by Lea Santos
Madeira blinked a couple of times, then moistened her lips with her tongue. “Oh.”
Fearing she’d explained herself into a corner out of which there was no escape, Grace cleared her throat. “To be clear, I’m not dating Niki, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t date someone else if that perfect someone came along.” She reached out and touched Madeira’s forearm in a gesture that was meant to take the sting off her words. She didn’t expect the warmth of Madeira’s skin, the firm musculature beneath, to flash white heat straight to her core. But it did. “If you truly want to be my friend, Maddee, you’ve got to drop the jealous act.”
“I don’t want to be your friend, Gracie,” Madeira said, though clenched teeth, “I want to be your lover. Not that I have any say in the matter.”
Grace couldn’t speak for a moment, could hardly draw breath. “I…I’m not looking for a lover, Madeira.”
“Unless that perfect someone came along, no?” Madeira’s tormented gaze searched Grace’s face for a moment before she reached out with both hands and grasped the sides of Grace’s torso. Gentle-rough, Madeira pulled Grace’s body against her own. Madeira’s face bent toward Grace’s, close enough that Grace’s mouth tingled in anticipation of their lips touching. A hot, painful ache throbbed low in Grace’s body. Her nipples tingled and yearned for Madeira’s touch, her tongue. Her.
Madeira’s thickly lashed eyes traced Grace’s lips, breaths heavy and barely controlled. Their bodies melted together from knee to stomach, and Madeira’s palms spanned on the curve of Grace’s waist radiated heat and need, deliciously… Dared she say it? Possession. But not in a bad way, not how Grace was used to it. With Maddee, it felt good. Right.
Dangerous.
“And if I date someone else, fierita, will you be okay with that as well?” Grace felt the rumble of Madeira’s words through her chest, her breath in warm puffs on her face.
Her stomach went sour, and she swallowed past a catch in her throat. No! Grace wanted to yell. She couldn’t pinpoint the moment it had changed, but she couldn’t bear to think of Maddee with another woman, much less a slew of them. How could she want to avoid Maddee and restrain her at the same time?
Don’t look away, Grace. If you do, she’ll know.
She steeled herself for the lie, using every available energy resource in her body.
“Of course, I’ll be fine with it,” Grace managed, sounding surprisingly calm and together despite the storm of mixed emotions raging inside her. “I have no hold on you.”
Madeira studied her for a moment longer, then set Grace carefully away, smoothing her sweater in a curiously care-taking motion. One corner of Madeira’s mouth lifted, that rueful, sad-edged look back in her eyes. “Now, see, that’s where you’re wrong, my little vixen,” Madeira said in a deceptively soft voice. “Dead wrong.” With that, Madeira brushed past Grace…and was gone.
*
Grace wanted her to date, she would damn well date.
To hell with it all.
Madeira stood before the mirror, straightening her perfectly faded and fitted jeans and V-neck black tank top. A bergamot candle burned in her bathroom, and the Cuban salsa music wafting in from the stereo set the tone for the evening’s agenda.
Wednesday.
Ladies’ night at Karma.
Checking her hair—perfect—she shrugged into her favorite black leather jacket, exquisitely tailored to fit her body and made of butter-soft Spanish lambskin. It had always made her feel like her game was on—way on—but tonight the combination of black leather and angry desperation in her eyes depressed her. She glanced away from the mirror, stopping to slap some musky cologne on her neck.
If she were taking Gracie out on the town, maybe…
No. Gracie didn’t want her, and Madeira had grown tired of the futile chase, the constant rejection. Beneath her devil-may-care bravado lived a tender place that had always somehow known Madeira Pacias wasn’t good enough. Gracie had been the first, the only woman to see through her act to the truth of her, and instead of setting her free, she’d unflinchingly confirmed what Madeira already knew: she wasn’t the kind of person a woman could depend on for life, not like her hermana. When all was said and done, Madeira simply wasn’t a keeper.
