“You okay?”
“Si, estoy bien,” she responded. She watched those gorgeous lips part in an upward curve to show straight, white teeth.
“Ah, comprendes español.”
“Claro.”
His brows arched. “Claro? ” He chuckled.
Fingers gently threaded in her hair, a stroke so calming she nearly frowned when it stopped. Ric raised them both to a sitting position and kept an arm securely around her waist as those talented fingertips scorched her cheek with each feather-light stroke. The heat of his nearness wrapped her in tranquil warmth that sprouted a natural attitude of serenity and not trepidation. Ric wasn’t the man she’d known those years before.
With her half in his lap, half cradled to his chest, his lips continually caressed her skin; peace filled her heart and soul. What was it about this man that had her so confident he wasn’t going to betray her trust? Could it be because he was Alejandro’s brother?
Alejandro was her partner at the US Marshal unit in San Antonio — a man who’d give his life for his fellow agents. Although they were never involved romantically, she had a certainty about him, too, and surprisingly, that certainty extended to his brother Rafael when she met him at Ale’s wedding. Their mother, Maria, had reminded Mel so much of her granny — the light in the older woman’s eyes, her grateful thanks to God for bringing her wayward children home to her. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had pain in her life that she could be a walking, talking joy machine for God. Mel had learned from Audrey that Maria’s husband used to beat her, but Mel didn’t know the extent of the abuse until Ric had opened his wounded heart to her.
God, you sent him for me. I know it.
“Melody, what happened?”
Gaze glued to the glow of his eyes, Mel wet her dry lips and forced the three words from her equally arid throat. “I don’t know.”
“You nearly had a breakdown.” His eyes searched hers for the truth. “What are you keeping inside?”
She swallowed a lump of apprehension. Despite his delicious baritone voice that never ceased to give her shivers, or how gentle the rough pads of his fingertips were on her skin, she didn’t know who this man was. What his character was like. Complete faith in him was insupportable.
He cupped the side of her face with his palm and forced her eyes to remain linked with his. “The only way this is going to work — how we get out of here alive — is if you and I trust each other.”
Imagine that. “I can’t.”
“You can. You can trust me. I’m not going to hurt you. I can get us out of this.”
She shook her head despite somewhere deep down, to the very depths of her soul, something told her that this man spoke the truth.
“Tell me what you need from me — what you need in order to trust me.”
What she needed? The question startled her and left her mind blank. What she needed, not what he wanted to take? The concept of a man giving to her was foreign; she only knew how much they loved to extract. She moistened her lips again and concentrated on the veracity she read in his eyes. “I want… I need… My granny.”
His brows bushed in confusion. “Your granny? I’m not sure I can fly her in at the moment.”
She nodded. “She always knew the right thing to say…had the right Bible verse.”
Understanding brightened his eyes as he smiled. “My mother had a rolodex of Bible verses memorized. I admit, I’ve used a few myself while in the field. You never know when you’ll need a bit of divine intervention.”
“That sounds like Granny.” She chuckled.
“How about this.” He smoothed a tendril of hair behind her ear. His gaze roamed over her face before it settled again on her eyes. “How about I tell you something about me, and then you can share. Deal?”
What was the harm in reciprocating truths? His touch was so gentle. His eyes had no deception in them. She could trust this man, couldn’t she?
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay? Okay, good. Something about me…” He kept his arm around her and dropped his other hand from her face to tap his fingers on his knee. “I’m the youngest of three brothers.”
“I already knew that.”
“All right, all right.” He held up a hand. His eyes lifted to the tent ceiling as if thinking.
“I have a baby sister,” she offered softly.
His eyes snapped to hers and a slow grin spread his dark beard. “First born, eh? I guess you were strapped with a lot of responsibility?”
“It’s not my turn.”
“Right,” he said dryly. “Okay, my mother used to haul me and my older brothers to church every Sunday, even after my father had ordered her not to. One time, he got so mad, he flung a vase at her and it shattered. A piece of it got me here.” He lowered the collar of his dark polo shirt to reveal a three-inch scar at the base of his neck.
Mel gasped. She immediately reached a hand out to touch it but hesitated and looked into his eyes for permission.
“Go ahead. My hands have been all over you today.”
Why did he have to take it there? She felt her cheeks flame as she fingered his scar.
“Ten stitches.”
“How old were you?”
“Five.”
His gruff voice was full of emotion, and she assumed he was reliving the memory in his mind.
“What gets me is that I couldn’t cry — was told not to cry by my father. He said tears were for babies and literally shouted in my face, asking if I was a baby.”
“Ric…”
“I stood there with my hand to my neck, blood pouring through my fingers, my mother screaming hysterically as she tried to get to me but my father wouldn’t let her get close to me. My eyes were so blurry… I’ve never tried at anything harder in my life than I did that day, trying to keep from crying. Oh, no, don’t cry.” He released a chuckle as he wiped at the moisture on her cheek. “Eventually my dad backed off and I was stitched up. But here’s the kicker,” he said while he offered her a smirk. “My brothers and I had to attend evening service.”
