Fearless

by Diana Palmer

  Rodrigo came up to her at the refreshment table she and Consuelo and a couple of the workers’ wives had helped fill. He smelled clean and spicy. Glory smiled at him with the excitement of the evening making her face radiant. He stared at her for a moment. She did look so much like Sarina with her hair down. She wasn’t as pretty, but she had her own attractions just the same.

  “We’ve invited all the workers,” he told Glory. “A sort of thank-you for the hard work they’ve done this season. That goes double for the two of you, although your jobs are far from over.”

  “We like job security,” Glory said for Consuelo, who nodded, grinning.

  “Just as well,” he chuckled. “We’re picking more peaches next week.”

  There was a mutual groan.

  “What was that about liking job security?” he teased.

  Their answers were drowned out by the start up of the mariachi band. The deep, throbbing echo of the guitars and the trumpet drew everyone around to listen. It was an old Mexican folk song that they were playing, and as if on cue, everyone started singing it.

  Rarely in her life had Glory felt so much a part of anything. She’d grown fond of the workers in the time she’d spent here. They were humble, happy, compassionate people, far more concerned with the welfare and happiness of their families than with material wealth. Jason did pay them well, she knew, but they weren’t obsessed with their paychecks.

  “It makes me feel good,” she said when the song ended, “to see everyone so happy.”

  Rodrigo looked down at her. “Yes. It feels good.”

  She smiled shyly at him as the music began again. This time it was a slow dance. Couples began to gather on the wooden platform, close together against the faint chill of evening.

  She was leaning on her cane, but she was hoping Rodrigo might ask her to dance. She could, even if only for a little while. She’d always loved to dance.

  But his attention was caught by an SUV pulling up in the driveway. He went immediately to it. The driver’s side door opened, and a pretty woman in a flowing white skirt and red blouse with long blond hair jumped out and hugged him. That embrace went through Glory like knives. It was that blonde woman again, the one who’d come to see Rodrigo soon after Glory’s arrival here.

  Rodrigo gestured toward the band, took the blonde’s hand and tugged her, laughing, onto the dance floor.

  Glory hated the resentment and jealousy she felt, watching them cling to each other among the gaily clad couples. She shouldn’t be jealous of a man who managed her stepbrother’s farms and ranches. He wasn’t right for her. She refused to remember that he spoke several languages and was very intelligent. She was trying to ward off more heartache.

  The blonde woman was laughing merrily as they danced. Rodrigo looked as if he’d landed in heaven. Then the mariachis ended the slow dance and played a salsa rhythm. Rodrigo took the blonde by the waist, her hand in his, and he demonstrated that managing other men wasn’t the only thing at which he excelled. Glory had never seen a man move like that on a dance floor. He was elegant. His steps were fluid, his movements exactly with the rhythm of the band. He interpreted the music with a natural pulse of steps that the blonde followed effortlessly, as if they’d danced together many times before this. The other couples, entranced, backed away and stood clapping, laughing, as the duo danced to the music.

  All too soon, it was over. They held each other, laughing breathlessly, as the workers crowded around them.

  “What a long face,” Consuelo murmured, pausing beside Glory. “What has made you so sad?”

  Glory glanced involuntarily at Rodrigo and his guest.

  “Oh, it’s that one.”

  “Yes.” It was painful to see Rodrigo smiling, laughing. He was such a sad person around the farm. She felt sorry for him. But when she looked closely, it was apparent that it was Rodrigo who was enchanted, not the woman. She was only friendly. But what was she doing here, if she was happily married?

  As if in answer to that question, the blonde suddenly looked at her watch, turned and almost ran back to the SUV, with Rodrigo close behind. They spoke for just a few minutes, then she hugged him once more, climbed back into the SUV and sped away.

  Rodrigo stood there, hands in his pockets, staring after her.

  “Poor man,” Consuelo said sadly. “He tries to live in the past, for there is no room for him in her life now.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  Consuelo’s eyes popped. “And what are you, a clump of grass? There’s nothing wrong with you, niña.”

