When she’d stepped off the plane in Mexico City a month before she never would’ve imagined that her life would have changed so dramatically. She was now Eve Arroyo, the wife of a man who led a double life—depending on which side of the border he resided.
A man she’d found herself inexorably bound to, and a man she desired.
Chapter 12
Eve sat at a small, round table with Matt, drinking bottled water and accepting small morsels of a dish he called pescado al mojo de ajo, fish in a garlic sauce.
Matt watched her chew a portion from his fork. “I thought you didn’t want to eat anything,” he teased, pointing to her untouched plate of grilled peppers, black beans, rice, and chicken.
“I’m not hungry. And besides, the chilies are too hot.”
Matt speared a pepper from her plate, bit into it, closing his eyes and nodding while chewing slowly. “Wonderful.”
Eve wrinkled her nose. “How can you eat something that spicy?”
“Don’t you ever put hot sauce on your fried fish, chicken, or pork chops?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But this stuff is liquid fire.”
Reaching across the table, Matt captured her right hand. “Pobrecita,” he crooned softly. “It’s too hot.”
Eve pulled her hand away. “What we have in the States is nothing like the peppers here, and you know it.”
Matt stared at her enchanting face. “That’s because there are more than eighty varieties of chilies, ranging from mild to fiery hot.”
Raising her chin, Eve met his gaze. “Did you grow up eating the hot ones?”
“Only the moderately hot ones. Those on your plate are mild.”
She snorted delicately and settled back on her chair. “I’ll stick with the bottled sauce, thank you.”
“Cobarda,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Coward,” he said in English.
“That’s right,” she confirmed, smiling.
Matt continued with his meal, occasionally winking at Eve as she picked cautiously at the contents of her plate. He enjoyed sharing meals with her. There was a certain kind of intimacy in the routine of sitting at a table while eating.
It was the only time that he was allowed the privilege of observing her stunning mouth opening and closing in a sensuous rhythm that conjured up sexual images of what he wanted to share with her. His penetrating, luminous gaze devoured the delicate shape of her exotic face with her large, haunting, black eyes staring back at him.
Placing his knife and fork on the table, Matt wiped his chin with a cloth napkin, drawing Eve’s gaze to his mouth. “Under a different set of circumstances I would’ve enjoyed serving as your Mexican guide,” he began quietly. “I would’ve shown you the huge pyramids dedicated to the sun and moon in Teotihuacán near Mexico City, the religious centers here in southern Mexico, and in northern Central America where the Mayans erected beautiful homes, pyramids and temples made of limestone.
“Their civilization recorded important dates and events on stone, and they wrote in what archeologists say is a kind of picture writing. Here in Oaxaca the Zapotec Indians leveled and flattened a mountaintop known as Monte Albán, where they conducted their religious ceremonies.”
Eve dabbed her mouth with her own napkin. “I’ve read about the Mayans and the Aztecs, but not the Zapotex.”
“Z-A-P-O-T-E-C,” he corrected. “I share the bloodlines of the Zapotec Indians. The great majority of Mexicans are mestizos, persons of mixed European and Indian ancestry, while Africans and Asians are also a significant part of our racial mixture. Our Indian ancestors were living here when the Spanish began their conquest in the early sixteenth century.
“Most Americans think only of the Aztec and Mayan civilization when talking about Indians in Mexico, totally ignoring the other groups. Almost all Indians in Mexico speak Spanish. However, most Mexican Indians speak Spanish in addition to their own ancient language.”
Eve was intrigued by this disclosure. “Do you speak Zapotec?”
Matt laughed, shaking his head. “No. I have enough with Spanish and English. Sometimes I think in one language and speak in the other. My grandfather speaks the tongue as easily as he speaks Spanish. His English is limited, but you should be able to communicate with him.”
Eve felt uneasy. It was one thing to deceive Matt’s cousin and her husband, but she wanted to draw the line when it came to deluding his grandfather.
“I didn’t think I’d have to meet your grandfather.”
