Fires of Paradise

by Brenda Joyce

  Her mind raced. The goods would have to be smuggled into Havana Hill. Shoz could do it; she knew he could. She would talk him into it when the time came, even if it meant using all the powers she had as a woman over him. And in the meanwhile, she would have to do a little research to rind out what the inmates really needed.

  She smiled, filled with a tremulous kind of anticipation, afraid, yet exhilarated. Deeper and deeper. Lucy knew she could stop this right now, before becoming irrevocably in-volved in breaking the law. Before becoming a part of a revolution.

  But she could not.

  Chapter 45

  He wondered what she wanted now.

  He wondered if she was jerking him around on purpose.

  Shoz hadn't seen Lucy in three weeks, not since their midnight encounter on the terrace of her home. From her balcony he'd gone directly to his men to make plans, and they had successfully rescued the rebel slated for execution that following day. In doing so, he had once again infuriated the authorities and General Weyler; he had been the subject of a massive manhunt in these past weeks, and he had been hiding deep in the jungles near Santiago. Despite the ensuing time, he hadn't been able to forget that encounter with Lucy—or her words.

  "I'm braver than you," she had said, her face ivory in the moonlight, her eyes shimmering. "I'm not afraid to say it; I still care for you, Shoz!"

  The words tore at him. They weren't real. He refused to believe she could have possibly meant what she said. He reminded himself savagely that she had eagerly divorced him, hadn't even come to say good-bye before she left with her all-powerful family—and somehow, as mad as he had been, he had been waiting for that moment endlessly. But she hadn't cared then, so why the hell would she care now?

  In truth, he had been glad the circumstance of war had forced him to stay away from Havana. His instinct for self-preservation was strong. Now, in hindsight, he knew he had loved her when she had been his wife. He was damned determined not to make that same mistake—and he was close to making it again.

  Surprisingly, the anger over her betrayals, not just in Matamoros, but with Leon as well, had begun to fade away. Taking its place was raw frustration—and anxiety. In the first week she had been in Cuba, Lucy had done every damn thing she shouldn't, going out of her way, it seemed, to court danger, turning the hairs on his temples gray. The past few weeks had been unnaturally quiet, and he would have been relieved if he didn't know her so well.

  Not hearing from her, or about her, fed his anxiety. She was up to something, meddling where she oughtn't; he could feel it.

  He had enough problems in his life without adding Lucy to the list. Yet Fate seemed to be laughing at him, taunting him with the woman he had once loved, just a little, testing his patience and his resolve. But Shoz knew that as long as Lucy was here, despite the past, he could not turn his back on her. If he questioned his motivation too deeply, he would have answers he did not care for, frightening answers.

  Today Janice had sent him another message from Lucy— and he had been alternately excited and dismayed. She said that she urgently needed to see him. He knew how fanciful she could be, yet he rode like hell back to Havana when his man brought word from Janice. She would get him killed yet, he thought grimly, yet he only saw one patrol and evaded it easily.

  Four days had certainly passed since she had given her message to Janice when he arrived at the villa. It was very early, the sun was bright, the birds chirping enthusiastically. Most of her neighbors would still be asleep, and Shoz chose to ring at the front door—it looked better than if someone should happen to see him scaling her balcony wall. His insides were tied in knots—and it had nothing to do with the "urgency" she had communicated to Janice.

  Venida answered, and the instant she saw him, she scowled. "Wondered when you'd show up."

  "Good morning, Venida. May I come in?"

  "Do I have a choice?"

  Shoz laughed, the sound rich. "I'm not that bad."

  She turned her back on him, waddling in. "You's probably the worst."

  Shoz walked in behind her. "You needn't show me up. I know my way."

  She snorted in disapproval and glared; Shoz bounded up the stairs. He knocked once and opened her door, his pulse racing, tension filling every fiber of his being.

  She wasn't asleep. She sat on a plush chaise clad in an exquisite peach chiffon dressing gown, the fabric spilling over her curves like liquid silk. Shoz momentarily froze, his heart picking up a heavy beat, his groin tightening, reminding him that he hadn't been with a woman in a long three weeks. She became motionless, holding a porcelain cup near her lips.

