She covered her mouth as she yawned.
Mark reached out for her hand. “Fuentes bruised you.” He gently traced the red marks along the top of her hand.
“It’s nothing.”
“You were very good with him. Get some rest,” Mark said. “A shower might help you relax.”
She doubted anything could ever make her forget the horrors Victor Fuentes must have gone through. But a shower would be a good first try. “Good night.” She walked down the hall to the last room. Opening the door, she found a single bed, one with a real mattress, against one wall.
Strength depleted, emotions wobbly, Laura dragged herself to the shower. There, she simply stood, letting the hot water soothe her aching body and blanked her mind of the past few hours.
Ten minutes later, she was still shifting and turning in the bed. She shoved at the pillow and rearranged the covers yet again. The bed, which initially felt like heaven, was too comfortable after weeks of sleeping on nothing more than padding.
But she knew it wasn’t the bed. Images of Tony, frightened and desperate to come home, flashed through her mind. Victor Fuentes’s broken body… Absolute proof of what Ruiz was capable of, as if she didn’t already know. In the dark of the room, she couldn’t get thoughts of her son out of her mind. Would Ruiz do that to—
No, that didn’t bear consideration. She switched on the bedside lamp and stared at the ceiling.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside, a shadow darkened the floor beneath the door. Then a door opened and closed.
Probably Mark going to take a shower. She wondered what he’d think of the tiny stall with the shower head so low even she’d had to bend to wash her hair. The sound of running water reached her. He was probably bumping his shoulders on the enclosure. She didn’t need to picture that.
Suddenly wide awake, eager for distraction, she sat up and began a slow investigation of the room. The small bedside table. A dresser, empty now that she’d used the gown inside. She’d placed her backpack on top of the only chair. A single window high enough that she had to tiptoe to see out into a courtyard. A bookcase, also empty. The attempt at distraction didn’t work. She slumped back against the headboard. How would she ever stop herself from worrying about Tony and Esperanza, and now, Victor Fuentes and his wife?
Hoping to find something to read, she leaned over from the bed and tugged at the handle of the bedside table. Wood screeched against wood. She cringed and stopped, then listened, hoping no one had heard. But the drawer had opened just enough that she could see a neat stack of old Spanish language Reader’s Digest magazines.
Bromas. Jokes. She needed jokes.
More carefully, she tugged at the drawer. The whole table wobbled, threatening to tip the lamp over. She reached down to steady it. Twisting, with one hand on the table and one on the drawer handle, she pulled gently but firmly.
No screech this time. She kept pulling as it opened another inch, but not enough for her to reach the magazines. Bracing one hand on the table again, she gave it one last tug. It hung for a moment, then gave way. Not balanced properly, she fell, landing on the rug beside the bed as the table listed forward, tipping the lamp to the floor.
She held on to the drawer and lunged for the lamp.
Just as a man’s hand closed over hers on the lamp, the other on the edge of the table.
She squelched a yelp and froze.
***
The warmth of Laura’s fingers seeped into Mark as he straightened the table and replaced the lamp. An instant later, the drawer, which she’d pulled out causing the noise he’d heard, tilted downward, and full to the top, spilled magazines out onto the floor beside her.
He’d panicked and barged in afraid he’d find her—what? Being attacked?
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.
She shook her head and drew her legs tightly against her chest, her attention on the magazines spread in disarray across the floor.
He squatted beside her, still bare-chested after his shower. “I’ll help you get this stuff up.” The white long-sleeve nightshirt she wore hung on her, but the cloth, thin and worn to near translucency, made him want to lay her back onto the bed and—
“It’s okay.” She continued to stare at the magazines on the floor. “I can do it.”
He looked at what she was focused on. One magazine cover displayed a picture of a child. A boy.
Her thoughts were with her son, while his were filled with visions of her, naked. He was an ass.
He stood, his unbuttoned jeans clinging to his hips. “I’ll let you sleep.”
“No!” She grabbed his arm. “I’m—”
Exhausted. That’s what she was. “You need sleep, Laura,” he said gently, suddenly acutely aware of the pressure of each of her fingers on his bare arm.
“When I close my eyes.” She released her hold on him, climbed onto the bed and sat. “I see what Ruiz did to Victor.” Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about that.” Her voice got so quiet he could barely her. The tears spilled down her cheeks. “And Tony.
He placed the magazines back in the drawer, unable to find words to comfort her.
Then, in one of those impulsive moves that generally got him into a shit load of trouble, said, “Move over.”
Chapter Nine
Laura drifted awake, warm and comfortable. The thin lumpy mattress felt like a real one, but she let thoughts of her tiny Puerto Escondido room fade away as sleep tugged her back.
Not right...
Someone had been beside her, radiating warmth.
José Antonio... He must have come home late and left early.
No, that wasn’t right.
José Antonio was dead. Killed. So long ago she struggled to remember his face. His voice. But she’d felt him.
Feel.
And it all came rushing back.
Mark. Here.
Her eyes flew open. He sat sprawled across from her in the wooden chair, bare-chested, legs outstretched, ankles crossed, head back against the wall. Asleep. She forced herself to remain still.
