Shattered Lullaby

by Rebecca York

  “Where are we?” she asked as she looked around at the expensively remodeled kitchen. Whoever owned this place had money.

  “At the home of a friend, Tony Marco. He’s away on vacation—which is lucky for us.”

  Miguel methodically locked the door behind them, then stood very still, his hands clenched at his sides as he stared out.

  She felt as if the silence in the room might shatter her. “Miguel?”

  When he turned toward her, she saw the look of desperation on his face.

  “I tried to do the right thing,” he said thickly. “But I need you. More than you can ever know.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  His words as he reached for her were soft and pleading. “I love you. Was it wrong to try and protect you from the danger of getting too close to me?”

  She didn’t know how to answer the question—not when his face was so full of sadness and longing. “I’m already close to you. And you know it.” Trembling, she held out her arms to him.

  With a low sound of need, he gathered her to him, rocked her, held her tightly.

  “My love. Oh, my love,” she murmured, the words ending in a broken sob as she laid her head against his shoulder, letting go of the worst of the tension that had tied her in knots. Finally he had made it safe for her to say what had been locked in her heart for so long.

  “I don’t think I can go on without you. Do not leave me again,” he gasped out even as his arms tightened around her.

  “No. No, I won’t.”

  He lowered his mouth, kissing her with a hunger she felt to the marrow of her bones. His hands shook as they caressed her back, combed through the blond strands of her hair. And hers were no steadier as she touched the corded muscles of his arms, buried her fingers in his shaggy dark hair. She still could hardly believe this was happening, and yet the feel of his hard body anchored her to reality.

  “Holding you again is like being in heaven,” he told her in a hoarse whisper, his hands making small circles on her back.

  “Yes.”

  “I almost went crazy when you walked away from me.”

  “So did I.”

  He cradled her hips against him, and desire rose within her in a sharp, swift tide, like a river overflowing its banks. She heard herself moan as his hands cupped the weight of her breasts. When he found their hardened tips with his thumbs, she thought she would go mad with the pleasure of it.

  “You want me,” he growled, the satisfaction in his voice pulling her back toward sanity.

  “Yes.”

  He took her hand and led her down the hall to a small den furnished with a comfortable-looking daybed. When he started to pull her onto the bed, she stopped him with as much conviction as she could muster.

  He raised his head, his eyes questioning hers.

  “Miguel, I’m not going to let either one of us duck the important issues. We’re going to talk—really talk—before we...before we do anything else.”

  “Is that what you want?” he asked in a gritty voice.

  “No.” She managed a regretful little smile. “But that’s the way it’s going to be.”

  The tone of her voice must have convinced him, because he signed in resignation. “All right. But don’t deny me the comfort of holding you close to me.”

  She couldn’t deny herself that comfort, and she knew he saw the acquiescence in her face.

  He lay down, moving so that his back was against the bolsters as he held out his arms to her. She lowered herself beside him, burrowing into his warmth, pressing her lips against his neck and then his cheek.

  His hand slid possessively over her abdomen, his palm cupping their child with a tenderness that made it impossible for her to draw in a full breath. Gently, in response, she covered his hand with hers, holding his palm against her through the thin fabric of her dress.

  “God, I wish I had known,” he whispered, his voice husky. “You must have had a bad time—alone, carrying my baby. Dealing with people like Jim Alvarez.”

  “Most people aren’t like Alvarez. My friends have been very supportive.”

  “I should have been standing beside you all these months.... I would have—”

  “You would have come for me?”

  “Yes.” There was conviction in his voice. Remorse.

  Under his hand, the baby shifted in her womb, and she heard Miguel’s uneven breath catch in his throat.

  “I found out this week, we’re going to have a boy,” she said.

  “You are giving me a son!”

  “Would you have been disappointed with a girl?”

  “A son means a great deal to me, but I would have loved a daughter, too.”

  “Next time,” she answered.

  When he tipped her head up and moved his lips back and forth against hers, she gave a shuddering sigh. Then he angled his mouth, tasting her more fully, his hand moving upward to find her breast, and she realized she was in serious danger of postponing their discussion.

  She loved him too much, though, to let it happen. She had to know what had turned him into a fugitive, and she had to change the way he thought of their relationship. They had to be partners, equals, if they were going to survive this crisis and build a life together. So she folded her fingers around his hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed his fingers before murmuring, “Tell me what happened to you. I mean, tell me why you’re in hiding.”

  His eyes blinked open, met hers. “You can be cruel.”

  “We’ll both be glad when we get the telling over with,” she replied.

  “Maybe.” He shifted them to a sitting position, so that her back was to his chest and his arms were around her. Dragging in a sharp breath, he let it out in a rush like a man resigned to his fate. “All right. Do you know I am a plastic surgeon?”

  She shook her head, hardly daring to breathe. Was he finally going to tell her the truth?

  “Last year I operated on a man who told me he was being hunted by government agents for something he didn’t do. He said the only escape for him was to change his face. He brought me a sketch of the way he wanted to look. It was a picture of his cousin who had died a year earlier. He said he could pass for this relative—assume his identity.”

