Within Reach

by Marilyn Pappano

He pulled her down on top of him and rolled with her until she was on her back. Using his body to hold hers still, he tickled his fingers over her ribs, finding the places where she was most sensitive, and her tears were forgotten in peals of laughter. She writhed beneath him, trying to avoid his torturing hands, until she felt the sudden response of his body.

  “Oh, Rafael,” she breathed. “Again, please…”

  “No.” He rolled off her and reached for the clothes he had shed only an hour ago. “You’ll get sore, and we won’t be able to make love tonight. Get dressed.”

  She watched him pull his jeans on and zip them. His hands buckled the belt quickly, easily; then he padded barefoot to his closet for a white cotton-knit shirt.

  “All I have is the skirt and blouse I wore last night.”

  He pulled the shirt over his head, then gave her a long look. “Then you’d better go home and get some clothes. Jeans.”

  She stepped into her skirt, pulled her camisole on and sat on the bed, watching him with great interest. He reached down to tuck his shirt in, realized he’d already buckled his belt and grimaced. She had him so mixed up he couldn’t even dress properly. He remedied that, tucking the shirt neatly into his jeans, then went to her, spanning her waist almost completely with his hands. “Get going.”

  “Rafael, let’s stay here today.” Her suggestion was delivered in a voice heavy with desire.

  “You’re greedy.”

  “So you say.”

  “Take your horse home. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

  She let him pull her off the bed and out of the room. “Where are we going?”

  “For a drive.”

  He left her on the porch and led the stallion to the steps. He cupped his hands, giving Krista a step up; then his hands glided along her calf. “Bring a dress for tomorrow,” he ordered. “We’ll go out.”

  Krista looked down at him, searching his dark, impassive face for some sign of emotion, but she found nothing. How could he be so passionate in bed and so restrained out of it? Last night he had called himself weak, but she knew he wasn’t; he had an iron control on himself at all times. He wouldn’t allow himself to be weak.

  Diablo was eager to get going, and he snorted impatiently, tossing his head. Rafael quieted him with a hand on his neck. “Go.”

  She obeyed, resisting the urge to look back as she rode away. It wouldn’t be long until he was sending her away for good. When this weekend ended she was certain that not even a late-night visit like last night’s would help her. Rafael was determined to rid himself of her, and she couldn’t change his mind. She should be grateful that he was giving her these two days.

  Krista had been rejected with depressing regularity in her life, first by her mother, then repeatedly by her father. The feeling was nothing new, but the intensity of the pain was. It was just her luck, she thought, always to want the attention and love of people who didn’t want to give it—not to her, at least.

  “Out for an early ride?” her father asked when they met between the house and the stables.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Out.”

  He didn’t even ask her with whom. “Let Juana know if you’ll be home for dinner.” He began walking again, and Krista turned to watch him go. She saw him greet his foreman with more warmth than he’d ever shown her, and her mouth tightened into a thin line, so like Rafael’s.

  “Does it matter to you, Dad, if I’ll be home for dinner?” she asked softly.

  The silence was her reply.

  She went to her room and changed into jeans, a T-shirt and tennis shoes. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and braided it, then gathered the things she needed to pack.

  A dress, he’d said. She had plenty, but she couldn’t make up her mind until she glanced out the window and saw a cloud of dust that meant company. Hastily she pulled a simple pale blue skirt and matching blouse from their hangers, carefully folded them and added them to the growing pile. Another glance out the window showed Rafael’s black Bronco in sight now, and she returned to the closet to get a pair of leather sandals.

  “I won’t be here tonight or tomorrow,” she called to the housekeeper as she swept down the stairs. She picked up her purse and opened the door as the Bronco came to a stop on the circular drive.

  “Why the rush? Trying to get out before your father sees me?” Rafael asked as she swung into the seat.

  “Trying to get out before my father sees me again,” she replied. She fastened the seat belt snugly over her hips, then flashed a smile at him. “If you’d like, we could find him, and I’ll introduce you. Then maybe you could remind him that he has a daughter.”

  Dark, brooding eyes rested on her face. Sometimes she made remarks like that, hinting at a less-than-satisfactory relationship with her father, but Rafael didn’t put much stock in them. Women like Krista—like Rebecca—had been given everything they ever wanted, and it made them greedy. They were never satisfied with what they got; they always wanted more. Krista could drain him of all energy and strength in one lovemaking session and five minutes later demand that he take her again. Like Rebecca.

  Funny. That odd little pain in his chest when he thought about his former lover was gone. He had sometimes feared he would never completely stop loving her, stop hurting for her, but it was gone, as if telling Krista about her had been a catharsis of some sort.

  He knew why it was gone. He had exchanged old memories and hurts for new ones. There was no room in his heart, his soul, for any woman but Krista. He warned himself that learning to live without Rebecca had been easy compared to the problems he was going to have without Krista.

  “Where are we going?”

  He gave her the same answer he’d given earlier. “For a drive.”

  Krista shifted to toss her small bag into the back seat. A gray nylon backpack was already there.

  They drove north, the miles rushing by once they reached the paved highway. Rafael was a good driver, comfortable with the Bronco. His left hand rested on the steering wheel; his right hand was on his thigh. Krista wished she had the nerve to put hers there.

  “When are you going back?”

  Krista moved her gaze from his hand to his face. Mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes. His expression was stern, forbidding, sensual. “Back where?”

