Samuel held her, his chin resting on the top of Teresa’s head. He did not know what it was about the young woman in his arms that tugged at his heart in a way no other woman had done before. He saw her more as a girl than a woman. At nineteen, she was the same age M.J. had been when he’d first met her.
Convent-educated Marguerite-Josefina’s involvement with political dissidents, university intellectuals, artists and her worldly aunt’s influence had afforded his wife a sophistication Teresa lacked.
Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her fragrant hair. “It’s all right, baby.” The endearment had slipped out unbidden, but it was too late for Samuel to retract it.
Teresa felt a measure of relief that Samuel couldn’t see her triumphant expression. Her plan to seduce Samuel had taken an about-face; he had become the seducer.
Samuel eased her back, blotting her face with his handkerchief. “Look at me,” he said softly when she attempted to turn away.
Teresa covered her face with her hands. “No, Samuel. I must look horrible.”
He pulled her hands down, his fingers tightening around her tiny wrists. “Let me be the judge of that.” His mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “You give new meaning to the word horrible. You should cry more often because your eyes are breathtakingly beautiful. Right now they look like polished emeralds.” Her spiky wet lashes framed a pair of eyes that had darkened to a deep, rich green.
She blushed to the roots of her silver-blond hair. “You need glasses.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. You are an incredibly beautiful woman.” She averted her gaze, charming Samuel with the demure gesture.
The flirtatious repartee ended when the airplane’s wheels touched the ground, bumping several times before the aircraft came to a stop.
Samuel turned away from Teresa to stare out the tiny window; the fat drops sliding down the window reminded him of the tears of the petite woman sitting beside him. Why had her tears disturbed him so much?
Conversations that had ended with the plane’s descent started up again, the chatter escalating to excitable shrieks. Samuel unbuckled his belt, waiting for Teresa to do the same.
Forty minutes later they were seated in a taxi, the driver taking a route that led to Viejo San Juan.
Samuel listened intently to the conversation between Teresa and the hotel manager, understanding little of what was said. They’d checked into an establishment that was a fifteenth-century convent-turned-hotel.
He stared at her delicate profile, unable to tear his gaze away from her animated features when she leaned forward, laughing at something the man said to her. It was as if they’d shared a private joke, and for a brief moment Samuel wondered if he was the object of their humor.
I need to learn to speak Spanish. M.J. had offered to teach him, but it was as if he never could find the time to sit with her. He hadn’t had the time because he was too engrossed in making money.
He recalled his wife’s accusation about not seeing enough of him, but what she failed to understand was his obsession, an uncompromising desire for success, and at any cost.
He’d given his wife everything she’d asked for, and some things she hadn’t. He had enough money not only to take care of his wife and their children for the rest of their lives, but also for his grand-and great-grandchildren. He couldn’t claim the honor of being the first black millionaire, but he could, if he continued on the same course and at the same pace, become the first black billionaire.
Teresa turned to Samuel. Droplets of water shimmered in his close-cropped hair. She forced herself not to stare at him or he would see the longing in her gaze. “Our rooms are on the top floor, in the back overlooking the courtyard. We’ll have to share the bathroom that connects the two rooms. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.”
At that point Samuel would willingly agree to any room. He was exhausted. He’d gone to bed after midnight, and woken three hours later to discover M.J. in the bathroom on her knees, retching.
His first impulse was to postpone the trip, but she’d convinced him that her upset stomach was the result of eating something that hadn’t agreed with her. He’d carried her back to bed and stayed with her until Martin and Nancy came to the bedroom to see why their mother hadn’t come down to the kitchen to eat breakfast with them.
“Are you all right, Samuel?” Teresa said when she noted his faraway expression.
“Yes,” he answered much too quickly. “I’m just a little tired.” He forced a smile. “This is one time I’m totally in favor of taking siesta.”
A slender man with distinctive Indian features gathered their bags. Bending slightly, Samuel picked up the case containing Teresa’s typewriter.
“Please tell the manager that if any messages come in for me, he’s to bring them to my room.”
Teresa translated for Samuel, and together they climbed the staircase, following the baggage handler.
Her room was small, clean and functional. It contained a bed, straight-back chair and chest of drawers. Walking to the window, she opened the shutters, stepping out onto a balcony with a wrought-iron railing. Resting her arms on the railing, she spied a marble fountain in a corner of the courtyard under the broad leaves of a banana tree. The smell of wet earth and the cloying scent of orchids growing in abandon filled the air.
She returned to the room and discovered Samuel in the doorway, arms folded over his broad chest. There was something about his relaxed stance that made her mouth go dry. He’d removed his jacket and tie, and had unfastened several buttons on his shirt. He gave her a slow smile.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s nice.”
Samuel lowered his arms. He agreed with Teresa. Their rooms were clean while the rear courtyard was available to hotel guests to take their meals or just relax in.
“I came to tell you that if you want, you can use the bathroom first. Just knock on my door when you’re finished.” Turning, he left as quietly as he’d come.