  Glory’s drawn face lightened a little as she met Consuelo’s sympathetic gaze. She smiled. “Thanks.”

  She turned back to the table to get a cup of punch. The band, she thought, was really good. The music was dreamy to listen to, even if you didn’t get asked to dance. The excitement she’d felt earlier was beginning to wear off. Suddenly all she wanted was to get away from everyone. She lifted her cup to her lips and sent a last, wistful glance at the wooden platform.

  While she was watching the band, a lean, dark hand came over her shoulder, took the cup away and put it back on the table.

  She turned, surprised. Rodrigo took the cane and propped it against the table. He wasn’t smiling. His face was drawn and somber. He took one of her small hands into his big one. “Dance with me,” he said in a deep, smooth tone.

  Like a dreamer, she followed him slowly to the platform. He took her by the waist and lifted her onto it, and then into close, almost intimate contact with his lean, powerful body. One arm clasped her there, while his hand curled around hers and imprisoned it. She could feel his warm breath at her temple as he eased her into the sultry rhythm of the music.

  Her heart ran away. She loved being held by him like this. It was as if the years dropped away and she was back in school again, excited by her first real date, hopeful of a sweet, caring relationship. She wouldn’t think about the other blonde, the one he wanted, or the hunger in his eyes when the woman had left. She was only able to think about the contact with him, the strength in his body as he took her weight and lured her closer.

  She felt his legs brushing against hers. The closeness made her tremble with new needs, new hungers. Her fingers dug into his back against the thin shirt. She felt the muscles respond to her helpless movement, felt his body tauten against her.

  He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes, her face, and saw every raw emotion she was feeling. His hand spread on her back, coaxing her even closer. She shivered.

  His dark eyes took on a strange fire. He bent, sliding his cheek against hers. “Yes, you like this,” he whispered huskily. “You can’t hide it, can you?”

  She couldn’t manage words. Her nails bit into him.

  He pressed her hips slowly, sensually, into his and she shivered again. “I had forgotten how sweet this is,” he whispered. “Your body clings to mine as if you were made for me. I can feel your breath against my throat, the caress of your hands at my back. If we were alone, mi vida, I would crush your mouth under mine and hold you so close that you would not be able to breathe unless I breathed with you.”

  No man had ever said such things to her, not in her whole life. She shivered again, helpless, unable to hide herself. Both her arms had gone around him under his arms, and her hands were digging into the hard muscles of his back. She felt as if every cell in her body was swollen and throbbing with passion. She ached for an end to the growing tension that made her almost sick with its intensity.

  His own arms closed around her. His face buried itself in the soft, thick hair over her shoulder. “Relax,” he teased softly. “You vibrate like a drum. I won’t hurt you.”

  “I…I know that,” she managed. Her voice didn’t sound familiar at all.

  “You think that limp makes you unattractive to men,” he mused at her ear. “When it only makes you sexier. I like having you lean on me. Although I am sorry for the reason you limp.”

  She loved the smell of his body. She laid her ch
eek against his broad, hair-roughened chest, there in the opening of his shirt. She wondered how it would feel against her bare body, and she almost gasped at the direction her thoughts were taking.

  “And what forbidden dreams are producing that little whisper of dismay, eh?” he asked at her ear. He turned, pulling her even closer, and laughed softly. “Don’t tighten up like that. Life is for living. It is a celebration, not a wake.”

  “I don’t know much about celebrating,” she managed in a breathless tone.

  He lifted his head and looked down into her soft green eyes. “Perhaps it is time you learned,” he whispered. As he spoke, his gaze fell to her pretty, soft mouth with its faint tint of pink. “And not only about celebrating,” he added, as his head began to bend.

  She hung there, trembling, aching, vulnerable, wanting nothing more than to feel that hard, sensual mouth crushing down on hers. Her eyes half closed. She’d been attracted to him from the very beginning. It seemed he might feel the same way. Her heart almost exploded with joy as she felt the first, brief, exquisite brush of his hard mouth over her soft one.

