by Pamela Clare
Oh, God!
Her stretch marks.
* * *
JAVIER WASN’T SURE whether he was in heaven or hell.
He’d told Laura he wouldn’t make sexual demands of her—and he wouldn’t. But being close to her like this, holding her, kissing her, was making it a lot harder for him to keep that promise than he’d imagined. He’d made love to this woman, kissed and tasted every inch of her, been inside her. He couldn’t help but want her. He’d just begun to believe this was going somewhere when Laura went stiff in his arms.
“I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Javi. I just . . . I can’t.” She drew her towel around herself and tucked the end back into place, pulling away from him so fast she almost fell.
He reached out, caught her, his gaze locking with hers.
In her eyes, he saw genuine panic.
¡Puñeta!
“No, bella, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Heart still pounding, he fought to rein in his need for her. “I shouldn’t have—”
She held out a hand, pressed a finger to his lips. “Please don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything. It’s just that . . . It’s . . . hard to explain.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations.”
But she seemed to think she did.
She sat down by his feet, one arm across her breasts as if to make certain her towel stayed in place. “I . . . I’m just not ready for this. I’m not sure I ever will be.”
Did she think he was upset with her?
“Hey, it’s okay. You hear me? It’s okay.”
Any rage he felt was set aside for Al-Nassar and his thugs. Seeing her like this—unable to enjoy being touched, trembling out of fear when she should be trembling for a much different reason—made him wonder how easy it would be to break into the supermax facility and kill Al-Nassar. The prison was located here in Colorado outside Florence. And certainly Al-Nassar deserved it. The hijo e la gran puta had stolen something precious from her.
He willed himself to lock that anger down, to listen to what she was saying.
“You were the last man I was with before . . .”
God, he wasn’t sure he could handle hearing details of what had been done to her.
If she can live through it, you can listen to it, cabrón.
But she didn’t go there.
“When you left that morning, a part of me wished we’d exchanged numbers or e-mail addresses. I thought I’d use the postcard as an excuse to track you down. I thought I’d have time to . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut, turned her face away from him.
He’d felt the same way. He’d thought there’d be time, too.
But then she’d been gone.
“Dubai was special to me, Javi. You’re special to me.” She opened her eyes. “Being close to you like this after all these years . . . The way you make me feel . . . I want to get closer to you, and that scares me.”
So he hadn’t been misreading her signals when he’d thought she was enjoying kissing him. That was good to know. “Hey, you’re safe with me. I would never push you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
“I know.” Her expression grew troubled, her hands moving to shield her lower belly. “But it won’t work. I’m . . . I’m different now.”
When she’d first told him she was different, he’d taken her to mean that she had changed emotionally. But something in the way she’d just said it, the way her hands seemed to shelter her pelvis, made him wonder whether she’d suffered physical wounds—some kind of mutilation or internal damage that made sex impossible or painful. He knew that some of the tribes in the area where she’d been held practiced genital mutilation on girls, a brutal way of ensuring chastity. And he’d heard of more than one woman maimed by rape, their insides battered to the point where sex was agony and motherhood impossible.
Could something like that have happened to Laura?
¡Carajo!
The thought made his skin shrink, something twisting in his gut.
Forget breaking into prison. Maybe he could ambush the prison transport and kill Al-Nassar before he reached Florence.
Laura went on. “As much as I wish we could go back to how things were in Dubai, I just can’t. You’d only end up getting hurt. I couldn’t bear it if I did something to destroy our memories or our friendship.”
He dropped his feet to the floor and moved to sit beside her, taking her hand in his, caressing her fingers. “That is not going to happen. Do you hear me, bella? No matter what he did to you, no matter how you’ve changed, nothing—and I mean nada—can change the way I feel about you.”
And how do you feel about her?
He wasn’t sure. He only knew he couldn’t leave her alone with this.
“Thank you.” She gave him a wobbly smile, squeezed his hand. “I should go.”
And in a heartbeat she was gone, leaving Javier alone in the heat.
* * *
LAURA LAY IN the dark, her tears spent, an ache in her chest. She’d pleaded a headache and had gone to bed early, certain that Nate and his family would enjoy some time alone with Javier. Besides, she needed to think, to make sense of what had happened in the sauna, of what she had allowed to happen.
She ran her finger over her lips, conjured up the memory of Javier’s taste, his scent, the sweet heat of his tongue teasing hers. Her pulse spiked, warmth sliding through her. But the rush of pleasure was short-lived, only to be followed by an overwhelming sense of emptiness.
She’d always been afraid that having sexual contact with a man would make her think of Al-Nassar and leave her feeling revulsion. She’d avoided men for that reason alone. But that hadn’t happened today. She hadn’t thought of that bastard once while Javier had been kissing her. Maybe the fact that she and Javier had been lovers before her abduction somehow made a difference. Or maybe Javier was such a fantastic kisser that it was impossible to think of anything else once his mouth touched hers.