She laughed. Hard. To the point where her abs burned from exertion.
“Find that funny, huh?” He cocked a brow at her.
“I’m sorry.” She struggled to swallow the rest of her laughter but snorted instead.
“It’s okay. I think I turned out all right. Not perfect, of course, but a work in progress.”
His infectious smile eased one from her, and his lips were once again the focus of her attention. When she heard him clear his throat, her eyes shot to his and the amusement she read there sent her temperature to soaring heights.
“You’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Just because you’re black doesn’t mean you don’t blush.”
“And why would I be blushing?”
“Because I’m doing this.”
He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. A soft moan escaped her lips when the contact ended and instead of leaning back to put space between them, his mouth took hers again and this time with a force that took her breath away.
His hands held the sides of her face and kept her imprisoned as his mouth worked unbelievable magic on her opinion about how terrible kissing was — teasing, prodding, suckling. Her lips clung desperately to his; she tried hard to keep pace but her lack of experience proved it difficult. As if he sensed her struggle, he slowed his movements, took his time in his exploration and allowed her the same courtesy.
When he finally released her, she trembled from shock interlaced with unadulterated pleasure.
Pleasure.
Actual pleasure.
From a kiss.
She groaned, pushed him away and stood to move to the side of the table and used it to support her weakened knees. Her eyes caught sight of Hakeem, who still dreamed in the corner, a pleasant smile on his sleeping face. That man could sleep through anything.
“What? Did I do something wrong?” Ric asked.
Lor
d, no. “Yes.”
He laughed softly. “We both know that’s not true.”
She was actually sweating now. The blush in her cheeks incinerating layers of skin — slowly. Her eyes darted around the room for ice, water, anything she could use to stop the flames from branding a permanent hue to her face.
“Let me get you some water.” He poured from the pitcher, which sat on the table inches from her hands.
Was there no end to her embarrassment?
“Here, take this.” He handed her a glass of cool, clear liquid.
After a tentative sip, she emptied the glass in three gulps.
He arched both brows, a twinkle in his eyes and an upward tilt at the corners of his mouth. “Thirsty?”
She could only nod and hand him the glass.
“It’s your turn.” He went to refill her glass.
“Um…”
“Not an answer.”
“I’m thinking.”
“I know. Why? There’s a lot you want to say. I can see it in your eyes.” Instead of taking her into his arms, he deposited the glass near her and took a seat at the table. He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit down.
“Don’t you have some work to do?”
He frowned. “Come on, don’t do that. Trust requires two willing partners.”
He was right, but that was easier said than done. Granted, the story of his scar was horrible — how he was able to get past it, she couldn’t fathom — but what her boyfriend had done to her… He was someone she knew and trusted, and he turned out to be completely different. Perhaps she’d imagined his noble character because how could she explain her poor choice in a boyfriend?
Hakeem grunted from his position. He yawned loudly. “Ah, Ric, you’re back.”
Ric chuckled. “I am. Did you have a good nap?”
Hakeem smiled. “Ready for dinner?”
“Ah, Hakeem, yes.” Ric rubbed his stomach. “When? Now? Please say now.”
“Now.”
“Good. Wait, really?”
Hakeem moved aside the sleeve of his cloak that covered his watch. “Yes, now. I had a meal ordered and they should be outside the tent at any moment.” With a bit of effort, he hoisted himself up, walked to the tent’s entrance and held open the flap. Several people entered with covered trays. Mel’s mouth watered. Suddenly, she, too, felt hungry despite eating breakfast only a couple of hours before. The servers lifted the lids to reveal fish, jasmine rice, steamed vegetables, two different types of rolls, and more curry chicken. She didn’t mind seeing curry again — she liked it.
“Oh, Hakeem…” Ric offered him a lopsided smile. “You’re sure this isn’t the sheik’s meal?”
A chortle escaped the dark lips of the older man. His weathered face crinkled with humor. “Indeed, this is not his meal.” He waited until the servers had departed the tent before adding, “It wouldn’t be enough.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Thank you, Hakeem,” Mel said.
He bowed deeply. “My pleasure. Anything for you, my desert flower.”
“Ugh, stop.” Ric held up a hand to shield him from Hakeem’s presence.
“You would do well to take lessons from me.”
“Ha! Lessons about what?” Ric held a glass to his lips.
“Love making.”
Ric spat the liquid out across the rug near the bed.
“You are supposed to swallow.”
“Thanks for the tip. However.” His eyes strayed to Mel and warmed as they lingered on her. “I don’t think I need help in the love making department.”
The flush was now permanent, Mel was sure of it.
Hakeem cleared his throat. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”
“I wasn’t telling,” Ric protested. “But I was kissing,” he muttered. He shot her a wink.
Hakeem’s gaze swiftly moved to her, and Mel decided to ignore the possibility that Hakeem had overheard Ric’s last statement.
“My flower,” Hakeem began. “Do not settle for boys when you can have a man.”
“Or a geriatric,” Ric mumbled.
Mel graciously smiled at Hakeem. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ric’s steady gaze on her had a flicker of irritation. “Not for long,” he whispered.