  He moved slowly, barely tasting her, nibbling at her upper lip and then nipping it with his teeth. He laughed when she jerked away.

  “So you don’t like it when I bite?” he mused. “Okay. I’ll do it your way.” He bent again, nudging her into a secluded area where the shadows engulfed them. “Like this, then, querida…”

  He kissed her very tenderly, hardly touching her with his mouth until her lips began to follow his. And then, breath by breath, he increased the pressure and the passion until she was moaning softly. Then he crushed his mouth down over hers, arched her into his tall, powerful body and kissed her so hard that it felt as if the world had dropped out from under her altogether. She clung to him, whimpering.

  But the music was slowing. He released her abruptly, before they were noticed, or heard. He seemed preoccupied as he stared down at her swollen mouth, her flushed cheeks. His dark eyes narrowed. He held her by the waist and eased her away from him.

  “What the hell am I doing?” he murmured roughly.

  She knew then that it had been an impulse. Not eternal love, not even savage lust. It had just been an impulse, perhaps kindled by the presence of the woman he wanted and couldn’t have. And now he looked both apologetic and uncomfortable with her. She had to find a way out for him, something that would hide her own headlong desire and spare her pride from the sting of his sudden rejection.

  “Wow,” she said, wide-eyed.

  He blinked. “Excuse me?”

  She grinned up at him. “Sorry, were you expecting a different reaction? Okay.” She wiped off the smile and glared up at him, propping her hands on her hips. “How dare you treat me like a sex object!”

  He was really looking odd, now.

  Her eyebrows went up. “Not that approach, either? All right. How’s this?” She shook back her hair. “Honestly,” she said haughtily, “you men are all alike!”

  He wasn’t usually so slow. The contact had gone a little to his head. She might not be a raving beauty, but she had a kissable mouth, and he liked the way she responded to him. “We are not all alike,” he pointed out, eyes twinkling now.

  “Yes, you are,” she retorted. “Dressing in a sexy manner, wearing cologne that makes us weak-kneed, enticing us into intimate dances…”

  “Guilty,” he agreed, chuckling. “But I could accuse you of the same thing,” he added.

  She started to answer the charge, but before she could, one of the daughters of a worker, just out of high school, popped up and boldly asked Rodrigo to dance.

  “Sorry,” he told Glory. “But apparently, I am in demand.”

  “Yes, you are,” the girl laughed, tugging at his hand. “Come on, Rodrigo!”

  He spared a last wistful glance at Glory and let himself be led to the dance floor.

  ALL TOO SOON, THE band packed up and left. The workers went back to their homes. Glory had left the party a little before everyone else. The dance had been wonderful, but her hip was killing her. She took her evening medicines and sat on her bed in her sleeveless long white cotton gown, praying for it to take effect soon. This was an old battle that she’d fought since her teens, this constant pain.

  But she smiled, remembering Rodrigo’s mouth on her own, the exciting things he’d whispered in her ear. She remembered, too, that he’d been cold sober when they danced. There wasn’t a trace of alcohol on his breath. Handsome, sexy Rodrigo who could have had almost any woman he wanted, and he’d chosen to dance with plain old Glory. It made her feel proud. She tried not to think that he might have been pretending with her, pretending that she was the lovely blonde woman from his past.

  She was just setting her alarm clock when there was a faint tap at her bedroom door.

  Puzzled, because it was very late, she walked gingerly across the carpeted floor and opened the door just a crack.

  Rodrigo pushed it back, gently, and smiled at her. “You forgot to take something with you,” he said.

  “What?” she asked with breathless delight.

  “Me.”

  He closed the door behind him, lifted her gently into his arms and bent to her mouth.

  Kissing was addictive. She loved the tenderness he showed her, the exquisite caresses that didn’t threaten, didn’t frighten, but made her hungry for more.

  There was more than a trace of alcohol on his breath, but she was too stunned by his sudden appearance in her bedroom to care. She was barely aware that she was suddenly lying across the bedspread with Rodrigo half beside, half over her yielded body. It felt right to lie in his arms and let him love her.

