero?” Andrés glanced at Cat. “Are you hurt, señorita?”
“No.” She scrambled up and backed away. “It’s all right. I was just leaving.”
All her hopes of defusing the situation were shattered when the blond stood up, toppling his chair behind him. He towered over Andrés by a good six inches, and he was nearly twice as wide. “You shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it don’t belong,” he said, flexing his muscles.
“The lady is with me,” Andrés said.
“That so?” He turned to Cat. “This is what you like? Some pansy musician pretending to be a man?”
Andrés met Cat’s gaze. “Go outside, mi gatita.”
“Only if you come with me.”
“When this is finished.”
“That won’t take long,” the blond said. He beckoned to Andrés. “Go ahead, faggot. Just be careful not to hurt your pretty little fingers.”
He had barely lifted his own massive fists when Andrés struck, hitting the blond with a series of punches that snapped his head from side to side as if it were made of rubber. The bigger man crashed into the table and collapsed to the floor, sprawling in an ungainly heap.
The bartender appeared beside Cat. “You’d better get him out of here,” he said, nodding toward Andrés. “I know this guy, and he’s trouble. I don’t want a brawl.”
“Of course. I’ll pay for any damages.” Cat took Andrés’s arm, feeling the muscles bunched beneath his shirt sleeve. “Please, Andrés. Let’s go.”
He regarded her with a wild look and suddenly relaxed. “As you wish, mi gatita.”
Together they left the bar. It had grown dark; the plaza twinkled with lights that rivaled the stars. Cat paused to get her bearings.
“Where shall we go?” Andrés said close to her ear. “Have you a bed, querida?”
Prickles of excitement raced from the back of Cat’s neck to the base of her spine. “Thanks for your attempt to help back there, but it really wasn’t necessary.”
“That cabrón was mistreating you.”
“I could have handled it.”
“Few men are to be trusted by a woman alone.”
She turned to stare at him, challenging her own unease. “Does that include you?”
“Is that not for you to decide, amada?”
The very sound of his voice was a caress. Cat retreated several steps. “I don’t know why you just happened to be here in Taos, but I came to spend some time alone. That’s what I intend to do.”
Andrés searched her eyes. “If that is what you truly wish.”
“It is. Good-bye.” She began to walk away, feeling his gaze like fire licking between her shoulder blades. Only when she was in the parking lot of her motel did she let down her guard. She ran up the stairs to her room on the second floor, went inside and leaned against the door, her breath coming fast and shallow.
It wasn’t a coincidence. She was certain of that. Andrés hadn’t been here just to join the music festival. Either he’d followed her, or he’d known somehow….
And that’s ridiculous. He couldn’t have.
Cat flung herself down on the bed, grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest. No matter where she went, she couldn’t escape: not Andrés, not this feeling that made her wish she’d invited him up to her room and let him have his way with her. She could imagine his lean, muscular body naked beside her, his cock hard and high, his eyes blazing with lust the way Neal’s never had. She saw herself lying on a reed mat beside him, enjoying the pleasures of their wedding night….
She pounded the pillow with her fists. She was wet again, desperate for release that wouldn’t come. It was too early to sleep. She jumped up, paced the small room for a quarter of an hour, turned on the television to some abominable made-for-TV movie, and finally decided on a nice, long, hot shower.
The bathtub was hardly luxurious…one of those featureless molded plastic stalls that was about as welcoming as a tombstone in a graveyard. Cat was too muddled to care. She turned on the spray to its hottest, shed her clothes and stepped in with a sigh of relief.
But her mind would not be still. The water cascading over her breasts and hips made her shiver. Her body was transformed, as if she had become a creature of pure sensuality. She stroked her stomach, suddenly fascinated by the slight mound that had never matched the washboard ideal but now seemed a proclamation of her womanhood. She cupped her breasts, circling her nipples until they rose to firm peaks. She turned her face up into the water and let it cascade over her face while her fingers skimmed down her thighs and came to rest on warm, plump flesh.
Andrés. Oh, God, Andrés.
Her imagination was so vivid that she could almost hear the shower curtain sliding aside, feel the heat of a body behind her, masculine hands resting on her waist and massaging her hips. She could feel his tongue licking moisture from her neck as his cock worked between her parted thighs.
“Mi gatita,” he whispered.
She turned, eyes tightly closed. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her urgently, tangling his tongue with hers. After an eternity of such kisses he bent his head, following the slope of her chest lower, lower, until his tongue found her breast.
“You want more, querida?” he murmured.
“God. Oh, God. Yes.”
He flicked the tip of her nipple and then took her into his mouth. The cool plastic of the shower stall supported Cat’s weight as he suckled, first one breast and then the other, demanding, devouring. He wedged his hands behind her bottom, squeezing, lifting. His cock was trapped between them, hot and heavy. He withdrew to reposition himself and worked her thighs apart. She made no attempt to resist. He rubbed against her, the head of his cock caressing her swollen lips.
“What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“I…” She gasped as he pushed a little deeper and then pulled back. “Please…” Someone knocked on the door.
Cat came crashing back to reality. She staggered and clutched at the shower curtain to keep her balance. There was no one else in the shower. She was alone, silently screaming for deliverance.
The knock sounded again. Cat half stumbled out of the tub and reached for the towels folded on the rack above the toilet. They were barely big enough to cover her from breast to upper thigh.
The door seemed a million miles away. She leaned against it and looked through the peephole.
“Who is it?”
But she knew even before he answered, his voice all seductive music.
She hesitated for a second, two. Then she opened the door. She didn’t ask how he’d found her, or why he had come. She grabbed his hand, dragged him into the room, and kissed him.
