by Various
He reached out and ruffed the boy’s thick black hair, gaining a broad smile for his effort. “She worries overmuch.”
The boy bobbed his head. “Sí. It is the way with women,” the boy said, and Miguel bit back a smile at the boy’s astuteness.
His madre was always fretting over something—usually the fact that he’d refused to divorce and marry again. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate the fact he’d brought his wife back home—in that Allegra was correct.
Miguel walked to the rear of the SUV just as Allegra opened the passenger door. The boy, who’d been shadowing him, peeked around the back of the car.
The boy’s mouth dropped open. “Señora Vandohrn? Is it really you?”
“Yes, Juan,” she said. “My, look how you’ve grown.”
“Sí, I am fourteen years now,” Juan said, puffing his scrawny chest out. “The man of the house, my madre says.”
“Your mother is lucky to have you,” Allegra said, and there was no mistaking the sad tone that crept into her voice.
“Gracias!” Juan glanced at Miguel as if unsure how to proceed with the former lady of the house.
Miguel hefted a wheeled pilot case from his SUV. “Take señora’s baggage to the master suite.”
“Sí, señor.” Juan latched on to the case and flashed a wide smile at Allegra whose face now glowed with color. “It is good you are home, señora.”
Her smile stretched tight. “Thank you, Juan.”
No sooner had the boy disappeared into the house when Allegra rounded on him. “There is bound to be talk about why I’ve returned after six months.”
“I care nothing about gossip.”
“I do,” she said. “So will your mother.”
Her voice had risen on the last two words, carrying an annoyed note that scraped bloody gouges along his nerves. “You are my wife. There is no need for explanations on why you are here with me.”
“God forbid if word got out that I was forced to come here,” she said, chin raised.
He yanked his carry-on from the SUV and slammed the door so hard she flinched. “As I recall you welcomed me with open arms last night on the terrace.”
A deeper crimson flooded her cheeks. “I didn’t invite you above stairs.”
¡Bravo! She’d gouged him again, like a bull would gore a careless matador. And he had been careless with her!
He gave a sharp nod to admit as much and pointed to the door that opened onto the portico. “You know the way. Let’s get inside before the storm hits.”
He cynically wondered which storm would cause more destruction. The one that battered the peninsula, or the tempest that would descend on his family.
CHAPTER SIX
ALLEGRA turned on legs that wobbled, dreading each step that took her closer to the house. She’d loved this historic hacienda when she’d first laid eyes on it, but her first few days living here as Miguel’s bride convinced her she was nothing more than a visitor. An unwelcome one in her mother-in-law’s hostile eyes.
But Miguel never noticed, and when she brought it to his attention, he confronted his mother who swore Allegra had misunderstood.
After all, a pregnancy rendered a woman supersensitive to everything. That was the end of it.
Or was it?
Her head hurt from the stress of coming here. Trying to dredge up old memories would only make it worse.
Quintilla Barrosa y Gutierrez stepped in front of Allegra. “You dare to come back here?”
As usual, the woman didn’t attempt to hide her animosity.
“I have every right to visit my daughter’s grave,” Allegra said.
“You should have done so before now,” Señora Barrosa said, flushing as Miguel strode into the foyer.
“What is this?” Miguel’s dark eyes narrowed.
“After what she did, how could you bring her here?” his mother asked.
“She is mi esposa.”
His mother released a snort of disbelief. “If you have brought her here to stay, then I will leave.”
“You will stay here at the hacienda until the danger of the storm has passed. ¿Queda claro?”
Challenge flared in her dark eyes, but she gave a curt nod. “Very well. For you I will tolerate her for this short visit.”
With a lift of her chin, his mother marched off toward the sala. Her heels clicked an angry staccato on the terra cotta tiles.
“She’s right, you know,” Allegra said. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.”
“I disagree. You want closure? Then look for it here where you chose to end our marriage.”
If only she could. “I’ll be in my room,” she said, and started up the stairs, desperate for rest, for time alone to sort this out in her mind.
“Our room,” he said to her back, but she continued walking up the wide stairs as if she didn’t hear him.
As if she could voice a reply after that arrogant statement! Her body hummed at the thought of sharing a room with Miguel.
Last night had been another wondrous reminder of what they’d had together. She hadn’t realized how starved she was for his touch, his kiss, his possession.
But the second he’d embraced her and branded her with his kiss, she’d gone up in flames of desire. The burn still lingered, a hell she’d endured on the drive up for all she’d had to do was reach over and touch him as she’d longed to do. All she had to do was beg him to finish what he’d started.
He’d take her again, she thought as she stepped into the master suite. Though the bed was enormous, it looked cozy in this glorious room dressed in rich reds and gold. Even in the semidark of a storm-cloaked dusk, the suite quivered with a vibrancy that left her trembling.
She crossed to the window, her steps in tempo with the distant rumbling thunder. The storm would hit soon, an hour at the most. But until it did, the garden was bathed in a surreal glow. More vivid and sensual than the priceless paintings that were displayed in the Gutierrez private gallery.
