by Diana Palmer
“Guatemala seems very far away sometimes, though.” She leaned back. “What about the finca, Diego?”
“I have given that more thought than you realize, Melissa,” he replied. He studied his cheroot. “It is growing more dangerous by the day to try to hold the estate, to provide adequate protection for my workers. I loathe the very thought of giving it up, but it is becoming too much of a financial risk. Now that I have you and the boy to consider, I have decided that I may well have to sell it.”
“But your family has lived there for three generations,” she protested. “It’s your heritage.”
“Niña, it is a spread of land,” he said gently. “A bit of stone and soil. Many lives have been sacrificed for it over the years, and more will be asked. I begin to think the sacrifices are too many.” He leaned forward suddenly, his black eyes narrow. “Suppose I asked you to come with me to Guatemala, to bring Matthew, to raise him there.”
Her breathing stopped for an instant. She faltered, trying to reconcile herself to the fear his words had fostered.
He nodded, reading her apprehension. “You see? You could no more risk the boy’s life than I could.” He sat back again. “It is much more sensible to lease or sell it than to take the risk of trying to live there. I like Chicago, niña. Do you?”
“Why, yes,” she said slowly. “I suppose I do. I don’t know about the winter….”
“We can spend the winter down in the Caribbean and come back in the spring. Apollo is thinking of expanding the company, Blain Security Consultants, to include antiterrorism classes in that part of the world.” He smiled. “I can combine business with pleasure.”
“You haven’t told me about the kind of work you do,” she reminded him. She wanted to know. This was one of the few times he’d ever let down his guard and talked to her, sharing another part of his life. It was flattering and pleasant.
“I teach tactics,” he said. He put out the cheroot. “Dutch and I share the duties, and I also teach defensive driving to the chauffeurs of the very rich.” He looked up at her. “You remember that I raced cars for a few years.”
“My father mentioned it once,” she said. Her eyes ran over his dark face. “You can’t live without a challenge, can you? Without some kind of risk?”
“I have grown used to surges of adrenaline over the years,” he mused, smiling. “Perhaps I have become addicted.” He shrugged. “It is unlikely that I will make you a rich widow in the near future, Señora Laremos,” he added mockingly, thinking bitterly of the boy’s father.
“Money was never one of my addictions,” she said with quiet pride. She got to her feet slowly. “But think what you like. Your opinion doesn’t matter a lot to me these days, señor.”
“Yet it did once,” he said softly, rising to catch her gently by the waist and hold her in front of him. “There was a time when you loved me, Melissa.”
“Love can die, like dreams.” She sighed wistfully, watching the quick rise and fall of his chest. “It was a long time ago, and I was very young.”
“You are still very young, querida,” he said, his voice deep and very quiet. “How did you manage, alone and pregnant, in a strange place?”
“I had friends,” she said hesitantly. “And a good job, working as an assistant buyer for a department store’s clothing department. Then I got pneumonia and everything fell apart.”
“Yet you have managed enough time with Matthew to teach him values and pride and honor in his heritage.”
She smiled. “I wanted him to be a whole person,” she said. She looked up, searching the dark eyes so close to hers. “You blame me, don’t you? For betraying you…”
Her humility hurt him. It made him feel guilty for the things he’d said to her. He sighed wearily. “Was it not I who betrayed you?” he breathed, and bent to her mouth.
He’d never kissed her in quite that way before. She felt the soft pressure of his mouth with wonder as he cherished it, savored it in a silence ablaze with shared pleasure.
“But, Matthew…” she whispered.
“Kiss me, querida,” he whispered, and his mouth covered hers again as he drew her against his lean, hard body and his lips grew quietly insistent.
She felt the need in him. Her legs trembled against his. Her mouth followed where his led, lost in its warm, bristly pressure. She put her arms around him and moved closer until she felt him stiffen, until she felt the sudden urgency of his body and heard him groan.
“No,” he whispered roughly, pushing her away. His eyes glittered. His breathing was quick and unsteady. “No half measures. I want all of you or nothing. And it is too soon, is it not?”
