Beyond Redemption

by India Masters

  “Nobody expects you to be a mule. And if you’d called me, I would have done this for you.”

  “They need medicine; I bring medicine. They need water; I haul water. And I don’t need your help.”

  “Angel, I’ve been hauling water for you all morning,” Acosta said, using his most charming smile on her. “Can’t you just say thank you and forget it, or does everything have to be a battle with you?”

  “Thank you,” she simpered. “And yes, everything does have to be a battle.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t see why. We were good together. You still want me. Seems silly to mess up a good thing over a little disagreement.”

  Angelique sighed, scrubbed at her face with her hands. “A little disagreement. You let me believe a lie, and that’s a disagreement? Like I told you before, Mitch, a sin of omission is just a fancy name for a lie.”

  It was always the same old argument with Acosta. He refused to accept the fact that she wanted nothing more to do with him. Probably because he was right and last night had proved it. He’d made tender love to her several more times as the night grew into morning. They had been good together, and she did still want him. But that changed nothing. She felt the familiar heat of tears, and her throat ached with the effort to hold her feelings inside. She’d never forget, not as long as she lived, the day he revealed the real Mitch Acosta to her. The day he’d executed that man right before her eyes.

  They ducked inside an old woman’s hut, and Acosta set the water on a makeshift counter for her. She reached for Angelique’s hand and kissed it, thanking her for all she had done. She did the same with Acosta, who asked if she needed anything else before they left. Angelique said her good-byes and hurried outside, not wanting to see this side of the man she struggled to keep at arm’s length. But there was no getting away from him. As she hurried up the worn path that led to the hospital, Acosta stepped out of the lush foliage and grabbed her by the arm.

  “If everything between us has to be a battle, even after last night, then so be it,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I’m going to win this one, Angel. I’m always going to win.” He lifted her off her feet and hauled her into the jungle.

  “Damn you, Acosta. Put me down!”

  He set her on her feet, slipped the day pack from her shoulders, and backed her up against a tree. She’d hate herself later, but she wanted this, wanted him, so badly she was already wet. She balled her hands into fists, wanting to punch him, knowing she didn’t have the will because Acosta was going to do what he did best. He was going to take her. Strip her of her inhibitions. He’d have her panting and dripping and doing exactly what he wanted her to do, begging him to fuck her.

  He made short work of her cargo shorts, then pressed his mouth against her mound through her cotton bikini panties.

  “Stop it, Mitch. I don’t want this.” The words came out weak, breathless, and she knew what he’d find the second he touched her.

  He slid his hands beneath her underwear, eased them down, and tested her with a finger. “Liar. You’re so wet I could take you right now and you’d come.” He opened her with his thumbs, stroking her inner lips gently. He grazed her clit with his tongue, and she moaned, prompting a sexy chuckle. “Oh yeah, you want me, Angel. You wanted me last night, even when I was using you hard, and you want me now.” He held her open, tormented her with his talented mouth until she was thrusting against his face. “I’m leaving this afternoon, honey. Nobody has to know. Just say it. Tell me you want me. I can fuck you so good. You know I can.”

  Angelique clenched her teeth to keep from screaming when Acosta closed his lips over her clit and sucked gently. He penetrated her with his fingers.

  He lifted his head. “Say it.”

  “No,” she whispered stubbornly; then he expertly swirled his tongue around her clit and she broke. “Yes, damn you. Fuck me.”

  “Take your shirt off, honey. Unhook your bra so I can touch those pretty breasts. You’ve put on some weight, baby; you’re filling out again.”

  When she did as he demanded, he spun her around. There was a tearing sound, and she was thankful one of them had the presence of mind to remember a condom. Strong hands manipulated her body into position, lifted her buttocks up and apart. She made a little mewling noise when the head of his cock pressed against her pussy lips. She spread her legs wider and tipped her bottom up, the better to receive him.

  “That’s right, Angel. God, you’ve got the sweetest pussy. I’m gonna fuck you so good.” He drove into her, filling her with a single thrust that had her on her tiptoes. Work-worn hands skimmed up her sides, gently teasing as he slid them around to cup her breasts, to pinch and tug at her nipples. “Ah, yeah. It’s like coming home, being inside you.”