His reaction was everything it had been in her dream. He thrust with his tongue as he stripped the towel from her body and tossed it aside, leading her to the bed. She went willingly, expecting him to shed his clothes and take her then and there. Instead, he knelt at the foot of the bed, pulled her toward him, and spread her thighs. His lips pressed against her vulva, then his tongue stroked over the moist folds of her labia. She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced such a sensation or wanted it so much.
Andrés licked upward and found her clitoris, already distended and burning with something very near pain. But he didn’t touch it. He kissed her mons, driving her crazy with need.
“You taste of wine and honey,” he purred.
Cat groaned. “Don’t stop.”
He bent and drew her into his mouth. She arched up, demanding more. His teeth grazed her, his tongue fluttered and teased, bringing closer, ever closer to the release she had so desperately craved. He thrust his tongue deep inside her. She spiraled toward climax, higher and higher.
And once again Andrés denied her. He stood and began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his beautifully developed pecs. Cat couldn’t take her eyes from him. He removed the shirt, folded it and draped it over the chair by the window. Then he unbuttoned his jeans. The zipper slid down with a sensual hiss. He wore nothing underneath. His cock sprang free, bigger than even Cat’s fantasies had predicted.
His jeans fell to the floor and he kicked them away. His cock arced high against his stomach, ridged below and capped with the silky-smooth head. Cat’s thighs slackened in anticipation. Andrés knelt on the bed and positioned himself between her legs. He worked his fingers inside her. She bucked and moaned. He stretched out atop her, his cock gliding easily over the slickness of her sex. She strained against him, urging him to end her torment.
Deliberately he rubbed himself over her, glazing his cock in her wetness. His lips closed over her nipple just as they had in her shower dream, circling her breast while he flicked at the aching tip with his tongue.
Cat was delirious with pleasure and pain. She felt a vast, searing emptiness that only Andrés could fill. She lifted her legs higher, praying that his next move would send him thrusting into her. But he held his body still and kissed her mouth with the greatest tenderness.
“Andrés,” she whispered.
He licked her chin. “I told you once that I would not do anything you did not wish me to do,” he said, his voice husky with lust. “Tell me what you want.”
But Cat didn’t speak. She pushed him away and kept pushing until he was forced off the bed. He stood there, uncertain for the first time, his eyes reflecting much more than disappointment.
Cat moved to the foot of the bed, sat on the edge and took Andrés’s cock into her mouth. He gasped in surprise and pleasure. He laced his fingers through her hair and held on as she sucked and licked and tugged, moving his hips as his breathing quickened.
Within a few minutes he was rigid and ready to come. But he drew back, panting hoarsely. He lifted her to her feet, turned her around and laid her face-down on the bed. Strong, calloused hands raised her hips and buttocks, holding her in place.
“Are you ready?” he asked softly.
“Yes. Oh, God…”
He hesitated, and for a shattering moment she thought he was going to leave her. But then, without warning, he drove into her from behind. She moaned his name. He withdrew, taking a firmer grip on her hips, and thrust again. His movements slowed. He pulled out, waited, and then slid inside with astonishing gentleness. He was massaging her to orgasm, but she didn’t want it soft. She’d gone too far.
“Harder,” she begged.
He continued to move with steady strokes. “We have waited so long,” he said. “We can wait a little longer.”
Just when Cat believed she could tolerate no more Andrés began to pump more urgently, rocking her forward with each thrust. She gasped as he reached beneath their joining and rubbed her in time to his driving rhythm. The climax was so overwhelming that she cried aloud, her body glorying in sensations she’d never known before.
Andrés remained inside her. She expected him to soften, but his cock was still firm and full. Somehow he’d brought her to orgasm without enjoying one himself.
“Andrés,” she said, her voice shaking with reaction. “You didn’t…you need to…”
He brushed damp hair from the back of her neck. “I will, mi gatita.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and turned her to face him, adjusting her legs so that she was sitting on his lap with his cock trapped between them.
Cat touched his face from the angle of his cheekbone to the straight line of his dark brows. “I never thought it could be like this.”
“It is not over, querida.”
She found his erection with her fingertips, caressing the velvety head. “Tell
me what you want.”
A shudder ran through him. “Forgive me.”
“For what?” She leaned her cheek against his chest. “You’ve given me something…I didn’t even know could exist. Neal…” She bit down hard on her lip, cursing herself for even mentioning her ex-husband’s name.
But Andrés was untroubled. “You have never had a real man before. This I knew when we first met.”
She drew back and met his gaze. “But why me? Why did you seek me out? Who are you, Andrés?”
He put his finger to her lips, lifted her and eased her down onto his cock. She was so wet that there was no discomfort; she felt a tingle as if she might come all over again. But when she began to move, sliding up and down, he stopped her.
With casual strength he rose from the bed, holding her impaled, and carried her to the wall. He clasped his hands around her cheeks and supported her as if she weighed no more than cottonwood down. He held her tight as he entered her, and she recognized with disbelief that she was on the edge of another incredible orgasm. She clasped her legs around his waist, moving with him. He closed his eyes and worked until beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, plunging, grinding, pounding. The glorious pulsing started in the pit of Cat’s belly.
“Let it go,” she whispered. “Come to me.”
For a moment he gazed right into her eyes, and she saw pain and desperation and centuries of suffering.
“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely.
“Yes. Yes. I forgive—”
He stiffened, the muscles of his stomach standing out in harsh relief, his hips slamming against hers. He finished with a cry of triumph, gathering her against him as his shuddering came to an end.
Cat dropped her chin on to his shoulder, breathless and exultant. Andrés kissed her mouth and forehead and carried her back to the bed. He laid her down with her head on the pillow and smoothed the tangled sheets over her, tucking the edges under her chin as if she were a child. Then he backed away, his eyes still full of sorrow.
“Don’t go,” she said, reaching for his hand.
He glanced toward the window. “There is little time.”
