“Since Fernando’s death two years ago, I have tried to come here more often, but I see now it has not been often enough. Rane needs family, and she has no one in Lima or at the rancho. She needs to know the love, support and guiding wisdom of her great-grandparents.” Her smile dissolved. “I need them, too,” she added in a whisper.
“I imagine,” Culver said in a low tone as he finished his portion of the snake meat, “you need them more than ever.”
With a little laugh, Pilar said, “I have been seriously thinking of quitting my job as rancho manager and moving to my grandparents’ village.”
Culver’s eyes narrowed on her. Pilar had been educated in the U.S., at Harvard, sent abroad to get the best possible education, as was common for the children of rich families in Lima. She had a degree in economics, and her father had once planned for her to go into the family business in Spain, a manufacturing concern. But with his early death, none of that had transpired.
“What would you do in a village with no electricity? No modern conveniences?”
Laughing gently, Pilar finished her meal and plucked some of the damp leaves just outside the lean-to, using them to wash her fingers. “You may be shocked to hear that I prefer the light of the sun and moon to electricity. So what if we have no indoor plumbing? We have a spring-fed pond where I can wash at the end of each day, in pure water, without chemicals, unspoiled by the hand of man. The vegetables my grandparents raise are healthful, grown without pesticides in rich, composted soil.” She shook her head gravely. “No, Culver, I find life in my grandparents’ village calling me strongly. Rane would have a family there—and I could be with her, guiding and teaching her in so many ways that haven’t been possible in Lima. City life deadens one’s heart, disconnecting us from the sacred unseen that lives and breathes around us.” She held his dark, thoughtful gaze. “I know you understand what I am saying.”
“I feel it,” he agreed in a roughened tone. “And I don’t disagree. City life is a big disconnect from the country—from so many things. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I could actually see myself living in a village like your grandparents’. I’m ready to give up my high-risk merc life. Maybe it’s going to extremes, but I’d like to experiment with something simple in a way that’s not available in the U.S. anymore.”
Pilar absorbed his words, heartened by his obvious love for the village life that was so important to her. She shivered. “I was never so glad to leave Lima as right after Fernando’s death, when I went to visit my grandparents. I hated the hypocritical aristocrats who, once Fernando wasn’t there to protect me, again looked at me as if I were less than them because I was mestiza.”
“Your mestiza blood is the royal blood of Incan kings,” Culver said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s something to be proud of.”
Pilar opened her hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s one more reason to get Rane back to the village. I want her to reconnect with her Incan roots. I didn’t have that choice, growing up, and I see the struggles I’ve had, reaching back to that deep instinctive part of who I really am. I want Rane to dig her small fingers into the rich, black soil. I want her to laugh in a thunderstorm and feel the cool drops of water refreshing her. I want her to lose herself in the beauty of the Andes and the caressing moisture of our beloved jungle.” She stopped, realizing she was babbling. “I want so much for her… .” she whispered.
“You want for Rane what was denied you,” Culver said gently. He saw tears glittering in Pilar’s eyes, and in that moment realized how alone she had been all her life. It was true, her father was a powerful and rich Spanish diplomat, but her blood was in the Incan soil of Peru. And because Pilar’s mother had been trapped in a society that did not honor women or their needs, he was sure Pilar hadn’t been allowed to go home—to the spiritual home that he knew her grandparents’ village was for her.
“Yes,” Pilar murmured, feeling tired and very old. She sifted some of the dark, moist soil through her fingers, using it to douse their fire in its deep pit. “Rane is the light of my heart, my only future,” she began, her voice raw with emotion. “I do not want her family ripped away from her as mine was. I want her to know the love of a man and a woman. If she can’t have a father, at least she can have a grandfather.” She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. “Rane reminds me of myself so long ago. I felt so lost growing up, but now I know why. Something deep within me is driving me to leave Lima and come back here, to my roots.”
Culver nodded and stretched out, using his arm as a pillow. He could no longer see anything beyond Pilar’s silhouette, but that didn’t matter. He reached out, his fingers coming to rest on her bent, tense back. “Come on, lie down here beside me,” he entreated huskily. “You’re tired. You’ve been through a lot in the past couple of days… .”
