PaintedPassion

by Tamara Hunter

  He cocked his head to the side. “You reminding me or yourself? Louis isn’t the one making you feel this way. Sooner or later, you’ll have to stop hiding behind him and deal with me.”

  With as much dignity as she could muster, Trella sidestepped him. “Hector’s car’ll be here soon to pick me up.”

  Upstairs, she closed the bedroom door. In the bathroom, she stripped then turned on the shower. She had to find a way to resist Carlos. Yes, he made her feel sexy, and he knew how to make her respond. But it was just sex. Sooner or later, he’d return home to Vegas and move on to the next woman, and leave her yearning for something she’d never have again.

  She slid under the warm, cascading water. She lathered a washcloth. Thinking about him made her breasts tingle with longing. The man had brought her to orgasm just by sucking them.

  Sex with Louis had been a regular event, penciled on the calendar because of their crazy schedules. They never had that I-have-to-have-you-now rush. But damn if the idea of running from the shower to tackle Carlos didn’t turn her on. What was it about him that made her ache to have him all the time?

  After showering, she applied her favorite lotion with its subtle ginger scent. She pulled on a peach silk bra and matching bikini panties. She wondered what he would do if he saw her now. Would he throw her down on the bed or take her against the wall?

  She walked into the studio. Picking up her sketchbook, she flipped the pages to the sketch of a naked Carlos. She traced his body with her fingers. This memento of him was nice, but painting him would be better. She’d alter it a bit so it wouldn’t be a full-frontal. She set the sketchbook on a table as the idea took root.

  Back in the bedroom, she brushed her hair, leaving it hanging below her shoulders in long layers. She selected a midnight-blue cocktail dress, applied her makeup then slid a pair of silver high-heeled pumps on her feet. After choosing a silver clutch from her closet, she headed downstairs.

  The house was quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fans. Carlos was nowhere to be seen. She peeked into the garage to discover his Jeep still inside.

  Why had she let things progress too far between them? His scribbled note this morning before he left to shoot hoops was too caring, as if they were a couple. And his comment about her being his? One night and he assumed he owned her?

  She could lie to herself and pretend it was because of the way he cared for her after they discovered the destroyed painting. But she knew in her heart when he shared his personal pain and allowed her a peek into his past suffering, she’d fallen a tiny bit in love with him.

  She gasped. No, not love. Damn it. All the amazing sex with Carlos was clouding her thinking. She squared her shoulders. The kissing him, touching him, taking him inside her. Her behavior was a betrayal of Louis and what they had shared.

  The perimeter alarm sounded a warning as a car entered the driveway. Trella picked up her evening bag then smoothed a hand down the lace dress.

  She touched the doorknob.

  “Trella?”

  She glanced around. Carlos stood in the doorway of the kitchen, dressed completely in black.

  “Don’t look for me. I’ll be around, if you appear distracted, you may alert Hector.” Detachment cooled his tone.

  She nodded, unwilling to show him how his words affected her.

  “Be careful.” She flashed him a quick smile then slipped through the door, making a show of locking it.

  Her heels clicked against the concrete as she made her way down the steps and to the waiting car.

  Chapter Eleven

  Twenty minutes later, the driver slowed to a crawl in front of a sprawling hillside home. Hector waited at the bottom step of the walkway. Trella allowed him to help her from the car, and they made their way toward the Mediterranean-style estate.

  He introduced her to so many people she had no hope of keeping anyone’s names straight. The idea she would have time to peruse his house on her own was shot to hell. Hector kept her firmly attached at his side as he welcomed his guests. He retrieved two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter then handed one to her.

  She clutched the stemware. “What are we celebrating?”

  “The end to a successful negotiation.”

  “What kind?” She took a sip, determined to keep an eye on her glass.

  “You’re full of questions, my beauty, but I want to know about you. Tell me how you became interested in painting.”

