Harvest Moon

by Rochelle Alers

  “Don’t apologize to me. It was Ernesto you insulted.”

  Aaron’s expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. “Ernesto got what he deserved. I will not apologize to him.”

  Regina’s fingers curled into tight fists. “I will not have you insult my guests in my home.”

  Removing his hands from his trousers, he brought them up and cupped her face between his palms. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I will not apologize to your abogado.” Leaning over, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m going to take siesta now. I’ll see you later, Stepmother.” He released her and strolled out of the solarium, leaving her with her mouth gaping.

  “Don’t you dare call me that!” she shouted at his broad-shouldered back.

  The deep, rumbling sound of his laughter floated back to her, then faded with his departure. Regina folded her arms around her body in a protective gesture and floated down to the loveseat. A mysterious smile flitted across her full mouth. Aaron Spencer bore no facial resemblance to his father, but he truly was his father’s son, willful and stubborn.

  He had accused Ernesto of having the hots for her, but what Aaron did not know was each and every time he touched her she melted like a pat of butter on a heated surface.

  Closing her eyes, she prayed the two weeks would pass quickly. Aaron was never to know how much he affected her—how, from the moment they met her whole being seemed to be filled with a waiting, a waiting to experience what it was to be born female.

  Chapter 8

  Aaron spent his siesta pacing the floor of his bedroom. When he tired of staring at the same objects, he opened the French doors and stepped out onto the veranda. He stared at the mountains until the heat finally drove him back inside, where he changed from the dress shirt and slacks to a pair of walking shorts, a T-shirt, and running shoes.

  The inactivity was beginning to play on his nerves. His normal day usually began at sunrise, when he drove down to the coffee fields to meet with his foreman. Three days of the week were committed to seeing patients at Salvador’s municipal hospital, and the other three were spent at the research institute.

  He returned to the veranda and strolled leisurely down its length. He turned a corner, then stopped. Moving to the wrought-iron railing, he leaned over, his gaze narrowing when he saw Regina talking to a man. She pointed to a profusion of ivy climbing over a pergola.

  Aaron smiled when he noticed she had changed from her suit into a pair of white cotton, straight-leg slacks, a sleeveless, white shirt, and a pair of black ballet slippers. A curling ponytail was secured at the nape of her neck with a large, shiny hairclip.

  She gestured, her delicate fingers caressing the leaves of the white blooms interspersed with the ivy. She took a few steps, the man following her lead and listening intently as she pointed to differing flowers and shrubs.

  Reluctantly pulling his gaze away from Regina, he surveyed the exquisite beauty of the mountaintop garden. He recognized a large stone sundial, several statues, solid slabs of stone steps leading over a rise, and the reflection of the sun’s rays on a shimmering pond. The lushness of the land reminded him of Bahia.

  He had retained his American citizenship, yet he could not understand why he felt more at home in Bahia than he did in any place he had ever visited or lived. Maybe it was his African ancestors who called out to him in Bahia, the most African part of Brazil, that quieted his restlessness. Or perhaps he thought of it as safe haven—a place where he could hide, and divorce himself from everything that had to do with his past. But the hiding was over. He had been forced to confront his past, because he had returned to North America to bury his father.

  Regina went down on one knee, extracting a clump of weeds growing too close to the rocks surrounding the man-made fishpond. The fish darted in and out of the plants growing in the cool, clean water, some of them floating to the surface when she sprinkled a handful of dehydrated fish food mix into the pond. One large carp pushed a smaller one away from the floating particles, his gaping mouth swallowing up the food as if it were a shovel.

  “That’s no fair,” Regina said, laughing softly under her breath. “Let the little guy get some.”

  “That’s the way of the world. The big get better, and the small stay the same,” rumbled a deep voice above her.

  Startled, she fell back and stared up at Aaron standing over her. He had been so quiet that she hadn’t heard his approach.

  “The next time you sneak up on me, try to make some noise. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  Instead of helping her regain her footing, he sat down beside her, his large body shielding hers from the direct heat of the sun. Reaching over, he placed two fingers on the pulse in her neck, counting the beats of her rapidly pumping heart.

  He removed his hand. Smiling, he said, “You’ll survive.”

  Bracing her elbows on the damp earth, she closed her eyes. “Just barely.”

  He gave her a questioning look. “If you want me to perform CPR, then you’ll have to lie back down.”

  Her lids flew up, her gaze fixed on his mouth. If he had to perform CPR on her, he would have to place his mouth over hers.

  “No,” she replied in a breathless whisper.

  His eyes were dark, unfathomable, as they moved slowly over her face, down to her heaving breasts under the cotton fabric, then back to her mouth. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, her head bobbing up and down like a buoy on the water. “I’m sure.”

  She jerked her head as his right hand came up and touched her hair. “Don’t move, Regina. You have a few weeds in your hair.”

  The moment he touched her, she froze. Aaron Spencer was too close, his body too large, and he was much too warm. She suffered his touch as he methodically picked every particle of dirt and grass from her hair. Running his fingers over the antique silver hairclip, he examined it. Then without warning, he released the clasp, freeing her hair until it spilled over her back.

