Within Reach

by Marilyn Pappano

  “He had visitors last week. Baker and Smith.”

  “I know them. They work out of Miami. I wonder if he’s planning to expand his business again. Listen, I’ll get that information to you as soon as it’s ready.”

  Rafael hung up and headed back to work. Had he asked for that information because it might help their case? Or because the suspect’s daughter was fast becoming a personal interest?

  He left the question unanswered, because the answer didn’t please him. No, it didn’t please him one bit.

  “Why did you call him ‘señor’?”

  “He called me ‘señorita.’”

  “No, he didn’t. He called you ‘Miss McLaren’ in a voice that would freeze the desert.”

  “Well, the last time I saw him, he called me ‘señorita.’ Is this going to be another lecture to stay away from him, Royce Ann? Because if it is, I think I’ve heard all I want to hear, okay?” Krista asked with a sigh. She appreciated her friend’s concern, but it was wearying.

  “The man has no heart, no warmth and no feelings.”

  Krista remembered his hands on her body Saturday, his kisses, the response of his body, and she smiled secretively. “No,” she softly disagreed. “He’s got feelings.” And she was going to bring them out if it killed them both.

  Chapter 4

  Parties were important affairs in Nueva Vida, parties at the McLarens’ doubly so. The fact that this one was being hosted by Krista McLaren made Rafael especially reluctant to go. Though the invitation had been for seven o’clock, at seven forty-five he was still at home, still naked after his shower. He was trying to think of an acceptable excuse for not going. Failing at that, he pulled himself off the bed and began dressing.

  He wasn’t sure how the rest of Krista’s guests would be dressed, but he wasn’t going to change his style for her. He put on a pair of comfortable blue jeans, a red knit sport shirt and worn sneakers. Unable to delay any longer, he left for the McLaren house.

  The backyard was brightly lit with floodlights and lanterns. Tables laden with food extended the length of the yard on one side, and smaller tables were scattered around for dining. The patio had been cleared for dancing, and a corner of the yard was set apart for the younger children. There was music, talk, lots of laughter. The guests were all having a good time. All but Rafael.

  He got a bottle of beer from the tub filled with ice and a half dozen brands of beer, both domestic and imported—but not from Mexico. He flipped the cap into an overflowing trash can, then found a dark wall to lean against.

  It was easy to find Krista in the crowd. She was smiling that beautiful smile, playing the perfect hostess, making the rest of her guests comfortable and making him damned uncomfortable. His jeans seemed a hell of a lot tighter than they’d been fifteen minutes ago.

  She wore a yellow sundress of some clingy fabric that draped over every curve and exposed long, shapely legs. The bodice was loose, hiding her breasts, yet revealing them with every breath she took.

  Oh, God, she’s beautiful, and I can’t have her.

  The thought angered him, and he bitterly countered it. I could have her. I could make love to her tonight if I let myself…but I won’t.

  Krista felt his eyes on her, and she slowly turned searching for him. Finally a movement against the house identified him, and she started in his direction, avoiding friends who would want to talk. “Hello.”

  Rafael glanced at her but didn’t speak.

  “I’m surprised you came.”

  “Are you?” he asked dryly. He doubted that.

  Krista didn’t mind his obvious reluctance to be there. Given enough time she could wear down his resistance, convince him that she was, to use his words, worth the effort. Until that happened, she would use any means to spend time with him. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Want to dance?”

  “No.”

  “Want to talk?”

  He turned his head to study her. “Yes. Look at your guests. Notice anything odd?”

  “No. It’s just people from town.”

  “There must be a hundred people here.”

  “About that.”

  “Ninety-nine white people—and me. I’m the only non-white here. ‘Just people from town.’ A border town that’s about fifty percent Hispanic, and you invite one to your party.” He gave a snort of disgust. “Of course, there are the servants, the people waiting on your guests, serving their food, baby-sitting their kids, parking their cars—they’re all Mexican, aren’t they?”

  Krista could feel her face turning red, but instead of defending herself, she quietly observed, “You have a real prejudice against white people, don’t you?”

  Rafael took a swallow of beer. “I don’t like people in general.”

  “And you don’t like me in particular.”

  He heard an odd quiver of emotion in her voice and looked at her, but in the shadow of the house he could see very little.

  “It’s not fair. You don’t know me.”

  “I don’t want to know you.”

  “Why not?”

  He thought of the answers he could give her. Because you scare me. Because I want you, and wanting can easily change to needing. And the most important one of all: because I’m one of the men who’s going to put your father in jail for the rest of his miserable life. But he couldn’t say any of those things, so he answered her question with one of his own. “Why should I?”

  She smiled. “Because I’m a nice person.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  She scoffed at that; then a movement in the light caught her eye. It was Royce Ann, heading in their direction. “Let’s go inside and talk,” she suggested, moving quickly to avoid her friend.

  Rafael knew Art McLaren was too smart to leave anything incriminating lying around the house for a nosy border-patrol agent to pick up, but he followed her anyway, because it practically guaranteed privacy. If they were inside the house it would be harder for any of her ninety-nine guests to interrupt and pull her away from him, and he selfishly wanted her to himself.