  Forcing her frustration aside at his verbal roadblock, she blessed him with a bright yet fake smile. “I studied in the States and abroad. Always knew I wanted a career in the arts.” Turning the tables on him, she asked a question of her own. “What drew you to my work?”

  He brushed her cheek with his lips then chuckled. “Your passion. It makes me feel as if you’re painting for me alone.”

  She peeked at him from under her lashes. “I should consider using you as a subject.”

  He shifted closer to her. “Would you?”

  She squashed the immediate desire to increase the space between their bodies. “Of course.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Then it’s time I share a surprise with you.”

  He led her up the winding staircase to the second floor and down a wide hallway that ended at a T. He veered to the right. As she passed the expensive furnishings, she acknowledged he had a beautiful house.

  He opened a pair of double doors. “This is my sanctuary.”

  She stood in the doorway but didn’t follow him inside. “What about your guests?”

  He chuckled. “I like the way you think, but that’s not why I invited you up here.”

  She proceeded into the sitting room. “Why did—?”

  On the walls hung frame after frame of her paintings, ranging from those she’d completed in her early years to ones she’d finished just before Louis died. An empty space interrupted the row of frames.

  A cold chill settled over her, and her breathing grew shallow as she moved closer to the apparent homage to her work. The frame she’d received as a gift matched the others. She swallowed, praying she’d make it safely back downstairs.

  “Why do you own so many?” She whispered the question. She identified the prints immediately but the majority of them were originals.

  Standing behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. “Couldn’t help myself. I love the warm colors and your use of light and contrast to change an everyday action into an amazing piece of art.”

  He nuzzled her neck. His touch shattered the haze produced from seeing his mini-gallery of her work. She took a step forward, hoping to put some space between them. “I’m beyond flattered.”

  Undeterred, he followed. He wrapped his arms around her waist. The faint stirrings of an erection against her bottom made her stiffen. He may not have brought her up there for sex, but it was definitely at the forefront of his mind now.

  She tried turning in his hold, but he thwarted any movement.

  “I’m sure your guests are looking for you.”

  A hand traveled to the front of her stomach then pressed between her legs. “I want you, Trella.”

  Revulsion rolled through her, and she fought to overcome the initial urge to take the bastard down with a few kicks Louis had taught her. If she injured him, she’d ruin any opportunity to gain info.

  Think of something, quick. She gripped his wrist. With a sharp tug, she jerked his hand off her body then turned to face him. The desire to plant her knee in his groin was strong. Despite her instinct to injure him, she couldn’t forget his possible connection to Louis’ untimely death. Trella blessed Hector with a wide smile. “We can return to this later, but your re-election campaign is more important, and your guests are here for you. We need you to remain in office.”

  He walked away, drawing his hands over his hair. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Trella. I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just… You’re special.”

  Relief coursed through her, weakening her legs. She nodded.<
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  He straightened his tie then held out a hand to her. She glided to his side and slid her hand in his. He closed the door behind them before they descended the stairs in silence.

  Hector led her through the throng of people, a slow process given how many stopped to chat with him. Finally, he steered her through patio doors and into a garden. The scent of the numerous plumerias growing adjacent to the doors filled her nostrils as the warm evening air caressed her arms.

  “What prompted you to become interested in politics?”

  He steered her to a darkened corner shadowed by towering oleanders. “My parents struggled when they first came here.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “They worked hard all their lives and died owning nothing. Not me. Politics is a game, an illusion, if you will. I observed others, saw their mistakes and avoided them. Every politician you meet is constantly looking at the next rung on the ladder.”

  So much for being a servant of the people. “I understand ambition, and I see nothing wrong with wanting to have a comfortable life.”

  He placed his hands at her waist, moving them upward to rest beneath her breasts. “Stay with me tonight.”

  Controlling a cringe at his audacity, she made a show of sipping on her champagne. “What’s the rush? Waiting will make it much more interesting.”