Her heart thudded in her chest. Mel looked away, shaken to the core by not only the shimmer of desire she read in Ric’s gaze, but how her own body responded. Suffocating heat, and if she perspired anymore, she’d ask Hakeem to refill the tub with fresh, cold water.
“Thanks, Hakeem.” Ric waved him away.
“You are welcome. I will return in an hour.”
After several minutes of tense silence coupled with utensils scraping across plates, Mel was the first to break the silence. “I, ah… I owe you a truth.”
“Mmm.” Ric swallowed and patted his mouth with a cloth. “You sure do. Spill.”
“I…” She dipped her head at the surprising sting behind her eyes. “There was this man in college. My boyfriend.”
“Go on.”
“He… He…”
Her heart rammed in her chest. Ashamed, she couldn’t even look at Ric. What she had to say, she hadn’t told anyone except her shrink and besides her shrink, only her granny knew the truth as she had experienced something similar when she was a young woman.
Mel continued. “I’ve been visiting a shrink for something that happened in college.” Yes, the shrink. That was a truth she could reveal without giving him specifics — if he hadn’t guessed already. She chanced a peek at him and saw his solemn gaze on her. He jabbed a fork into a vegetable and lifted it to his mouth. For the next, and longest minute ever, he chewed slowly before he took a swig of water.
His eyes, filled with compassion, held hers. “I get it. What you have to say is painful and you’re still recovering from that heartache. If this is too much, too soon…you don’t have to say anymore.” He cleared his throat and pushed his plate away. “I didn’t necessarily mean for this to be a joke. I just want you to be able to trust me. Out here, we’re dealing with a nameless, faceless enemy and you can’t trust anyone beyond me and Hakeem. I can’t trust anyone. If we do — if we open ourselves up to the wrong people — we’ll spend eternity rotting here in the desert. No one will find us. No one will ever hear from us again.”
Mel swallowed at the choking sensation in her throat. He was serious. Deadly serious. She knew how terrorism worked. Only a small window of opportunity existed to discover who the enemy was and what they were going to do before lives were lost.
And in the process, she and Ric could lose their lives.
Ric wasn’t the enemy, but someone else was. She could, had to, trust him with her life or she’d never return home. “Okay. I trust you.”
A dark brow rose as curiosity flashed across his tanned features. “You do?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, not exactly.”
That impish grin was back and his eyes darkened just a bit as he broke eye contact and stared at her lips. “Something helped it along, eh? Your trust in me, that is.”
She wanted to hurl her drink at him but it was too cold to let it go to waste. Instead, she took two generous sips before she spoke. “The story of the cut on your neck.”
“Hmm. That’s it?”
“And just what exactly do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
That he’d practically kissed the trust right from her lips? No. She wouldn’t say that — not yet. The story of his father’s terror had softened her heart’s steel exterior, but her trust in him had begun to build long before she heard the tale. “You’ve done so much for me. Saved my life, helped me with um…” She looked at the spot on the rug where she’d been immobilized by fear and dread that a repeat occurrence of the rape in college couldn’t be avoided.
“And we’re going to build on that. Right?”
She nodded her head slowl
y and met his eyes. “Right.”
“Good, because I don’t wanna get used to kissing you just yet.”
Chapter Seven
Where is it?
Mel frantically searched her bag of belongings Ric had secured from Abdul. “Please, please, please be in here.”
“What?”
Ric smelled so good. Soap and a faint smell of musk. It nearly made her pause and breathe deeply. In under a minute, the entire tent was filled with his fragrance. She cut him a swift glance and returned to her search. She forced herself not to dwell on how his slicked back, jet-black hair glistened with moisture and curled right at the nape of his neck. Or how she didn’t see him just slip on a fresh black t-shirt over well-defined abs. Especially not how his biceps flexed when he pulled the slide back on his Ruger to check the chamber.
And his smile.
Nothing in this world had ever looked so beautiful to her. His grin was broad as his eyes settled on her and he waited for her response. She hated to turn away, but everything about him was too distracting.
Even her comfort level around him couldn’t be explained. Last night, he’d slept in the same position as he had the previous night — on his side of the pillows in the bed — and once again, she’d slept so deeply she hadn’t noticed his presence there. She’d slept like a baby — dreamed even. It’d only taken a couple of nights, and a couple of kisses, and she was ready to trust him. Am I making the right decision? I can’t be this nervous around men. Not every man will attack me...
“Mel?”
She let out a blast of air. “I can’t find it.”
“Tell me what you’re looking for and maybe I can help.”
“Is this all Abdul had? He didn’t give you anything else of mine?”
Ric shook his head. His brows dipped and his eyes moved from the bag to her face. “What are you looking for?”
“My badge and creds.”
“Your law enforcement badge and credentials?”
“No, my flight attendant badge and creds — look.” She paused and dragged a hand through her matted hair. I must look like a hot mess. Ric had beat her to the bath and she’d thought to casually look around for her badge and creds all the while forgetting that she’d just woken up and hadn’t even checked her face—
Ricardo (The Santiago Brothers Book Three) Page 8