Dashing the tears from her eyes, Pilar acquiesced. Culver’s hand felt steadying. If she was going to die on this mission, for her last night on earth, like a greedy miser, she wanted to gather to her as much as she could of that thing that was most important to her—time with the only man she had ever loved. Culver made it so easy for her to lie down beside him and stretch her length against him. Her back fit against his chest, and where their hips met, she felt an instant ache.
But it could not be. She dared not love him—even if it was for the last time. Exhausted emotionally, she felt Culver place his arm beneath her head.
“Here,” Culver whispered thickly, positioning his hand against her hair and guiding her head to his shoulder, “lie on me.” A sigh escaped him as Pilar fitted her head and shoulder against him. They were far enough apart to allow the humid breeze to move between them. It was simply too hot to lie pressed together, though that was exactly what Culver wanted with every fiber of his being. He wanted to tear the clothes off her small, beautiful body and press into her until they breathed each breath together, and their hearts thundered in that mystical, powerful union he so ached to experience again.
The terror that Pilar might die filled him as he felt her tired body surrender to him. He sensed a fine tension running through her as he placed his hand protectively on her upper arm. The night beings—crickets and frogs—sang to them as he closed his eyes and inhaled Pilar’s unique fragrance. Little by little, she began to truly relax, as if sinking not only into his light embrace, but into the arms of Mother Earth herself.
Somewhere in the distance, Culver heard thunder rumbling as if to warn him of the coming daylight—and the coming danger Pilar would be in. Was there any other plan possible, rather than sending her into Ramirez’s fortress? Culver racked his brain as the night deepened around them and a vague fog shrouded them, muting the night creatures’ sounds. One thing was certain: if he were to walk into Ramirez’s fortress, they’d blast him out of existence in a hail of submachine-gun fire.
Pilar’s soft breath caressed his outstretched arm, which she lay on like a pillow. The heavy strands of her ebony hair were silky against it, and the velvet of her cheek was soothing. Stabilizing…
Culver jerked awake. He must have fallen asleep, but he didn’t remember doing so, because his mind had been crawling with possibilities of how to keep Pilar safe. Somewhere above the canopy, a full moon shone, and as he looked over her small form, the jungle around them appeared luminescent and otherworldly. Fingers of fog drifted among the dark shapes of a huge variety of leaves. He shifted his awareness to Pilar. Sometime during the night she had turned over, and her face now pressed into the hollow of his shoulder, her limp arm curved across his torso. Her small breasts moved with each slow breath she took.
Culver’s eyes filled with tears as he pulled away just enough to gaze down at her sleeping features. Her lips were parted, her lashes dark fans against her cheekbones. Innocence radiated from her. Her hair was curling from the humidity, curving around her oval face. How could he ever have been angry with her? Culver felt he understood better now why Pilar had left him. He could accept her explanation, knowing the cultural
bounds she had to survive within.
With his finger, Culver lightly traced the winged arch of her eyebrow, following it down the slender curve of her jawline to her neck. Her skin was damp from the humidity, and he felt the slow, constant pulse at the side of her neck. What a brave, courageous heart she had, Culver thought. For no apparent reason, the image of Rane’s face hovered before him. The child had her mother’s oval face and Incan features, from her large, slightly slanted eyes to the voluptuous, bowlike mouth. Yet Culver saw her father in her, too—a mouth that was more set, more stubborn than Pilar’s, and her eyebrows weren’t wing-shaped. He saw other differences, too. Her skin tone was lighter than her mother’s. Culver hadn’t thought about that much, because many Castilian Spanish were light skinned.
Rane’s eyes were much lighter brown than Pilar’s, though they possessed the same jaguar gold in their depths. He smiled a little. That kid was going to break many a young man’s heart when she grew up. Yes, she was a heartbreaker just like her mother, though she’d be taller and more sturdily built than Pilar. He recalled the photo of Fernando, and how slender and light framed the man had been. Where did Rane get her build? he wondered. Pilar’s bone structure had always seemed fragile as a bird’s despite her strength and tenacity.