Kissing him had felt like coming home, everything about it precious, familiar—his scent, his taste, his ability to make her lips burn. Yes, she had enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed it so much she’d forgotten about everything else, an almost desperate need overtaking her. Not lust. It had been far more than lust. A need to touch and be touched. A need for intimacy. A need to reclaim her sexuality, to put bad memories to rest, to feel like a woman again.
She’d sat through dinner watching Megan and Nate, catching their glances. The love in Nate’s eyes as he looked at his wife. Megan’s absolute devotion to her husband. Their shared love for little Emily, the daughter Megan had lost and reclaimed, the child Nate had adopted, not caring how she’d come into this world. And some part of Laura had dared to hope that she could have the same thing—her daughter, a man who would love Klara no matter who her biological father was, a family.
But Megan deserved her happiness. She’d fought like hell for Emily. She hadn’t turned her back and walked away from her.
Nothing—and I mean nada—can change the way I feel about you.
Javier believed that, but if he knew . . .
God, how she wished she could go to him right now. She’d walk to his room, take off her nightgown, and show him the faint silver lines on her belly. She could tell him how she’d turned her back and left her two-month-old baby girl in the hands of terrorists to flee with the SEALs.
He would stare at her, a horrified look on his face, and he’d ask questions.
Yes, of course, she’d known the baby girl was hers. How could she not? What woman could carry a baby for nine months and not realize she was pregnant? Or give birth on a dirty floor and not understand that she’d just had a baby? She would have to be crazy, wouldn’t she?
Wouldn’t she?
Laura rolled onto her side, a bitter torrent of regret surging through her, followed by an overwhelming sense of loathing for the weak, broken woman she’d been. If only she’d taken time to think before she’d run. If only she’d grabbed Klara from Safiya’s arms. If only she’d told the SEALs.
If only . . .
Whatever mistreatment Klara suffered, she suffered because of Laura.
Oh, Klara, I’m so sorry! I am so sorry!
Laura’s cell phone rang, startling her, making her gasp.
She sat and reached for it. “This is Laura.”
“Hi, Laura.”
Her heart gave a thud.
Derek Tower.
“What—”
“Here’s what’s going to happen. Tomorrow, you’re going to find out that the U.S. Marshal Service has taken me off its list of fugitives and issued an apology. You’ll read in the paper how I offered to consult with federal authorities on the car bombing in an effort to help them find whoever it is who wants to kill you, and you’ll issue a statement thanking me for my help.” He paused for a moment. “Okay, maybe not that last bit, but the rest of it will happen. Then you and I are going to meet face-to-face and have a nice, long conversation about the good old days in Pakistan.”
Her temper kicked in. “So you’re psychic now as well as psycho?”
“You disappoint me, Ms. Nilsson. I had you figured for a smart chick, but maybe what they say about blondes is true. Or maybe it’s that bump you took on the head. Do you really believe I’m mixed up with terrorists and trying to kill you?”
If he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done it that night in her car. Then again, he’d gone away angry that night.
“Are you?”
“I want the truth about why my men are dead. Since you’re the key to my getting that info, terminating you wouldn’t make much sense, would it?”
Laura started to answer, only to realize Tower had already ended the call.
CHAPTER
11
THEY STAYED UP at the Cimarron for the rest of the week. Surrounded by the stillness of the mountains and the hospitality of the West family, Laura felt herself begin to relax. She slept away hours of each day, likely a result of the concussion, spending the rest of her time getting to know her hosts, savoring Jack’s amazing home-cooked meals, and enjoying the fresh mountain air.
While Javier helped Nate tend the ranch’s horses and its herd of Angus, Laura spent time with Megan and Emily. She found herself fascinated by Emily’s sunny smile, her quick mind, and her imagination, whether Emily was trying to braid her hair, drawing pictures with crayons at the kitchen table, or showing Laura how to feed treats to her favorite horse, a big palomino gelding named Buckwheat. Watching Megan and Emily together put an ache in Laura’s chest, the love between mother and child sharpening her regret—and her determination.
That was how it would be for her and Klara one day.
Laura and Megan had lots of time to talk. Laura found that despite the dramatic differences in their upbringings, she felt a deep connection to Megan, the violence they’d survived marking them as women in such a way that their differences didn’t matter. How strange that something horrible could lay a foundation for friendship.
Time seemed to stand still up at the Cimarron. After reporting Derek Tower’s call to Zach, she’d turned off her cell phone and wasn’t even checking messages. Apart from checking in with her mother via e-mail a couple of times, she ignored the Internet, too. She didn’t want to know what was going on in the world. Monday would come soon enough and with it a return to so many things she didn’t want to think about. Besides, there were too many fun distractions here.
On Wednesday, they went on a sleigh ride, Laura and Javier sitting in the back under a warm wool blanket while Nate held the reins, Megan and Emily beside him.
On Thursday, she went cross-country skiing for the first time in years, sticking to easy terrain both because she was out of practice and because she didn’t want to fall and bump her head again. On Friday, she went out with Nate and Javier to see the north herd, watching while the men spread hay for the hungry animals.
