Texas Temptation

by Kathryn Brocato

  “If you think I’ve changed in a few minutes, Chance, you have a vivid imagination,” she chided.

  He smiled and winked. “You don’t know the half of it.” His tone dropped, deepened. “For example, I imagine how it would feel to do this …” He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. Softly. Teasing. Inviting her to change fantasy to something more real.

  She stepped forward and slid her arms around him. His kiss turned demanding, his hand sliding behind her head to support it while his other arm caught her even closer.

  Time stopped for a few frantic seconds. Then he gently eased her out of his embrace and stepped away, his breathing rapid, his arousal clearly evident.

  “We can’t do this,” he muttered. “Towers would go ballistic if someone told him … ”

  “I know.” AJ inhaled deeply, blinked to clear her vision. It didn’t help. She still wanted to tear her clothes off. And his. But for what? A few scalding minutes of sex? The idea invited, but she dismissed it. She didn’t trust him. And vice versa. But Lord, he made her want him. And want trust. Along with the scalding sex.

  “If I told you what I was looking for—” she ventured, her breathing almost normal.

  He seemed to understand why she was asking. “I don’t know.” He considered the question. “I can’t make promises that might compromise Mike.” He sighed. “And I know that’s not the answer you wanted.”

  Actually, it was, in a sense. It was an honest answer. An answer that spoke of a man who did his job, who cared about loyalty. She could accept that. She just couldn’t let desire and need lead her into a trap with no way out. She sighed, a bare breath of air that held a world of frustration. “It’s an honest answer,” she conceded, after a moment, and smiled. “Which might be a first for us. Good night, Chance.”

  He didn’t answer right away, walked to the door instead and opened it, looking up and down the hall before waving at her. “No one’s there. Go ahead.”

  Just before she stepped into the hall, he caught her arm. “AJ?”

  “Yes?”

  Again his lips brushed hers in a brief, tempting caress. “Good night.” And then he stepped away from her, closing the door between them.

  Chapter Eleven

  The shadows were deep, dark, and silent. Undergrowth along the river rustled slightly, teased, perhaps, by a breeze. The keening of a coyote, far off, rose and fell, then faded into darkness. Nearer, something large moved through tangled mesquite going away from the river, though, not coming close.

  Clouds blanketing the moon drew back abruptly, illuminating a ghostly figure wandering brokenly along the dark, still waters of the river. Damp mud, mold, and the smell of decay made breathing difficult, but still, she watched as the woman on the riverbanks weaved back and forth, flailing thin, pale arms, hair streaming out behind her in pale clouds.

  Suddenly the woman paused, throwing her head back, her mouth opening in a silent, unheard wail. And though there was no human sound at all, chills shook her as she realized that the woman was calling for her children, children that she herself had sacrificed to the river’s waters. For love. A man’s love.

  Sweating, AJ jerked upright in bed, throwing her feet over the edge and gripping the edges of the mattress on either side of her to regain some sense of reality. She shivered as the frigid air-conditioned breeze evaporated the moisture on her forehead and arms. A dream! She knew it had been a dream. But Lord, the fear, the smell of the river, the desperation of the woman, were all still so real. La Llorona.

  Gina. The woman on the riverbanks, wailing her guilt, her anguish, looked like Gina.

  That made sense, of course. Grief over losing her sister, the stress of the situation here. Heck, even the growing fascination she felt for Chance could all be underlying causes for giving a mythical woman—a ghost, no less—her sister’s familiar face.

  AJ frowned and stood up, walking over to stare out into the darkness, trying to push the grimness—and her early morning fantasies—into some kind of manageable perspective. Love had, in a sense, killed La Llorona, according to the story. Just as it had killed Gina. Although a car accident might have been the tool of death, desperation and unhappiness must have driven her sister to that nighttime drive. Had she given up, at last, on her marriage? Had she tried to flee, to come home? Worse, could Gina have set out to kill herself? She’d believed since she heard Gina was dead that her sister had snapped and taken her own life, though it had only been a gut feeling.

  Tears slid down her cheeks. How many nights had she woken, sobbing, mourning the life stolen from her sister? How long had Gina suffered alone before those few letters had bridged the chasm between them and started to hint at her fear and isolation?

