I laughed, relived that he wasn’t angry. “I’m sorry, Diego,” I said. “I don’t want to stop, but—”
“Stop? Are you mad?” He flicked up two fingers. Between them, he held a foil packet. “Nothing will ruin our first time.”
I flopped back onto my pillow as my anticipation returned. “Thank God.”
“Thank me for being prepared. El Señor has nada to do with it.” With a sexy grin, he used his teeth to tear open the packaging. “Still ready for me?”
I sighed happily up at the ceiling. “I’ve been ready.”
“Get under the covers,” he said, drawing back the comforter.
I slipped between the sheets. He rolled on the condom and climbed in after me. “Kiss me,” he said from above.
I lifted my head to meet his lips. We each took a breath, and then he opened my mouth with his, running his tongue over mine, nipping my bottom lip. He grasped the side of my neck, his thumb caressing my throat as he deepened the kiss.
“Are you still wet?” he murmured, lowering a hand to touch me. I spread my legs for him, and he found his answer there. “Good, my love. Very good. I love you, Natalia.”
I nodded, struggling to speak as I prepared my mind and body for what was to come. “I love you too.”
I held my breath as he lined himself up between my hips, then fisted the sheets as he began to press inside me. “Good?” he asked.
My body resisted at first, but with a push, he slid in partway, and I exhaled with relief. Any pain I might’ve experienced was non-existent under Diego’s care. “Yes, weird.”
His eyebrows rose. “Weird?”
I covered my mouth. I’d meant to agree with him. It was good, of course. I was exactly where I wanted to be. But in a way, it was also strange. I had dreamed of this moment, worried it might never come. Diego had always been around, watching over me, protecting and shielding me. I remembered looking up to him as a girl, too young to recognize I was falling in love with my best friend.
And then realizing he was more than a best friend.
He was a man, and I was head over heels for him. I hadn’t come down to Earth since; I was still floating on cloud nine.
In his green eyes, I saw everything—a past that consisted of pain and support and unconditional love. A present that added to the framework of our promising future. He’d looked upon me this same way many times, with hope and tenderness.
“We’ve known each other so long. We’ve talked about this and now we’re doing it—what I’m trying to say is . . .” I glanced away. Weird? I felt silly I’d picked the wrong word to describe this.
He turned my face back to his and pecked me. “Keep going. Tell me every thought you have in that beautiful brain.”
I smiled a little as my muscles loosened, and I relaxed deeper into the mattress. “The weird part is that being with you now isn’t as strange as my friends said the first time would be. I’m . . . I’m happy.”
“I know you are,” he said. “I recognize my own feelings in your eyes.”
He slipped his arms under me to cradle my shoulders as he nuzzled my cheek. He pressed his lips there, then to the corner of my mouth.
I wrapped my legs around him and urged him deeper.
“You’ve been one of the only constants in my life,” he said. “There were times even Costa overlooked me. But you, well . . . your love continues to anchor me.”
“And me,” I said.
He relaxed on top of me, giving me more of his body weight—he finally let go. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he entered me completely. He stayed rooted there a moment as our breath synced, then drew back and drove inside me. I bit my bottom lip, expecting some kind of pain, but it only felt right. And his first plunge only made me crave the next.
As I picked up the rhythm of his lovemaking, I met his thrusts with my hips. Each move he made came with a tender caress or a look of askance, making sure I was comfortable. He was every inch the gentleman, but I sensed there was also a hunger for me he kept bridled so as not to hurt me. I looked forward to unleashing that passion in him.
His drives became hungrier, faster, harder. His hand slipped between us and he knew just the right place to touch me to bring me to the edge. He looked down on me, arresting my gaze. Any time I got shy or my lids started to fall shut with pleasure, he called me back. The electricity between us crackled, pulling me out of this world and into a deeper state of love with him. It was just us, nothing else existed, and suddenly my body was spasming, drawing him deeper, contracting around him as he shuddered and came along with me.