When they got back to the house, Jack told them the news: Al-Nassar had been found guilty by the jury on all charges against him, with a sentencing hearing set for the middle of March—a month from now. Jack made a big chocolate cake to celebrate the news, even putting candles on the top for Laura to blow out. Turning the verdict into a party wasn’t something that would have occurred to Laura, and it felt special to share that precious, hard-fought triumph with them.
The only downside of being at the ranch was spending so little time alone with Javier. The kiss they’d shared in the sauna had reignited something inside Laura, a raw current seeming to arc between them with every touch, every glance, every word they shared. All Javier had to do to make her heart beat faster was smile. She felt like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush—except that there was nothing childlike about her feelings for him and nowhere for her feelings to go. And yet, apart from the times when he was out on the land with Nate, he was never far away. He sat beside her at meals, put his arm around her shoulder when they watched DVDs in the evening, walked her to her room and kissed her on the cheek every night when she went to bed.
Their last afternoon at the ranch was spent grilling on the porch, the day unusually warm, the sky bright and blue. They’d just finished eating when Emily got down from her booster seat, took her grandpa Jack’s hand, and disappeared into the house, a secret smile on her cute little face. When they returned, they were each carrying a big gift-wrapped box topped with a bright red bow. Emily brought hers to Laura, while Jack handed his to Javier.
“What is this?” Laura asked Emily, who popped a finger in her mouth and smiled, looking over at her grandfather.
“Open it and find out,” Jack offered.
Laura tore through the wrapping paper and ripped open her box to find a white cowboy hat. She laughed, lifted it carefully from the box, and realized it was the real thing. “Will you show me how to wear it, Emily?”
Emily nodded, stood on the picnic bench beside Laura, and helped Laura settle it on her head. “Now you’re a cowgirl like me.”
Laura hugged Emily, the little girl precious in her arms. “Thank you, sweetie.”
“Now we’re talking.” Javier’s was black. He took it out and settled it on his head, pulling it low over his eyes. “How do I look, bella?”
He looked incredibly, unbelievably . . . hot.
Laura met his gaze, saw the warmth and humor in his brown eyes, and found herself struggling to form a coherent sentence. “He . . . um . . . looks very handsome, don’t you think, Emily?”
Emily looked over at Javier and gave a shy smile.
Javier grinned. “Maybe the ranching life is for me—getting up early to feed the cows, fixing fences, eating steak.”
“Steers, bro. Those were steers.”
Laura laughed along with the others.
“I bet some of your best rodeo stars are Puerto Rican. Am I right?” Javier adjusted the hat on his head. “We Boricuas—we are everywhere, man.”
“That’s the Javier I know.” Nate rolled his eyes, shook his head.
“We wanted you to know you’re always welcome here, come rain or shine, tarnation or hellfire,” Jack said. “You’re both a part of this place, and it’s a part of you.”
Laura smiled. “Thank you, Jack. Thanks to all of you.”
* * *
“I SAW YOU playing with that little girl,” Javier said as they drove toward the highway, his gaze warm. “You’re going to make a wonderful mother some day.”
He had no idea how deeply his words cut her.
* * *
THEY ARRIVED BACK in Denver Sunday evening to find that Tower had told Laura the truth, the backlog of e-mails and news articles like an onslaught after five days of quiet. Laura read through them one by one, determined not to lose the sense of peace she’d gained from her time at the ranch, but it wasn’t easy. The media were making Tower out to be the selfless hero who was helping to keep Laura safe despite her suspicions toward him. He was no longer a suspect in the bombing, and the Washington office of the U.S. Marshal Service had, indeed, apologized in what must have felt like
a smack in the face to Zach and the Colorado office.
Laura called her attorney and left a message asking her to begin the process of getting a restraining order against Tower. He might not be behind the bombing, but that didn’t mean she had to put up with him.
“Don’t let him get to you, bella,” Javier said when he kissed her good night, leaving her to sleep alone while he took the guest room.
* * *
MONDAY MORNING FOUND Laura sitting at her desk, joining the morning I-Team meeting via Skype, while Javier took a shower. As much as she had enjoyed her time up at the Cimarron, it felt good to be getting back to work again, even if that meant enduring the image of Tom Trent’s scowling face on her monitor.
“You’re late, Harker. What’s on your plate?” he asked Matt.
Matt’s voice came from somewhere nearby. “The city is moving to condemn a stroke palace on Colfax—a place called Candy’s Emporium.”
“A stroke palace?” Kat asked. “What’s that?”
Laura had no idea what that meant either.
“Uh, yeah . . .” Matt stammered.
“Candy’s is basically a cross between a porn arcade and a strip club.” That was Alex. “Men go there to jack off.”
Stroke palace?
Ew.
“Apparently, customers get a helping hand at Candy’s. Police have been trying to shut it down for years but have never been able to prove what was happening there, so the city decided to take a different approach and went after the building’s owners for violating fire codes. I’m guessing about fifteen inches.”
“Can we get photos?” That was Syd, the managing editor.
“Done.” Joaquin said. “I went by there yesterday. That place is pretty seedy.”
“See if you can get interviews with some of the working girls,” Tom said. “Find out what impact this has on them.”
“I’ll be happy to take that on if you don’t have time, Harker,” Alex offered.