  Sudden, muffled crying from another room startled her. For a moment, she couldn’t separate her own grief from the new sounds of distress. Abruptly, though, she realized that the weeping must be coming from Gordito’s room. Even as she wondered if Rosa would hear, she hurried toward the baby’s room. The sobs became louder and clearer nearer his room. Rosa obviously adored the child, but she worked long, exhausting hours and must not have heard him crying.

  She pushed open the door, flipping on the light. Gordito was standing up, holding on to the rail of the crib, his stout body shaken with sobs, his face frightened. As she came in, he pressed against the crib rails for balance and waved clenched fists in her direction.

  “Shhh!” She picked the baby up, patting and crooning to him. He hiccupped another few sobs, then gradually quieted, laying his head on her shoulder and holding onto her with strong little fingers.

  “Hey, you’re making me good at this,” she murmured, feeling strangely warm and contented by the feel of the child resting so comfortably against her. “I’ve dealt a little more with racehorses than babies, kid.”

  He made a gurgling sound against her shoulder, not really moving, and she walked around the room once or twice, hoping to quiet whatever fears confronted him. Gordito didn’t react until she went to put him back in the crib. His face screwed up and his little lips puckered.

  “Oh, all right. A minute more!” He was heavy, so she walked over to the rocking chair and sat down by the window, then slowly pushed herself back and forth. “I’d sing, but we’d both regret that,” she told him, pressing her lips to the back of his head. His silky hair, dampened by his exertions, was a nondescript color—not dark brown, not quite blond. Again, she wondered briefly about the baby’s parentage. Surely Mike Towers couldn’t despise his own flesh and blood so much that he kept him locked away, even if his mom was just a maid.

  His breath quieted, grew more even. At last! Moving cautiously, she stood, trying not to jostle the sleeping baby. She’d put him down, then get a few more hours of sleep herself.

  From far off, but still distinct, the eerie, high-pitched wail that had startled her before penetrated the room. A woman’s wail of anguish, of desperation.

  Gordito jerked spasmodically and cried out, drowning the sound. This time, she couldn’t quiet him. He trembled violently, his cries tormented.

  The door swung open, and Rosa came in, her face alarmed. “Shhh, Gordito, no lloras! Don’t cry anymore,” she pleaded, gently taking the child from AJ, hugging him, muffling his cries against her shoulder as she murmured reassurances to him. When he finally quieted, she turned accusingly toward AJ.

  “What did you do?” she accused.

  AJ shook her head. “I heard him crying. I came into see what was wrong. You weren’t here.” She glanced at the rocker, at the window. “I rocked him to sleep, but there was this noise …” Her voice trailed off. What would she tell Rosa? That La Llorona was not just a century-old legend? No.

  Rosa shifted the baby and brushed her disheveled hair away from her face, nodding. “Yes. You were trying to comfort him. I am sorry.” She hoisted Gordito, smiling a little. “He is a heavy boy. But I love him.”

  “Yes.” AJ smiled and reached out to pat the baby’s back. “He’s definitely loveable.�
��

  “You’ve only known him a few days,” Rosa said. “But you care for him?”

  AJ raised an eyebrow. Did Rosa’s question hold—something? A note of suspicion? Or interest? Or had memories of Gina and that damnable dream of the wailing woman made her unusually paranoid?

  “Loving a baby is an easy thing,” she said finally, and Rosa nodded sagely.

  “Loving is easy,” she answered cryptically. “Goodnight, AJ. I will watch Gordito until morning.”

  AJ started to protest, but decided not to. Rosa had every right to dismiss her from this room, after all. She made it back to her room and climbed back into bed before she realized the significance of the whole episode with Gordito. Whatever she heard—the sound she tried to dismiss as imaginary—had terrified Gordito, too. The eerie wail must have wakened him. He hadn’t ever heard the legend, of course, and couldn’t have understood it if he had. So—he’d reacted to a mother’s agonized shriek of desperation? She shivered.

  • • •

  “Monterrey?” AJ didn’t look across the table at Mike Towers as she sliced her egg into neat pieces. She couldn’t afford to overreact to the unwelcome invitation to go with him to the popular, nearby business center. Invitation? He’d made it pretty clear he expected her to go. Sort of “payback,” she knew, although he hadn’t been that blunt, for the days she’d spent here at his estate in Nuevo Laredo.