  His smile was mocking to hide his agitation. "You summon, and I obey."

  She set the cup in its saucer, pursing her mouth, yet her gaze swept him, and it fed his hunger. Her laugh was shaky. "I wish."

  She was at it again, and it infuriated him. "Really?" He stepped into the room, closing the door. "Stop playing games, Lucy; I don't like it."

  She swung her incredible legs to the floor. "I'm not playing games. I stopped playing games with you a long time ago—when I realized I couldn't win."

  He felt like smashing something. She was at it again, saying what he didn't want to hear, because if her words were sincere, he'd carry her off with him and never let her go, to hell with the past. "I think someone has emerged here as the winner, sweetheart, and it isn't me." His gaze raked her rudely, reflexively. The front of her robe had opened. She wore something silky and clinging beneath it in the same peach color. He wanted to rip it off.

  "Why can't we both be winners? Why is this even a competition? Why are you so angry first thing in the morning? Is it something I did, or said?"

  He laughed, a hard sound. "As if you don't know."

  "I don't know. Surely you're not still referring to the past?"

  He prowled forward. "The past? I never forget, I never forgive, but no, that's not what's on my mind." He paused in front of her. She sat up very straight, eyes clear and luminous and riveted to his. He watched her pulse leaping in her throat. Her nipples were hard, jutting through the thin fabric of her nightclothes. She was as aroused as he. "You know what's on my mind."

  "We have business to discuss," she said weakly.

  "Later." His hand had its own volition; he touched her cheek. Her eyes flew closed and she leaned into his palm. Shoz thought he might explode, then and there. His hand drifted down her neck, her shoulder, and across her breast. He felt her heart slamming against her breastbone like a hardball in play.

  Whatever was so urgent could wait. Abruptly he lifted her in his arms and fell on top of her on the bed. Their mouths had already fused wildly, and then he felt her nails on his back, under his shirt. She was as crazed with wanting it as he was. He forced a strong forearm under her back, lifting her breasts to his mouth, sucking one distended nipple feverishly. Her hands were on his groin, stroking his straining penis through the denim, kneading it. Shoz gasped, coming up for air. She freed him. He shoved her wispy bedclothes up to her hips, lifting her again, and then he took her in his mouth, as much as he could, his tongue delving into every slick fold he could find. A violent orgasm wracked her.

  He spread her thighs wide and thrust into her. "Come again."

  She moaned in response as he drove himself into her. Liquid pooled beneath them. Shoz abruptly withdrew and flipped her onto her belly, jamming a pillow beneath her. He grasped her buttocks and entered her again. Lucy gasped, gripping the bottom of the headboard. Shoz watched his huge member plunging repeatedly into her slick, pink soft-ness. When Lucy keened his name, he convulsed deep within her.

  Afterward, they lay side by side, panting. Heady emotions were washing over him, but he would not succumb to the need to take her in his arms and just hold her. He sat up and looked at her; she was gazing up at him.

  With his eyes he worshiped her body, her beauty, his glance roaming over her long legs, her full breasts. Once she would have blushed at such an open inspection, but now she only sat u
p, modestly smoothing her gown back into place. She had changed, he thought, the innocence was gone—he had changed her.

  "That's one thing that hasn't changed," he said ruefully.

  "Yes." Lucy gave him what might have been a smile, then left the bed to go to the bathroom. While she was gone, he fixed his own clothes and helped himself to some coffee from the silver pot on the tray by the chaise. Lucy returned, still clad in her peignoir.

  "Where have you been? It's been three weeks."

  "Have you been counting?"

  "Yes, I have."

  "In hiding."

  Her eyes widened. "What happened?" "I'm riding with the rebels, remember? This is a war, Lucy."

  "The day after I told you about that rebel, the one slated for execution, he was rescued. It was you, wasn't it?"

  "Don't ask me questions, Lucy. I'm not going to answer them."

  Suddenly she smiled, and it was like a Caribbean sunburst after a tropical storm. "I knew you would rescue that prisoner!"

  He said nothing.

  "Weyler was furious." Seeing him jerk, she added quickly, "According to the gossip."

