Ready for Marriage?

by Beverly Barton; Ann Major Anne Marie Winston

  Cash told her he wanted more than anything to meet her Mayan students. He suggested that perhaps she had a vocation for social work, and she said she found satisfaction in helping others, especially in teaching.

  ‘‘I enjoy working with them,’’ she said as they drove down the sandy lanes of the town.

  He told her of his own life. He’d been a lonely little boy who’d grown up motherless in vast houses. He’d known the servants better than he’d known his own father. Not that his father had been cruel; he’d simply been consumed by making money. Eagerly she listened as Cash told her about the projects he had built in Paris, Rome, London, and most recently Florence, of the proposal he’d lost in Manhattan.

  When they’d driven through the narrow back streets of the town as well as the main street along the ocean, she said, ‘‘Is there anything else you need to do or see?’’

  He stared at her and said, ‘‘Most definitely.’’

  She blushed. ‘‘Before we go to the beach house, I want to take you shopping at a store and the market.’’

  ‘‘I’m not much of a shopper,’’ Cash said. ‘‘Besides, because of you, I bought everybody I know hats—that are probably too small.’’

  She laughed. ‘‘I’ll shop, you watch.’’

  He followed her into an open-air market and then to a small tienda across the street where she bought flowers and two disposable cameras. No sooner were they at Isabela’s beach house—built on three levels so it wouldn’t sprawl across the sandy lot—than she spread their picnic things out on a table in the back courtyard and began to take pictures of everything. First, she had to get shots of a pair of pink flamingos in the back gardens. Then she captured numerous angles of Isabela’s ruined mansion, but last and most lingeringly of all, she took pictures of him.

  ‘‘Why the camera?’’ he demanded between bites of banana when she said ‘‘smile.’’ He was on a break between sketches of the cantilevered pavilions over the pool, so he humored her with silly faces and big grins.

  ‘‘Pictures capture time. They help me remember special moments,’’ she said. ‘‘And pictures tell stories.’’

  He jumped up and grabbed the camera from her. ‘‘Mind if I capture a precious memory or two?’’

  She held up her hands, and he snapped a picture of her. Then she blushed, and he knelt and took five or six more. When she was thoroughly embarrassed, he seized her by the hand and led her over to Eusebio and asked the chauffeur to photograph them together.

  Later, after he’d sketched the outside, she unlocked the house and they climbed the stairs to the living and dining areas as well as the master bedroom, which were all on the top level.

  ‘‘Since salt corrodes metal and Sheetrock is so absorbent, Isabela’s father used concrete and stone as the primary materials in the construction,’’ she said, as if he couldn’t see this for himself.

  The second level housed four more bedrooms, with pavilions at each end of the house cantilevered like balconies over the pool. The glass had been blown out of all the windows; the rooms were vacant shells.

  ‘‘Hurricanes are terrible here,’’ she said as they made their way through the hauntingly exquisite ruin. ‘‘Violent and unpredictable.’’

  ‘‘A force of nature. Like Mexico’s ancient gods,’’ he said huskily as they descended to the lower level.

  ‘‘When I am done,’’ he said softly, ‘‘the house will be more beautiful than before.’’

  Excited and inspired, whether by her or by the place, he sat down on a bottom stair and began to draw. She watched him, fascinated as his dark hand skimmed over sheets of paper leaving deft, dramatic black lines. But finally the lure of the green water was too much. The sun would soon be down and her chance to swim lost, so she left him to put her suit on and go for a dip.

  Shedding her huipil and black skirt on the beach and exposing the red bikini underneath, she walked to the water’s edge. Never before had the wet sand beneath her toes felt so silky and warm. She scrunched her toes into it. Glancing back at the house she caught Cash watching her from one of the pavilions.

  Her body heated, remembering as bodies do, the wild, heady pleasure of his mouth on hers, the exact taste and texture of his tongue sliding inside her lips, the feel of his callused fingers on her skin as his arms wrapped around her. Other physical memories, like the lava heat of his body against hers, bombarded her.

  Isabela, why did you make me come here?

  Vivian was weak. She couldn’t look at him without remembering seeing him naked, without remembering his kisses. To distract herself she splashed into the waves and swam back and forth in the warm salty sea.