  Angelique stifled the howl that threatened to erupt from her throat as Acosta’s thick cock hammered into her. There was no way to control the orgasm beginning to build inside her. Acosta was curved over her, fucking her hard and fast, whispering to her.

  “Aw, honey, you’ve got the tightest pussy.” He slowed his pace, eased back, glided in slow and deep, swirled his hips. “So hot and tight, I just want to fuck you all night long.” He did it again, nipped her ear when she whimpered. “I want to get you someplace clean and cool with a big, soft bed. Eat your pussy till you scream for me to fuck you.” He reached around her hip, found her clit, and stroked as he fucked her. “I want to fuck that sweet mouth. Fill your sweet ass with my cock. Everything, Angel. I want it all. Just like it used to be. Just like last night. Every night.”

  She was gasping now, meeting him thrust for thrust as his impending release drove him hard and fast. Her clit and pussy felt as if they were on fire, the heat building and building. She was going to come, hard, and she couldn’t stifle the sounds erupting from her throat.

  “Yes…hard, hard. God…so good, so good.” He pistoned his hips, the slap of bodies echoing through the air. “I’m gonna…oooh.” Angelique tossed her head back and howled. He grazed her neck with his teeth, closing over the tendon there, biting down. Her body stiffened in an explosion of heat that washed over her from her pussy to her belly, and then she began to shudder. Mitch thrust through the contractions, one arm holding her upright as her knees turned to water, and with a final thrust, buried himself to the root with a triumphant shout.

  Tears welled, then dripped down her face. Damn Acosta. And damn herself for a fool. Would she never learn? Over and over again, he came to her, and over and over again she rejected him only to wind up in this same condition—gasping for breath after the most intense orgasms any man had ever given her. Why this man when she hated everything he stood for? How could she despise him one minute and twist beneath him like a drug-starved junkie the next? It wasn’t fair.

  Angelique shuddered when he kissed her neck, her shoulders, then slid from her body. She didn’t want to face him, couldn’t face him. She blinked away the tears, cringing when he uttered a soft curse. He cupped her shoulders with his rough hands and turned her to face him.

  “Don’t cry, Angel.” He took her in his arms, rocking her side to side, softly crooning to her in Spanish. Nonsense phrases mothers everywhere used to comfort their children. She took a deep breath, shoved at him, relieved when he let her go.

  “This will never happen again, Acosta.” She bent to pick up her clothes and turned her back on him as she dressed.

  A bitter laugh escaped him. “You know that’s not true. It’s going to happen every time I’m in camp. Your mind may tell you hating me is the moral thing to do, but your body craves what I do to it. What I’ll keep on doing to it until you realize we were meant to be together.”

  She spun to face him, zipping her shorts. “We will never be together. Not in the way you mean. Not ever again, and if you had a heart, you’d respect that and leave me alone.”

  His face softened, and she looked away, unable to bear the stark vulnerability. “It’s because of my heart I can’t leave you alone, querida.”

 
“Don’t.” She stuffed her bra in her day pack and jerked her shirt on over her head. “I am not your darling. I will never be your darling. You are anathema, Acosta. The opposite of everything I’m about as a physician. ‘First do no harm,’ remember?” She jammed the tails of her shirt into her waistband. “And all you and you cartel friends and your rebel scum do is harm. You have to leave me alone, Mitch. Please…just let me go.”

  “How am I supposed to do that, Angel? How can I let you go when I love you?”

  Angelique glared at him. “Yeah? Well, I don’t love you.” His face contorted in pain, but she stiffened with resolve. She reached down, grabbed the small cooler, slung her pack over her shoulder, and walked out of the jungle as if there was a door she could close behind her. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever used her tears against her again.