  "You have stayed away from him?"

  She sipped her coffee; he couldn't see her eyes. "Yes." She looked up. "Shoz, are you El Americano?"

  He choked on his coffee. "What the hell!"

  "It is you!"

  He rose and stood before her furiously. "I don't want you to meddle in this damn war, Lucy! Jesus! You're putting yourself in danger—and you just might get me killed!"

  She paled. She set her cup in its saucer shakily. "I'm sorry. Don't worry, really, I've never said a word, and I won't!"

  "I didn't say I was him," Shoz ground out, low, unwilling to even say the nickname aloud. "You don't trust me."

  He saw the hurt in her eyes and paced away, feeling guilty because, in a way, she was right. God, she could turn him upside down. "It's not that I don't trust you," he said slowly. "I don't think you'd betray me on purpose, but I think it could happen by mistake."

  "I'm smarter than that." She stood. "But you've never given me credit for anything, have you? Except for sex."

  He winced. He thought about Death Valley, how she had changed there, been strong in the face of adversity, been like a mother to Roberto. "That's not true."

  She turned her back on him and strode to her closet, then beckoned him to follow. Shoz saw that one corner in the back, hidden by her clothes, was piled high with crates. He counted six and figured there were at least a dozen.

  He was puzzled. Lucy opened one on the top and with-drew a bundle, handing it to him.

  His skin prickled. He unwrapped the package, growing grim. In it was a small first aid kit, containing iodine, vaccinations, gauze, chloroform, and other items. She handed him another bundle, in that was canned and dried foodstuffs. He looked at her.

  "I have a ton of medical and food supplies in these trunks. But I have no way of getting them into Havana Hill. Will you help me?"

  Shoz was furious. "Do you realize what you've done!"

  "Of course."

  "Do you realize that if you are discovered defying edicts of the Spanish government—"

  She cut him off. "I'm aware of all of the consequences. I thought it out very carefully—and I did what I had to do.

  I could not live with myself if I didn't try to bring relief to those poor, suffering souls!"

  It took Shoz some time to grow as calm as she. He was in a state of disbelief. Was this the frivolous rich girl he had abducted last summer? He realized he was staring at her. God, she had changed more than he had thought. But then, he had changed too, hadn't he? "I don't want you doing this again."

  She turned away, fingering some of the clothing hanging in the closet.

  "It's too dangerous."

  She whirled. "Shoz—if you help me, we can do it together. We can—" "No!"

  She stopped, drew herself up, exhaled. "All right. What about all of this?"

  "I'll get it into the Hill."

  Her eyes lit up; she smiled. "I knew you would!"

  "I'll bring some men tonight."

  "I'll tell Venida." Seeing his frown, she added quickly, "She already knows what I've been doing. I managed to get the first crates into the house when she was at the market, but, well, you know how she snoops. She discovered the boxes and I had to confide in her. But you can trust her, Shoz."

  "You don't have to mention I'm coming tonight; she'll be asleep."

  Lucy bit her lip. "I do have to tell her. So she can let you in." She briefly hesitated. "I won't be home tonight."

  "Oh, really? Who's your latest conquest, Lucy?"

  "It's not like that, not at all," she sparked. "Why do you always think the worst?"

  He ignored her protest. "Where are you going?"

  "Not that it's your business, but Captain Sigsbee is taking me to supper. He happens to be a friend of my Uncle Brett's."

  Shoz scowled. Sigsbee was the captain of the USS Maine, which had docked at Havana two weeks ago, a response to the riots of the thirteenth and a potent reminder of the growing tension between Spain and the United States.' 'Sigsbee's old enough to be your father."

  "Think what you want! You will anyway!"

  "I've got to go," he said abruptly, "and get some men together."

  She grabbed his arm, halting him. "You wouldn't do it, would you, unless you were sure you could smuggle those goods without getting caught?"

  He was grim. "Do you want me to tell you it won't be dangerous?"

  She studied him. "How dangerous? Shoz, I don't want you taking foolish risks."

  "Why, Lucy? Why does it matter to you?"

  "I wasn't lying the other night when I said I still care about you."