She wanted to say no, but of course it was too soon, and not just physically. There were too many wounds, too many questions. She lowered her eyes to his chest. “I won’t stop you,” she said, shocking herself as well as the man standing so still in front of her. “I won’t say no.”
His fingers contracted, but only for an instant. “It has been a long time,” he said in a deep, soft voice. “I do not think that I could be gentle with you the first time, despite the tenderness I feel for you.” He shuddered almost imperceptibly. “My possession of you would be violent, and I could not bear to hurt you. It is not wise to let this continue.” He let her go and moved away, with his back to her, while he lit another cheroot.
She watched him with curious eyes. Her body trembled with frustration, her leg ached. But she wanted nothing more in life than his body over hers in the sweet darkness.
“I want you,” she whispered achingly.
He turned, his black eyes steady and hot. “No less than I want you, I assure you,” he said tersely. “But first there must be a lowering of all the barriers. Tell me about Matthew’s father, Melissa.”
She wanted to. She needed to. But she couldn’t tell him. He had to come to the realization himself, he had to believe in her innocence without having proof. “I can’t,” she moaned.
“Then know this: I have had enough of subterfuge and pretense. Until you tell me the truth, I swear that I will never touch you again.”
She exhaled unsteadily. He was placing her in an intolerable position. She couldn’t tell him the truth. She didn’t trust him enough, and obviously he didn’t trust her enough. If he loved her, he’d trust her enough to know that Matthew was his. But that had always been the problem—she loved too much and he loved too little. He was hot-blooded, and he desired her. But desire was a poor foundation for marriage. It wouldn’t be enough.
Diego watched the expressions pass over her face. When he saw her teeth clench, he knew that he’d lost the round. She wasn’t going to tell him. She was afraid. Well, there was still one other way to get at the truth. As Dutch had mentioned, there would surely be a birth certificate for Matthew. He would write to the Arizona Bureau of Vital Statistics and obtain a copy of it. That would give Diego the truth about Matt’s age and his parentage. Diego had to know, once and for all, who Matthew’s father was. Until he did, there was no hope of a future for him and Matthew and Melissa.
“It is late,” he said without giving her a chance to say anything else. “You had better get some sleep.”
Melissa hesitated, but only for an instant. It was disappointing. She felt they’d been so close to an understanding. She nodded, turning toward her room without another word.
It was like sitting on top of a bomb for the next few days. Melissa was more aware of Diego than ever before, but he was polite and courteous and not much more. The nights grew longer and longer.
But if she was frustrated, her son wasn’t. Diego seemed to have a new shadow, because Matthew followed him everywhere when he wasn’t working. Rather than resenting it, Diego seemed to love it. He indulged the child as never before, noticed him, played with him. His efforts were hesitant at first because he’d never spent much time around children. But as time wore on he learned to play, and the child became a necessary part of his day, of his life.
They went to the zoo that weeken
d, leaving Melissa with the television and a new videocassette of an adventure movie for company. They stayed until almost dark, and when they came back Matthew seemed a different boy. Oddly enough, Diego was different, too. There was an expression on his face and in his black eyes that Melissa didn’t understand.
“We saw a cobra!” Matt told Melissa, his young face alive with excitement. “And a giraffe, and a lion, and a monkey! And I had cotton candy, and I rode a train, and a puppy dog chased me!” He giggled gleefully.
“And Papa is worn to a nub,” Diego moaned, dropping wearily onto the sofa beside Melissa with a weary grin. “Dios mío, I almost bought a motorcycle just to keep up with him!”
“I wore Papa out,” Matt chuckled, “didn’t I, Papa?”
Melissa glanced from one of them to the other, curiosity evident in her gray eyes.
“Matthew’s papa isn’t coming back,” Diego told her. He lit a cheroot with steady hands, his black eyes daring her to challenge the statement. “So I’m going to be his papa and take care of him. And he will be my son.”