  Swimming in those clear waters was pure bliss. It was as if she became the sea. She swam for at least thirty minutes before she saw him running across the beach toward the water, wearing his swimsuit. He was dark, muscular and shapely—perfect. He plunged into the surf and swam toward her, his strong, brown arms slicing the water with remarkable skill. She couldn’t help being impressed by the fact he was a powerful swimmer.

  ‘‘Hi,’’ she said when he reached her and stood up, shaking himself like an overgrown puppy. ‘‘You’re supposed to be working.’’

  ‘‘I saw you out here and couldn’t resist temptation.’’

  When his eyes lingered on her bikini top, she felt like stripping it off and swimming naked. On that thought, she swam away from him again, but he chased after her, catching her easily, grabbing her by the ankle and then slowing his strokes to match hers.

  They swam for a long time, both above the water and beneath it, like two dolphins cavorting. When she’d had enough, she stood up. Without a word she began strolling languidly toward shore.

  He paddled up behind her and splashed her to get her attention. She whirled and pretended to be annoyed, but he merely grinned and splashed her again. When he wouldn’t stop, she screamed, but he just splashed her harder. The raucous water fight that ensued left them breathless with laughter.

  Only when she called for a truce did he quit. For a moment they stood breathing heavily in the sunlight, their wet bodies glistening, each too aware of the forbidden excitement being together caused.

  ‘‘The less you wear, the better you look,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Don’t ruin everything—’’

  ‘‘If you took off your top, you’d look like Aphrodite coming out of the sea.’’

  To tempt him, she fingered the strap of her bikini top.

  Then, as if he had rights he didn’t have, he moved toward her and touched her cheek with his fingertips. Next he ran his thumb over her lips. She drew his thumb into her mouth and sucked on it. He was warm, as warm as the salty sea.

  His hand went lower, along the line of her cheek, down her throat, feeling its way along the supple curve of her shoulder, down to the strap of her bikini, which he lowered over her arm.

  ‘‘I want to kiss you again so much,’’ he said in a husky tone. His eyes grew tender. ‘‘And I don’t want to ever stop.’’

  Even before he spoke, she could feel her body taking charge. It remembered every thrill she’d experienced with him—from his striptease in the pool house to his kiss in the oven-like market.

  ‘‘If you were Isabela, I’d kiss you,’’ he said.

  ‘‘But I’m not. So a kiss isn’t allowed.’’

  ‘‘Says who?’’

  She couldn’t quit staring at his wide shoulders or at his mouth.

  Any more than he could stop staring at hers. ‘‘If you were Isabela, you’d let me,’’ he whispered, moving closer, lifting the chain from her throat. ‘‘Very pretty.’’

  ‘‘A gift from Isabela. Speaking of Isabela, she’s probably been calling me on my cell phone.’’

  ‘‘I want you,’’ he said baldly.

  ‘‘But you’ll marry her. And Eusebio might be—’’

  ‘‘To hell with them. What about us?’’

  ‘‘This morning we made a plan—’’

  ‘�
�Before I realized how deeply I felt about you.’’

  ‘‘I don’t believe you.’’

  ‘‘Believe this, then.’’

  She started to protest, but Cash pulled her down into the surf and kissed her before she could argue. Then her body took over, and the warm water rushed over them. She kissed him back, this time with less resistance.

  In the market he’d broken down the walls and defenses that had taken her years to erect. As the surf broke over them, rocking their bodies together, she felt overrun, and she no longer had the presence of mind to care. Her feelings for Cash were so sweet and wickedly wild and all-consuming, it was impossible to think of Isabela.

  ‘‘Cash—’’ Her hands fisted against his dark, furred chest.

  He was huge, his dark handsomeness startling. Broad shoulders narrowed to a lean waist. His legs and arms felt like they were made of muscle. She’d never been so close to such a virile, attractive man. And he was successful on a world-class scale. When they were together he treated her like an equal. But they weren’t equals. Not in the real world. She was playing with fire, and yet being with him like this was so wonderful, she couldn’t stop herself from opening her mouth and melting against him.