  “You dress like someone’s grandmother,” he murmured against her mouth as his hand slid down her body.

  She would have told him that no girl child wore provocative nightwear in foster care. It would have been asking for trouble. But his mouth was already over hers and seconds later, the gown was moving up as Rodrigo’s hands found her soft breasts and smoothed over them.

  He lifted his head to look. There was fire in his eyes now, and a faint ruddy color over his high cheekbones. “Pretty little breasts,” he whispered. “Like firm apples with dusky stems…”

  Before she had time to be embarrassed, his mouth had covered one of them and she was lifted completely off the bed in a shock of pleasure unlike anything she’d ever felt in her life.

  Her soft cry shocked him as well. He met her wild, curious eyes while his lean hand tenderly caressed the hard crest. “You act as if this is something unknown to you,” he said quietly.

  She swallowed. “It is.”

  He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His head moved a little sideways as he stared down at her, unblinking. “Glory, are you still a virgin?” he asked gently.

  She bit her lower lip. It was almost a stigma of shame in the modern world, to admit to such a thing. She hesitated.

  His thumb swept over her nipple in a rough caress that made her shiver. “You’d better tell me the truth,” he said softly.

  She drew in a long breath. She knew what would happen when she admitted it. He’d be gone in a flash. These days, no man wanted inexperience.

  “I never…I mean, I didn’t feel…I haven’t wanted…” she stammered, flushed.

  But the expected revulsion wasn’t there. He looked at her with something like reverence. The change softened his features, made his eyes darker.

  “Not even this far, mi vida?” he whispered, indicating her bare breasts.

  She grimaced and shook her head.

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t go into her whole history. Not now. He didn’t really want to know. He just wanted some explanation. “I’m not cut out for that sort of relationship,” she said finally. “I…didn’t want to end up like my mother. And for a long time, people seemed to think I would be like her when I grew up.”

  He drew his hand up to her face and traced her cheeks and her chin with a long forefinger. “Promiscuous, you
mean?”

  She nodded. “She slept with any man who would buy her things.” It hurt to remember that, to remember her father’s silent misery as his wife became the object of vicious gossip around town. His pride had suffered from it.

  He smiled. “Letting a man make love to you doesn’t qualify you as promiscuous,” he told her. “It’s a natural, beautiful thing between a man and a woman.”

  “My mother did it a lot.”

  “It’s a new world from the one your grandparents grew up in.”

  Her eyes were solemn as she stared up at him. “Would you like a woman who went to bed with any man who asked?” she asked quietly.

  He drew in an audible breath. “No,” he said after a minute. “I grew up in a religious family.”

  “So did I,” she replied. “At least, my father was religious.”

  He was smiling. “So you don’t want to make babies until you marry.”

  Her whole body tingled at the way he said it. And it was visible, that reaction.

  He chuckled, moving down to rest his weight on an elbow while he flicked open the rest of the buttons on his shirt and pushed it aside. “We won’t go that far,” he whispered. “At least, not now.”

  He bent to her mouth, and as he approached it, he eased down so that his bare, hair-roughened chest drew sensuously against her bare breasts. As he’d expected, it was as powerful as seduction itself. She shivered, and then moaned, and then clasped him so close that when he kissed her, it felt as though they were fused together.

  He hadn’t meant to let it get out of hand, but that first touch of flesh against flesh robbed him of his objectivity. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. Seeing Sarina tonight, reliving the loss of her, had made him so hungry that he’d been out of his mind. He’d been on fire when he and Sarina shared the dance floor. But even then, the earlier love play with Glory had aroused him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Glory’s body in his arms.

  He’d had two or three beers, hoping they might calm him down and send the unwanted desire away. They hadn’t. In the end, he’d come to her because he couldn’t help himself. On the dance floor, he’d been sure that she wanted him. And she had. He hadn’t realized that she would be so innocent. He did want to respect that innocence. It was just that it had been so long. Ages. And tonight, to his shame, he was too hungry to care about anything beyond his own fulfillment.