Perhaps Rane had gotten genes from some long-ago relative on Fernando’s family tree, someone who had been larger and more broad shouldered, as she was. Judging from her height now, Culver guessed she would be five-eight or five-ten by the time she was a young woman, and those proud shoulders and that erect carriage would work in her favor.
Pilar whimpered in her sleep, pulling Culver out of his thoughts. The sound wasn’t loud—more like the soft, frightened cry of a child left alone in the dark. Gently, he caressed her hair, shoulders and back to soothe away whatever was scaring her. Within moments, the small wrinkles that had gathered on her broad forehead disappeared.
How easy it was to love her. Culver smiled tenderly. Just one touch took away her fear. And God knew, she had reason to fear. Worriedly, he lifted his head and stared out at foggy, moonlit landscape. His mind again touched on the possibility of Pilar dying, and instantly he recoiled from the thought. He’d just found her again. He couldn’t lose her so soon. Then he laughed harshly at himself. Pilar wasn’t his to have, any more than he could reach out into the nebulous moonlight and capture those ethereal strands of fog.
Too much from the past still stood in the way. Pilar hadn’t said she wanted him back, and Culver knew her well enough to realize she would have said it if it were true. No, her destiny was elsewhere; he wasn’t part of her life’s picture. Oddly, the realization didn’t pain him as much as before. The kiss they’d shared had been as much healing as it had been a sensuous reminder of their shared past.
Culver sensed it was near dawn—perhaps another hour till daylight. Their night in each other’s arms was nearly over. Their only night. An ache centered in his chest. He could die today, too. They both could. As he lay on his side, absorbing every detail of her lovely face into his heart, he wished for so much.
When he’d met Pilar at that embassy ball, she’d stood there in a white silk gown that lovingly outlined every contour of her body, and the powerful urge had struck him to take her, love her and plant the seeds of children in her—that this could be the woman to settle down and raise a family with. Never had Culver entertained such thoughts before meeting—Pilar. Gently, he caressed the crown of her hair, knowing she was a true earth mother. Though she was small, her hips were naturally wide, and he knew she’d be able to carry babies well. Many babies. Their babies. Slowly, unwillingly, he began to recall that first time they’d made love, a month after their embassy meeting… .
“I want to bathe,” Pilar said. She stood on a grassy bank by a shallow green pool they’d discovered. Above her, a narrow waterfall splashed into the pool with a constant, soothing sound.
Culver nodded and studied the area. “I think we’re safe here,” he told her gruffly. Pilar wore a short-sleeved, khaki blouse and slacks, with a brown leather belt cinching her slender waist. Though her clothing was masculine by South American standards, it took nothing away from her powerful femininity. That shined through, Culver decided, whether she was in a clinging white silk gown at an embassy ball, as when they’d met, or dressed for this dangerous mission, where they played a deadly tag with cocaine growers in the mountains north of Lima.
Culver saw the relief in Pilar’s face and allowed a partial smile to form on his mouth. They were both hot, dirty and stressed to the limit. For a week, they’d been chased by Ramirez’s soldiers. But now it looked as if they’d gone deep enough into the jungle to lose them. Culver knew the respite was temporary, but they desperately needed time out for a good night’s sleep and a chance to recoup.
“Turn around,” Pilar ordered, her lips curving in a shy smile.
Reluctantly, he did so. His loins ached with need. Being around Pilar was an exquisite torture he could barely endure. At twenty-five, he’d thought he knew everything about the wiles and ways of women from his CIA travels around the world, but he’d been so very wrong. Pilar’s sultry golden gaze made him feel like a wildfire out of control.
Hearing a splash, he turned automatically, an unconscious agent’s reaction to the slightest sound after a month on the run from men who would kill them without hesitation.
Too late. Pilar stood in the center of the emerald pool, her wet hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight that dappled the sparkling surface. His mouth went dry and his heart started a slow pounding that this time wasn’t due to fear.