  Something outside her took over and she welcomed his tongue inside her mouth, tasting salt and him with an eagerness that stunned her. Lying in the surf, the water brushed her thighs and breasts into him. Their swirling bodies went beneath the waves, and she felt his hands touching her everywhere.

  She came up from the surf gasping and laughing, all her will to fight gone because of the delight her body found in his. He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again.

  I can make you happy, she thought as his mouth closed over hers and more warm waves licked them. Happier than you’ve ever been.

  But after that? What would happen after that? Passion didn’t last.

  And there was Isabela. Darling Isabela.

  ‘‘This is wrong,’’ Vivian said. ‘‘Isabela’s done a lot for me. I owe her more than betrayal.’’ She stood up.

  He lunged for her slim ankle, but she hopped out of his clutches. ‘‘If she really loved you, wouldn’t she understand that things like this happen?’’

  ‘‘I don’t want to try to explain that to her. I don’t want to hurt her. She’s been so wonderful to me.’’

  ‘‘Please—no more sermons about how perfect she is.’’

  ‘‘You’re right.’’ Vivian smoothed her dripping hair back out of her eyes. The sky toward Mérida was darkening. She frowned.

  ‘‘Okay,’’ she said. ‘‘See that big black cloud? It’s probably going to rain soon. Why don’t we dry off and dress. If you’re hungry, I know a great fish restaurant in town where they fry the fish whole. Or we can just head home—I wouldn’t want Isabela to worry.’’

  ‘‘What about our picnic supper?’’

  ‘‘Beer and music would be better.’’ And other people to take my mind off Cash.

  ‘‘You’re afraid to be here alone with me after the sun goes down.’’

  Without looking at him, she said, ‘‘Sometimes it’s scary the way you can read my mind.’’

  ‘‘That’s not what scares you.’’

  She felt a sweet, warm tightening somewhere in her midsection. Dear Lord, I want him so badly. She swallowed. ‘‘We’d better hurry. I really think it might rain,’’ she said.

  He stared past her at the mass of clouds. ‘‘So what if it does?’’

  ‘‘I told you—I don’t want to be late. I don’t want Isabela to worry.’’

  ‘‘This is our day. Our one day together.’’ Without saying more, he drew her hands to his mouth. He kissed each open palm so lingeringly that she shivered. He lifted his tousled black head. ‘‘Is it so wrong for us to enjoy each other?’’ His beautiful voice was strange and hoarse, and he seemed so earnest, so honest. Being with him did feel wonderful on many levels. Was it wrong?

  Lowering his head, he kissed her wrists, and heat washed her. She swallowed again, still not knowing what to say or do because her mind and conscience dictated one thing and her heart and body something completely different.

  She let out a breath and inhaled another. She should stop him, but his lips nibbling higher and higher up her arms caused silky tantalizing sensations to pulsate inside her, sensations that were too delicious to resist.

  Finally, Vivian felt a fat raindrop hit her toe. More spattered onto the sand around them. Thunder crashed.

  In a daze she jerked her hands loose from his. She’d resisted every man until him. What in the world was happening to her?

  Somehow she found her voice. ‘‘I think we’d better make a run for it.’’

  Ten

  Brows knitted, Vivian stared at the slashing windshield wipers. She felt desperate to get home before she gave in to the powerful feelings Cash aroused, but the storm was getting worse. Maybe the ancient Mexican gods weren’t on her side after all.

  Despite the rain, Cash had convinced her to stop for dinner on the way home. The little beachside café had been too romantic to believe, and if the sky hadn’t darkened to an ominous shade of gray, they might have stayed and danced to the band for hours. Instead of dancing, they’d decided to head back to Isabela’s before the storm got worse, but the torrential downpour had begun before they were halfway to Mérida.

  Black rain now swept across the narrow, red dirt road that was lined on either side by whitewashed rustic walls and small pastel-colored houses. Fierce tornadic gusts tossed broken fanlike leaves and palm fronds everywhere. Soon it was all but impossible to see much of the Mayan village where Vivian had intended to stop earlier.

  Coconuts torn out of trees rolled down the road on all sides of them like loose bowling balls. From time to time the SUV crunched one under its big tires.