Toro took after Mamá, whereas Madeira took after Papá. Not that she hadn’t loved her father—she had. Still did, even in death. But the man had always been a rolling stone, the kind who should’ve known better than to marry a good woman and create four children who needed him, children who would always be disappointed by his shortcomings as a father and husband. Too much of her father’s blood pumped through Madeira’s veins, and that left her of little long-term use to any woman. She’d accepted that so many years ago, it hardly mattered anymore.
Still…Jesus. Madeira needed acceptance from someone.
Why not Gracie? Why couldn’t Gracie accept her, faults and all, embrace the woman she was despite everything? Wasn’t there supposed to be one perfect person for everyone? Why, in God’s name, couldn’t Madeira’s someone be Gracie?
Sick to death of the melancholy, the yearning, Madeira gave herself a vicious mental shake. What had happened to her? She’d always been able to shrug it off when a particular woman wasn’t interested, and she’d do it tonight, too. There was bound to be a woman at Karma who wouldn’t judge her and find her sorely lacking, a woman who’d be glad for the company of la ladróna de corazones. A woman who wouldn’t see her in quite so much ugly detail…
She still won’t be Gracie, her mind whispered.
Madeira set her jaw.
Good.
She didn’t want a woman who reached deep inside her and tore her guts out every time they saw each other, a woman who consumed her thoughts, swirled her brain. A woman whose very name squeezed her heart until Madeira couldn’t take a full breath and didn’t even want to if the two of them couldn’t be together in this life.
Madeira had never wanted that.
She didn’t want it now.
How had she gotten so off-track, anyway?
Blowing out the candle, Madeira palmed her keys, left the house, and stalked toward her truck—a woman with a mission. Her friends, Kita and Carmen, were meeting her at the club in half an hour, and Madeira’s goal for this fresh Wednesday was to party.
Hard.
It would be good to get back to the old routine of carefree nights with willing women. She needed to forget Gracie and her damned teddy bear, to release herself from this inexplicable hold Gracie had over her, if only for one night.
Please, Gracie. If you don’t want me, let me go.
*
They needed to talk. She knew it.
Grace rolled over and punched her pillow, but it didn’t increase the comfort quotient one bit. She squinted at her alarm clock and settled back into the mattress, sighing in frustration.
Midnight.
Freaking swell. She’d been tossing and turning for two hours, and she had to be up and alert in another six to start the grind all over again. So much for turning in early to recharge after an already long work week that wasn’t even half over.
Her discomfort, she had to admit, wasn’t so much from the bed as it was from the fact that her gut told her she’d somehow managed to hurt Madeira’s feelings. Maddee didn’t deserve it, and in truth, the fact Grace even had the ability to hurt her was a shock. Weren’t players immune to the emotions of commoners?
Then again, she’d once been considered a major player herself, and if anything, her emotions had been magnified. Maybe she had judged Madeira unfairly, as Niki had so tactfully suggested yesterday afternoon. Guilt pricked at Grace’s conscience. Even when she’d been dating…let’s call it heavily, she’d always felt like a good person inside. Had someone implied she was unworthy, it would have hurt. A lot.
God…had she made Madeira feel that way?
If so, what a total asshole she’d been.
Ugh. She couldn’t bear it. Grace sat up, unsnarling her hair with her f
ingers. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she spoke with Madeira and got a feel for her emotional state. If Maddee deserved an apology, Grace wouldn’t hesitate to give it. The last thing she ever wanted to be was cruel. To anyone, but God…especially to Maddee.
How had that happened?
Pulling back the covers, Grace padded across her room to retrieve her backpack. She had both Madeira’s and Simon’s cell phone numbers programmed into her phone, and if her calculations were correct, they’d be at work right about now. It couldn’t hurt to call.
She dialed Madeira first, but the phone rang repeatedly and went to voicemail. She listened to the whole message, just to bask in the exotic rhythms of Maddee’s accent, but then hung up without speaking. Maybe they were on a run. Or perhaps when Maddee and Simon rode the rig together, they shared a phone. She dialed Simon, and the phone picked almost immediately.
“Fletcher.”