“I always wanted a papa of my own,” Matthew told Melissa. He leaned his chin on the arm of the sofa and stared at her. “Since my papa’s gone away, I want Diego.”
Melissa drew a slow breath, barely breathing as all the things she’d told Matt about his father came back with vivid clarity. She prayed that he hadn’t mentioned any of them to Diego. Especially the photograph…why in heaven’s name had she shown Matt that photo!
But Diego looked innocent, and Matthew was obviously unruffled, so there couldn’t have been any shared secrets. No. Of course not. She was worrying over nothing.
“Did you have a good time?”
Matt grinned. “We had a really good time, and tomorrow we’re going to church.”
Melissa hoped she wouldn’t pass out. It wouldn’t be good to shock the child. But her eyes looked like saucers as they slid to Diego’s face.
“A child should be raised in the church,” he said tersely. “When you are able, you may come with us.”
“I’m not arguing,” she said absently.
“Good, because it would avail you nothing. Matt, suppose you watch television while I organize something for us to eat? Do you want a fish?”
“Yes, please,” the child said with a happy laugh, and ran to turn on cartoons.
“And you, querida?” he asked Melissa, letting his dark eyes slide over her gray slacks and low-cut cream sweater with soft desire.
“I’d like a chef’s salad,” she murmured. “There’s a fish dinner in the freezer that Matt can have, and the salad’s already made. I prepared it while you were gone. There’s a steak I can grill for you….”
“I can do it.” He got up, stretching lazily, and her eyes moved over him with helpless longing, loving the powerful lines of his tall body.
“I need to move around, though,” she murmured. She got up and stood for a minute before she started to walk. The limp was still pronounced, but it didn’t hurt half as bad to move as it had only a week ago. She laughed at her own progress.
“How easily the young heal,” Diego remarked with a smile.
“I’m not that young, Diego,” she said.
He moved close to her, taking her by the waist to lazily draw her body to him, holding her gently. “You are when you laugh, querida,” he said, smiling. “What memories you bring back of happy times we shared in Guatemala.”
The smile faded. “Were there any?” she asked sadly.
He searched her soft gray eyes. “Do you not remember how it was with us, before we married? The comradeship we had, the ease of being together?”
“I was a child and you were an adult.” She dropped her eyes. “I was bristling with hero worship and buried in dreams.”
“And then we took refuge in a Mayan ruin.” He was whispering so that Matt, who was engrossed in a television program, wouldn’t hear. “And we became lovers, with the rain blowing around us and the threat of danger everywhere. Your body under my body, Melissa mía, your cries in my mouth as I kissed you…”
She moved away too fast and almost fell, her face beet red and her heart beating double time. “I—” She had to try again because her voice squeaked. “I’ll just fix the salad dressing, Diego.”
He watched her go with a faint, secretive smile. Behind him, Matt was laughing at a cartoon, and Diego glanced his way with an expression that he was glad Melissa couldn’t see. Matt had told him about the photograph of his father while they’d been looking at a poster that showed banana trees.
Those funny-looking trees, Matt exclaimed, were in the photo his Mama had of his papa. And his papa was wearing a big hat and riding a horse.
Diego had leaned against a wall for support, and he didn’t remember what he’d mumbled when Matt had kept on talking. But even though he’d sent for the birth certificate, it was no longer necessary. There couldn’t be another photo like the one Matt described, and it was with amused fury that he realized the man he’d been jealous of was himself.
He was Matt’s father. Matt was the child Melissa had sworn she’d lost. It even made sense that she’d hidden her pregnancy from him. She’d probably been afraid that he didn’t care enough about her to let her stay after the child was born. More than likely she’d thought that Diego would take her baby from her and send her away. She’d run to keep that from happening.
She was still running. She hadn’t told him the truth about Matt because she didn’t trust him enough. Perhaps she didn’t love him enough anymore, either. He was going to have to work on that. But at least he knew the truth, and that was everything. He looked at his son with fierce pride and knew that, whatever happened, he couldn’t give up Matt. He couldn’t give up Melissa, either, but he was going to have to prove that to her first.