“Grandfather and mother,” Matt confirmed. “My grandmother called me after she read about our engagement, and she said she couldn’t wait to meet you.” Eve grimaced openly. “Don’t worry, Preciosa, she’ll love her new granddaughter.”
“You’re taking this too far,” she mumbled.
Matt’s expression grew somber. “Remember, Eve, you’re my wife and…”
“I’m not your wife in the real sense of the word.”
His eyes widened, all traces of gold absent. “Are you asking me to take you as my wife in the biblical sense?”
Her face flamed with heat. “Of course not!”
“Then, what are you implying, wife?”
Eve was angry with herself. She felt trapped. “I didn’t mean it that way, and you know it.”
Matt stared at her petulant lower lip as she sulked. What he wanted to do at that moment was pull her from her chair and take her lower lip between his teeth and suck it gently until she moaned in his arms. He wanted her pliant, and begging him to make love to her in the way a husband and wife shared each other’s bodies.
“In case you change your mind, we can always use that bed,” he stated quietly, motioning with his head toward the bed, “for something other than sleep.”
Eve noted his smile. Matt was teasing. “I won’t change my mind,” she retorted.
“Do want to put some money on that?”
Realization dawned like a cold shower as Eve realized her position as Matt’s wife. She was at his mercy. “I don’t have any money.” Her voice was a breathless whisper. All she possessed was a return ticket to the United States, and all the money she claimed was still in a Virginia bank.
Rising slowly to his feet, Matt circled the table and pulled her to her feet. “It appears as if you’re at a distinct disadvantage, Señora Arroyo.”
“And knowing this, I suppose you’re going to take advantage of me.”
He drank in her beauty, fragrance, and the essence of her femininity. His chest rose and fell heavily under a navy blue T-shirt. “Never.” The single word conveyed all that he felt for the woman he’d claimed as his wife.
He walked over to a closet and withdrew a billfold from the pocket of his suit jacket. Counting out a dozen bills in large demoninations, he retraced his steps and handed them to her.
“Now you have the advantage,” he stated with a smile.
Eve took the money, rose on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
The converted convent was quiet, most of the guests in bed as the night staff worked silently to prepare for the morning’s arrivals and departures.
Matt lay in the dark beside Eve, forcing himself not to touch her. He knew by the rhythm of her breathing that she wasn’t asleep. Shifting slightly, he cradled his head on folded arms. He had made it easy for her to dress and get into bed when he’d waited on the veranda.
The slight heat emanating from her slender body and the distinctive fragrance of her perfume swept over him like a gentle breeze, and he smiled. It was only the first night wherein they’d shared a bed, but Matt knew he could get accustomed to it—quickly.
He remembered the bathroom after Eve had showered, the smell of her everywhere in the small space. She’d stacked her perfumes and lotions neatly on a small table in one corner, hung her wet towel and cloth on a rack and wiped the basin and tub clean.
“Eve?” He heard her breathing halt, then start up again.
“Yes, Matt.”
�
��What are you thinking about?”
There was a comfortable silence before she spoke. “You.”
“What about me?”
“I know nothing about Matthew Sterling.”
They were in Mexico, and in Mexico Matthew Sterling did not exist. Only Mateo Arroyo mattered. But Eve was his wife, and she had a right to know about the man she’d married, even if she thought it was transitory.
“What do you want to know?”
Eve turned toward him, her left arm resting on his flat stomach. “What did you do before you began rescuing people?”
Lowering one arm, Matt pulled her to his side. The silk of her nightgown grazed his flesh like static electricity. Out of deference to her he’d worn a pair of pajama pants without the top. Normally, he slept nude.
“I taught school.”
Pulling out of his loose embrace, she sat up. “You—a teacher?”
