She knew she was babbling, but she couldn't stop until Blake began walking towards her. Her heart began to race. He was going to take her into his arms; he was going to kiss her. He was going to smile at her and say...
Wrong.
He didn’t touch her, didn’t speak to her.
She watched in silence as he built the fire.
Smoke drifted lazily towards the roof of the cave and she inhaled shakily. The smell of woodsmoke would always remind her of Blake, she thought suddenly, and of this moment, this terrible moment...
"Blake."
She spoke in a low voice, the single word rushing from her lips before she could call it back. He looked up at her from where he squatted beside the fire he'd started, his eyes narrowed against the smoke.
"Blake," she said again, "what's the matter? We...we're behaving as if we... as if we were strangers."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do. You..."
"Hand over the flask, will you? And the pot." She hesitated and then did as he'd asked. "Thanks."
"You see? You're so polite, so civil..."
His eyebrows rose as he filled the little pot and set it over the fire. "Would you prefer it if I weren't?"
There was a sudden tightness in her throat. "Blake?" Her voice was a throaty whisper. "Please, tell me what's wrong."
He rose slowly to his feet. "You know what's wrong," he said after a moment. His eyes met hers and then slid away. "Last night never should have happened."
Her heart tumbled crazily. "But it did. It..."
"It was a mistake."
It seemed to take enormous effort to speak. "You didn't think so last night," she said carefully.
Blake raked his fingers through his hair. "Hell, last night I didn't think at all."
Pale color washed her cheeks and she took a step towards him. "I just meant... I thought..."
His eyes blazed into hers. "It's too damned bad you didn't think last night."
His words, sharp as a razor, sliced into her heart. "I see," she said slowly, her eyes locked with his, "that's how it works. When it suits you, you tell me not to think. And when it doesn't, you tell me..."
His head lifted. "All I'm telling you is that what we did—what happened was a mistake." He raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. "Look, I'm trying to apologize. I guess I'm making a mess of it, but..."
Her eyes fixed on his face. He was still talking, but she'd given up listening. Why would he apologize for making love to her? He'd seduced her, yes, but God knew she'd been willing. Most women probably were, she thought, looking at his hard, handsome face and body. For a moment, she felt a stab of sympathy for the faceless women in his past. Had some been foolish enough to think a night of lovemaking meant a life of love? Had some believed the morning would bring a commitment with it?
There was a painful tightness in her throat. Rogan wasn't a man for commitment. He'd take what he wanted from a woman, but he'd never belong to her, not unless she laid a trap he couldn't evade and tricked him into marriage...
Oh, God! The realization was as dizzying as a ride on a roller coaster. The annulment.
That's what this was all about. Rogan wasn't sorry—he was panicked. Annulments became difficult, perhaps impossible, if a marriage had been consummated. And divorce could be a lengthy, involved procedure if one party chose to make it so. It would take a lawyer an hour to define the technicalities, but it took only a minute to define Rogan's concerns. He was afraid he was trapped, and he was scurrying to get away, like a bug running from a rolled-up newspaper.
Elena closed her eyes. He was just what she'd thought he was. An adventurer, an opportunist—the pain she'd felt a short while before changed to rage. It was a safer emotion to face, and she welcomed it. She wanted to slap his face, to scar him. And she would, she thought, watching him through narrowed eyes. But there was a better way to hurt a man like Rogan.
"You're right," she said, her voice cutting across his. "It was a mistake. I'm glad you know it, too."
His mouth curved downward. "Yes, that's what I thought. I..."
Elena lifted her chin. "You took advantage of me, Rogan."
Rogan blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, Elena. I..."
Now, she told herself, now, while you still can... "Don't be sorry. Now, we both have something to remember."
He took a step towards her. "Elena, listen to me..."
"You got a bonus for the job my father paid you to do. And I..."
She flinched as his hands closed on her shoulders. "It wasn't like that," he growled. "What kind of man do you think I am?"