Teresa crossed the room, closing and locking the door behind him. She opened her single piece of luggage and withdrew a dressing gown she’d purchased with the money Samuel had given her. Liliana had accompanied her on her shopping outing, and together they’d selected several shirtwaist dresses, frilly undergarments and shoes. Before walking out of the store, she made a final purchase.
She opened the door separating their rooms. It wasn’t a bathroom, but a water closet. There was no bathtub, just a toilet and a makeshift shower.
Her heart sank. She loathed showers. When Samuel instructed her to make reservations for two with private baths, she never thought to ask if the bathroom had a tub. How was she to know? After all, this was her first business trip, and the first time she’d traveled out of the United States.
Aware that Samuel was waiting to use the bathroom, Teresa picked up a small cotton drawstring bag containing her soap, toothbrush and tooth powder. Fifteen minutes later, she knocked on the door to his room.
What she’d noticed when standing under the spray of the cool water was that there were no locks on the doors leading into the bathroom.
Samuel knocked on Teresa’s door, listening intently for movement on the other side. He knocked again.
“Are you looking for me?”
Samuel turned around, and then went completely still. He’d recognized the voice, but the woman standing before him did not look like the one who’d come to Puerto Rico with him.
Teresa Maldonado had cut her hair.
He blew out a breath. “Wow!”
The smoldering flame in Samuel’s eyes startled Teresa. She hadn’t expected his reaction to her new hairstyle. “You like it?”
Attractive lines fanned out around his dark eyes when he smiled. “Yes. You look fabulous.”
Her cheeks coloring under the heat of his gaze, Teresa touched the silver waves on the nape of her neck. “It’s going to take some getting used to.” Her heart thumped uncomfortably when Samuel continued
to stare intently at her. “You wanted to see me about something?”
He blinked once, as if coming out of a trance. “Yes…yes, I did.” Reaching inside his jacket, he handed her the cable from Rodolfo Hernandez, the plantation foreman.
Teresa translated, saying, “Will send a car and driver Tuesday. Be ready at ten. Bring work clothes and boots.”
Samuel pondered the cable. It was Saturday, which meant he and Teresa would have two full days in San Juan before they would be driven to the mountain range.
“I didn’t bring work boots,” Teresa said, handing the cable back to Samuel.
He saw her look of distress. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy you what you need. We’ll go shopping Monday.”
Her face brightened. “I like shopping.”
Throwing back his head, Samuel laughed loudly. “What woman doesn’t?”
Teresa couldn’t control the heat stealing across her face and darkening her burnished gold skin. He was laughing at her. Opening her pocketbook, she grasped her key and put it into the lock. She had to get away from Samuel before she broke down.
She doubted whether he laughed at Marguerite when she told him she was going shopping. Not Her Highness, his beautiful Cuban princess. Her hands were shaking so much that the key wouldn’t turn.
Moving closer, Samuel brushed Teresa’s hand away and turned the key. The lock opened silently. “What’s the matter?” he asked close to her ear.
Shivering from his warmth, his smell and the wall of his chest against her back, Teresa swallowed the moan quivering in her throat. Didn’t he know? Did he not know how much she loved him, wanted to lie with him?
“Nothing, Samuel,” she lied softly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The word came out in a whisper.
Curbing the urge to touch the pale strands falling in precise waves on the nape of her neck, Samuel closed his eyes for several seconds. He didn’t know what it was about Teresa Maldonado that made him reckless, reckless enough to give in to the strong passion she elicited just by sharing the same space.
“Change into something pretty,” he crooned close to her ear. “I’m taking you out. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Nodding numbly, Teresa removed the key from the lock, pushed open the door and closed it behind her without turning around. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Gasping, her breasts rising and falling as if she’d run a grueling race, she stumbled on trembling legs to the bed and fell across it.
Samuel rose to his feet, eyes wide, and stared at the vision in green seemingly floating toward him. If it hadn’t been for the pale moonlit hair, he wouldn’t have recognized Teresa Maldonado.
A dress the color of the Caribbean skimmed her body like liquid silk. The hue was the perfect complement for her complexion. Narrow straps held up a barely modest décolletage. His gaze moved down her body, caressing every inch of her bared flesh. He stared at the slender legs encased in silk and her feet in a pair of high-heel pumps. The shoes had added at least three inches to her diminutive height.
Teresa shuddered visibly under his slow, agonizing perusal. Men had stared at her, but none had ever undressed her with their eyes. Once she was back in control of her senses, she’d showered again, taking special care to pluck away any visible hair not covered by the dress. Having inherited her father’s light hair color had its advantages. A light dusting of face powder, a few strokes of a gray eyebrow pencil, black mascara applied only to the tips of her lashes, and a coat of dark red lipstick completed her makeup application. She and Liliana had experimented over and over applying makeup until they achieved what they thought were perfect results. She knew not to use dark colors on her eyes because they made her look possessed.
Smiling, she curtsied gracefully. “Pretty enough?”
Samuel took her left hand, raised it to his mouth, and kissed the back of it. “You are incredible.”
Teresa lost count of the number of times he’d said she was incredible, and she wanted to ask him incredible how. Was he drawn to her because he thought her pretty, smart, or because she was a woman? She prayed it was the latter.
