Angel Falls

by Connie Mann

  She immediately missed his warmth.

  “If you change your mind, just reach out and touch me. I won’t mind.” His voice sounded indifferent, lazy, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

  But as she lay there and listened to the wind rustling in the trees and the screech of birds, she replayed his words in her mind. Suddenly, she realized he’d made them deliberately bland. For her sake.

  Bunching her lumpy sweater under her head, Regina curled on her side and studied the man beside her. For years, in her mind, men had simply been big, formless threats to be avoided at all costs. She’d never taken the time to study one.

  His even breathing convinced her he slept deeply, so she made a leisurely study of him. One hand tucked under her head, she looked her fill. His neck was strong; his ear well-formed.

  As if it had a mind of its own, her hand reached out, then she snatched it back before she touched him. She’d never willingly put her hands on a man in her life. Well, except for the occasional peck on Jorge’s cheek and the lavish attention she gave Eduardo and the orphanage boys, but those touches didn’t count.

  Regina studied the night sky overhead a while, then turned back to him again. Drat the man for putting the thought in her mind. She hadn’t had the least interest in touching him until he’d mentioned it.

  Liar.

  Would his hair be rough or soft? she wondered. His breathing had leveled out as he drifted into sleep and its slow, even cadence calmed her nerves, though a flicker of . . . something shimmered in her belly.

  She tucked her knife under her pillow and screwed up her courage before her hand snaked out again, using two fingers to lightly brush his nape. His dark hair was soft, so soft she had the urge to run her fingers all the way through it. She stopped, suddenly wary, but his breathing hadn’t changed.

  She knew it was absurd, but the fact that he was asleep gave her courage. Drawing a deep breath, she moved three inches closer and this time cupped the back of his head in her palm. Was it her imagination, or had his breathing hitched? She waited.

  When he didn’t move, she ran her fingers through the hair on the top of his head, delighted with its rich texture. Bolder now, she trailed her fingers over his ear, down his neck, and outward to cup his strong shoulder, avoiding the bandage. She measured his biceps in her hand, but instead of being alarmed at his obvious strength, it gave her an odd sense of safety. She’d seen his strength, yes, but she had also seen him keep it under control.

  He made a muffled sound, and she froze. When he turned onto his back, she veiled her eyes with her lashes and feigned sleep. He settled back into sleep, eyes closed, hands at his sides. Amazing how much less big and threatening he looked this way.

  Brooks figured he just might lose what was left of his mind if she didn’t touch him again. He scrambled for a mental distraction, some way to remain motionless while she worked up the courage for a bit more exploring. When one of his Ranger checklists flashed through his mind, he grabbed it with both hands, desperate. This wasn’t survival behind enemy lines, but it came close.

  S—Size up the situation. From Reggie’s point of view, Brooks knew thinking he was asleep gave her control. Since he figured this was the only way she felt safe enough to touch him, he vowed he wouldn’t react if it killed him.

  U—Undue haste makes waste. He clenched his teeth when her hand snaked out. That’s it, Reggie. Do it again. Take your time.

  R—Remember where you are. He forced his breathing low and deep. No sudden moves.

  V—Vanquish fear and panic. This was about her fears. Still, her tentative touches stretched his control to the breaking point.

  I—Improvise. She’d surprised him again. He hadn’t expected such hard-working hands to be so soft and gentle, so welcoming.

  V—Value living. Though he wanted to look into her deep brown eyes, find out what she was thinking, he wouldn’t risk it. Stay focused, man. This isn’t about you.

  A—Act like the natives. He ached to kiss her, to bury his hands in her hair. But he wouldn’t. She’d dealt with enough “natives” to last a lifetime.

  L—Live by your wits. This was her show, a way for her to overcome her past. He couldn’t give her any tomorrows, but maybe, just maybe, he could help her get beyond yesterday.