He’d offered to stay with her, had tucked her beneath the covers, stretched out on top and taken her in his arms.
She had no memory of him leaving the bed.
She allowed herself the pleasure of examining his chest, well-muscled and appealingly sprinkled with light brown hair that glinted gold in the sunlight drifting in through the window high on the wall. His hands, big and strong, seemed relaxed against his thighs.
Except, he never relaxed. Ever. From the first moment she’d met him, he’d been on guard. Acutely aware of his surroundings.
He shifted, as if trying to find a comfortable position, and crossed one leg over the other’s knee. The movement molded the jeans to his thighs.
Laura’s breath hitched. She couldn’t look away. Her nipples tightened.
She should clear her throat, cough, do something to wake him.
But she wanted to take him in.
His breathing altered. He straightened. And opened his eyes.
She waited through agonizing moments, wondering what he would say. Do.
“You’re awake.” He ran his hand through his hair, stood, and stretched, his gaze never leaving hers.
Oh how she wanted to pretend sleep, ignorance. Indifference.
She nodded.
She should close her eyes. If she did, maybe—
No. She wanted to watch him.
Eyes still locked to hers, he walked to the side of the bed. She scooted over. As blatant an invitation as she could manage. He sat.
And even before he braced himself with one arm and looked down at her, she knew.
She wanted this. Him. Just as she’d wanted the reassurance he’d given her last night. Only now she needed to touch him.
“I should leave,” he whispered in a rough voice, his hair mussed, as he looked at her. He’d shaved for Ruiz’s job, but now, stubble glistened along his jaw and chin.
She placed her
hand on his thigh.
His pupils dilated and filled the dark gold of his eyes. As he lowered his face toward her, she consciously kept her eyes open. She wanted to see, to remember clearly.
He’d kissed her before, but that had been for show. There was no one here now, nothing tentative about the pressure of his lips on hers. Nothing tentative about his tongue touching the corners of her lips. She opened her mouth to his. Her eyes drifted closed, her awareness centered on the lush kiss robbing her of breath. Pleasure suffused her.
Then, his mouth still fused to hers, he was on the bed, tumbling her over until she lay on top. He pulled his mouth away, and bereft of his lips, she opened her eyes.
The angles of his face were sharp, his eyes hooded. She held herself up, pushing against the narrow mattress on either side of his shoulders. Tempted to taste, she lowered her face to kiss the strong pulse that beat at the base of his neck.
***
Mark’s breath hissed out as he clutched Laura’s bottom, aligning their lower bodies. This was madness.
God help him, he couldn’t control his racing heart or the thrust of his hips against hers.
She gazed down at him, her dark eyes intent on his mouth as she pulled at her lower lip with her teeth, then ran her tongue across it.
He wanted to feel her mouth on him again, taste her.
Her hair tumbled against his cheek. He caught the ends of it with one hand, feeling the softness. The white gown gaped open, her breasts, full and ripe, constrained only by a single button. Her nipples pushed against the thin cloth.
The button took no effort, and her breasts lay bare. Raising his head, he kissed his way down her chest until he could take one nipple into his mouth.
The taste of her, rich and erotic, burned through him.
She moaned and arched her neck upward.
Sanity hit him like a blast of dynamite. He released her nipple and forced himself to lay back.
He couldn’t do this. Not with the horrible untold truth between them, not when she’d allowed him into her bed because of her fear for her child. Because as much of a son of a bitch as he was, she mattered. More than mattered.
He soothed her with gentle touches along her neck and back all the while fighting the urge to tumble her over and be done with it. But she deserved more.
Someone else. Someone better. Someone like her husband.
He rolled them onto their sides. Her eyes were closed, her face radiant. He wished he could be that someone. For her. But he wasn’t.
Exactly why he’d gotten out of the bed hours earlier. She’d called out in her sleep. “Querido,” she’d said. What she’d called Victor Fuentes while she pretended to be his wife.
She’d been dreaming of her husband.
“This isn’t right.” He didn’t want to take that glorious look from her face. He wanted to give, not take.
She opened her eyes and looked at him as he lay, hard and aching. Then she pulled her gown together, grasping the material in a fist between the breasts he still wanted to worship, blew out a small breath between lips swollen from their kisses, and rolled out of bed.
Then she was all business. As if nothing had happened, as if his body wasn’t in agony, his heart pounding a mile a minute.
The temptation to explain, to tell her everything, flashed through his mind. What would she do if she knew? She would hate the man he was and never trust him again.
She spun around and headed for her backpack, on the floor beside the chair. Her hair, which had tumbled around them moments ago, lay heavy against her back.
He sat up. “I’m sor—”
“There’s no need to be,” she said.
Not true. He had to make her understand. No, he had to make it clear there couldn’t be any more temptation. They couldn’t be awkward around each other simply because he didn’t have any damn self-control.
Even though he wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, he stood and kept his hands at his side. “I’m sorry about this—”
“No, please—”
“Laura,” he said. “You needed someone last night. I understand that. I only wanted to help and this morning I—
“I understand,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze. “You said before it was…a simple physical reaction. I know, I understand—”
“Reaction?” Not what he’d said, was it?