Grace cleared her throat. “Simon? This is Grace.”
His tone warmed immediately. “Hey, Grace. Is everything okay? What’s up?”
“No, everything’s okay. And nothing’s up, really. I was just…hoping to speak with Madeira for a minute. I called her phone, but she didn’t answer.”
“I’d love to let you talk to her, but she’s not here.”
“She isn’t?”
“Nope, she took a comp day. As far as I know, she had plans to go out with some of her friends.”
Grace went cold inside. Madeira took a comp day to party? Grace’s heart began to thud. “Oh…that’s right. I think she mentioned it and I just spaced it,” she fibbed. “Where was it they went again?
“Karma, baby.” Simon’s grin came through the line. “Wednesday is Ladies’ Night at Karma, after all.”
Grace’s stomach lurched with something green and sticky and unhealthy. Jealousy. She immediately wished she hadn’t even called, much less asked where Madeira had gone. Why was human nature so fucking cruel? Why was she always compelled to seek out information she didn’t really want to know? “Oh, yes.” She laughed lightly, feeling anything but. “To think I’d forgotten about Ladies’ Night. Where’s my brain?”
“Can I let her know you called?”
Like a desperate, sniveling woman who would swallow her pride and chase her while she went prowling around for anonymous sex on Ladies’ Night? Not a chance in hell. “No, actually, don’t bother. I’ll call right back and leave her a message on her voicemail,” Grace said, knowing she wouldn’t. It wasn’t as if Madeira had lied to her or committed some other transgression. She hadn’t. In fact, Grace had as much as told her to go find someone else yesterday afternoon.
Still.
The one solitary romance gene that had gone into her chromosomal makeup instead of Lola’s wished Madeira was at work, or better yet, sitting at home pining. Ha.
“Okay, sounds good. Hey, see you at the school on Friday.”
“Yeah.” Grace dreaded it more than ever now. “Can’t wait.”
They said their good nights and disconnected, and Grace sat in the darkness of her room marveling at her damned gullibility. Madeira could pour on the emotion and the sex appeal, lace it all up neatly with vulnerability and say she wanted to be Grace’s lover one day, then head out to the most notorious lesbian meat market in the city the next. It was the principle of the matter, and it just confirmed the fact that, sadly, Madeira wasn’t the woman for her.
Grace’s whole body ached, and she curled into herself.
God, she was stupid. What’s more, she never learned.
Possibly didn’t even have the capacity to learn when it came to her Kryptonite: delicious, irresistible, unattainable women like Maddee. Which was why she needed to steer clear of her from here on out.
Climbing back into bed without any hope of a good night’s sleep, Grace made a couple difficult but firm decisions. One, pain or not, she was getting these tattoos removed. Clearly Madeira had seen the one on her chest, or she wouldn’t have tossed out that “my little vixen” comment so directly. Grace had grown weary of the false impressions her tattoos conveyed. She wasn’t that person anymore.
More importantly, she would date suitable women from here on out, period. Starting now. Blind date, mercy date, whatever the hell it took. Before she saw Madeira again, she’d have a date with a decent woman if it killed her. And judging from the squeezing of her heart and the moisture at the outside corners of her eyes, it just might.
*
Madeira set a personal record that night at Karma. Two, actually. Longest time nursing one tepid, tasteless beer and most women turned down in a single evening. Whooey, what a stud.
She snorted in disgust. This was getting ridiculous. To the pre-Gracie Madeira, any number of these women would’ve been perfectly acceptable. Agreeable, even, she thought, as a voluptuous redhead undulated past her table in a cloud of promise and pheromones. Madeira’s gaze tracked the redhead’s seductive movement dispassionately; she couldn’t even manage a full smile when the woman turned back and cast her a calculated, challenging glance. Post-Gracie Madeira couldn’t even drum up enough enthusiasm to fake interest in a gorgeous redhead. What a damned shame.