  Regina’s nervousness seeped away with every passing minute, every slow, even breath he took. He felt wonderful under her hands. Strong and masculine, but not mean. She didn’t doubt his capacity for violence. She had seen glimpses of it several times. But instead of disgusting her, knowing that he took care of his own filled her with gratitude. She still wasn’t sure what had changed his mind about walking out on them, but she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he would protect them with his life. It was a staggering thought.

  As the moon rose higher in the sky, she propped herself up on one elbow and traced her fingers over his face. He had a great face. Not model pretty or movie star handsome, but rugged. Solid. Attractive in a don’t-mess-with-me way. His nose looked like it had been broken sometime in the past, and his cheeks were heavy with dark stubble. She loved the way it rasped against her palm.

  She ran her thumb over his lips. Odd, she’d never have expected such soft skin in such a masculine face. She did it again and the strangest urge to taste him caught her. But on her terms.

  Careful, so as not to wake the sleeping dragon, she leaned over and slowly brushed his lips with hers. It felt just as it had before, only better. Safer, because she knew she could pull back at any time.

  Oh, this was wonderful. Never had she imagined kissing could be like this. This had no resemblance whatsoever to the nauseating rush of drunken breath and stabbing tongues of her childhood.

  She wanted to kiss him again, fairly shook with the need to do it again, but a lifetime’s caution held her back. Instead, she focused on learning his face, slowly stroking her fingers over its rugged contours, until she gradually noticed a heat coiling in her belly. Startled by her own reaction, she raised her head and froze as she looked down the length of Brooks, who was wide awake and had obviously been so all along.

  Scooting backward, her eyes flew to his. He was watching her, completely motionless. Heat flooded her face, and she turned to leap from the sleeping bag. One of those strong hands flashed out to stop her in a grip that was painless, but effective.

  “Shh,” he crooned. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She ducked her head, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Never be sorry.” She heard the smile in his voice. “I enjoyed every second of it.”

  “Good night,” she whispered and prepared to turn away.

  The hand on her arm stopped her, but somehow she knew he would let her go if she tugged.

  “I asked you to sleep next to me tonight, but that’s all. I won’t ever force you, and I won’t let things go too far.” He let go of her arm and looked her right in the eye, his blunt words shocking. “But I also like your touch.”

  She looked into those gray eyes and saw desire burning there, but behind that she saw compassion . . . and caring. To give him back a bit of the comfort he’d given her, she bent her head and kissed him again. She expected his hands to come up and touch her, but he kept them firmly at his sides.

  She looked at him and her curiosity got the better of her pride. “Why didn’t you put your arms around me?”

  “Because you didn’t ask.”

  Her eyes widened as she realized the gift he was giving her. He was letting her have total control, allowing her to set the pace and the limits. The thought was freeing.

  It was also terrifying.

  “Would-would you put your arms around me?”

  “Only gladly,” he growled, curling her into the curve of his body. “Anything else you’d like?”

  “Would you kiss me?”

  “With pleasure.”

  And he did. This time, he feathered kisses over her lips, nose, and eyelids, then the slope of her cheeks, before leisurely ret
urning to her mouth. Once there, he took his time, until their hearts were racing, and her world had gotten blurry around the edges.

  “Please.” It was all she could get out.

  “Please what?” he asked softly, eyes tender.

  She couldn’t find words, so she simply stroked his lean cheek, her hand shaking. Would he understand what she was asking, what she couldn’t explain even to herself?

  He went still for a moment, and Regina sensed the control he was keeping himself under.

  Slowly, he leaned over her, his eyes locked with hers. Touching her with just his thumb, he repeated much of what she had done earlier. Cheeks, nose, ears, hair, none of it escaped his careful attention. With a touch as light as a butterfly’s wing, he lingered at her lips, stroking softly.

  Slowly, giving her time to call a halt, his palm drifted down over the slope of her shoulder, down her arm to her hands. He lifted one hand and kissed the tip of each finger before placing a soft kiss in the center of her palm, watching her.