It took all her determination to look into his eyes without breaking. "The kind I thought you were from day one," she whispered. "My father and I both paid more than your services were worth."
Blake's eyes darkened, then turned to winter ice. She waited, listening to the heavy rasp of his breath, certain she'd pushed him too far. And just when she thought she'd cry out from the bite of his fingers on her flesh, his hands fell to his sides.
"You really are your father's daughter, senorita," he growled.
"That's right," she said sharply, "I am. I'm an Esteban, and proud of it."
He looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he let out his breath in a weary sigh.
"The highway's just below us," he said. "I scouted the mountain while you were asleep. We covered more ground than I realized yesterday."
It was over. "And the border? Is it near?"
"Probably less than an hour." Rogan moved away and kicked dirt on to the smoldering fire. "We'll be in Miami tonight."
He turned and looked at her, his eyes cold and empty. Elena was the first to turn away.
"I can't think of anything I want more," she said.
But it was a lie. There were lots of things she wanted more. Not to have met Blake Rogan, for one. Not to have fallen in love with him, for another. And most of all, she thought as she followed him down the mountain, most of all, she wished she didn't still love him.
But she did.
Chapter 11
Floridians hate to admit that Miami's weather is ever less then perfect. Most of the time, the days are warm and the nights pleasant. But once in a while, when summer grips the city, there are days so hot and humid that the air seems to have the consistency of a suffocating blanket. It's Nature's reminder to everyone that the gleaming city beside the sea stands on land that was once swamp. On such days, the white beaches are crowded but the streets are empty. And so are the shops.
On a day of blazing August heat, the Fisher Art Gallery was as deserted as any of the stores surrounding it. The gallery was located in a shopping mall in Miami Beach, which is not a beach at all but an island community just across Biscayne Bay from the city of Miami on the mainland. Usually, tourists as well as locals were drawn into the elegant little gallery by its distinctive window displays. But on this hot August afternoon, with the temperature and the humidity both over ninety degrees Fahrenheit, the gallery hadn't had a single customer. Not a real one, Elena thought as the door swung open and yet another sweating tourist stumbled in.
The man's camera swung from his neck as he shook his head in response to her polite offer of assistance.
"Just looking," he gasped, while his wife drew in lungfuls of artificially chilled air.
Elena nodded. "Of course," she said pleasantly. "Call me if you have any questions."
Jeremy Fisher's eyebrows rose as she moved past him to the back of the shop. She shook her head discreetly and busied herself with a box of deKooning posters that had arrived that morning. After a few minutes, the bell above the door tinkled again and Elena looked up.
"I'm beginning to feel like the local Red Cross," she said with a smile. "Those poor souls looked as if they were going to collapse."
"Well, the next case of heat prostration is going to have to find another hole to crawl into," her employer said. "Leave those posters until tomorrow, Elena. I'll set the alarm and we'll call it a day."
Elena looked at the art deco clock above the door. "But it's hours till closing time, Jeremy."
"The only thing we could sell today is ice-cream," he said, smiling at her. "Besides, there are better things to do in this heat."
"Sure there are," she laughed. "You can tuck yourself into a tub full of ice or curl up in the refrigerator or..."
"Or drive down to Plantation Key for dinner. Remember that little place on the water, the one where we had those terrific crabcakes? We can be there before you know it."
Elena smiled and shook her head. "Sorry. I have a million things to do tonight, Jeremy. I..."
Her boss sighed. "Yeah, I know. You have to wash your hair. Or write a letter to your father. Or read a book. Or..."
"Jeremy, please, don't make it sound like that. I..."
"Do you know how many times we've gone out in the past four months?" he asked as he rested his hands lightly on her shoulders.
"I can't help it if I'm busy," Elena said quickly. "I..." • "Three," he said, "and only because I badgered you." His fingers spread on her shoulders, gently kneading her knotted muscles. "I wish you'd tell me what's troubling you, Elena. You haven't been yourself since you returned from San Felipe."
"Nothing's troubling me. I've told you that. I..."