Madeira pushed her warm beer aside and sought the crowd for Kita and Carmen, finally locating them deep within the gyrating crowd on the dance floor. Each of them was draped in willing woman, yukking it up in a fashion that used to be second nature for Madeira, too. Not anymore. She felt out of place in the club, a poser intent on convincing the world she fit in, but failing miserably. If she believed more strongly in mystical nonsense, Madeira would almost imagine that Gracie had cast a spell on her, completely destroying any charm or charisma she might have had at one time.
Gone.
Poof.
Just like that, she’d been rendered useless.
God, she didn’t want to be here.
Placing her pinky fingers in her mouth, Madeira let loose with a short, sharp whistle—a signal she and her friends had devised years ago. Kita heard and glanced over. Through a series of hand motions, Madeira managed to convey the fact that she was outta there, and Kita signaled back that they’d talk soon.
Madeira climbed into her truck and drove, punching the radio buttons almost angrily to interrupt the plethora of romantic ballads that all seemed to apply too poignantly to her miserable situation with Gracie.
Broken heart, this.
Lonely nights, that.
Bah.
She wasn’t even sure where she was headed until her truck pulled up outside her sister’s house. She checked her watch and cringed, sitting for a moment to listen to the hot, ticking engine. One thirty in the morning and darkness cloaked the house. Toro wouldn’t be pleased.
Too damn bad.
Madeira lit from the truck and slammed the door, ready to face her sister’s wrath or any other adversaries who might stand in her way. She hadn’t come to speak with Toro, anyway. The only antidote for what ailed her at the moment was a heart-to-heart talk with the closest female friend who actually understood her. Iris.
Chapter Ten
El remedio puede ser peor que la enfermedad.
Sometimes the remedy is worse than the disease.
“Leave her alone,” Iris said half an hour later, after Madeira had spilled her guts about her so-called relationship with Grace.
“Huh?”
“You heard me. If you want to be with Grace, leave her alone.” Iris curled her feet beneath her on the wicker love seat and regarded Madeira with what looked like sympathy in her emerald eyes. “Your usual modus operandi isn’t going to work with this one, Mad. The stronger you come on to her, the faster she’ll retreat. Mark my words.”
“I know this only too well. And you think the remedy is—”
“Leaving her alone. Yes. If you really want her, you’re going to have to back off and trust that fate will guide you.”
“Fate.” With a rough sigh, Madeira scrubbed her palms over her face. Fate was just another one of those bruja concepts
designed to trip up her and her ilk. Fate, kismet, signs from the universe, all if it. It only made life more confusing. She regarded Iris. “I guess you’ve never heard it said, él que no mira, no suspira?”
“Long absent, soon forgotten?” Iris asked. “I’ve heard it. But you’ve got to trust me. That only happens when the person is wrong for you. So”—she shrugged—“if Grace is wrong—”
“She isn’t,” Madeira said. “That’s the whole problem. She’s the only woman I’ve ever met who is exactly right for me. But it doesn’t matter because I’m completely wrong for her—I know that. The few times I’ve tried to forget, she never hesitates to remind me.”
“Wow. I’d love to meet this woman.”
In spite of herself, Madeira smiled, picturing Gracie in her mind and going soft inside. “You’d love her. She’s a beautiful tangle of contradictions wrapped up in a fireball package.”
“Uh-oh. You’re sounding way too poetic to be the Madeira I know and love,” Iris said gently.
“Be quiet.”
Iris laughed. “Listen, it’ll work out if it’s meant to. You want my opinion?”
“Would I be here if I didn’t?”
Iris conceded the point. “I think it is meant to, because you deserve a woman like her, Mad, despite what you might think.”
“Yeah. Right.” She wished she could share Iris’s serene confidence. It felt as if Madeira’s only good shot at happiness was slipping through her fingers like fast-running water, and there she stood without even a Dixie cup to catch the flow. She stood and crossed to a window that looked out over the dark backyard, still mired in feelings that made no sense.
Behind her she heard the rustle of Iris’s robe as she shifted positions. “You know, I’m wondering something.”
“What’s that?” Madeira turned to her.
“What exactly makes you think you aren’t right for her?”