Neither of us moved for a while, and I didn’t want it any other way. My only desire was to stay in Diego’s embrace and receive the love he showered on me.
To be with him for as long as time would allow.
And to bask in the glow of knowing that in only two nights, I’d officially be a de la Rosa.
19
Natalia
Church bells pealed overhead as Pilar and I navigated our way to the church. We opened the gate, passed the garden, and found an unlocked door in back.
How Diego had secured the church so quickly, and on Easter, I had no idea, but he’d sent word that someone would come for me when it was time.
Inside, I found us an empty room with some chairs and a full-length mirror. I set down a garment bag and tote, disturbing a cloud of dust motes that sparkled in the light coming from gothic-style windows.
“Can you get out my dress?” I asked Pilar, unpinning my hair since I’d put it up to set.
“Why are we here?” She unzipped the bag.
My hair fell to my waist in large shiny black curls. I looked at Pilar in the mirror. “Because I’m getting married today.”
She froze, her hand in the bag. Slowly, she withdrew a cream lace dress. “What?”
I turned and unzipped my Easter dress to shimmy out of it. “It’s a long story, but Diego’s in danger.”
“And?”
“And a wedding will get him out of it.” I reached for the bridal gown. “Hand me that.”
“Get him out?” she asked, handing me the slinky lace. “Or bring you in?”
I waved a hand. “We have a plan.”
“Natalia . . .” She made a noise akin to a whimper. “It’s just, I know how important marriage is to you, and that you’ve dreamed of having a beautiful ceremony with all of your family there. You can’t do it as part of a plan.”
I stepped into the long dress and slipped my arms into its full sleeves. “I want to marry him,” I said, walking over to take her hands. “It’s not just a plan. If it works, I’ll save Diego. If it doesn’t . . .”
Pilar paled. “What?”
Then at least Diego and I would have this day together.
Heaviness weighed on my chest. I didn’t want today to be anything other than perfect, though. I took a cleansing breath and forced the thought away with a smile. “I’ll be Diego’s wife, Pila, and our two families combined will be too powerful to challenge.”
She frowned. “Exactly what kind of danger is he in?”
My body tightened, but I focused on survival. I needed to keep positive thoughts and prayers for all of us. I drew my hair over one shoulder and turned, then frowned at the black strappy heels on my feet. “Damn. I forgot to bring my silver shoes. Will you do me up?”
“Where’d you even find a gown this late?” she asked, moving behind me to start with the bottom button.
“It was my mother’s.” I admired the dress in the mirror. The high-necked ivory bodice was fitted but not tight, and the lace around my neck was intricately crafted. The dress had buttons all the way from my lower back to my nape.
“Costa doesn’t mind that you’re wearing this?”
“He doesn’t know. I had to sneak the dress out.”
Pilar touched her forehead. “Dios mío, if Costa finds out I helped, he’ll put me in the grave.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be the last thing on his mind. He’ll be eith
er too relieved to care, or he’ll kill Diego—which I hope he doesn’t, because we’re going through a lot of trouble to keep him safe from the Maldonados.”
“The Maldonados?” She muttered something and made the sign of the cross. “That’s who he’s in trouble with?”
“Sí. It’s scary, I know. That’s why we have to go to extreme lengths.”
“Hopefully they involve una bruja. He’ll need black magic to immortalize himself if he has upset them. Or to resurrect him from the grave.”
When she’d done the last button, I turned in the mirror. The dress just grazed the tops of my heels. I frowned. “It’s too short.”
Pilar squatted to inspect the hem. “I can let it out quickly. It won’t be perfect, but because of the lace, you won’t be able to tell much.”
Pilar got a sewing kit from my bag, squatted at my feet with a seam ripper and did her best to lengthen it. “You won’t miss having Costa walk you down the aisle?” she asked.