“I know it’s nothing more.” She took a breath. “Maybe some sympathy.” She looked at him then. Her cheeks were flushed and she held her clothes clutched to her chest in an effort to cover herself.
Sympathy? Last night maybe, but no way in hell had sympathy played any part in what happened between them just now.
Fate had to be laughing. What a joke. The one woman he not only admired, but wanted more than he’d wanted any woman, and he had to make her believe the passion between them was nothing.
That would allow him to get the boy back, and once that was done, he might able to forgive himself. For that to happen, she couldn’t know how his life had collided with hers long before he ever laid eyes on her.
“Look,” he said drawing a deep breath, “situations like this, danger, fear, can confuse things. It’s easy to get carried away by proximity and reciprocal attraction.”
Her gaze skittered away from his.
Okay, time to be a total dick. He took the few steps to the door, determined to walk away. His damn hand actually shook when he grabbed the doorknob. “You are a beautiful and desirable woman.” He gave her one last look over his shoulder before adding, “Sex is a physical distraction we can give each other. Nothing more. Let me know if you’re interested.”
***
If she was interested?
Por Dios. She’d almost had sex in an abbey. Okay, an abandoned abbey turned clinic. But still.
Laura buried her face in her hands. If Beatrice or one of the other nurses or aides had walked in, they would have gotten an eyeful.
She’d made it pretty clear she was interested. But Mark hadn’t followed through. He’d held her close so she could sleep. It was nothing.
Stop! Enough with nothing.
There had obviously been something.
“¡Ay!” she said aloud around a tiny bubble of hysterical laughter.
She stripped off the nightshirt and slipped on shorts and a clean T-shirt. But as she slid her feet into her tennis shoes, she couldn’t help but wonder.
What if they hadn’t stopped?
***
Mark tossed his backpack on the floor by the back door of the clinic, then walked to Victor Fuentes’s room. A young nurse or aide sat in a chair beside the agent.
“How is he?” Mark whispered.
Fuentes opened his eyes.
“Better,” the woman replied.
“You are the man who helped me,” Fuentes said in a weak voice.
“Yes.” Mark turned to the nurse. “May I speak with him alone?”
The woman nodded and left the room.
“Calamities are a way of life,” Mark said, reciting the coded message given to him if he made physical contact with the San Matean.
Fuentes studied him from behind swollen eyes.
Yeah, no trust. Smart at this point.
“Water,” the agent said finally.
Mark raised a glass with a straw to the man’s lips. He took a sip then let his head rest against the pillow again as he studied Mark.
“Calamities are obstacles,” the agent finally said, returning the contact code.
“What went wrong?” Mark asked.
“I heard Ruiz and his wife arguing. Outside by a bungalow.” Fuentes paused, took a breath. “She yelled at him, asked what he had done. I saw a woman and boy through the window of the bungalow.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“No.” Fuentes closed his eyes momentarily. “I walked closer.” He took a shallow breath. “Guards from the city warned me away.” He took another breath. “The woman inside was arguing with a body guard. He hit her. Th
e little boy tried to help her. Later I was wakened and taken to the garage.”
“Did they tell you why?”
“They said I worked for Ruiz’s enemies.” Fuentes licked his lips. “I said I did not.”
“Did Ruiz say anything to you?”
“I didn’t see him again. He doesn’t dirty his hands. Gonzalez hires men for that. It was someone I don’t know. Someone he keeps on the side...” The agent’s voice faded, then he roused himself. “For times when he needs enforcement with those who surround him.”
“Did they say anything? Explain why?”
“They wanted me to say I was a spy. I told them I wasn’t.” The agent struggled to stay awake. “They never believed me.”
“The nurses will take care of you. Tell them who to contact and they will.”
Fuentes nodded, eyes closed. “I’ll need new identity papers. My wife, she should be told.”
“I’ll contact Emilio Estrada.” Estrada was the Interior Ministry’s agent in charge.
“You must be careful. Estrada cannot be discovered…” Fuentes trailed off, his eyes closed, but moments later, he opened them again. “There’s bad blood between him and Ruiz.”
Mark watched as Fuentes drifted to sleep.
Quiet footsteps from behind told him the nurse had returned.
“The newspaper, señor.” She held out a newspaper. “Perhaps you would like to read.”
Mark thanked her and read the bold headline.
His blood ran cold.
***
Laura saw Mark go into Victor Fuentes’s room and decided to clear her head before facing him. In the kitchen, she found a pot of coffee and poured a cup.
“Laura?” a woman asked.
She turned and saw a woman dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. “Julie?”
“Beatrice told me there were visitors.” The dark blond walked toward Laura with a smile, arms open. “But she didn’t tell me who.”
Laura hugged her, then stepped back. “It’s so good to see you,” she said in English. The American, step-daughter of San Mateo’s UN ambassador, was the last person she expected to find here. “I called a few times last month, but wasn’t able to catch you at home.”
Julie smiled. “I’m away a lot.”
Whatever it Takes (Shadow Heroes Book 4) Page 11