  Regina’s eyes filled with tears. She’d had no idea things could be like this between a man and a woman. He treated her as though she was beautiful and precious, her body something to be adored, rather than conquered. His touch sent her floating in a haze of new and wonderful sensations, aware of herself in a way she had never been before.

  His wonderful mouth returned to hers then, and he kissed her as if he had nothing more important to do for the rest of his life. Regina’s mind went slightly fuzzy, and she wanted him to slow down, to give her time to sort out all these new feelings; but they were coming too fast to analyze, too bone-melting to think about.

  To anchor herself, she gripped his upper arms. Instantly, Brooks changed the angle of the kiss, his mouth suddenly hungry, impatient.

  Like a lightning bolt from the blue, everything changed. His weight pushed her hard against the ground, his hands gripped with too much force, and his kiss made her gag. She couldn’t breathe.

  Memories swirled in front of her eyes, blocking out his face. Nameless, faceless drunks with thick tongues and hurtful hands, grabbed, and pulled, and squeezed. Dear Father, no, not again.

  She stiffened and then let herself go limp and pliant, just as Irene had taught her when she was no more than a child. It would be over faster if she didn’t hinder him. Tears of betrayal leaked out from under her closed lids and ran down into her ears. He was just like every other man. She was simply a convenient means to an end.

  Regina forced every thought of what was happening from her mind and drew herself into her safe place, where there were no grasping hands and no pain. She shut out the sound of Brooks’s thundering heartbeat and pictured herself walking in a sunny meadow, a toddler running alongside chasing butterflies, a baby securely tucked in the crook of her arm. Instead of Brooks’s weight pinning her down, she dreamed of a wonderful man walking beside her, looking at her with loving, accepting eyes. There was no real spot like that for Regina, of course, but in her dream place she could escape when reality was too painful.

  He’d lost her. The knowledge sliced through his sensory fog like a bullwhip. One minute she was right there, and the next she became a rag doll. He instantly released her and rolled over, running a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what had happened. His heart still hammered like a runaway train, and it took a minute to slow his breathing.

  He studied her in the moonlight, and comprehension and regret slapped him from either side. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but tears dripped down her face, each drop like a sharp spike piercing his heart. He’d scared her to death.

  He knew he shouldn’t touch her right now. But how could he not? He reached over and brushed at the wetness with nothing more than the tip of one shaking finger. He knew it was absurd to soothe with the same hands that had frightened her to begin with, but he had to try.

  “Don’t cry, Reg. I’m sorry. So sorry.” He drew a ragged breath and studied her face, begging her to look at him. “I got carried away. You tasted so good, I wanted more . . . too much more.”

  He was no different than every other scumbag who had ever used her. He knew he was making excuses, but couldn’t seem to stop. He hated seeing her cry. More tears ran down her face, and again he brushed them away, utterly disgusted with himself, and frustrated beyond measure at his inability to fix the hurt he’d inflicted.

  When she opened her eyes briefly and looked at him, he almost wished she hadn’t. They were filled with such betrayal, the pain was worse than any gunshot wound. She’d given him her trust, and he’d let her down. He watched her, filled with self-loathing, and waited for some response from her. Anything.

  Regina didn’t say a word. She turned her back on him and curled into a little ball, shivering.

  Even though she didn’t make a sound, the echo of her tears followed him into the woods and reverberated in his head as he sat on a fallen log for the rest of the night.

  He couldn’t undo what had happened, but he could keep her safe while she slept.

  19

  FRANCISCO LOPEZ SAT IN THE LEATHER CHAIR BEHIND THE DESK IN HIS DEN and thrust his fingers through hair that was usually impeccably groomed. He ran a finger under the starched collar of his shirt and hoped it would help him draw a deep breath. Sweat pooled beneath his armpits, and the tangy scent only twisted his gut further.

  He had done all he could to keep the boy safe. Hadn’t he? Eduardo was in the care of a well-trained Army Ranger and a woman he knew would protect the boy with her very life. Then why did he feel like such a coward?