I didn’t have to consider my answer. I would, of course. The thought of it had been plaguing me for days. “Yes,” I admitted. “But once Diego and I are safe and everything is as it should be, we’ll have a real wedding and a huge celebration, hopefully in California.” I could envision it perfectly, a cliffside resort where we could have an outdoor ceremony in late summer as the sun set on the water, then a reception on a dancefloor strung with lights. “You can be my maid of honor. I’ll throw you the bouquet so I can set you up with a handsome American.”
“A gringo?” she asked, incredulous.
“Bueno, un chicano.”
She smiled a little. “What about Manu?”
“You’re too good for him,” I said, but I knew there was slim chance of getting Pilar out of the marriage her parents were hell-bent on arranging.
She waggled her dark eyebrows as she tugged on the lace. “Are you ready for your wedding night?”
I failed to suppress my smile. I shouldn’t tell Pilar what Diego and I had done, but I was too giddy. “We already had it.”
Her mouth fell open. “¿En serio? Really?”
I nodded hard. “Friday night, he stayed with me.”
Her eyes widened. She lowered her voice. “At your dad’s house? How was it?”
“Magical. He was such a gentleman, and made sure I enjoyed every second.” I searched her face for judgment. When she didn’t respond, I continued, “People say your first time is bad, but it didn’t hurt at all.”
“Well, that’s the most you can ask for.”
I agreed. There was a great deal of passion between Diego and me that we hadn’t even explored because he’d been holding back so as not to hurt me. I could only imagine that next time, we’d be tearing off each other’s clothes like animals. “It was perfect.”
Pilar sat back on her heels. “How’s that?”
The dress swung at the bottoms of my heels. “Better. What am I missing?”
“A bouquet.”
I gasped, covering my mouth. “I completely forgot.”
“Just take something from the garden,” she said.
I glanced out the window. “Do you think Father Rios will mind?”
“Without the money your family has donated, there’d be no garden at all.”
“There’s a flowerbed out there in my mother’s name.”
Pilar came up behind me and rubbed my back. “She’s here now. I’m sure of it. Anyway, without a bouquet, you’d be offending the Virgin of Guadalupe.”
“Ah, verdad. I need an offering in exchange for her blessing.” I removed my shoes, gathered up my dress, and walked across the lawn behind the church. Sparrows chirped in the trees as I entered the garden that bore roses, lilies, marigolds, dahlias . . .
I closed my eyes and breathed in their fragrance, curling my toes in the springy, freshly cut grass before I picked red roses and white lilies and arranged them into a small bouquet.
I glanced up at a hovering monarch butterfly. I’d never seen a rare, elusive white one, and likely never would, but nonetheless, I stopped to appreciate this one in all its colorful beauty. It passed over the roses and landed in a ray of sunshine atop a lone group of marigolds.
I smiled to myself until it hit me—marigolds were the flower of the dead. “Mami?” I whispered.
It wasn’t the season for monarchs, not like autumn. They’d been everywhere during my mother’s funeral, so close to Día de los Muertos. As a girl, I remembered each year when they’d migrate south from the States and Canada in awe-inspiring kaleidoscopes through town—especially dazzling in our yard where Mamá had planted milkweed. I regretted how she and I had captured them just to feel their wings flutter against our palms. How must it have felt to be trapped?
The same as my mother had in her final moments?
“Lo siento mucho, Mamá,” I said, my throat thick. “I’m sorry.”
I hated to admit that I understood what Diego had meant when he’d spoken of a deeply buried desire to avenge his parents’ deaths. It was the kind of thing I never poked at for fear of awakening a thirst for revenge only the life of my mother’s murderer could quench. And that was why I’d tried to leave this life behind. Family bonds, wealth, vengeance, and violence—it was a vicious cycle of sins and pain. I was still leaving, I told myself. Not now, not yet, but when things had settled, Diego and I would have our fresh start anywhere but here.
The butterfly fluttered her wings. “What is it?” I asked.