  * * * *

  Back at the hospital, Angelique returned the unused drugs to the locked medicine cabinet and hit the showers. Sweaty and smelling like sex, she scrubbed until she was pink, anxious to wash away Acosta’s scent. There was a stack of mail waiting for her, and she took it back to her quarters, grateful for the distraction. She opened the large care package from her parents and rummaged for the one delicacy she could always depend on—Tante Lissett’s homemade pralines. She popped one of the tasty treats into her mouth.

  Angelique’s family had vehemently protested her decision to travel to South America with the Healing Hands relief organization, but they kept up the appearance of harmony by sending her regular care packages. Her mother had even adopted Helping Hands as her newest charitable cause. A real philanthropist, her mother. Of course, her father viewed her as a huge disappointment, but Angelique loved what she was doing. She was making a difference, one patient at a time, which was why she’d become a doctor in the first place. The anonymity of her position was an added bonus, allowing her to live a life beyond the constraints of her hoity-toity Southern belle upbringing.

  “Thank you, Auntie Liss.” She sighed as the delicate sweetness tantalized her taste buds. It was a unique flavor of home, and she looked forward to it almost as much as the requisite supply of batteries, toilet paper, insect repellent, toiletries, bottled water, and—bless them—the gift basket from Café Du Monde.

  There were letters from friends. Well-to-do Southern women still wrote letters, and she would savor the gossip from home when she returned to the privacy of her tiny shack after sharing the contents of her care package. Right now, an ornately addressed envelope captured her attention. She grinned. Marina and Emilio Ramírez must be heading to their estate in Rio for Carnival. Of all the people who knew her, Marina knew her the best. Their families had been friends for more years than Angelique could remember. Marina was the first proper Southern girl of Angelique’s social circle who had possessed the guts to defy her parents and marry outside her class and, as such, was a personal hero. Every time they flew to Brazil for Carnival, they sent her an invitation to come and visit, which she always tried to do. She hadn’t seen them since returning from Africa, and heaven knew she could use a little downtime from her work here. Little luxuries were rare in the refugee camps, and Angelique made an effort to take them wherever she found them.

  She tore open the letter, already preparing the RSVP in her mind.

  Darling Angelique, it pains me to tell you that my beloved sister has passed. She suffered a massive coronary last week. She was a driven woman, always working, never allowing herself a moment’s pleasure. Sound familiar?

  I know your stress level, darling Angelique, and I urge you to take some time away. Come to Carnival with us. Indulge yourself.

  Why shouldn’t she go? She had more accrued leave than any doctor with the organization, and she’d be safer with Marina, even in the middle of Carnival, than she was here amid rebel thugs and mercenaries. It would give her some much-needed time away from Acosta and his merry men. She pulled her date book out of her rickety night table and flipped to the appropriate day. It was a little short notice, but the new guy was plenty capable. All she had to do was take him on weekly rounds with her to make sure her elderly patients were seen. One of the good things about the Helping Hands organization was its ability to be flexible. They valued their doctors and were more than accommodating when one of them needed a little R&R. And a trip to Rio would certainly be a stress reducer.

  She gathered up a box of beignet mix, tucked the invitation under her arm, and headed for the kitchen. She would make a batch of beignets for the camp, then use Dr. Shepherd’s office phone to call the estate in Rio. The houseman would have the information she needed.

  While everyone ate their fill of the delicate, airy doughnuts, Angelique eased into Dr. Shepherd’s ancient office chair and turned on the phone. She got a signal on the first try, a minor miracle in these climes, and dialed the number by heart. The phone rang, and a man with a thick Spanish accent answered.

  “Hola, Hector,” Angelique greeted the houseman. “This is Angelique Vernet.”

  “Hola, Doctor, what may I do to assist you?”

  “Would you let Marina and Emilio know I am looking forward to seeing them? You know how unreliable our phone service can be up here. I’ll try and e-mail Marina, but one never knows what will get through.”

  “Ah indeed, I was told to expect your call. You are still in Manos de Ayuda?”

  “I am.”

  “Mr. Ramírez asks me to tell you that a helicopter will pick you up two days before Carnival and fly you to Rio. They will meet you at the estate. There will be a few guests, but the atmosphere will be very casual. Are these instructions clear?”

