The Secret Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  He leans over. “Get on your knees.”

  I feel him pull out. The ache screams in protest. I struggle to find my bearings, dazzled from the sunlight. He seizes my waist and flips me over, his legs slapping my ass in his haste. He thrusts. My knees dig into the dirt.

  August releases a low moan and shoves.

  “Oh my God, August.” I’m thrown ahead, palms sliding. “You’re amazing.”

  He growls. He can’t articulate anything familiar to speech. A wild fury takes over him when we fuck. He can’t rationalize. All he wants is to devour me.

  August pauses. “Show me you want this.”

  I grind against him.

  “Not good enough.” He yanks my head. “Fuck me.”

  I bounce on his hips. My back arches as a blow lands on my ass. His palm makes a loud crack, and then another one. Heat blooms over my cheeks.

  He twists my mane. “Faster.”

  I obey his rough growl, crying out with every stabbing thrust. His rock-hard muscles shove forward, his hand gripping my hip. He touches my clit, pinching a white-hot nerve as he buries himself.

  I collapse. He forces me down. I turn my cheek as he lunges, sand gritty against my face. It’s painful, but I revel in how primal it is—being pushed to the ground to fuck. He bulges, pace quickening as he bites my neck. My breasts flatten as he throws his weight, arm wrapped around my throat. He moans into my ear as pleasure bursts from a dam. A tide of warmth floods me as ecstasy fills me with electricity. Still buried, he turns me over and silences my moan.

  A spasm twitches his thigh. August jerks with the movement, his eyes flying open. Deep satisfaction radiates from pools of amber brown. His wet forehead rolls against mine. His lips stamp my skin.

  I breathe him in. I picture a future of us walking through bright orange poppies, a baby-sized bundle strapped to my chest.

  My heart clenches. I want that.

  His mouth parts with a question.

  I roll my fingers over his cock and squeeze. “Again.”

  24

  Air Travel Banned to the United States

  The government’s official Twitter sent the announcement, which means I’m fucked.

  I can’t leave.

  Espada had something to do with this. That fucker. August and I made plans. Now it might not matter if I’m pregnant.

  “Shit.” August's phone slides to my lap.

  I look for August, searching for him through tangles of waxy leaves. Workers crouch among the rows of bushes, their baskets filled with red cherries. August split one to show me the unprocessed coffee bean. Then he disappeared to oversee the harvest.

  I need to find him.

  I move from the shelter of the eaves. It’s a busy day. I bump into a wheelbarrow loaded with the round fruit. Berries from the pile spill to the ground.

  “Sorry!” I gather them, scratching dirt off their skins.

  “It’s okay.” A man with a face like tanned leather readjusts his hat after wiping his brow.

  “Excuse me. Do you know where my husband is?”

  “Augusto?” He points in the general direction of the cacao orchard.

  I heave a sigh. “Thanks.”

  I stroll through the heat, fighting the impulse to run inside the air-conditioned building. The weather is muggy, like a damp towel held over my nose. My stomach was raw when I woke. I didn’t relish a thirty-minute bumpy ride into town, so I tagged along with August. Usually, I don’t sit on my ass and watch people toil.

  But I’m tired. And sick. The cloying scent of jungle hangs around me like perfume. Most of the time, it’s pleasant. Like strolling into a florist’s. Today, the sweetness digs at my gut. I can’t breathe without inhaling moisture. My shirt sticks to my chest. It’s hard to keep my eyes open. They’re heavy with fatigue, even though I slept in. In California, where temperatures rose in the hundreds, walking outdoors never was this laborious.

  Where’s August?

  I call his name, apologizing to the farmers who laugh at my clumsy Lo sientos. I shouldn’t have come. This sickness won’t let me function. I thought I’d volunteer—help them sort through beans—but I have zero energy. Reading that tweet sapped my strength.

  The field of cacao trees spreads near the north entrance of the processing building. I marvel at the bloated pods hanging on trunks. Among them, I find August. He thumbs a white flower on a trunk, his gaze stormy. Two workers stand beside him.