Lowering her lashes, she smiled. “Thank you, Samuel.”
Tightening his grip on her hand, Samuel tucked it into the bend of his elbow over the jacket of his custom-tailored white linen suit. “You’re welcome, Teresa.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
She met his mysterious, dark eyes. “Where are we going?”
Running a forefinger down the length of her delicate nose, he shook his head. “No guesses. You’ll find out when we get there.”
Teresa tried extracting her hand from his firm grip. “Wait a minute, Samuel Cole. How did you make arrangements to go somewhere when you admit to not speaking Spanish?”
Samuel smiled and angled his head. “I told you I can’t carry on an in-depth conversation, but I do know enough to ask where’s a good place to eat.” Teresa gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him. “We’re going to El Café Americano. It’s a place not far from here, and a lot of Americans from the States congregate there. It’s also a popular hangout for sailors on shore leave. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
She flashed a sensual moue. “A little.”
“What else are you curious about, Chica?”
A slight frown furrowed Teresa’s smooth forehead. Was he calling her Chica because he thought of her as a little girl, or was it an endearment? Her frown faded as quickly as it’d appeared. She did not want to ruin her time with Samuel by questioning and analyzing everything he did or said.
“Nada, Papi,” she teased.
It was Samuel’s turn to frown. “I’m not old enough to be your father.”
Teresa pressed her body to his. Tilting her chin, she gave him a long, penetrating stare. “I know that. I used it as a como se dice, a sweet nothing.”
“Like Chica?”
“Sí, Papi.”
“Que bueno,” Samuel countered, grinning from ear to ear.
El Café Americano was crowded with Americans from the mainland, and those who’d made the island their home since Congress passed the Jones Act in 1917, making Puerto Rico a U.S. territory and its inhabitants U.S. citizens.
Samuel wound an arm around Teresa’s waist, holding her close to his side in an attempt to protect her from the crush of bodies waiting to be seated inside the popular dining establishment. The sound of a live band playing a Latin rhythm competed with loud voices speaking English and Spanish.
The promulgation of the Volstead Act extended to the island, but alcohol flowed as freely as water. It was obvious the owners of the establishment had paid off federal agents to look the other way.
“Do you want something to drink?” he whispered, his warm, moist breath sweeping over Teresa’s ear.
She peered at the glasses of those waiting to be seated, filled with a liquid that looked like milk. The well-dressed men were boisterous, laughing loudly while telling ribald jokes. After a few sips of the beverage, their attractive female companions laughed and flirted shamelessly. There was no doubt they were feeling very good.
“Yes.” She’d said yes when she’d never drunk anything alcoholic in her life, and because she did not want Samuel to see her as a gauche ingénue. She’d cut her hair to appear older and sophisticated.
Samuel patted her back. “Don’t run away.”
Teresa watched Samuel weave his way through the throng. What did he mean, don’t run away? She could not imagine running away from Samuel—not now, not ever.
Samuel sat at a small, round table with Teresa, mesmerized by her transformation. The sleek hairdo had replaced the matronly bun, and the silk dress that teased more than covered had taken the place of her perpetual white blouse and shapeless skirt. The effects of the coquito, a tropical eggnog, was evident by her lowered lids, parted lips and high color in her cheeks.
He knew if he did not get her up, she was going to fall asleep. Rising, he came around the table and eas
ed her to her feet. “Let’s go, Chica.”
“No, Samuel. We can’t go yet.”
“Why not?”
Teresa pressed her breasts to his chest, eliciting a soft gasp from him. “The band is wonderful, and we haven’t danced together.”
Everything and everyone at the restaurant was wonderful: the friendly staff and patrons; the food; the music; and a “moonshine” rum the locals called canita, or mample. They’d shared a platter of carne empanadas, lechon asado, tostones de platano and a stuffed avocado salad.
Samuel stared down at the woman smiling up at him, lashes feathering over the top of her high cheekbones. His gaze, soft as a caress, followed the outline of her full, lush mouth, the short, straight nose and the arching sweep of her tawny eyebrows.
“Do you really want to dance—here?”
Teresa sobered immediately. She was under the influence of the delicious rum-laced eggnog but not enough to be intoxicated. Leaning closer, her breasts flattening against his chest, she wound her arms around his waist inside his jacket. Samuel’s body heat burned her palms through his shirt. He was on fire!
“Where do you want to dance, Papi?” she crooned, her voice lowering to a purr.
Aware that he’d become a willing participant in a web of seduction in which even if there had been a way to escape, he did not want to.
Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth over hers. “Back at the hotel.”
Rising on tiptoe, Teresa opened her mouth, kissing Samuel in a way she’d practiced countless times whenever she pressed her lips to the mirror in her bedroom. She’d perfected an open-and-closed-mouth kiss until she could perform the action at will.
Samuel jerked as if he’d been burned with a red-hot poker. His eyes alone betrayed his ardor. Not taking his gaze off Teresa, he reached into his pocket and dropped a bill on the table.
He rested a hand in the small of her back as a vaguely sensuous light passed between them. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Best Kept Secrets Page 30