  “Yeah, sure.” He grinned at her. “Hey, you couldn’t have been there in years!” He drained his glass of orange juice, setting it down with a flourish. “Beautiful city. Great shopping. We’ll have fun.”

  “Fun?” This time she did glance up from her food, but her apprehension must have been apparent.

  He laughed, slapping the table heartily. “Lighten up, AJ. I just need someone to smile at some fat cats at lunch. And how can I go to the formal dinner afterwards if you don’t come? I don’t wanna be the only man there alone—everyone else will have a wife or girlfriend at the shindig.”

  “Well …”

  “Now, come on, girl. You won’t embarrass me by turning me down, will you?” The grin didn’t fade, but his tone took on a warning note. “You’ll be perfectly safe—your own room, and we’re coming back tomorrow, because I have business in San Antonio.”

  She chewed her mouthful of food slowly to keep from having to answer right away. There really was only one answer, of course. She couldn’t refuse to go. He would be annoyed, perhaps angry enough to send her packing. That would end the one small chance she had to rescue Rebel. Somehow she’d stay out of his bed. If need be, she could get on a bus or a plane. Tell him who she was. Tell him she’d see him in court. She’d lose Rebel that way, of course, but she would not degrade herself.

  She swallowed, forced a smile. “Sure,” she said lightly. “It does sound fun.” She took a small sip of orange juice. The freshly squeezed liquid might as well have been water. “But I’m glad we’ll be back so quickly.” She might as well start setting her exit up. “I talked to Randy again.”

  “Randy—oh, yeah. The fiancé.” Towers nodded scornfully. “So … does lover boy want you back?”

  Careful. “Yes, he’s wanted that.” She played with her glass, pretending great interest in the way the liquid swirled around. “But, well, I told him I wasn’t sure yet. I promised I’d let him know soon.” She looked back at Mike. Flirty. Not too provocative, though. Not with a night to spend in Monterrey. “It just wouldn’t be fair to anyone to keep things hanging like this.”

  “Sounds good to me, girl!” Towers barked, clearly pleased by her answer. “So, you throw some stuff in a bag—” He stopped, miffed. “You got good clothes?” he demanded.

  She blinked. “Well, what do you mean by ‘good’? I don’t buy designer clothes, if that’s what you mean.” She smiled. “I couldn’t exactly afford that on what I earned as a tour guide back home.”

  “Yeah, I guess not. I’d tell you to go buy something, but,” he glanced at his watch, “the stores you’d need don’t open till ten, and that’s just too late.”

  Take someone else, AJ thought. How perfect if he changed his mind about taking her. She kept her thoughts to herself, though, not wanting to jeopardize her situation. If he really had business out of town—on the U.S. side, no less—then luck might finally be turning her way.

  “Well, I just don’t have any formal wear.”

  “You know what, I bet—” He put down his fork, pushed his chair back. “Rosa!” he shouted.

  “Probably with the damn brat,” he muttered, more to himself than AJ. “Rosa—oh, there you are!”

  Rosa nodded at AJ before addressing her boss breathlessly. “Si, Senor Towers?”

  “Speak English, girl,” he growled, and Rosa flushed, but answered again. “Yes, Mr.Towers?”

  “See if you can find Miss AJ something to wear. She needs something for lunch. And something for dinner—real elegant. Maybe some of Gina’s stuff—”

  AJ felt her face tighten and her stomach clenched. He wanted her to wear Gina’s things? The bastard wanted her to dress in his dead wife’s clothes?

  Rosa shook her head. “No, Mr. Towers,” she said, carefully respectful. “Miss AJ is much too tall. Mrs. Towers’s clothes will not fit.” She looked AJ over thoughtfully, then smiled. “I know! The clothes left from the fashion show!”

  He looked at Rosa without comprehension. “What clothes?”

  “You have forgotten. The show Mrs. Gina held to raise money for the children’s home,” Rosa reminded him. “You were away, I believe, so you might not know—”

  He scoffed. “I know everything that’s important. And you’d do well to remember that.” He rubbed a hand over the back of the chair, considering. “That was a long time ago, though—”

  “There were some very beautiful dresses,” Rosa assured him. “I’m sure something will suit very well.”