Jeremy shook his head. "There are shadows beneath your eyes, you've lost weight..."
Elena forced a smile to her face. "That's it," she said, "spoil me with compliments."
"Elena, dear..."
"There are things on my mind, that's all. My father..."
Jeremy shook his head. "Your father's fine. The revolution is over, things are back to normal."
"Almost back to normal. There are still problems."
"Elena." Jeremy's fingers pressed into her shoulders. "You'll never get on with your life until you're free of that man."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked sharply, pulling away from him.
Jeremy watched her for a moment. "I only meant that he hasn't signed the annulment papers yet." His warm brown eyes searched her face. "That does bother you, doesn't it?"
"Yes, of course," she said quickly, turning her back to him.
"What do your father's lawyers say now?"
Elena swung around to face him. "What is this, Jeremy? A quiz?" The words were hardly out of her mouth before she held her hand out to him. "Forgive me, please. I didn't mean to snap at you."
Jeremy took both her hands in his. "I only meant that perhaps there was something that stood in the way of the annulment."
Color bloomed in her cheeks. "Don't be silly. Rogan and I were... our marriage was just a legal formality. I never... we never..."
"Hey!" Jeremy's voice was soft. "All I meant was that maybe this guy was holding out for something. Maybe he wants more money before he signs."
"Rogan got his money. My father..."
"Maybe he wants more," her boss said gently. "After all, the guy's not exactly Mr. Clean. The man's a drifter."
"Rogan's not a drifter," Elena said. "He travels a lot, yes, but..."
"Elena, come on! What kind of man marries a woman for money?"
Elena pulled her hands from his. "Yes, but he could have left me behind a dozen times and he didn't. I told you that, Jeremy. I..." She paused and then laughed shakily. "Look this is silly. He hasn't signed because the solicitors' office hasn't located him. It's that simple. He told them he'd be in Fiji but he wasn't. And..."
"Exactly. He's a drifter, just as I said. Dammit, I still don't understand how your father could have entrusted you to a man like that."
"I told you what happened, Jeremy. There was no other way."
"But a man like that..."
"'A man like that'," Elena said sharply, mimicking his critical tone, "is the reason I didn't end up trapped in San Felipe." She stared at him in silence and then turned away. "Now, if you're all done with this interrogation, I'm going to get my bag and go home."
Jeremy followed after her into the storeroom. "Why is it we always end up arguing about Rogan? You defend him and..."
"Oh, for God's sake," she said, spinning around to face him, "I do not defend him. But you make these ridiculous accusations and..." Her words broke off and she sighed. "All right. I'm sorry I bit your head off. You're right, of course. The papers should have been signed and returned long ago. I'll call the solicitors as soon as I get home. There must be something they can do to speed things up."
Jeremy smiled. "That's the ticket." His arms closed around her. "And then we can set our wedding date."
Elena's eyebrows rose. "Jeremy," she said gently, "I haven't said I'd marry you."
His smile widened. "A mere technicality, Miss Esteban; one I hoped you wouldn't notice."
She laughed softly. "What am I going to do with you, hmm?"
"Become my wife," he said quickly. "I'll make you happy, Elena. I promise."
She closed her eyes as he brought her closer to him and kissed her. Marriage to Jeremy would be like his kisses, she thought as his lips pressed against hers. It would be pleasant, easy-going—and dull. It would be nothing like marriage to Blake. With Blake, each day would be an adventure. And each night, oh God, each night...
Elena put her hands against Jeremy's chest and stepped back. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He nodded. "Try to get a good night's sleep, Elena. And remember..."
"Call the lawyers' office," she said with a quick smile. "I know."
The receptionist who took her call was polite, as always. She promised to bring it to the immediate attention of one of the senior partners, also as always. Elena sighed as she hung up the phone. How many times had she made the same call in the past months?