“I was a teacher,” he said with laughter in his voice. Rising slightly, he pulled her down beside him. “I went to the University of Texas at Arlington and joined the ROTC. After graduating I fulfilled my commitment to the Army. Being in the military made a man out of me.” What he didn’t disclose was the elite branch of the army he’d been recruited to serve in, or the survival skills he’d been taught. “After my military tour I taught Political Science for a few years while earning a graduate degree in International Relations. Then I began to imagine that the walls of the classroom were closing in on me, so at the end of one semester I walked into the office of the dean of faculty and quit. I bummed around for a few years before deciding to go into business for myself.”
Eve pressed her nose to his hard shoulder, savoring the scent of his clean flesh. “Who do you work for?” Her breath was barely a whisper.
Matt tensed, every muscle in his body rigid. “People like you, Eve,” he replied through clenched teeth. “People who can’t wait for governments or agencies to wade through the red tape.”
“Would you have killed Alex if I’d offered you enough money?”
The silence that ensued was deafening as Matt struggled valiantly to control his temper. He was angry at himself for his vulnerability. He’d revealed more about Matthew Sterling to Eve than he’d ever disclosed to any woman. Not even his mother or his sisters were aware of his double life.
“I told you before that I don’t want your money, Eve. Your body would be payment enough.” She gasped, pulling away from him. “What the hell kind of an answer did you expect? I want you to get it through your head that I’m not looking for your son for you, but for your uncle,” he railed in a half-truth. “After I get your son back it’s over for you and me. Once I put you on that plane you’re history, lady, ancient history.”
His original order had come from her uncle. However, it was rescinded with Cordero Birmingham’s revised directive. Eve didn’t know that; and she also didn’t know that he had no intention of giving her up.
“That suits me just fine,” Eve retorted, again pulling out of his embrace. This time he permitted her as she turned her back. There was more she wanted to say but she decided against it, swallowing back the virulent words poised on her tongue. She had to remind herself that she needed Matt. She couldn’t afford to alienate him.
“Forgive me, Matt. My question was out of order.”
Matt didn’t believe she was sorry. Her words dripped honey while he imagined her eyes flashed fire. And even though he was cognizant of her quick temper he wasn’t put off by it, because anyone familiar with Mateo Arroyo would say his stunning wife merely complemented his dominating personality.
As it was, she knew too much about him. If she had been anyone other than a relative of Harry Blackwell’s he would never have agreed to meet her. He had accepted only one assignment from a woman in the past—a very beautiful and very wealthy woman—and it had almost cost him his life when he’d refused her advances. It was also the first time he had ever been set up.
But somehow he hoped it would be different with Eve. He knew she would strike a deal with the devil if that would reunite her with her son. He knew that the moment she agreed to the matrimonio de conveniencia.
He lay motionless, listening to the soft sound of her breathing. His own breathing deepened and within minutes sleep overtook the both of them.
Chapter 13
Eve stepped out of the car, staring out at the blue-gray haze rising above the dense jungle in the distance. A few dark clouds hovered overhead, signaling the approach of another tropical downpour.
Turning, she glanced up the hill, steep and unpaved, where Matt had disappeared. He claimed there was a house at its summit. She moaned, noting the soft black earth seeping into her impractical footwear. How was she to pretend elegance in the jungle?
She and Matt had spent two nights in Oaxaca. Torrential rains had flooded the southern region, forcing them to seek an additional night’s refuge in the converted convent.
Matt inched his way down the path and to Eve, where she leaned against the bumper of his car. The two-day delay in Oaxaca did little to improve his dis position. He was falling more in love with Eve and that created a problem for him. Her presence reminded him of what he had become, and how he had come to abhor what he did for a living.
He moved closer, studying her delicate profile. The tropical dampness had curled her hair tightly against her scalp, and droplets of moisture dotted her velvety, dark brown forehead. His gaze moved down to the soft curve of her breasts under a cotton blouse.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
Eve crossed her arms over her chest. Her obsidian gaze followed a large bird as it settled on the upper branches of a tree, its wings outstretched in majestic, colorful splendor. “It’s beautiful, but it frightens me, Matt,” she admitted. Turning, she noted his strange expression.