  Because he was. He should have told Brooks and Regina exactly who they were up against, right from the start. And after his conversation with Carol yesterday, he also knew with sickening certainty that Brooks thought Eduardo was Noah’s son. His stomach turned over as he realized the betrayal Brooks must be feeling, thinking his father had not once, but twice, fathered children out of wedlock.

  Francisco swiveled his chair and stared out the darkened window, but what he saw wasn’t the night sky of Porto Alegre. In his mind’s eye, he saw his dreams of becoming the presidente going up in flames. He was a good man. He could be a big help in bringing needed change to his beloved Brazil.

  The door to his den swung open with a slight creak. He whipped his chair around and glimpsed his youngest daughter poking her head around the corner. Dark curls bounced, but her expressive eyes widened when she saw his face. “Pai? How come you are in here all alone?” she asked softly.

  With one hand, he waved her over and patted his lap. The six-year-old dashed across the room and hopped up, wrapping her sturdy little arms around his neck. He held her tight and thanked God for this wonderful treasure.

  “I love you, Pai.”

  His heart ached at her innocent words, and he slowly set her aside. “Go play for a bit before bed, all right? Daddy has some work to do.”

  When she scampered from the room, he picked up the telephone. He should call Brooks, tell him whose child Eduardo was. His palm was so slick with sweat, the receiver slid from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

  After rubbing his palms on his slacks, he picked it up and set it back in its cradle before burying his head in his hands. God forgive him; he couldn’t do it. It would mean the end of his political career. He would have to trust that Brooks’s training would overcome his animosity toward his father and that he would do right by Eduardo.

  It was his only hope.

  Raul woke slowly and stretched, enjoying the feel of crisp sheets against his body. His hotel wasn’t quite on par with the Hotel Cataratas, but it would do nicely. The big pink hotel would be too obvious; there would be too many chances for someone to remember him. Odd that Brooks had chosen to stay there. He pushed the thought aside. This morning he would scout out the town and make his plans. The time had come to take action.

  He reached over and felt under the other pillow for his gun. The weight of it in his hand reassured him. Excitement began to build, but he did his best to slow it down. For now
, he needed to take it easy. Play tourist. Blend in with the crowd. Fine-tune his plan and find the best place to tree his quarry. It was time to end their little game. He was tired of the chase. He wanted to pounce, enjoy his meal, and be on his way to other things, other mice.

  He smiled at his clever image. His sister had often accused him of being stupid. Well, now she’d know for sure that he wasn’t. He’d avenge her death, make those responsible pay.

  Maybe then she’d finally stop tormenting him.

  Regina woke the next morning and reached for Eduardo, but he wasn’t beside her. Heart pounding with fear, she scrambled up, knife in hand, and scanned the clearing. Brooks sat on a fallen log several feet away, calmly feeding Eduardo as though it were something he did every day of his life. She willed her heartbeat to slow down and slowly closed her switchblade. He hadn’t taken the boy and left her alone. He was still here.

  That thought should have reassured her, but instead it reminded her of what had taken place last night. She wrapped her arms around her middle as the fear and sense of betrayal washed over her again. Like all men, he took what he wanted.

  Her conscience and sense of fair play brought her up short. In reality, he hadn’t hurt her, certainly done nothing approaching force. He’d triggered awful memories, but that was all. Most importantly, he’d stopped.

  He wasn’t the problem, she was, and the knowledge made her feel foolish and uncertain. In the harsh light of day, she didn’t know what to say to him, how to behave. She tried civility. “Bom dia, Senhor.”

  His eyes narrowed fractionally, but his face remained impassive. “Good morning to you too, Senhorita,” he returned. “Did you sleep well?”

  She nodded and moved to take Eduardo.

  “I’ve got him. Go take care of whatever you need to.” He gestured toward the woods.

  When she returned, he had the boy on one shoulder and was setting out bread and jam with the other. Why did the sight of all that rugged maleness cradling a tiny boy make her eyes tear and her knees go weak?