Pilar was naked, her lithe golden body gleaming with the water that ran off it in rivulets as she lifted her hands to slick back her nearly waist length hair. When her lashes lifted and her gaze met his, she froze, standing like a statue, her hands still in her hair. Her lips parted. Culver groaned, the sound coming out in an animal-like growl. Somewhere in his spinning senses, as he devoured her with his gaze, he recalled the old shaman telling him he’d meet a jaguar priestess north of Lima who would steal his heart. Well, right now, Culver would gladly sell his soul to the devil himself to have her.
Though everything in his training forbade it, it was as if an invisible force was pushing him forward. He held Pilar’s startled gaze as, piece by piece, he dropped his clothing on the bank. It was as if some strange spell had come over him. Was it her huge golden eyes rimmed with sable brown that held him captive? Culver no longer cared. All he knew in that suspended moment out of time was that Pilar was his; they belonged together. She was his mate, his destiny.
Culver heard a splash and realized he’d stepped into the cool water of the pool. White sand glowed beneath his feet as he waded toward Pilar, their eyes still fixed upon each other. This time, he knew, he was helpless to stop himself. A new and urgent desire to make Pilar his once and for all overwhelmed him. The water deepened as the sand sloped gently downward. Pilar stood in waist-deep water, her small, uplifted breasts taut, the nipples full and hardened.
Slowly, very slowly, she allowed her fingers to ease from her hair. Culver’s eyes narrowed and he felt his body respond powerfully to her femininity. Culver was young, and strong and handsome as he walked toward her. With each step he took, he was mesmerized by the flow of her thick black hair rippling around her shoulders and breasts. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he saw her lift one hand and barely touch the top of her breast as she waited breathlessly for him.
It seemed so right to him—her waiting as he waded slowly toward her. He saw the intent in her golden eyes, which captured and held him prisoner. Oh, how many times had he ached to kiss her? As the dappled light moved across his tight, hard body, Pilar’s lips parted in anticipation. Yes, this was right. So very, very right. No longer did Culver allow years of training to whisper that loving this woman was forbidden. From the moment he’d met her at the ball, he’d known Pilar was destined to hold a special place in his life.
Culver knew that Pilar lived in
two worlds: Quechua and Spanish. And between two religions—Catholic and shamanic. Perhaps that was why this felt so right. She was South American; he, North American. All her life, Pilar had experienced opposing lifestyles and philosophies. It seemed fitting that her first time loving would be with a man who was not of her world.
As Culver halted mere inches from her and reached out with his right hand, Pilar closed her eyes and waited. He knew she didn’t know how to love a man—only whatever she might have heard from other girls on her university campus. It didn’t matter. Now she waited for his touch—for that coming together he’d dreamed of since their fated meeting in Lima.
As his palm grazed her wet hair, a small gasp escaped her lips. Culver’s fingers trembled imperceptibly as they ranged downward toward her shoulder, where the thick, ebony mass lay, then curved across her left breast.
“I’ll be gentle… .”
His growled words seemed to ease the fear of the unknown he’d seen banked in her eyes. His touch proved galvanizing, provocative. Pilar swayed, seeming dizzied by the feel of his lingering fingers on her sensitive skin. Barely opening her eyes, she looked at him. Despite her innocence, he could see a kind of knowing in her gaze—probably due to her shamanic upbringing, he realized.
Without thinking, for being around Pilar seemed to erase his conscious mind and open his heart, he reached out and took her small hand, placing it on his chest. His skin tightened instantly at her touch, and he froze momentarily as Pilar boldly allowed her gaze to move upward, to meet the need he knew must be burning in his own eyes. He was barely aware of the light splashing of the waterfall behind them, of the melodic call of the birds and monkeys. All that existed in his world at this moment was Pilar.
He was going to kiss her. She was a novice at the ways of men and women, and Culver saw momentary anxiety in her eyes, as if she was afraid she might disappoint him. As her other hand came forward and touched his skin, her fingers automatically ranged upward, and Culver felt as if the sun itself was touching him. A new level of understanding seemed to come to life in her expression. He dipped his head to take her mouth, to ask her to surrender to something beautiful within her, and suddenly all the anxiety disappeared from her eyes. In its place, he saw a wonderful look of primal, heated desire, so essential that Culver groaned. Pilar raised up on her tiptoes and lifted her chin to meet him halfway.
Morgan's Rescue Page 14