  “You operated on him?” she asked.

  “Yes. At my clinic. It was in a nice secluded location in San Marcos. Rich people from Central America and Mexico and even the U.S. came to me to be fixed up. I charged them big fees and used the money to finance the treatment of some charity patients. But I also had a very comfortable lifestyle.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being comfortable.”

  “I enjoyed my success. I enjoyed my skill. I thought I was set for life. Then, three days after the operation on—”

  “You already told me his name. Carlos Jurado.”

  “Yes. I did not know it when he came to me. I found out later.”

  When he didn’t continue, she prompted, “‘Three days after the operation—’”

  His fingers clamped on hers in a death grip as he spoke again. “He came back to the clinic with a squad of men and murdered everybody in the compound. My staff. My sister, Anna, who was working for me. My patients. Anyone who might have seen him—before and after. I was picking up a shipment of medicine from the airport, or I would be dead, too.”

  She shifted in his embrace, turning so that one arm could tighten around him while she tunneled her other hand through his hair, cradling his head against her breast as she struggled to take it in. “No,” was all she could manage.

  He was shaking now. When she raised her head, she saw that his face was a mask of pain and horror—a mirror of the pain and horror he must have felt on that terrible day.

  “Oh, God, it must have been unbearable. Coming back to that.”

  He pressed his face into the back of her neck, and she knew he must be trying to blot out the terrible vision.

  “You still dream about it, don’t you?” she whispered, remembering his fevered nightmares d
uring the malaria attack and wishing she could do more than simply hold him tight. Now she understood.

  After a long time he said, “I got away. Sometimes I think I should be dead, too. It was my fault, my arrogance that killed all those people.”

  “No!”

  He ignored her and went on. “Other times I tell myself I have to stay alive so I can make Jurado pay for what he did.”

  She wanted to tell him he was safe here. She didn’t know if it was true. Jurado was a powerful man. She had learned that from her reading.

  “His men followed me north. They almost got me in Mexico. After that—” He stopped again, gulped in air. “After that, I operated on my face.”

  “You what?”

  “I changed the way I look,” he said, his voice low and even.

  “Miguel!” She heard the words, but had trouble taking in their meaning. She’d known he was on the run; she hadn’t guessed the level of his desperation—or his resolve. Her hand went to his cheek as she tried to see what he had done to himself. When she couldn’t discern the results, she stroked her fingers gently against his flesh, as if her touch might still be painful. “How could you do that to yourself? Didn’t it—” She gulped. “Didn’t it hurt?”

  He gave a curt nod. “It was painful but necessary. It threw them off my trail for a while. They were looking for me in Florida, but they didn’t know it was me. Then I found out Jurado’s agents were talking to people I had known in the Washington, D.C., area. And to men who had gone to medical school with me. He offered a lot of money for information. He could have someone in Baltimore right now. He has been hunting me for almost a year. I do not think he is going to give up.”

  “But why? You’re out of his way.”

  He swallowed. “I have had a lot of time to think about it. If he simply wanted to disappear, that would be one thing. He must have some public role in mind. And the only person who knows about his new face is a fool of a doctor named Miguel—” He paused, his eyes burning into hers. “Miguel Valero. That is my real name. No one else in Baltimore knows it, but I am telling it to you.”

  She nodded slowly, overwhelmed by the act of trust. “It’s a good name.”

  “I’m afraid it has also become a dangerous name.” She saw him swallow. “I long to give my son that name. But I think I will not be doing him a favor.”

  “Yes, you will!”

  His dark gaze bored into her. “You sound so positive. Does that mean you will marry me?”

  She had spoken without realizing the implication of her words. Now she felt a shiver race over her skin. “You came back to me because of the baby.”

  His eyes never left her as he said, “Yes. I walked away from you because I knew I was making you vulnerable to Jurado. Then I found out about the baby, and I was happy that I had an excuse to marry you. When you turned me down, I...I almost went out of my mind. I want to make you an honest woman. But I want a lot more than that. I need you more than I need air to breathe. Without you, I have been only half alive.”

  The words wrapped themselves around her, sank into her heart. “Yes,” she said, meaning the same thing.

  “If...if you did not carry my child, would you still want to marry me?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Yes. I love you.”

  “But you have seen me at my worst!”

  She stroked her fingers against his cheek. “Yes, I saw you at your worst—when you were sick. But I’ve also seen your best qualities, your sense of honor and duty. Your warmth. Your loyalty to the people. Every time you have a choice, you put others before yourself.”

  There was still tension in his arms and shoulders. “Not always. My motives toward you weren’t so pure. I was reckless with you,” he ground out. “I knew making love without protection was taking a chance. But I did it anyway. I wanted you too much to stop.”

  “That’s not all your fault. I was taking the same chance,” she replied, her eyes steady on his. “What happened between us five months ago was very intense. Not just making love—all of it But I kept being afraid that you were going to walk away from me.” She swallowed, determined that she would be completely honest. “Maybe in a tiny corner of my mind I was thinking that if I got pregnant, you’d have to stay.”