She rose and kicked off her shoes. Her apartment was warm; perhaps it was crazy, but she preferred to turn off the air conditioning and throw open the windows, even on a day like this. Her windows overlooked the ocean, and she loved the smell and the sound of the sea as it beat against the shore. Quickly, she peeled off her dress and underthings and slipped into a long robe. Later, she'd shower and poke in the refrigerator for some dinner—a carton of yogurt or some fruit and cheese would do—but for now, all she wanted was to sit beside the window and stare at the aquamarine water.
Elena sighed wearily and sank into the chair. What was it Jeremy had said? That she'd never get on with her life until she was free of Blake Rogan. She put her head back and closed her eyes, letting her mind run free of the tight control she'd imposed upon it.
Jeremy didn't know how right he was. Blake was in her thoughts all the time, even when she least expected him to be. She dreamed about him every night, but she'd expected that. It was all the other times she thought about him that were wearing her down. Like yesterday, when she'd seen the dorsal fins of a school of dolphins cutting through the water, or last week, when a shooting star had arced across the midnight sky, or even this morning, when she'd cut her finger opening the box of deKooning posters...
When she was happy, she thought of Blake. And when she was sad, she thought of him, too. It was as if—as if she needed to share everything, the good and the bad, with him. And, God help her, it was getting worse, not better.
Elena shook her head. If only Blake had signed the damned annulment papers when he was supposed to. She knew he'd contacted her father's lawyers the day after they returned to Miami, just as she had. But then he'd vanished.
"What do you mean, you don't know where he is?" Elena had demanded. "Didn't he leave an address?"
He had. A hotel on the Beach—one of the most luxurious and expensive ones, the solicitor had added with a curl of surprise in his unctuous voice. But he wasn't there any more.
"Well, what about a forwarding address?" Elena had asked.
This time, the lawyer's eyebrows had curled to match his voice. "Fiji," he'd said with a touch of disbelief.
"Just Fiji?"
"Just Fiji. Believe me, Senorita Esteban, we're doing what we can. We'll find him."
Elena sighed as she rose from the chair and padded across the room to the kitchen alcove. They hadn't found him, she thought as she poured herself a glass of iced lemonade. Fiji had led to Tahiti and Tahiti had led to Singapore and Singapore had led nowhere. Blake's whereabouts were still a mystery, which meant the papers were unsigned. She was still his wife.
Blake's wife... Elena sank down in the chair beside the window again, remembering the last time anyone had referred to her that way. It was on the flight from Mexico City to Miami. The flight attendant had called "Mrs. Rogan" each time she stopped by to flash her professional smile and ask if Elena was sure she hadn't changed her mind and decided she wanted something. But all Elena had wanted was what no one but Blake could give her, and so she kept flashing an equally polite smile and saying no, thank you very much, she didn't want anything to eat or drink or read or...
And all the while, Blake had sat beside her, silent and hard as a stone, which was the way he'd been since they'd left the cave in San Felipe. He'd spoken to her only a couple of times after that. The first was at the Mexican border when he'd warned her to smile and keep still. Elena had been sure they'd be stopped from crossing over: they were on foot and they looked like tramps. But Blake had put his arm around her and greeted the guards with a cheerful "Buenos dias, muchachos." Their surly faces had remained impassive as he'd held out their travel documents, but when they had seen the flash of green currency tucked within, they had muttered and motioned them on.
Vamanos, they had said abruptly, and just that quickly the dangers of revolution-torn San Felipe were behind them. They had walked for a while, then caught a ride on the back of a hay wagon to the airport at Tuxtla Gutierrez, where they'd bought the last seats on a flight to Mexico City. And once they'd reached Mexico City, they were practically home.
When they landed at Miami Airport, Elena blinked in the sudden glare of lights. It was really over now, she thought, glancing at Blake as he walked beside her. They would probably never see each other again. Her eyes moved over him slowly, as if to commit to memory the aggressive thrust of his jaw and the lithe movement of his body. Would he at least say goodbye? she wondered, hating him and loving him and telling herself that if she broke down and cried she'd never forgive herself.
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