  “They’re dying.” August loosens the thick blade from his belt. “I’ll take a look.”

  He swings, the machete sinking into the bright-green fruit. A deafening crack reverberates through the forest as a fissure opens. He hacks again. It splits, and he grabs tangles of slime, searching the flesh for a bean.

  It lies in his palm. Shriveled. Stunted.

  August frowns. “Maybe there’s not enough acid in the soil.”

  “Hey.”

  He looks up, smiling. “Hi.”

  “Can we talk?”

  With a soft word to the others, he joins my side. “What is it?”

  “Not here.” Beaming at the men, I guide August into a thicket. “We can’t be overheard. What’s wrong with the trees?”

  He shrugs, eyes glazed with fatigue. “I think it’s nothing. Some of them are sick, but we can handle it.” He quirks an eyebrow. “What’s up? I’m a little busy.”

  I show him the tweet.

  He studies the text and wipes droplets of moisture from his lip. “Shit.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “My old man is a fucking bastard.”

  Damn. “We can’t leave.”

  “You can.” He takes my shoulder. What’s meant as a comfort feels like a heavy compress. “We need to visit the embassy.”

  I nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Not great. My mood tanked when I saw the news.”

  August pulls me into his damp chest, stroking my back. It doesn’t matter how filthy he gets working outside. Trapped in his embrace, I’m safe. Loved.

  “We’ll get through this, Lily. I promise.” He kisses my head and tries to disengage. “Babe, I’ve got to work.”

  I ball my fists in his shirt, butterflies soaring. “I like when these moments linger. We don’t know how many we’ll have.”

  “Enough to last forever.”

  Will it? “What happens when your father decides you can’t leave your house?”

  “Then we break out.”

  “What if—?”

  His kiss silences my protest. He pushes me against a tree, fingers gouging my waist. My pain dims to a dull ache as a growl builds in his throat.

  The sound vibrates through his body, and it’s like a finger rubbing my pussy. Primal. Hot. We tear apart.

  He squeezes me. “We have to keep trying.”

  More pregnancy tests. More nights of August moaning into my neck.

  Everything will be fine. “Here?”

  His whisper blasts my ear. “Yes.”

  This is insane. “We can’t.”

  His hip nudges my leg, an iron hardness rolling over me. “I’m ready.”

  “Yeah, but…shouldn’t we move somewhere private?” I laugh as he snaps a button from my shorts. “August.”

  “What? We agreed to set aside time for this.” He tugs them, hooking my panties with ease. “It’s important.”

  “They’re standing there!” I yank them up my thighs, but August bats my hand. “We should go to your office.”

  “Fucking you over the desk?” He considers it. “That’s appealing, but so is this.”

  He turns me, shifting into the beast that can’t get enough of me. I face the forest, hands covering my groin. “They’ll hear us!”

  “Then you better be quiet.”

  Unbelievable.

  He pushes my back. I stumble, catching myself on a tree.

  “Such a sweet, sexy little thing,” he purrs, nuzzling me. “Be a good girl and don’t yell.”
>
  “I’ll try.”

  My promise falters the moment his cock touches my thigh. He drags it up, and I sigh a thin stream of air. He stops inches from my pussy. My teeth sink into my lip. He slides between my folds, teasing but not entering. I’m soaked and aching before long.

  “Don’t make a sound.”

  Then he yanks me by the hair. I moan. August punishes me with a slap on my ass, not because he’s a sex-crazed brute. He can be gentle, but we prefer it when it hurts.

  He slips in my wetness until his self-control shatters. I spread apart. I’m shaking in my attempt to keep silent, but it’s too damn great. I’ll scream.

  He enters me with a violent thrust.

  I groan. It’s loud.

  August stuffs fingers into my mouth. I bite, trembling with the satisfaction of having that ache filled. My palms skate over the bark. He fucks me with brutal force. I brace my head, absorbing the blows that are like wet slaps.