  He ignored her gasp of surprise, turning the exquisite piece of jewelry over on his palm. “What are these stones?”

  Regina was certain he could hear her heart pumping when she sat up and folded her knees under her body. “The blue ones are sapphires and the white ones are—”

  “Diamonds,” he said, finishing her statement. She nodded, grasping her hair and braiding it into a fat plait. “White gold?” he questioned.

  “No. It’s platinum.”

  He examined the Art Deco piece more closely. “It looks like a family heirloom.”

  “It is. It was my grandfather’s gift to my grandmother for their first wedding anniversary. I’m the only one of her granddaughters who still has long hair, so she gave it to me when I got married.”

  “Hold still and I’ll put it back.” Aaron lifted Regina effortlessly until she sat between his outstretched legs. Then he undid the braid and secured her hair within the hairclip.

  She suffered his closeness, the press of his hard chest against her back, the sensual scent of his cologne, and his fingers combing the tangle of curls until they hung loosely down her back.

  Chuckling softly, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “You missed your calling. You should’ve been a hairstylist.”

  He leaned forward, his rumbling laughter floating seductively over her. “Didn’t you know that I was multitalented?”

  “No.” She giggled. “What other talents are you hiding?”

  “I cook.”

  She affected an expression of surprise. “No.”

  He nodded, smiling down at her. “Very, very well.”

  “What else?”

  “I’m an excellent horseman. How about you, Regina?”

  She tingled when he said her name. His voice had lowered, and it sounded like a caress. His nearness was overwhelming, and she did not know how, but she felt the movement of his breathing keeping rhythm with her own.

  “I act, and I dabble a little in dirt.”

  Aaron curved a thick, muscular arm under her br
easts, pulling her closer to his body. “What do you mean by dabble?”

  “I design gardens.”

  His arm tightened before relaxing. “Look at me, Regina.” Half-turning in his embrace, she stared up at him over her shoulder. “Did you design this garden?”

  Her heart was thundering uncontrollably, and she knew he had to feel it. Every muscle in his chest and abdomen was molded to her back, bringing a wave of moisture that settled between her breasts.

  “Yes, I did.”

  His expression was one of disbelief. “But you said you were an actress.”

  “You asked me how I met Oscar, and I told you I met him as an actress. What I did not tell you was that I attended college and earned a degree in landscape architecture.”

  “When did you find time to attend classes if you were caring for my father?”

  “Each semester I scheduled classes around his doctor visits and therapy sessions. It took me nearly eight years to complete a six-year degree program.”

  Aaron’s gaze swept over the lush beauty of the garden, which had an exquisitely simple planting scheme of timeless romance and classical landscape design.

  “How many gardens have you designed?”

  “Just this one.”

  “It is truly a masterpiece.”

  A feeling of confidence swept over her at the same time an expression of satisfaction showed in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Tightening his grip on her waist, he lifted her again until she sat beside him. He curved an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She felt the heat of his bare thigh through the cotton fabric covering hers, and for a brief moment she lost herself in his protective masculinity. She rested her cheek against his shoulder as if it were a gesture she had made before.

  Even when Oscar led her out of Harold Jordan’s house she hadn’t felt as protected as she did now. She wasn’t certain when it had occurred, but within the span of time Aaron curved an arm around her body she had unconsciously looked to him to protect her. Perhaps it was what he had said to Ernesto about her being his family, and therefore his responsibility.

  She had put up a brave front for ten years, and she was tired of being a martyr. She had loved Oscar, but becoming his wife had exacted more than she expected once she gave him all of herself, leaving no reserve whenever she found herself bogged down in a tormented helplessness once his condition worsened. She’d ached with anguish and loneliness, refusing to cry because she did not want Oscar to know that she had weakened. Her mantra had become “stay strong and smile through all of the adversity.” What she hadn’t expected was for him to survive ten years. Each time he lived to celebrate another birthday she had weakened and aged with him.

  But now she could lift her face to the sun and dance in the rain. She could laugh and cry without having to censure herself. And she could look forward to falling in love again, and to experiencing her sexuality for the first time.

  Lowering his head, Aaron touched his mouth to her hair, reveling in the soft curls caressing his lips. “Are you sure you want to leave all of this?”

  Sighing audibly, she nodded. “I’m sure, Aaron. More sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  And she was.

  What she wasn’t sure about was her intensifying feelings for the man holding her close to his heart.

  “What about Oscar?”

  “What about him?”

  “You’re going to leave him—”

  “I’m burying him here because he loved it here,” she countered, interrupting Aaron. “I didn’t say I’d never come back. I just need to get away for a while.”

  “I’d like to offer you a deal.”

  “What kind of a deal?”

  “I’d like to buy this property from you.”

  Pulling back, she stared up at him. “Why?”

  He swallowed painfully, trying to form the words stuck in his throat. “I shut my father out of my life for twelve years, and I’m not very proud of that. I don’t want strangers to trample over his final resting place. I know that may sound silly, but…” His words trailed off.

  “It’s not silly,” Regina countered. “I can’t promise anything until after the reading of the will. But if I’m left the property, then you won’t have to buy it, because I’ll give it to you as a gift.”