  ‘‘Isabela isn’t going to believe this storm—’’ Vivian was jabbing at her cell phone. ‘‘Everytime I dial her, I get a busy signal.’’

  ‘‘This is like a hurricane. You aren’t going to get a signal until the storm blows itself out,’’ Cash said. ‘‘Relax.’’

  ‘‘We should have skipped dinner.’’

  ‘‘Dinner was great! I never ate better fish anywhere. Even if the cook did leave the eyes when I told him not to, and that damn fish watched me and made me feel worse than a cannibal.’’

  His easy conversation helped take her mind off the storm.

  At that moment twin bolts of blue-white lightning slammed into the jungle on either side of the narrow road, and she screamed.

  ‘‘Sorry.’’ She clamped fingers over her mouth as high winds buffeted the SUV, causing it to swerve. Eusebio hunched over the wheel, straining to see into the wild wet dark.

  ‘‘Maybe we should stop and wait it out,’’ Cash suggested.

  ‘‘No, this can’t last long.’’

  But it did. Sheets of water kept coming. When they were in the middle of the jungle village, all the streetlights went out. Other than the glow from the stunted bright cones of their headlights, they were in total darkness.

  Suddenly a pig flew out of nowhere. Eusebio slammed on the brakes. A vicious gust hammered the side of the SUV, and the vehicle skidded in the slick mud. As a white stone wall loomed in front of them, the pig squealed, scrambled over it and vanished into a clump of catalpa trees. Eusebio yanked the steering wheel to the right.

  Cash said, ‘‘Get down.’’ When she didn’t, he pulled Vivian into his arms and threw her onto the seat, lowering himself protectively over her. When she struggled, his strong hands held the back of her head against his chest.

  Instead of hitting the wall head-on, the vehicle’s sides scraped trees and the wall before the engine sputtered and died.

  ‘‘Are you okay?’’ Cash asked, sitting up a little, stroking her hair.

  They’d had a wreck, yet she felt safe—she was in his arms, inhaling his clean male scent, and he was concerned about her.

  ‘‘Just get off me and I’ll
be fine,’’ she snapped, still trying to fight her vulnerability to him.

  His large, wonderfully sensitive hands touched her everywhere as if to reassure himself she really was all right—her brow, her nose, her lips, her neck, her arms and then down her spine.

  In the front seat, Eusebio tried to start the SUV again, not that Vivian was wholly conscious of the chauffeur’s activities. She couldn’t think with Cash’s arms around her.

  ‘‘I’m fine,’’ she muttered fiercely, pushing at him.

  ‘‘Right,’’ he whispered, letting her go.

  Neither looked at the other. She clenched her fingers together in her lap. He unbuckled his seat belt and leaned forward to advise Eusebio as to how to start the engine. When it wouldn’t start, the three of them sat in silence as the rain pounded the vehicle.

  ‘‘What are we going to do?’’ she whispered.

  ‘‘We wait,’’ Cash replied.

  Alone? Together? For how long? She didn’t ask.

  It wasn’t long before the rain lessened and they saw movement in the jungle. Then an army of brown-skinned people appeared out of nowhere cowering under umbrellas, rebozos and ponchos. Fists beat on the windows, so Vivian cracked her door open and found herself staring at a young man with a narrow face and thin mustache.

  ‘‘Huicho!’’ she cried, delighted to recognize somebody.

  ‘‘I know this truck yours.’’ He beamed at them, happy to see her as well as her rich gringo friend who’d bought so many hats. ‘‘Come out. Mi casa es su casa.’’

  Looking shaken, Eusebio said he knew a mechanic and would go for help. Before Vivian could argue, he vanished.

  Huicho told her to wait. Then he brought heavy rain ponchos and led Vivian and Cash down a narrow lane lined with huts and dense tropical vegetation.

  ‘‘You are lucky. A tenant of mine just moved out of my guest house,’’ Huicho said, stopping in front of a hut and shoving the bright blue front door open. ‘‘You can stay with us for the night. Very private.’’

  ‘‘We won’t be staying for the whole night,’’ Vivian said, her blood heating at the mere thought. ‘‘Eusebio will have us on our way long before—’’