  His hold tightened, and a distinctly unwelcome bulge brushed against her thigh. “If you only knew the dreams I have for us. I have more than enough to take care of you.”

  His lowered his head. She had barely a second to prepare herself before clammy lips vacuum-suctioned hers.

  Despite her attempt to play it cool, Trella instinctively balked at the intrusion. She wriggled against him, succeeding in wrenching her mouth away before her tonsils came loose.

  Undeterred, he transferred his attention to her neck. “Stay with me, Trella.” He whispered the demand against her earlobe.

  Her stomach rolled, but she swallowed the urge to be sick. She hoped wherever Carlos was, he wasn’t watching. She put a hand against Hector’s chest with gentle yet firm pressure. “You’re a handsome man, Hector. Established. Knowledgeable. Exactly the type of man who holds my interest.” She fought to keep her nails from digging into his chest.

  He laved the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “We’re the perfect match.”

  She stiffened against the onslaught. “Your guests—”

  “Let them wait,” he panted. “I’ve never met a woman who aroused me so quickly.”

  She smoothed strands of charcoal-colored hair away from his face. She yearned to wipe the wetness from her mouth, chin and neck but knew he’d take offense. “I’m flattered, but we should take it slowly. Build up the anticipation so our first time together will be magical,” she whispered.

  He trembled against her. “We could leave. I have a condo in Lake Havasu. We could spend the night there.”

  Has he lost his mind? Trella forced what she hoped was a warm smile to her face as she tucked her hand into his. She patted his arm. “We can’t have your constituents believing Councilman Rodriguez is anything except an upstanding man.”

  * * * * *

  Carlos stood in the shadows across the street, night vision binoculars to his face as he watched people milling around and talking on the patio and manicured grounds. He scanned the crowd, finally spotting Rodriguez with an arm around Trella’s waist. He clenched his teeth. The desire to flatten the man’s face with a right hook ripped through him.

  The bastard kissed her. Carlos’ grip tightened on the field glasses. His stomach burned, and he clenched his teeth as Rodriguez ground himself against her. When she pushed Hector away, Carlos laughed in relief, although the idiot continued to hold her too close.

  Lowering his goggles, Carlos signaled Donovan. Three minutes ticked by before Carlos was cleared to make his move.

  He slipped onto the patio, keeping close to the shadows. Donovan walked by, and Carlos followed his old partner through the kitchen entrance and up the back staircase. Donovan indicated Rodriguez’s office with a nod before continuing downstairs.

  Carlos slipped into the office. He pulled on a pair of gloves then went to work searching a lateral file cabinet but found nothing useful. He crept to the desk. The right top drawer yielded a stack of papers. He rifled through them, quickly categorizing them as unimportant. A bottom drawer revealed an expandable file bearing the label “Properties”. He flipped through the information dismissively until a familiar address jumped out at him.

  He lifted the file from the drawer and flipped through several pages before he found what he was looking for. He extracted the tiny digital camera from his belt, snapped several photos, and then replaced the file. A quick scan of a bookcase turned up a file of photos stuffed on top of a row of dusty hardbacks. He opened the file. A quick perusal of the contents brought a smile to his face. He snapped more photos.

  Carlos replaced the file on the bookcase. He checked the hallway then slipped from the house the same way he’d entered.

  * * * * *

  Trella marched beside Hector as they made their way through the crowd. She’d been here an hour and had gleaned nothing. Carlos was right. Attending this event was a fool’s errand.

  “Trella!” A woman’s voice cut through her thoughts.

  She glanced up, recognizing the lady she’d met in Francois’ gallery. What was her name? Something sweet. Oh, yes…she remembered. “Candy, how are you?”

  The woman enveloped Trella in a hug. Candy’s height advantage put Trella’s face centimeters away from a generous perfumed cleavage.

  Trella patted the woman on the back, removing herself gingerly from the embrace. “Nice to see you again.”

  Candy turned to Hector. “I had no idea you two knew each other.”