After supper, Diego and Matthew sprawled on the carpet in front of the television. Melissa’s eyes softened at the two of them, so alike, so dark and delightfully Latin, laughing and wrestling in front of the television. Diego was in his stocking feet, his shirt unbuttoned in front, his hair disheveled, his eyes laughing at his son. He looked up with the laughter still in his face and saw Melissa watching him. For an instant, something flared in his eyes and left them darkly disturbing. She flushed and looked away, and she heard him laugh. Then Matthew attacked him again and the spell was broken. But it left Melissa shaken and hungry. Diego was accepting Matt, and that should have satisfied her. But it didn’t. She wanted Diego to love her. When, she wondered bitterly, had she ever wanted anything else? But it seemed as impossible now as it had in the past. He wanted her, but perhaps he had nothing left to offer.
* * *
Diego was involved with work for the next few weeks. The atmosphere at the apartment was much less strained. Matt played with Diego, and the two of them were becoming inseparable. And Diego looked at Melissa with lazy indulgence and began to tease her gently now and again. But the tension between them was growing, and her nervousness with him didn’t help. She couldn’t understand his suddenly changed attitude toward Matt and herself. Because she couldn’t figure out the reason behind his turnaround, she didn’t trust it.
When the time came for her final checkup, Diego took time off from work to take her to the doctor.
She was pronounced cured and released from the doctor’s care. He told her to progress slowly with her rapidly healing leg but said she was fit to work again.
When she told Diego that and started hinting at wanting to get a job, he felt uneasy. She’d run away from him once, and he was no longer able to hide his growing affection for the boy. What if she knew that he suspected the truth? Would she take Matt and run again, fearing that Diego might be trying to steal him away from her? His blood ran cold at the prospect, but he wasn’t confident enough to put the question to her. He might force her hand if he wasn’t careful. The thing was, how was he going to keep her?
He worried the question all the way back to the apartment, reserved and remote as he pondered. He went ba
ck to work immediately after dropping her off at the apartment. He didn’t even speak as he went out the door. His withdrawal worried Melissa.
“You need some diversion, Mrs. Laremos,” Mrs. Albright chided as she fixed lunch for them. “Staying around this apartment all the time just isn’t healthy.”
“You know, I do believe you’re right,” Melissa agreed with a sigh. “I think I’ll call Joyce and take her out to lunch tomorrow. I might even get a job.”
“Your husband won’t like that, if you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am,” Mrs. Albright murmured as she shredded carrots for a salad.
“I’m afraid he won’t,” Melissa said. “But that isn’t going to stop me.”
She dropped a kiss on Matthew’s dark head as he sat engrossed in a children’s program on the educational network and went into Diego’s study to use the phone.
It was bad luck that she couldn’t remember the name of Apollo’s company. Diego surely had it written down somewhere. She didn’t like going into his desk, but this was important. She opened the middle drawer and found a black book of numbers. But underneath it was an open envelope that caught her attention.
With a quick glance toward the door and a pounding heart, she drew it out and looked at it. The return address was the Arizona Bureau of Vital Statistics. Her cold, nervous hands fumbled it open, and she drew out what she’d been afraid she’d find—a copy of Matthew’s birth certificate. Under father, Diego’s full name and address were neatly typed.
She sighed, fighting back tears. So he knew. But he hadn’t said anything. He’d questioned her and promised her that he wouldn’t come near her again until she told him the truth about Matthew. Why? Did it matter so much to his pride? Or was he just buying time to gain Matthew’s affection before he forced Melissa out of their lives? Perhaps despite what he’d said about Guatemala he meant to take Matthew there and leave Melissa behind. His lack of ardor since he and Matt had gone to the zoo, his lack of attention to her, made her more uncertain than ever. And today, his remoteness when the doctor had said she could work. Was he thinking about throwing her out now that she no longer needed his support?