  She was playing him again, smooth as could be, and she'd land him like some damn undersized catch if he wasn't careful. "Yeah, like you cared about Leon, right?"

  "No," she said, so softly he wasn't sure she'd said anything at all.

  She turned away to pour him more coffee. "I never cared about Leon."

  "You sure had a lot of people fooled."

  ' 'Daddy arranged the marriage. I agreed because the scandal had ruined my life, and I wanted my place in Society back. But then I just couldn't go through with it."

  He had ruined her life. Guilt struck him, hard. He had taken away her innocence, taken away her reputation, her standing among her peers. Did she really still care about him? Had she ever cared about him? She divorced you so easily.' his mind cried. "If this is a game, I don't like it, not one bit."

  She slammed her cup down. "I can talk myself blue with you, can't I? But it won't get me anywhere. Well, I have pride, too!"

  He stood aggressively before her. "If you care about me, then why in hell did you divorce me?"

  She stared. "Why did I divorce you?" She got to her feet, fighting-ready. "I beg your pardon—but I'm the one who should be asking that question!"

  He didn't understand what she was saying and was only interested in an explanation that was long overdue. "Answer me, dammit! We had a good thing going, we were only married a few days, but the minute we got to Brownsville, you signed. If you really cared about me, you would have never given in to your daddy."

  She gasped. "I never signed any papers in Brownsville! I refused to sign! I didn't sign them until the night of the rehearsal dinner—the day before I was supposed to marry Leon!"

  His fists were clenched by his sides, and they shook. "Lucy," he said, his tone so soft, it was positively frightening, "Lloyd brought me the papers that first night I was in jail—and your signature was on them."

  She went stark white. "I didn't sign them until the night before I was supposed to marry Leon! I didn't want to divorce you—I refused. I loved you! They brought me papers with your signature on them that night! And when I saw that you had signed..." She faltered, tears coming fast and hard. "When they brought me the papers, Shoz, there was only one signature on them, and it was yours."

  Now he stare
d, comprehension beginning to dawn.

  Lucy said, wretchedly, "You broke my heart—but I still wouldn't sign them."

  So much struck him at once. But one fact stood out, one incredible fact—she hadn't signed those papers in Brownsville, she had held out until the last possible moment. He was so overwhelmed, he had to turn away. Almost to himself, he said, "Someone forged your signature to get me to sign."

  Lucy was terribly shocked. "It wasn't Daddy, it wasn't Grandpa! They would never do something like that!"

  Shoz had regained control, and he turned back to her. His eyes blazed. "No, they wouldn't. But I know who would." Their glances held. "Mr. Government Man. Lloyd."

  "Oh, God." Lucy brushed at another onslaught of tears. "I still don't understand. Lloyd brought you papers with my signature, which was a forgery. And you signed them?" At his nod, she said,' 'But the papers I saw in Brownsville— the same ones I signed in New York—only had one signature on them, yours."

  Shoz paced to the window, momentarily perplexed, then insight struck him. "Lloyd wouldn't give a damn whether we were divorced or not, but he had to placate your family. Because I refused to sign at first, he couldn't just forge my name and whisk me away to Cuba. I could always get in touch with you and reveal the truth. Somehow he had to get me to sign—make me believe I'd signed—and he did that by forging your signature."

  Lucy was gaping at him.

  "Once he'd done that, the rest was easy." Shoz shrugged. "I signed, I thought it was legitimate, I wasn't going to cause more trouble. All he had to do was get me out of town so I'd never find out the truth. Meanwhile he could have a good forgery made of my name on a fresh set of papers, and no one would ever suspect. And it worked."

  "Shoz—you refused to sign?"

  He was trapped. Too much was changing too quickly, and he wasn't ready to admit to her that he had been so in love with her that he hadn't intended to sign, facing prison instead. She hadn't betrayed him as he had thought, and he needed to get used to that idea. He could even imagine now how she would plan to wed Leon out of anger at his apparent rejection, the way he had bedded other women in the same kind of vengeance and rage. Reluctantly, roughly, he said, "I'm a stubborn man and we had a good thing going. I wasn't ready for it to end."