  His expression eased a little as he considered that.

  “And it turned out all right,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “Truly? You are happy to be carrying our son?”

  “Yes.”

  The look of love on his face touched her soul, and she felt the last barrier between them drop away. He folded her close, gave her a fierce kiss that might have started as an act of possession. It quickly changed to passion. His hands moved greedily over her, caressing her breasts and the gentle curve of her abdomen. Her own hands were no less ravenous. It had been so long since she’d touched him like this. She couldn’t stop herself from running her fingers over his face, the hard muscles of his arms, his back.

  He tossed the bolsters onto the floor to make more room on the bed, then sighed in pure pleasure as he brought her down to lie beside him.

  “Querida. My angel,” he gasped out as he undid the top button of her dress so he could press his lips to the warm hollow at the base of her throat She murmured his name, her voice high and breathless as her body tuned itself to his touch. Yet, when he undid the rest of the buttons and started to pull the dress upward, her hand caught his.

  His eyes questioned hers. “You don’t want to?”

  “Miguel, you haven’t seen me in months. My body’s changed a lot. I look—” her gaze slid away from him “—like a whale. And my nipples are so dark.”

  He planted a light kiss on her lips. “To me, you look very beautiful” His mouth traveled to the vee between her breasts. “Very feminine.” His head turned one way and then the other, kissing the inside curve of each breast “Very desirable.” Hooking a finger under the edge of her bra, he pushed one cup out of the way, baring her nipple, which he delicately circled with his tongue.

  “Oh!” she cried out as a small shock wave rippled through her.

  When his lips closed around her and he began to suck, she cried out again as the ripples came faster, higher.

  “I need more of you,” he said in a thick voice. “Twice as much.”

  She could deny him nothing. At her little nod, he pulled her up, eased the dress over her head, and tossed it onto the brass railing at the end of the daybed. Then, while she was still leaning against him, he unsnapped the clasp of her bra and pulled it out of the way.

  She wanted to stay close against him, but he eased her back so that he could take the weight of her breasts in his hands, stroking them as he bent to bring his lips first to one distended nipple and then the other.

  “You look like an ancient goddess,” he murmured, his voice rough as he pushed her panties out of the way. Then his lips were on the swollen mound of her abdomen, kissing her there as his fingers drifted lower to find the moist heat at her center.

  She arched into the caress, helpless to stop herself from crying out at the pleasure of his touch.

  When he raised his head, his eyes burned into hers. Then he stood to quickly discard his own clothing. As he turned to face her, she saw very clearly that her body pleased him.

  Handling her like fragile silk, he stretched his length along hers and gathered her to him. “To be with you like this again is a miracle,” he murmured.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, watching as his hand moved over her lovingly, touching all the places that kindled a fire inside her.

  She felt the hunger in him when his mouth came back to hers. Yet he was gentle, oh, so gentle, as he drove her upward to a higher plateau of pleasure.

  “Please, I need you,” she gasped.

  “Yes.” Rising above her, he positioned himself between her legs. Then, slowly, carefully, he eased inside her, supporting his weight on his elbows as he gazed down at her.

  “All right?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” s
he answered, looking up at him, reaching to tenderly touch his lips with her index finger.

  She shattered almost as soon as he began to move within her, then climbed with him again—up, up, up and over the moon. She cried out his name as she shattered once more into a shower of brilliant shooting stars, then felt him follow her into the heavens, felt his body stiffen as he shouted out his satisfaction.

  EXHAUSTED, JESSIE SLEPT, coming back to consciousness only when Miguel got up to bring a quilt and cover them. Then she nestled back into his arms, finding his hand and holding it tightly.

  It was dark when she finally awoke, disoriented until she felt him beside her.

  He turned his head to kiss her.

  “Have you been awake long?” she asked.

  “Long enough.”

  She sensed the disquiet in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “I was lying here thinking.”

  When he offered no more, she found his hand under the covers again. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

  She heard him swallow in the darkness as his thumb stroked her palm. “Being like this with you is like a dream come true, but if something happens to you and the child because of me, I will never forgive myself.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen!”

  “Jessie, I have been living like a fugitive for a long time. I know that at any moment Jurado’s men could find me. If they do, and you are with me...” His voice trailed off.

  “That sounds like you’re getting ready to leave me again,” she said with a catch in her voice. “I thought we agreed to get married.” Sitting up, she fumbled for the brass lamp she’d seen on the table beside the bed. When she switched it on, they both blinked against the light.

  “Jessie, I want you as my wife. But if you live with me, Jurado will be after you, too. I can’t risk that. Or risk the child.”

  She swallowed. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I did some research on marriage licenses,” he said. “We must get married in a small county—far from Baltimore, where the records will be buried. Then you will live as you have before, as Senorita Douglas. And I will come to you when I can.” He sighed. “I do not like it. I want the world to know that you are my wife. But I cannot see an alternative.”