by Meg Hennessy
“Colette.” He turned, offering a slight bow. “How beautiful you are tonight.”
She loved hearing him say that, and wished she could hear it over and over, and that she could be that beautiful woman who deserved such a man.
“Would you like a cordial before dinner?” He broke the silence.
She nodded that she would, though right about now, she wanted a much stronger brew. A servant made her a cordial. She accepted and noted the nod from Donato for the servant to leave the room. The door closed behind him, leaving them alone.
The reception room, where she remembered many a gala, had been furnished with numerous leather-studded chairs, ottomans, and conversation tables set strategically around the walls, all marble-topped. But there was no gaiety tonight. The entire hacienda seemed to be in a grieving state for Donato; the only sign of life was the sad, melodious sounds of a charango from the inside patio. Music floated through the open window of the salon.
She sat at one of the tables, knowing they would be summoned when the dinner was served, as had always occurred when she’d lived here. She placed her glass on the marble top, then closed her eyes, feeling the sadness that seemed to have drained all happiness from Donato’s home. Sadness she had brought on by taking Enio away, and now he was in danger.
The charanguista continued his harmonic beat of music, striking low chords and high chords all mixed beautifully together to create a blend of intoxicating music. There was nothing as beautiful as a Spanish charango, and the rhythmic strumming soothed her body.
She started to sway with the music, bending from the waist in one direction, then the other until she felt like a lily pad atop gently moving water. The notes moved through her mind with images and memories of her life here on the island.
She glanced up to find that Donato had approached the small table and watched her from behind the fluttering flame of the colorful centerpiece.
“I like the music,” she whispered, feeling intoxicated though she had drunk little of the cordial.
He extended his hand across the table. “Honor me, Colette.”
Her breath caught in her throat as if she were a maiden and this was her first social. His hand extended, he waited for her to take it. Well-manicured nails, sparkling rings on four of the fingers. As expected, Donato was dressed for dinner in his red velvet long tails, white waistcoat, white breeches, and highly polished Hessians that folded over the muscular calves of his legs. His raven hair had been neatly combed back into a queue, but a strand or two had found freedom and floated around his temples, adding to his sultry look.
With hesitation that made her movements exceedingly slow, she lifted her hand to his. His fingers were warm and firm as they curled around hers. She rose, nearly floating upward until her slippers were on the ballroom floor.
Donato raised his voice and asked the musician to play a favorite of his and hers.
“Si, Capitán.” The music shifted, the staccato faster, yet tamed by the slow strumming.
Donato pulled her to the center of the floor and stepped away from her. She started slowly at first, pairing Donato’s movement, the sway of his arms, the ever-moving positioning of one hand over the other. With each gentle rotary movement of his wrists, he’d snap his fingers, take a quick step closer to her. Her gaze fixed to his, his eyes remained on her as they both circled the floor and each other.
Her body came to life, and a flush heated her cheeks as she mirrored his movements, so rhythmic, so intoxicating. He came within a breath of her, then stepped back in time with the music. She inhaled the mint scent of him. With the click of his heel, he again stood with his lips a mere breath from hers. The heat of his body swelled around her. She inhaled deeply, savoring the musk of such a handsome yet dangerous man.
He joined their right hands, palm to palm, and across their bodies, he joined their left hands. With each strum of the charango, he pulled her into him and pushed away. Back and forth he moved their bodies, touching ever so slightly, then apart once again. His dark eyes, trimmed in those heavy midnight lashes, remained fixed on her.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. Her heart raced ahead of the rhythm, beating its own cadence far beyond the charanguista on the patio. The overhead chandeliers created wavering shadows within his face and shone slightly on the perspiration along each temple.
He swayed them together again. This time his heat lingered around her, caressing her, then leaving her chilled and wanting each time he stepped away. The music worked toward a crescendo, building the tempo to match that of her beating heart.
Donato raised their right hands and swung her underneath until her back was flush against his chest. With their hands joined and arms out to each side of them, in unison they dipped in one direction, then the other.
His heart hammered against her body. Her rounded backside slid back and forth against his hips. The flutter of his warm breath spread across the base of her neck, spiraling down her spine to settle somewhere deep inside her belly, stirring to life feelings she thought she had left behind, but they were here on this island, and every spin of the dance awakened yet another.
He turned with their hands still clasped at her waist and her left arm drawn across his chest. They floated around the center of the ballroom. She inhaled, allowing her head to fall against the strength of his shoulder and permit the breeze created by their dancing to waft through her hair.
The diamond mantilla sparkled in the candlelight as it fluttered about her face with each turn they took. Her skin, like the air before a storm, ready to ignite. She trembled, allowing the feelings to surface, choosing surrender over resistance.
He turned her again; the music from the charango echoed through her mind, over and over. She felt the beat work through her feet, her legs, her body, moving, excited and terrified all at the same time.
Does he know the effect he is having on me? Is he purposely making me feel what I have so wanted to forget? And Donato, what is he feeling?