  “Crystal. I look forward to seeing you again.”

  “As do I.”

  Angelique hung up the phone and continued to stare at it for a moment. She was committed now, so she fired up the old computer, logged on to the Internet, and opened her e-mail account:

  To: Marina2001@solou.com

  From:angelofmercy@solou.com

  My Dearest Marina,

  My deepest condolences on the loss of your sister. She was one of a kind, and she will be missed. How I wish I was there with you to help you through this time. I’ll plan for an extra few days off so we can visit while you’re in Brazil.

  Regards to your rascally husband, and I look forward to seeing you soon…Ange.

  Chapter Seven

  Her plans set, she put aside thoughts of a minivacation. Today, like every Saturday, was softball day. The field where they played was close to the village square. As soon as the children saw the hospital staffers coming down the hill, they raced to meet them, anxious to help carry the equipment. Dr. Shepherd chased after a ten-year-old who thought it great fun to pick up the bases and move them around the field. Shepherd was laughing, the stress lines in his face miraculously smoothing out as he indulged in this weekly game of tag with the young boy. Acosta was there behind the catcher to officiate the game.

  Two preteen girls took Angelique’s hands and tugged her to the ground so they could braid her hair. The children were fascinated with the wheat-colored strands, oohing and aahing over the platinum highlights that usually only appeared in summer, combing it with great care as they exclaimed about its softness. While the older girls braided her hair, Angelique made sure she did the same for any of the younger girls who wanted braids, making a big fuss over how shiny and beautiful she found their hair. It was their weekly meeting of the mutual admiration society. When they were done, she went through her warm-up routine, jogging in place, then stretching vital muscles before throwing some practice pitches with Shepherd.

  “Come on, Vernet!” Able shouted, bouncing on her toes. “Get your butt to the pitcher’s mound.”

  Angelique laughed. “That anxious to get your ass handed to you, Able?”

  The smack talk continued as she jogged to the pitcher’s mound and stepped onto it from the backside. She took a balanced stance, positioning her feet just so, then relaxed her arms at her sides, shaking out the tension. Her startin
g pitch always utilized the four-seam grip. She kept the ball-glove touch below her waist and moved right into the backswing, leaned forward, and pushed off into a long stride, wrist back, arm outstretched, shoulders back. The ball snapped on release and hurtled toward the batter, crossing home plate. Able never even got a piece of it.

  “Steee-rike one!” Acosta shouted the call as Angelique did a little happy dance for Able’s benefit. The elfin nurse gave her the middle finger salute and laughed.

  It didn’t take long for the opposing team to strike out, and sooner than she would have liked, Angelique was at bat. She sucked at hitting, and everybody knew it. Still, she stepped up to the plate.

  “Woo-hoo, batter, batter, batter!” Able. “Try and hit it in the right direction this time, Vernet.”

  Angelique stuck her tongue out at the petite nurse. “That’s mighty big talk for a hobbit,” she said, pointing toward the outfield with her bat. Right. Like she’d ever hit a ball that far that hadn’t been caught. Still, she took the stance Shepherd had taught her and swung with all her might when the ball crossed the plate.

  “Foul ball! Nice try, Angel.”

  Angelique looked at Acosta and bared her teeth. “That sucked, and we both know it.” Three strikes and she was out. She stomped away from the plate in disgust, only to be waylaid by Seth Boudreaux.

  “Come on, beb, let’s keep that pitchin’ arm limber.”

  She ignored the blush she felt staining her cheeks and shrugged. “Sure,” she said and trotted off behind him, a safe distance from the game.

  “Okay, cher. Show me what you got. Lemme see your fastball.” She fired one in and laughed when he shouted, “Hot damn, girl. You got some arm on you.”

  She practiced her favorite pitch, the rise ball, then gave him another fast one, followed by a screwball, then called a time-out to work with some of the little kids who wanted to learn to pitch. But she was aware of Acosta watching her, and every time she looked over at him, he gave her a wicked wink. Oh Lord, the promise in his eyes made her blood run hot.