  They went into the house, unnoticed by anyone but the disapproving Royce Ann. Krista led the way through the kitchen to a broad hallway and entered the third room on the right. Rafael remained at the door until she had turned on a small lamp. Then he closed the door behind him, his fingers turning the lock—to ensure their privacy, of course.

  “So talk, señorita,” he said in a raspy, gravelly voice that made her shiver.

  Krista gestured to the sofa. “Sit down, please.” When he had done so, she joined him, sitting close but not threateningly so. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I bet you are, señorita,” he said sarcastically. “Men don’t turn you down very often, do they?”

  She lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I don’t offer very often.”

  Sitting alone with her in the small library was sheer madness. He must have been crazy to think he could come in here with her, shut off from the other guests and not touch her. Or maybe he wanted to touch her, wanted to be reckless and incautious and seduce her despite all the warnings.

  Krista was hoping he would do something, anything, but when it came, she was startled by his directness. One long, brown finger, still cool from the beer bottle he held, hooked beneath a tiny strap and guided it off her shoulder. The action was repeated with the other strap; then Rafael pushed the bodice of her dress to her waist.

  His throat was suddenly dry, and he drained the last of the beer, then leaned forward to set the bottle on the floor. Krista sat motionless, barely breathing, afraid any movement on her part might cause another withdrawal like that of last weekend.

  Her breasts were perfect. For a long moment he simply looked at them; then he reached out to touch one. His fingers stroked lightly over her flesh, and he saw the coral tip stiffen as his fingers came closer to it. Leaving it unsatisfied, he transferred his caresses to the other breast, watching its identical response.
/>   “You wanted to talk, señorita,” he reminded her.

  “T-talk?” she echoed. She could barely think; talking was out of the question.

  He rolled one pebble-hard nipple between his fingers, and Krista softly moaned. He watched the pleasure he brought steal across her face while his fingers teased, stroked, learned her breasts intimately. Finally he bent over her, casting his shadow on her, and kissed her mouth. He didn’t have to coax her; she was eager to accept him, her mouth parting for his tongue’s leisurely explorations.

  It was a lovely kiss, and it made Krista greedy. “Again,” she whispered, and Rafael obliged her. He nibbled at her full lower lip, evading her attempts to guide his tongue into her mouth again. His left hand came up to play lazily with an aching breast. When she triumphed over him and got his tongue where she wanted it, he gave her a surprise by gliding his hand across her midriff, beneath the elastic waist of her dress and across her abdomen.

  She wore tiny panties, only a scrap of lace and a bit of elastic. His fingers eased beneath the garment. They searched through the silken curls and found her, and his mouth pressed hard against hers in time to swallow the moan that trembled through her.

  God, how he wanted her! The fact that ninety-nine people, including her father and his boss, were right outside didn’t cool his desire one bit. He pushed her down on the cushions and moved over her, one powerful leg thrust between hers, the masculine evidence of his desire burning hot against her thigh. He was going to take her, right there on the sofa, in the middle of her party; he was going to bury himself in her, fill her with his hard need, and consequences be damned.

  “Oh, please,” she whispered soundlessly, but he understood the words; he felt them. Yes, he would please. He would give her such pleasure that no man would ever satisfy her again. Oh, yes, he would definitely please her.

  There was a rap at the locked door. “Krista?” Royce Ann softly called. “Your father wants you now.”

  She could have cried. Finally Rafael wanted her, and for the first time in years, so did her father. She wanted to remain silent, but already Rafael was drawing away from her. “All right, Royce Ann,” she replied, her voice unnaturally low. “I’ll be right there.”

  Rafael moved his weight off her, both grateful for and resentful of the interruption. He silently drew her up and pulled the straps of her dress back in place. He arranged the bodice, his hand lingering over one breast.

  “This will just take a minute,” she said softly, reaching for his hands. “Please wait, Rafael. Please?”

  He didn’t answer. Wait, so she could return and finish the scene? So she could seduce him with her eyes, her smile, her mere presence? Wait, so she could destroy him with her charm? With the gift of her body?

  Not damned likely. He waited till she was gone, out of the room and out of the house; then he left. He left through the front doors and crossed the lawn to the rows of parked cars.

  Her father’s demands took only a minute, and Krista hurried back inside. When she found the room empty she knew he was leaving, so she headed outside and toward the cars. “Sneaking off?”

  Rafael stopped without turning and waited until she caught up. He delivered the insult in a soft, almost pleasant voice. “No reason to stay.”

  Krista walked with him to his truck, parked at the end of the line. “There’s a name for women who do what you do,” she said flippantly. “What happened, Rafael? Did you suddenly remember who I am? Does the thought of making love to me make your skin crawl?”

  Rafael’s face remained blank. “If you’re so determined to have a Mexican lover, there are a lot of them around, and most of them work for your father, so they can’t refuse.”

  She smiled slowly, and he thought it made her beautiful. She should always smile. “I don’t want them. I don’t want a Mexican. I want you. Why can’t we be friends, Rafael?”