  His grunts rise into passionate shouts. The men will hear him. I don’t think he cares. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t fall for the sensitive guy I met online. I fell for the beast who shocked me with his strength. His passion for me. His fury when I was almost taken away.

  August is much more than the snappy lines of text that made me fawn, but right now he’s just a man. And that’s all I need him to be.

  Another plunge buckles my arms. He yanks my hips as he buries himself, so deep I shriek into the hand forcing me into silence. An orgasm rips through his legs, channeling into mine.

  He turns me around, and I collapse in his embrace. “Are you okay?”

  It takes a while for the madness to fade from August’s eyes. He heaves gasps. A shiver runs down my spine as the orgasmic wave recedes. A throbbing pressure replaces the joy.

  August kisses my cheek and puts me down. “Come on. Let’s get a shower. There are some we could—Lily?”

  Everything tilts to the side. August catches me.

  “It’s the heat. I’m a little—overwhelmed.”

  Doubt creeps into his voice. “You looked like you were about to faint.”

  I do feel lightheaded and queasy. I take a step forward, and the world swims. “Something’s not right.”

  “Sit,” he barks before making me crouch. “Don’t move.”

  He crashes away, returning with a glass.

  I drink deeply. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.”

  He touches my neck and curses himself. “Your pulse is racing.”

  “Yeah, ’cause you fucked me to oblivion.”

  “No,” he says, boding no argument. “We need to see a doctor.”

  “Dehydration,” August translates. “And you’re low on electrolytes.”

  I sink into the pillows.

  I was hoping for August to be wrong, for once. “Great.”

  Despite my protests, we drove to the nearest hospital. A dozen people filled the waiting room in Emergency, but once the staff realized who August was, they admitted me.

  I hate that. In my country, we wait for our damn turn. August wouldn’t stand for it. Three cheers for nepotism.

  August hasn’t relaxed since they put me on a saline drip. “It’s not good.”

  I watch him fuss over the blankets, torn between amusement at his mothering and annoyance. “I’m fine.”

  “Have you been eating?” He feels my forehead. “You’re cold.”

  “No, I’m not. It’s stifling.” I kick the sheets and sit upright. “I haven’t eaten as much as I should have. The heat’s getting to me.”

  His eyebrows knit together. “You’ve been sick?”

  “A little.” I laugh when he looks horrified. “It’s okay. I caught a stomach bug. Did he test for parasites?”

  August asks the question.

  The doctor, a beefy, middle-aged man with a thin mustache and no neck, responds in rapid-fire Spanish.

  “What?” August’s reaction is alarming. “Are you sure?”

  This is maddening. “What did he say?”

  August blanches. Another bewildering exchange flies between them. I can’t make sense of their conversation.

  “Hey!” I bang my elbow against the table. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Just a second, Lily.” Shaking, August reaches into his pocket and withdraws a wallet full of cash.

  The doctor’s encouraging smile fades. “No, it’s not permitted.”

  “I insist,” he bursts. “Keep it quiet.”

  Under August’s fierce gaze, he caves. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

  The doctor folds the lump of money. He hides the bills in his white coat, his grin widening when he faces me. “Congratulations!”

  An odd response…unless. “Holy shit.”

  The physician leaves the room, closing the door. August acts as though he’s been injected with slow-acting poison. Pale as death, he sinks into a chair.

  My heart hammers in my throat. “It’s what I think it is—right?”

  August unbuttons his cornflower blue shirt, his eyes glazed with emotion. He takes my hand.

  “Yes.” His lips touch my knuckles. “You’re pregnant.”

  “We did it.” I swell with wild happiness. “Oh my God.”

  “We’re having a baby.” August wipes his cheeks. “I didn’t realize how this would feel.”

  What will it look like? I imagine a mix between my fair skin and his olive tones, with brilliant hazel eyes. “This is great news.”

  “I knew it was possible, but still.” He shakes his head in wide-eyed wonder. “I’m going to be a dad. Blows my mind.”

  Fear replaces the joy. “Your father will find out. What then?”