  Aaron curved a hand around her neck, then lowered his head. “Thank you,” he whispered before his lips brushed against hers.

  A brief shiver of awareness rippled through her body as Regina stiffened momentarily. She savored the feel of his firm lips on hers, the contact leaving her mouth burning with a lingering fire.

  The kiss ended seconds after it began, and she wanted it to continue. She wanted to lose herself in the mastery of his mouth, and more. But common sense reared its head, reminding her of who she was and who Aaron Spencer was.

  What was wrong with her? She was sitting in her garden, kissing a man who was the son of the man who lay on a table in a funeral home in Mexico City. Her husband wasn’t even buried, and she was lusting after his son.

  Pulling out of his loose embrace, she stood up and walked back to the house, her face aflame with shame when she realized what she wanted to share with him, because she had spent more years than she could remember denying her femininity.

  Quickening her stride, she mumbled a fervent prayer. She wanted Aaron Spencer gone. His presence and his masculinity were constant reminders that at twenty-seven she was still a virgin.

  Regina sat in her sitting room, watching intermittent drops of rain slide down the windows. In less than half an hour the graveside ceremony would begin. Earlier that morning the heavens had opened up to shed their own tears for Oscar Clayborne Spencer. It had rained heavily for an hour, then stopped, and now a watery sun broke through the heavy dark clouds to dry the earth.

  The gravediggers had come the day before and dug a grave within the perimeter of the garden. Oscar’s final resting place would be surrounded by a five-foot stone wall covered with a profusion of bougainvillea and Cherokee roses.

  She closed her eyes. I’m ready, she told herself. She was ready to close a chapter on a part of her life, and hopefully she would never have to reopen it.

  Opening her eyes, she glanced across the room to find Aaron standing in the doorway to her bedroom, arms folded over his chest, waiting for her. An expertly tailored black suit, startling white shirt, and a black silk tie caressed his tall, muscular body as if each item had been created expressly for him.

  “Please come in.” Her voice was low and cloaking in its timbre as she gestured to a chair facing her own.

  Aaron walked into the bedroom, successfully curbing the urge to examine the space where Regina had sought solace since his arrival. After their encounter in the garden he’d seen very little of her, except at the evening meal. It was as if she had revealed too much of herself, and had elected to hide to fortify herself for the next phase of her life: burying her husband.

  Undoing a button on his double-breasted jacket, he sat down opposite her and draped one leg over the other. “How are you holding up?”

  Regina tilted her chin and stared up at the ceiling. “Well enough, I suppose.”

  Leaning forward, he reached out and captured her hands between his. They were trembling, and icy cold. “I can ask your doctor to give you something to calm you down.”

  She gave him a direct look, her eyes widening. “I’m okay.”

  As he lowered his head and his voice, Aaron’s gaze narrowed. “Are you certain?”

  She let out her breath slowly. “Quite certain.” She glanced at the watch showing beneath the French cuff of his shirt. “I think we should go down now.”

  Nodding, he stood up, pulling her up with him. He curved an arm around her waist and led her out of the bedroom and down the staircase to the lower level.

  Regina knew she had lied to Aaron. She wasn’t all right, and she needed something to stop the trembling which had begun when she awoke earlier that morning. But she was too mu
ch of a coward to request a sedative.

  She paused before walking out of the house, picking up a black raffia and silk hat with a wide, turned-up brim and matching, satin, grosgrain ribbon circling the crown from a small, round table and placing it on her head. Her dress was a simple black silk sleeveless sheath, and her only accessories were pearl earrings and a matching, single strand floating from her long neck.

  Nodding to Aaron, she placed her hand in the bend of his elbow and permitted him to lead her to the tent where rows of chairs were set up for the attendees.

  She recognized the doctors and nurses who were responsible for Oscar’s medical care, all of El Cielo’s household staff, Ernesto Morales, and Pablo Vasques, the artist whose works Oscar had collected since they attended a showing in Mexico City the first year they moved to El Cielo.

  The priest, who had heard Oscar’s last confession before he administered the last rites, moved into position behind the dove-gray casket, which rested on a device which would finally lower it into the damp, dark earth.

  Regina heard the softly spoken words of the priest as he began the funeral mass, silently mouthing the prayers and the responses. A warm breeze filtered over the assembled, bringing with it a sweet, lush, redolent fragrance of fresh flowers. Leaning heavily against Aaron’s solid shoulder, she cried softly, holding the handkerchief he had given her over her mouth.

  Aaron closed his eyes, willing his own tears not to fall. He had to be strong, strong for Regina. Curving an arm around her tiny waist, he held her until her sobbing subsided. He was amazed at the gamut of emotions her sobbing wrang from him as he vowed silently that he would take care of her. When he returned to Brazil he would take her with him.

  The mass ended, and Regina and Aaron thanked the priest for what he had offered Oscar before and after his death. Then they extended an invitation to all to stay for a light repast before they returned to their homes and places of business.

  Chapter 9

  Regina felt a restlessness akin to an itch she could not scratch. It had been five days since the funeral, and with the advent of each new day she felt as if she had been confined to a prison without bars.