  That notion—that they, with all their differences, could ever be friends—roused his anger, and he turned an icy glare on her. She didn’t even know the meaning of the word. Women like her, like Rebecca, thought they could have anything they wanted. Krista had decided she wanted him, and in her arrogance she refused to recognize that he had a say in the matter. She acted as if it was her right to demand the use of his time, his body and even his heart, but damn it, she couldn’t do that!

  He grasped her wrist and gritted out cruelly, “I don’t want to be your amusement while you’re bored, and I sure as hell don’t want to be your friend!”

  He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d slapped her. His anger was a cold and frightening thing, and it made her quake, but it didn’t stop her from asking why. He wasn’t the first person to reject her, but he was going to be the first to give a reason. “Why not? What’s wrong with me?” she demanded.

  “Why me?” he demanded in return. “There are a dozen men out back who would love to be your friend.” He put all his anger and loathing and disgust into the word, making it sound like something dirty. “Why pick on me?”

  “Why did you kiss me like that?”

  The soft, unexpected question left him staring until he couldn’t meet her gaze any longer; those blue eyes were too trusting, too sincere. His eyes dropped to her mouth, but that was a mistake, too. Her lips were soft and full and made him remember their kisses, made him want more.

  “Why did you kiss me that way?” she repeated softly.

  His fingers on her wrist gentled and slid down to find hers. “That’s the way I kiss,” he answered stupidly. He felt thickheaded, off balance, unable to think. Unable to do anything but want.

  “Why me?” Krista sensed she was making some headway, and she gently pushed for more. Maybe that ice was starting to thaw.

  “You wanted me to.”

  “And you wanted to.”

  “And I wanted to,” he repeated.

  The shock of what he’d said snapped the spell she’d woven around him, and his voice became harsh and mocking. “Why shouldn’t I kiss you? You’ve been throwing yourself at me since we met. Why shouldn’t I take advantage of it? I’m sure countless others have.”

  He was goading her, Krista realized, trying to anger her or maybe hurt her. Otherwise, why hadn’t he taken advantage? He could have seduced her on that sofa. Instead he had run at the first chance he got.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  Rafael caught his breath; then he laughed—a low, ugly sound. “Afraid of you?” he asked sardonically. Damned right. He looped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. “What’s to be afraid of?” He would show her that he simply didn’t care. He would make her stay away, make her lose interest in him. “I kissed you. So what? You’re not naive enough to think it meant anything, are you?”

  And to prove it, he kissed her again. Krista melted against him, giving herself up to the pleasure of his mouth. Maybe it meant nothing to him, but she’d never felt so good, so alive. She wanted to stay in his arms forever.

  The blood rushing through his veins was hot, spreading its heat throughout his body. It was hell kissing her, holding her, and knowing that soon he had to let her go. He wouldn’t mind being condemned to such hell for a while longer.

  He bent her back over his arm. When he lifted his mouth he reached up to fondle her breast. There was a twist to his lips that faintly resembled a smile. “Thanks for the diversion, señorita.” He pushed her back and swung into the truck.

  Her face was pale, but her cheeks burned with the flush of passion or anger; he wasn’t sure which. He wanted her angry, angry enough to forget she wanted him and how much he wanted her. He cupped her cheek in one rough palm. “You’re not bad. When I get bored again and there’s no one better around, I’ll come back to finish this.”

  In a flash of temper Krista shoved his hand away, her fingernails raking over it; then the anger died. “Go home, Rafael,” she ordered quietly. There was a wealth of emotion in her voice—disappointment, weariness, hurt.

  She watched him drive away, depr
ession settling over her like a physical weight. Was it just her he didn’t like, or had something happened that made him distrust everyone? Was she ever going to convince him to give her a chance? And if he refused that chance, how was she ever going to forget him?

  For several long minutes Rafael could see her in the rearview mirror, silhouetted by the floodlights. He wanted to go back to her, wanted to take her to his house and make love to her until they were both too weak to move.

  But he didn’t go back. He kept driving, into Nueva Vida, through the border checkpoint and into San Ignacio. The little house at the end of the street was quiet, lights shining through the front windows. He parked the Bronco behind Constancia’s car and went inside.

  She wasn’t surprised by the reason behind his visit. She’d realized that he was losing interest in her. She suspected that he had met the woman he’d never believed existed—the one who could make him love. It had pleased her to find that she was ready to move forward without him. He had been an important part of her life for a long time, but she’d always known there were emotions in him she couldn’t touch, hadn’t wanted to touch. She guessed he felt the same about her. The circumstances that had made her happy with their relationship had changed, and now she wanted more. She wanted to find the man who could give it to her, and she knew it wasn’t Rafael.

  When she pulled his head down and kissed both cheeks, then whispered, “Be happy, my friend,” she meant it. And inside she made a silent wish of luck for the woman who had succeeded in touching his heart. Rafael deserved to be happy.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” Royce Ann said when Krista finally returned to the party, “but I saw you and Rafe go inside, and I figured it would be better for me to find you than for your father to.”

  “His name is Rafael. Is it too much to ask to be called by your name?” Krista asked darkly.

  “Everyone at work calls him Rafe.”

  “Did they ever ask him if he minded?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Of course not. Why should they care?”