  “You could be talking to the future Mrs. Rodriguez.” He tightened his hold on Trella’s hand.

  Her lips thinned, but she didn’t refute his statement. “Excuse me, but I need to powder my nose. Candy, you want to join me?” Perhaps the effervescent woman would prove forthcoming with information.

  “Don’t worry, Hector.” Candy grabbed Trella’s hand. “I’ll take care of her.”

  Trella followed Candy down a spacious hallway. Near the end, she opened a door, revealing a bathroom twice the size of Trella’s master bath. “Hector is crazy about you. He couldn’t stop watching you.”

  In front of the lighted mirror, Trella opened her evening bag. “I didn’t notice.”

  Candy laughed. “Watch your back. There are women here tonight who’d kill to be in your place.”

  She shivered at the woman’s choice of words. “So, um, what are we celebrating?”

  Candy appeared shocked. “He didn’t tell you?”

  Trella blotted her nose with a tissue. “He tried, but then we…you know.” She decided to throw in a bit of salaciousness since it appeared Candy thrived on gossip.

  “Wait ‘til I tell my husband,” Candy said gleefully. “You two are perfect for each other.”

  “We’re taking things slowly, at least until after the election.”

  Candy opened her evening bag and proceeded to replenish her cherry-red lipstick. She smacked her lips then smiled at her reflection. “I guess Hector didn’t want to blow his own horn by telling you the purpose of tonight’s party. We’re celebrating Hector’s success in helping immigrants. His IWP is gaining ground with the state legislature.”

  Trella turned to face Candy. “I’m impressed. Not many people—let alone public servants—are interested in dealing with such a hot-button issue as immigration.”

  Candy nodded. “I understand wanting to better one’s situation. I married my husband for that exact reason.” She laughed. “Seriously though, if it weren’t for Hector, those same people risking everything to cross into the United States would fall prey to border patrol and renegade cowboys intent on keeping the borders closed.”

  Trella rummaged in her bag for her lip gloss, eager to keep the woman talking. “How does the
program work, exactly?”

  “From what I’ve heard my husband say, Hector finds jobs for them, helps with government paperwork.” Candy shrugged. “He basically fast-tracks their citizenship. Every border state should take Hector’s program as a model.”

  Candy’s explanation didn’t sound out of the ordinary at all. What could have piqued Louis’ interest? Or maybe Candy just didn’t know enough about the program.

  “How does Hector find the immigrants?”

  Linking her arm with Trella’s, Candy gently ushered her toward the door. “It’s the other way around, darling. Those who want to come here to better their condition find Hector.” Outside, she hugged Trella again. “Claim your man. Cats are circling.”

  Candy slinked off, leaving Trella to return to where she’d last left Hector. She scanned the massive room, but he was nowhere to be found. Eager to take advantage of the opportunity to wander around without him, she flitted from room to room, pretending great interest in Hector’s impressive art collection.

  She plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. Flowing through the couples dotting the stairs, she worked her way to the second story. On the landing, she paused, scanning the crowd below to see if anyone noticed her. Depositing the barely touched glass on a table, she walked slowly down the hallway, following the route she’d taken with Hector earlier.

  The third door was partially open. She heard voices. Trella inched closer.

  “The drop continues as planned.”

  Hector’s voice. Her heart thumped.

  “I don’t want any problems. That detective’s death kept us in limbo for far too long, and we lost a lot of money. Get it right, or I’ll find someone who can.” He sounded calm, but his words contained a thread of steel.

  The drone of people talking and the tinkle of glasses subsided into the background, as fear curdled her insides, making her stomach pitch in revolt. Slipping off her pumps, she carried them as she retraced her steps.

  She spotted a bathroom near the landing and slipped inside. A detective’s death. There’d been no other deaths on the force since Louis. Trella turned on the sink’s faucet. She splashed cold water on her face as a wave of nausea hit her. Head down, she gulped in a lungful of air when the nausea subsided. She shut off the water.