  “He won’t. I bribed the doctor.” August stares at my lap. “We’ll have to hide it the best we can. That means keeping my brother in the dark.”

  “That will be hard.” I bite my lip, hating the thought of lying. “Are you sure we can’t bring him into the fold?”

  “I don’t trust him. At first opportunity, he’ll tell the general about your condition. And then you’ll never leave.”

  He squeezes me. “Promise me you’ll keep it quiet.”

  “Of course.”

  Nothing matters but our family.

  25

  I wish I could scream the news from the rooftops. I’m pregnant.

  Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.

  Nothing’s ever made me so happy. I understand why expecting mothers share everything on social media. It’s exciting.

  But I can’t tell a soul. Especially Alex.

  He steals glances from his guard duty to study me. My chipper attitude raises a lot of questions. “You seem different.”

  Don’t look at him. If you do, he’ll know. “Really?”

  “Yeah. You have a glow.”

  God, he used the word. “My stomach issues cleared up.”

  They haven’t. I’m just better at hiding nausea.

  “Good.” Alex wanders into the cafeteria.

  My only regret is this place. I’ll miss working here. The kitchen isn’t much, but it’s mine. I asked for a tent, a couple of tables, and a wood-burning oven. Alex found a restaurant that closed, fixed the appliances, and reorganized the space.

  He also hired a local artist to paint a mural. She sketched a design of a woman swaddling her infant behind a cornucopia spilling with fruit. Now it’s splashed over the wall in vibrant colors. People smile when they see it.

  I take a break to join Alex, who admires the art with his arms crossed.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah.” I’m impressed with artist’s technique. “Everything’s coming together nicely.”

  “This isn’t a kitchen anymore, you know. They open the doors every day.”

  “How come?”

  “Locals like it here. It’s a pillar of the community, I guess.” He tears his attention from the painting to gaze at me. “All thanks to you. You should be very proud.”

  I flush with pleasure. “So shoul
d you.”

  He beams at me. “I was happy to do it.”

  Thinking about leaving everything I’ve built nags at my conscience, but I have to believe it’ll continue without me. With the locals’ involvement, it could become an event center. But that won’t make moving to the United States any easier.

  “I didn’t understand why you wanted this, but now I do.” Admiration glows from his voice.

  “This has been a long time coming.” I survey the quiet dining area, still closed for a few more hours. “I’ve waited forever to do something important. You know?”

  He nods.

  As the clock strikes four, I disappear into the kitchen to begin tonight’s meal. Savory fumes saturate the air. Onions and garlic sizzle as I chop zucchini. I gather diced carrots and dump them into the stew. I mix the contents. My stomach lurches at the pungent smell.

  Shit. Looking at vegetables makes me want to barf.

  I swallow hard, shoving thoughts of nausea aside as I grab a yam. The peeler rakes a line of flesh. I regurgitate at the color.

  Orange. Disgusting.

  A burning tide rises in my throat. The peeler clatters on stainless steel.

  “I need a break.”

  Volunteers in hairnets gape at me as I run toward the exit. The doors fly open as vomit bursts from my mouth.

  God, this is embarrassing.

  I retch, doubled over as footsteps grow louder.

  Pull it together.

  I wipe my lips and straighten, but pain yanks me down. I gag even though there’s nothing left.

  A gentle touch soothes my back. “You okay?”

  “Ugh.” I accept his napkin. “This is so gross. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re still sick, aren’t you?”

  Fuck. “No. I mean, I thought I wasn’t.”

  “Hmm.” Suspicion narrows Alex’s eyebrows as he grabs my arm, leading me into the cold kitchen. He fills a cup and beckons me into an office. I sink into a chair, weary to my bones.

  “Drink.”

  My stomach turns as I accept the water. I take small sips. “Showing up to work was stupid. I’m probably contagious.”

  I wonder if he’ll buy that.

  Alex watches me, his gaze piercing. “Why did you lie?”

  My cheeks blaze. “I didn’t.”