What wish was she trying to deliver? Or was it a message? A breeze passed through the garden, ruffling leaves. I realized I was gripping the stems of my bouquet, and a thorn had pricked my finger. I sucked my fingertip and tasted metallic just as I got the sudden sensation I was being watched. I glanced around, but nobody was there.
Thoughts of my mother, and hope that she was looking down on me, should’ve brought happiness, but suddenly, a sense of dread permeated the fragrant air.
The wind picked up, and the monarch flew off through the trees. I watched until she was out of sight. In the distance, the sky had darkened to a deep blue-gray, the way it only did in the desert when a storm approached.
I wished my mother was here to see me exchange vows today, but since she wasn’t, I would carry her with me into the church. I squatted down to add the marigold the butterfly had landed on, the most brilliant of the bunch, to my bouquet.
I didn’t doubt she’d bless my union with Diego or that she’d be at the church today in whichever form she took. She would have understood my urgency, my passion. She had loved deeply too and had given up a family to gain one.
She had known Diego was worth saving as a child, and had taken him in. She would approve, I knew it.
The bird above my head stopped chirping and flew away the same instant a shadow moved over me. Two dirt-sodden boots stopped beside me, inciting a memory from eleven years earlier I often tried to forget. Blood-splattered boots and a Glock in the devil’s grip. I raised my eyes, hoping to finally meet Diego, but half-expecting Cristiano. I dropped my bouquet with a gasp.
A man with pockmarked skin, scraggly, graying hair, and an angry, diagonal scar across his face looked back at me. “They’re ready for you in the church, Miss Natalia.”
He was hard to look at, ugly as sin, scowling even as he smiled—the stuff of nightmares. I swallowed dryly. “Who are you?”
In one hand, he held a gun at his hip. With the other, he ran a fingernail between two of his teeth and then inspected it. “I’m just s’posed to take you in.”
He leaned down, and I flinched, shooting out my hand to catch myself before I fell back in the dirt. He picked up my bouquet, dusted soil from the lilies, and held it out to me. “Don’t wanna forget this.”
I brushed off my hands, clutched the bouquet to my breast, and hurried back to the church. Pilar waited out front with my shoes and a lace mantilla veil, looking uneasy.
“Who is that?” she asked, helping me back into my heels. “He came looking for you.”
“I
don’t know,” I answered.
She held up the veil and draped the ivory Spanish lace over my hair and shoulders but off my face. “I’ve never seen him before,” she whispered.
I glanced over my shoulder to where he waited by the door. “Diego sent you?” I asked.
“Da.”
Da. Yes.
Did my father have any Russians on his payroll? It could’ve been, though I didn’t recall any.
The man stepped forward and held out a small black box with a white satin bow. “From your intended.”
I exchanged a look with Pilar, and the pit in my stomach dissolved. What was Diego up to? With renewed excitement, I took the present, slid off the ribbon, removed the top—and inhaled a sharp breath at the familiar rosary inside.
“What is it?” Pilar asked.
My eyes watered as I handed her the box and held up the gold chain of rubies and pearls. I ran my fingers over the Sacred Heart center and intricate gilt crucifix. “It’s an exact replica of my mother’s.” I shook my head as a tear threatened to fall. “How did he remember it so well?”
“And when did he have time to make it?” Pilar pointed out.
That was an equally impressive feat. Perhaps he’d known for some time he would give it to me on our wedding day. I held it to my heart. “Thank you,” I said to the man, who just shrugged his wide shoulders.
I looked over myself once more in the mirror. The beads spilled from my hand, and for the first time, I glimpsed the grace Barto had said I’d inherited from my mother. I could think of no better way to meet my groom.
We hurried to the front of the church, me with my head bowed, Pilar on one side and the Russian on the other. When we climbed the steps and reached the carved wooden doors, he pulled one open for us.
Bells began to chime. I had only an hour before Barto was supposed to pick me up to meet the helicopter. One hour to meet my fiancé, return with my husband, and break the news to my father.
Violent Delights (White Monarch Book 1) Page 23