Her gaze drifted across the clipped lawn and paused at the aged bathhouse before moving on to the Mayan hut authentically restored and protected.
In this Miguel excelled, for he’d done all in his power to protect the ancient heritage that his ancestors had nearly stamped out when they came here to conquer this new world. If he’d just been able to shore up and protect his marriage as well.
She shook her head as the distant henequen-processing chimney peeked above a lush wall of shrubs. Sisal, the green gold of Mexico, tripled the Gutierrez family wealth. But it was Miguel who became the first billionaire.
She looked away, only to have the Moorish facade of the chapel loom into view. It ceased serving as the religious home to the family and workers when the sisal empire fell.
But as all his family before him, she and Miguel were married there. All his ancestors were buried in the cemetery. Their daughter as well?
She stood at the window a moment longer, trembling inside with the awful emptiness of loss. The wind whined through the eaves, sounding like a child’s whimper. Her child.
With a curse, she rushed from the room and took the back stairs to the kitchen. Thunder rumbled a warning as she burst outside and ran the length of the portico.
The wind whipped her hair and shoved at her, as if trying to push her back into the house.
Allegra would have none of it. She’d been denied visiting her daughter’s grave. She’d gladly steal this moment before the storm drove her back to the house and shelter. Back to Miguel and his dark suspicions and darker passions.
She ran across the lush lawn toward the Moorish keyhole opening carefully cut into the acacia hedge. An adobe wall painted lavender-blue stretched toward the chapel facade where a bell still hung in the uppermost arched belfry.
An iron gate fashioned in the same old world Moorish charm closed off the cemetery. She fought open the catch, then pushed with all her might to open the gate enough to slip inside.
The wind ripped it from her grasp and banged it sh
ut with a resounding clack of metal. The sound vibrated through her, but a deeper tremor threatened to bring her to her knees.
She stared at the headstones rising like sentries over the dead. Lichen clung to the majority of old ones.
One brighter marble stone stood out from the other. A seraphim with wings arched gazed serenely heavenward, as if beseeching God to protect the precious life entombed within.
“Cristobel,” she whispered, the name stolen away by the wind.
Her breath caught, her heart hammering so hard she was dizzy. This was what nine months of waiting and excited devotion came down to. Standing over the grave of her child. Knowing it was her fault that this life had been taken, knowing that no matter what she did she’d never be able to change what happened that fateful night.
Lightning struck in the jungle and lit the sky overhead, the thunder booming a nanosecond later as if in agreement. A part of her recognized the danger in staying here, but the wounded part of her didn’t care.
She’d lost what mattered most to her. There was simply nothing left to lose.
Allegra crossed the thick carpet of clipped grass to the grave and knelt.
Cristobel Yolande Maneula Vandohrn y Gutterierz Beloved daughter of Allegra Vandohrn and Miguel Hernando Barrosa de Gutierrez
The words blurred before her eyes, the finality of this slicing into her heart with brutal force. She’d had her daughter one month—one month.
It was still so hard to believe any of this had happened. Cristobel’s death. Her surgeries and memory loss. Miguel’s estrangement.
A clap of thunder gave her headache new energy. She swiped the tears from her eyes and read the rest of the inscription aloud.
“A treasure beyond worth.” Her voice caught on the last.
It was apt, for nothing on this earth would ever come close to meaning more to her than her daughter. Coming here didn’t change anything.
Closure would take time, for this was all new to her. She couldn’t just drop by once and expect to feel vindicated. She’d need time to put this part of her life behind her and move on. Time was the one thing she was in short supply of.
Lightning arrowed to the ground again and thunder boomed in its wake. The ground trembled just as the first fat raindrops splattered the marble.
She reached a trembling hand out and traced the droplets over the cold stone, desperate to feel a connection to her daughter again, but feeling nothing but hard marble.
It wasn’t right because at times she could hear her daughter’s last pained cries, still recognize the terror in that baby’s voice. Had she suffered? She wished she knew, for the torment of thinking the worse robbed her of sleep, of peace, of believing she’d ever grant herself the smallest forgiveness.
Her fingers curled, the nails scraping over the cold marble. A sob caught in her throat, another following close behind. She bent her head and hugged her middle, aching so badly she wanted to die.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, over and over until she could no longer form words, until nothing escaped her but agonized whispers that echoed in her heart.
No, there’d be no closure here. She didn’t want to forget what had happened.
She wanted to remember the fiery love she’d shared with Miguel. The love that had swelled her heart when she’d held her baby girl in her arms. The love that had promised forever, yet ended far too soon.
A masculine shoulder brushed hers, and energy skittered over her skin like an electrical charge. “You shouldn’t be here,” Miguel said, kneeling beside her, his voice a fathomless depth of emotion she’d never heard before.
She looked at him and her heart squeezed painfully. His handsome face was deadly somber, the dark, mesmerizing eyes sheened with moisture and mirroring a grief that rivaled her own.