He twirled her under his arm again and pulled her close to his body. Face-to-face, he wrapped the other arm around her torso, crushing her breasts to his chest. She felt the air move in and out of his lungs, her heart beating in rhythm to his. She smiled, consenting to have the freedom to react to the music, to feel its every breath, every movement, every strum that rang through her mind.
She suddenly felt free, twirling about the room in a beautiful gown of silk, sparkling under the candlelight of the chandelier. Feeling light-headed, she feared she might take flight and leave his arms, until she realized the magic she was feeling was not the music, nor the beautiful candlelight, but was contained solely within the arms of her husband.
Gazing into his dark eyes, she sank into their alluring velvety texture. Sweat trickled down his temple, and she couldn’t resist reaching up and tracing the same line with her fingers. He seemed to react to her touch by swirling her off her feet and into his arms, releasing her slowly along the length of his body until she thought she’d never breathe again.
He pivoted with their joined left hands at her waist and dipped to their knees. Using his body as leverage, he gently held her to hover above the floor. They slid to a stop the same instant the music ceased and the magic came to an end.
Donato lifted her from the floor to regain her footing. He twirled her through his arms to face him, then stepped away.
“Gracias.” He made a formal bow, then snapped the heels of his boots together. She stood with him, face-to-face, breathing hard. Sweat shone over his face, and the wild little strands of hair that had escaped the queue were curled and framed his dark eyes.
He wrapped his arm around her waist. Holding her flush against his chest, he looked down at her, first her eyes…then her lips.
Colette knew he wanted to kiss her. Any and all words bottled up in her throat as she waited. Her emotions wrestled while her mind waited for answers. Sorting through any feelings rationally would be hopeless with his arm around her waist, the heat soakin
g clear through her body. Her breasts were crushed to his chest. Her hands migrated up along his arms until the tips of her fingers rested atop his shoulders.
He said nothing.
Neither did she.
She raised her chin to align herself with his face, his lips that hovered so close, yet so far from her. She ran a tongue across her lips, anticipating his touch.
He wrapped his other hand in her hair and gently wound it within his fingers.
“We have nothing to say to each other,” he whispered in a low, controlled voice.
“I do not,” she whispered in response.
“Then I won’t hear the word ‘no.’”
Her eyes watered up. She shook her head ever so slightly that she would not resist, as he held her so tight against him she thought never to breathe again.
“Do I disappoint you again?”
“No, Colette, you do not.”
Using his hold on her hair, he tilted her head back and slowly lowered his lips to hers.
…
She melted into his arms. Colette was exactly where he wanted her, but victory did not have the sweet taste he expected. Instead it was her lips that gave him the elixir to which he had become so addicted. Her lips were warm and receiving, opening slightly as he slid his tongue to the inside of her mouth. She inhaled, her breasts pressed against his chest. She was small, petite, frail. A woman he had wanted to protect, for life had not been kind to Colette.
Her fingers migrated upward to play with the hair at the base of his neck. A slight groan escaped her throat as she reciprocated the kiss. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her closer, putting her between him and his shadow. It felt good to hold her like this again, to feel this woman glazed to his body, wanting him.
He ran his hand from her waist up and around her breast until he held the soft mound within his hand, kneading her, hearing her purr. He leaned down and kissed her throat, then hovered slightly over that shallow basin, nibbling on that sensitive spot before moving along her exposed collarbone, following the curvature of her delicate body with his tongue.
She inhaled again and whispered something. He thought he might have heard his name, but didn’t hear no. If only he had waited and marinated this victory in revenge and vengeance, but it wasn’t. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. And that was not in his plan. He refused to surrender that power to Colette ever again, for she had nearly destroyed him in the past and would only finish him off completely if given another chance.
He summoned every vengeful thought he’d had of her since she’d left him. The sense of loss and the deeper remembrance of her betrayal whittled into his conscious brain. Once it surfaced, he regretted entangling this moment with anything. But the error had been made, and though he tried to push it back, deny the importance of it, deny past hurts, they charged to the surface and exploded.
He broke off the kiss.
Colette stumbled, looking shocked, but caught her balance quickly. In a second, she had her sea legs and marched past him toward the door, as if to leave.
“Will you not stay for dinner?”
She stopped at the door but did not turn to face him. He wanted to tell her what that kiss meant, what that dance meant, but couldn’t. He’d never admit that, for it would make her too powerful. Having already experienced her unforgiving power over him, why would he give it to her again?
Her head moved slightly as if to say no. He knew she felt rejected. That should have given him some satisfaction, having felt it himself from her, but it didn’t. Instead his heart reached out to her and again he wanted to protect her…from him.
With a gentle hand to her arm, he escorted her into the dining room.
“You…we must take care of ourselves to be strong for the journey.” He attempted to bring a rational mind to the conversation. “Enio needs us to be strong, Colette.”
Her shoulders rounded, and he knew she fought tears with each step she took. Damn, victory didn’t taste good at all. “Os lo ruego, senora.”
She drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders before turning to face him. When she did, he motioned toward the table and pulled out a chair. She slid into the chair without a glance in his direction.
“Gracias.” Donato opened the door to the cocina and ordered that dinner be served.
There was no conversation, only the clicking of utensils against dishes as she ate in silence, as did he. The meal consisted of five courses, all delicious and heavily spiced. To his surprise, Colette ate every bite put on her plate. She was hungry, and he was grateful she had stayed to dine.
He downed a swig of wine after the plates were cleared from the table and they were again alone. “Colette, I have heard much about your need to return to your life, but why would you take my son from me?”
“I explained, my brother—”
“You explained the idea of returning home, but in that decision, you thought to make me an unfit father. Which I am not.”
She looked down at the table as if thinking of her response. Donato was patient; he wanted an answer, to understand how and why he had come to represent everything bad in her life, when in essence he was not.
“Do you remember…” she started, but her voice faded off.
Donato sat up, interested in what she had to say. Was it possible that she remembered too much of the night of her abduction?
“Do I remember what?” he asked with concern for what she was referencing.
“The night that British ship attacked the island?”
He sat back in his chair, relieved to hear an entirely different subject surface. “I do.”
“I hid.” She glanced up to catch his expression, but he held it firm, unsure of where this would lead them. “I took Enio and hid in the wardrobe of my room. You didn’t know that because you were fighting the British to keep the island safe.”
“Si.”
She was beginning to fight tears as her eyes reflected the candlelight. “I couldn’t do that again.”
“You were in no danger, Colette. No danger.”
She shook her head, barely keeping the tears under wraps. “You do not understand.”
“I try.”
She glanced around the room as if the answer hung out of her reach, then again she focused on him. “When I was five, my parents were arrested by the Tribunal in France.”
“I did not know that.” He knew they had fled the French Revolution, but was surprised to hear another portion of the story, for she had never mentioned it before.
“I know you did not.” Her hand swung over and picked up his glass of wine and downed it, for hers was empty. He picked up the wine bottle and refilled both glasses. “I was so young. I cried so hard and was so scared. If not for Jordan, I would have cried myself to death. He hid with me and held me all night, until family could come and help us.”
He knew the parallel she was making, but for him it didn’t apply. “The British attacked the island to steal, nothing more, nothing less.”
She covered her face with her hands as the tears escaped. “You do not understand.”
Donato swallowed hard, not sure what she was saying. “I try again.”
“I wanted to be where I felt safe, and that…had always been with my brother.”
That statement nearly knocked him off his chair. He couldn’t react fast enough, as the hurt from her words nailed to his ribs and pierced his heart without a trumpet blast, without warning, just a deep stabbing pain that made each breath feel like a sword slicing clear through his body. “You did not believe that I would keep you safe, my wife and son?”
He couldn’t bear to hear the answer. Anger pushed him off his chair and made him pace the room. Colette glanced up at him but dropped her gaze the moment he looked back at her.
“I was alone when the British attacked.”
“But you were safe, Colette. You were safe.”
“It so reminded me of that moment in France. It brought much of my memories back. Revolutiona
ries. I hate revolutionaries. They did nothing to better our country, only take and destroy good people.”
“But your father was an American.”
“It did not matter to them. He had money, therefore deserved to be punished. My mother was wealthy. That is how revolutionists think, Donato, that is how they think. They think only to self-serve, not for a greater cause, a better future, it is to serve themselves wealth and power. It is to take what is not theirs.”
Donato refused to take in her words against revolutionaries, for he had been one for years, fighting what he believed was an oppressive government, the Spanish monarchy. But Colette wouldn’t understand that. He opted not to draw a parallel with her father being a revolutionary. “Is that how your mother died?”
“No, when they were taken, I prayed and prayed for their return. I even promised God, I’d do his work if they were returned to me. We escaped through Bordeaux and went to Boston. But my father owned land in Louisiana.”
“Your mother?”
“She died a few years later in America.”
“Did you take care of her as you had promised God?”
“I did.”
“And Loul’s mother took care of her, as well?”
“Yes, until she died. Hattie was good to both of them and a great solace to my father. They fell in love after my mother died. My father cared little for protocol. He openly loved her. She gave us Loul, whom we all love very much.”
That he knew, having seen the interaction among the two brothers and their sister. He wasn’t as thrilled to hear of Jordan fulfilling the role of protector when it was he, her husband, Colette should have turned to for such. But this discussion did not give him the information he wanted. Through her family’s saga, he had lost his son.
“Why did you leave me, Colette?”
She motioned she was done talking, but Donato was not. He leaned forward and took her hand across the table. “I deserve an answer. Why did you leave me and take my son?”
“I was afraid of how you lived. A pirate. A man of the seas. A man feared by many and by that many have you enemies. I never wanted Enio to live through what I had, and wanted him safe. Jordan’s piracy was a ruse to find me; he wasn’t a pirate before we had been attacked. And when he arrived…” She waved her hand to indicate she had explained. “Please, Donato, do not hate me for this. I had much work to do as well.”