“What frightens you?” The tenderness in his eyes vanished quickly, replaced by wariness.
“The jungle, this mountain, and the house not visible from the road below. I thought the house would be closer to the water, not up here where it resembles some sort of hideout.” Eve missed the tension tightening Matt’s mouth and the wild, animal-like glow of the gold in his eyes as she noticed the mud on her leather sandals.
“My friend had his reasons for building a house up here,” he answered in a strained tone.
Her head came up quickly. “Does he also kill people for a living?”
The fire in Matt’s eyes glowed like an inferno. He wanted to shake Eve until she was breathless. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks instead. “You seem to have a problem with your memory, Señora Arroyo. I’ve told you everything I feel you should know about me, and that means everything. I don’t like to repeat—”
“You’ve made your point, Mateo,” Eve snapped, cutting him off.
“I don’t think I have!” he shouted.
“I told you before not to yell at me!”
Matt’s lower lip curved downward as he glared at her from his superior height. “I have very little patience with stubborn, mule-headed women who refuse to follow orders. How the hell do you expect to raise a child properly when you’re still a child yourself?”
“If I don’t know what I’m being drawn into, I won’t live to raise my son.” She slammed her fist against the hood of the car, her body shaking with rage. “I didn’t want to come here. I don’t want to be with you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You asked me if I was afraid of you, and I told you I didn’t know. Well, the truth is, I am. You’re a human killing machine, a weapon. Your existence is filled with death, and that makes me susceptible. I grew up without my mother. I don’t want the same for my son.”
Matt reached out, capturing her shoulders, and stared down at the tears in her eyes. Her fear was real. It wasn’t for herself, but for her child. He knew he should never have brought her with him. He should’ve put her on the first plane back to the States and left Harry Blackwell with the responsibility of getting the boy back. She was afraid of him and p
robably hated him. She saw him as a messenger of death.
“Do you want your son?” She nodded, her face wet with tears. He pulled her to his chest. “Can you let go of your fear and hatred long enough for me to try to find your child?”
He didn’t know what else to say to comfort Eve as she cried silently, her body trembling uncontrollably. Matt had never played comforter before.
“Eve, Eve,” he crooned softly.
She wound her arms around his waist, immersing herself in his strength and warmth. She’d weakened. As much as she tried, she couldn’t shake off the feeling of danger. It swept over her as she lay in bed trying to fall asleep at night, and in the early hours when she waited for the sun to rise. Whenever she was alone, it attacked. She was embarking on a journey of death, and she didn’t know whether it was for herself or for Matt. Or for both of them.
“I don’t want you to fear me, Darling. Not now, not ever,” he whispered against her ear. His lips caressed her soft, fragrant hair, then moved over her closed eyelids, his tongue tasting the salty tears on her cheeks. A rush of air from her parted lips mingled with his. Her breathing was slower, even. “That’s it, Baby. Everything is going to be okay.”
Eve swallowed her fear and threw herself into settling into the house. Matt had carried the luggage up to the second-story bedrooms while she inspected the structure designed with spaces instead of rooms.
The Spanish-style house was created with a sense of openness. A spacious entry was filled with towering cacti, and provided a pivotal stage for viewing a living and dining area situated several steps below the raised kitchen before a curving stairway led to the upper level and the private bedrooms. The kitchen was equipped with a large, walk-in freezer, stocked with packaged and labeled meat, poultry, fish, fruits, and vegetables.
Stucco and brick walls kept the coolness in and the heat at bay. The dark brown, leather-covered furniture and earth tones of rust and tan on the first floor were predominant throughout most of the masculine dwelling.
The second-story loft contained two large bedrooms and a bathroom with a dressing suite. There, everything was either black or white. Large blocks of white tile were repeated throughout the bedrooms and bath. A black marble vanity, sunken tub and shower stall, and frosted glass walls overlooking the ocean made her feel like a libertine in a tiled temple.
Hidden Agenda Page 10