She’d never believed this strong man capable of tears, yet the evidence was right before her. That vulnerability speared her heart and sank into her soul, leaving her trembling to reach out to him. To comfort him. To share their loss.
“I don’t know how to say goodbye to her,” she said.
He was silent a long time. “The Mayan believe the dead ascend into a higher being,” he said. “Cristobel is in the stage of purification, but she hears us, sees us.”
“Do you believe that?”
He shrugged, and his handsome face gave nothing away of his feelings. “I believe she is at peace.”
Which was more than she could say for them.
“Come. You can talk with her another time. The storm is nearly upon us,” he said.
He was wrong, for the storm had raged within them both for six months. It was anyone’s guess if they’d come out of this unscathed, or if this fragile bond would be forever shattered.
Miguel shoved the crippling sense of loss to the far reaches of his mind. Coming here alone was one thing. Coming here with Allegra laid bare emotions he refused to let her see.
The wind gusted and tore at the trees, shredding leaves in a green shower. But it wasn’t until a lamina tore off the roof of a shed and catapulted over the old henequen factory that he realized the storm was far stronger than expected.
He grabbed Allegra’s hand. “We must seek shelter now.”
She kept up with him as they ran across the lawn. They were nowhere near the house when the sky opened up and the cold, hard rain pelted them.
He could barely stand up against the wind and hold on to Allegra. With effort he pulled her into the private bathhouse behind the villa. The door slammed shut behind them, and he bolted it so it wouldn’t blow open and rip off the hinges.
A bolt of lightning lit up the interior through the clerestory windows, reflecting off the blue mosaic tiles like strikes of cobalt fire. Even the water in the pool glimmered with a surreal light.
A deception, for danger danced around them with every labored breath, each nervous glance. They could end up here for hours.
Alone.
¡Maldita sea! He must have gone loco, for why else would he seek sanctuary with a woman who roused something torrid and primal in him. A woman who tormented his sleep six months after she’d deserted him.
A woman he wanted with each breath he drew.
He ached to sink into her again and relive the heat and passion of their early marriage. He wanted his wife back and to hell with revenge, but that was a fool’s way and he was no fool.
She’d used him. Now, he’d use her.
“If, as you say, you’ve been celibate the past six months,” he said as he went about lighting old wall sconces, for if the power weren’t already out, it would be soon, “your needs must be great.”
“Back to that, are we?”
“It is a subject I’m most interested in. Now, when was the last time you made love?”
She stared at him with a detached air that he found arousing, as if she were challenging him to make a move. Good. The chase was on!
“You know when.”
His blood stirred at her implication, but he wouldn’t be so beguiled. “How could I know when you and Riveras made love? Or have you moved beyond him now?”
“I never let him touch me,” she snapped, and then after expelling a deep breath, added, “The last time I made love was with you when I was just eight months pregnant.”
And hours afterward, he’d had to rush her to the doctor due to contractions and the fear the baby was coming early. That was the last time he’d made love to her, and the last time he’d slept with her.
He shrugged in reply, for he had no wish to continue lobbing accusations of fidelity or lack thereof back and forth. That was over and done with.
“We could have made it back to the house,” she said, and turned away from him to fluff her damp hair, the motion emphasizing her pert breasts.
“It was too dangerous to try.”
Yet didn’t a far different danger lurk here in the tranquil confines of the bathhouse? A haven for lovers, he’d once called this place when he’d first brought Allegra here.
; He’d fallen helplessly under her spell then. She was an enchantress, a pagan goddess who’d danced naked in the moonlight with him. She’d do so again, but this time he’d remain in control!
“So since we are discussing our sexual history,” she said as she strolled the perimeter of the pool. “When was the last time you made love?”
Ah, that had the distinct ring of jealousy to it. “I would not know the exact date.”
“Take a guess,” she said.
He spread his arms wide. “I am not the type man who talks about his conquests with his wife.”
“No, you are the type man who doesn’t chat about anything with his wife,” she said, bitterness ringing in her voice.
“What is there to discuss?”
“The way you’ve always shut me out of your business life,” she said. “Have you always done that with your women?”
He stiffened, resenting that “your women” remark which made him sound like he had a harem at his disposal. “I told you I do not mix business with my personal life.”
“Ah, but your life is your business.”
He had no comeback for that, for in some ways it was true. Or at least he had been before Cristobel’s birth.
He’d known then when he’d looked at his beautiful niña that he wanted to spend private time with his family. He wanted to spend time with his wife, but before he could make that drastic change in his life, she ran off.
“I made the mistake of discussing my business plans to my lover,” he said, giving her a bit of insight into his reasoning because he was tired of her harping about this desire to talk about anything and everything he did in a day. “I vowed never to do it again.”
“Why? Did she trade company secrets or something?”
“Sí. She closed on the deal I had been working on.” He dropped the louver for a window into place and secured it with two iron hooks, blocking the remnants of light but not the bitter memory of being young and green and trusting of a woman.
“Who was she?” she asked.
He debated all of two seconds whether to tell her. Why the hell not? She’d likely guess it anyway.
“Tara McClendon,” he said.