  “But will it suit me?” AJ asked darkly, irked that she was being excluded from the conversation.

  “You’d better hope so,” Towers replied, winking. “’Cause otherwise you’ll just have to find some other way to earn your keep.”

  Rosa’s hand on her arm worked to silence her before she told Mike Towers where he could go. She’d do everything she could to bring him down in a day or two. Maybe tomorrow. She could put up with innuendo for one more day. And with his advances for one more night. Because she was sure he didn’t really intend to leave her alone in her own room.

  “Trust me,” Rosa encouraged, motioning her to follow. “You will look ravishing.”

  “I want to leave within an hour,” Towers called after them, and AJ tossed a smile over her shoulder.

  “Ravishing in an hour?” she asked. “Luckily, I do trust you, Rosa.” They were almost at the top of the stairs when AJ thought about one obvious fact that hadn’t occurred to her earlier. Staying out of Mike Towers’s bed had been easy enough with Chance around to save her. But tonight—she’d be alone with the man, 150 miles away from Chance. Suddenly, twenty-four hours was a long and dangerous time.

  • • •

  Monterrey, Mexico

  Monterrey was vastly different from when she’d gone there as a youngster. The streets were busier and broader, the buildings higher and more impressive. Mike Towers had driven the 150 miles himself on the much-improved, divided highway, a sullen Jaime sitting in the back seat. But at least the bodyguard’s presence served to keep Towers from pushing the conversation into uncomfortable channels.

  They arrived in time for lunch in the regal surroundings of Los Reyes Hotel, and AJ silently thanked Rosa for choosing an elegant cream suit that let her feel on even footing with the well-dressed, bejeweled women from Monterrey’s elite, along with a scattering of wealthy Texas families.

  AJ frowned and shaded her forehead, looking out across Constitución Plaza. In the distance, mountains rose into the summer sky, helping trap the heat. She grimaced. Walking out here in the middle of the afternoon probably labeled her as a little strange, but
the empty, elegant hotel room held no charm. She wandered aimlessly across the broad expanse, glad at least that Mike Towers wouldn’t find her here. AJ knew women were much more involved in business than in the past, and there had been a scattering of influential women at the luncheon. But in the way of traditional Mexican power lunches, these men segregated themselves after the meal to talk business, while their pampered women headed for spas, boutiques, and other pursuits.

  AJ hadn’t minded at all when Mike told her he needed to discuss business with some of the other men at the luncheon, and asked if she minded being on her own for a few hours. He’d handed her a credit card and told her to knock herself out, drawing chuckles from some of the other men who had sent their women off to shop.

  Several women invited her along, but AJ declined, claiming a nonexistent headache. Truthfully, she acknowledged to herself, she just had no interest in associating with any of these wealthy strangers. A few of the benches were in partial shade. Thankfully she walked over and sat down on the wrought iron, swinging her foot idly. A vendor passed, pausing to offer her ice cream, and from a little farther off, another vendor walked along shouting “raspas” at no one in particular. The idea of shaved ice tempted her. She patted her pocket, heard the jingle of coins, and stood to summon the vendor closer.

  Just before she called out, though, she saw a man slouch across the plaza, a cap pulled low over his forehead. Disbelief shivered through her. She’d only seen the man once, but she knew where. The barn. The man that Chance denied knowing. Why was he here in Monterrey? Who was he?

  The man paid the vendor and stood there briefly, raising the white paper cone to his lips and looking around the plaza. Shivers traced over her skin as he stared in her direction. She thought he might walk toward her, but instead, after a moment, he waved nonchalantly at the vendor and stalked away toward the back of the plaza, disappearing behind the fountain.

  The vendor approached, pushing his unwieldy wooden cart ahead of him. On an impulse, AJ stood, waved the vendor off, and headed across the plaza in the direction the evil-faced stranger had just taken. She walked quickly and decisively, not sure exactly why she was following him, and pausing just for a second as she rounded the fountain, glancing around to see if she saw him. There were a number of passersby on the far side—more vendors, kids selling gum or washing cars, city residents hurrying about their business.