  “New York.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I won’t.” She saw the almost imperceptible tightening of a muscle in his jaw and knew her answer displeased him.

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “I can do whatever I want.”

  “It isn’t in you. You need the city, the people, the parties, the worship.”

  “The worship?” she echoed, disbelief widening her eyes. “I’m just a normal woman who works for a living, like any other woman. I’m not some princess whose job is to be admired.”

  He cast a cynical look her way. “You work.”

  “Yes. I…” She was almost embarrassed to tell him. “I design clothing for several chains of large department stores.”

  “So your work is looking good.”

  “My work is making other people look good,” she corrected him. She was hurt that he scoffed at her job, at something she worked hard at. “You’re a snob, Rafael. You were born poor, and you worked hard for everything you have, and you think that gives you the right to look down on me, because I had advantages that you didn’t. My father’s money doesn’t make me a bad person, and I’m not, no matter how hard you try to make me feel I am.”

  He felt like a fool, but he didn’t offer an apology. He kept his jaw clamped shut.

  Krista sighed softly as he slowed to make a left turn onto a dirt road. A few yards ahead a pale green truck, belonging to the border patrol, was parked on the shoulder, and Mike Hughes and Darren Carter, along with four Mexican boys, stood beside it. Both men waved, and Rafael raised his hand in salute but didn’t slow down.

  “That second boy, the short one, his name
is Juan. I’ve picked him up four times in the last month—twice in one day. The one next to him was your friend Eduardo. He’s a regular, too.”

  “Why don’t they stay in Mexico, where they belong?” As soon as the words were out Krista realized how awful they sounded, but she couldn’t call them back.

  Rafael looked at her for a moment, and he almost smiled. Her question seemed to satisfy some need inside him, to convince himself that she was like Rebecca. It would be so much easier to get over her if she were really like Rebecca. “You’re no different from the other people around here, are you? You don’t like Mexicans any more than most whites along the border. If you can’t make a profit from them, you’d prefer to keep them out of the country.”

  Her face had flushed a most attractive red. “I have nothing against Mexicans,” she protested.

  He challenged that. “How many have you known?”

  “Juana, our housekeeper, and most of my father’s employees, and you.”

  “Servants and employees and a border-patrol agent. How many have you known? The others wait on you, and I sleep with you, but have you known any of us?”

  She shook her head. “No, Rafael, I haven’t. I rarely see the others, and you’re determined not to let me know you. If all we do is have sex, it’s because that’s all you want from me. So I don’t know many Mexicans; that doesn’t make me prejudiced against them. You’re not perfect, Rafael. Why do you think it’s so wrong of me to have faults?”

  “I don’t.” He turned north again onto a narrow road that climbed steeply. The Bronco balked on an occasional sharp turn, the wheels skidding, but the truck was built for roads like this, and Rafael was used to driving on them.

  The road ended abruptly near the top of the mountain, and Rafael cut the engine. He swung the backpack over one shoulder, reached for a blanket in the back, then gestured for Krista to follow him.

  There was a poorly marked trail that went up, and he led the way. After a moment she called, “Hey, come on, wait a minute.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, saw she was trailing behind and stopped to let her catch up.

  “You may be used to chasing kids like Juan and Eduardo, but I do nothing more strenuous than take an occasional walk,” she said when she caught up.

  He slipped his arm around her shoulders and fell in step beside her, shortening his stride to match hers. “Making love with you is far more strenuous than chasing the kids.”

  “You make it sound like a chore.”

  He chuckled softly. “Anything but.”

  It was the first time she’d heard him laugh. Her smile was brilliant. “That’s nice.”

  “What?”

  “That laugh. Maybe someday you’ll learn to do it more often.” She raised her hand to twine her fingers through his. “Do you still love her, Rafael?”

  There was a brief flare of tension that disappeared as soon as Krista felt it. He was a long time answering. Did he still love Rebecca? he wondered. Maybe he never had. Maybe he had mistaken lust and desire for love, because what he felt for Krista eclipsed his “love” for Rebecca. “No. I don’t love Rebecca.”

  He sounded so certain, but Krista wasn’t convinced. His feelings for the other woman must have been very strong. Besides, that didn’t mean that he could ever love her.

  He stopped near a stand of trees, and they spread the blanket. Krista dropped onto it, sprawling on her back, her breathing exaggerated.

  One corner of Rafael’s mouth turned up. “If you don’t quit panting, how can I kiss you?”

  She quickly swallowed the gulp of air she’d taken in and rolled onto her side to face him. “Better?”

  His reply was his kiss. His mouth tasted fresh and clean; his lips were soft, persuasive. His tongue slipped between her parted lips to rub across her teeth, then moved inside to the warmth that awaited him, searching, exploring, tasting. His hand moved to rest on her throat, gently massaging, and the fingers of his other hand tangled in her hair.

  The kiss went on forever, and their bodies responded, but neither of them made an effort to move closer, to go further. For the moment they were satisfied with the kiss.

  Rafael ended it, and he rolled onto his back, releasing Krista as he moved. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  “For what?” she asked, sitting up.

  “Putting down your job. Trying to make you feel bad. You were right: reverse snobbery.”

  Far below in the valley the border-patrol truck was still visible, and Krista stared at it for a long time. He’d known he had offended her, and he had apologized. That meant a lot to her.

  Who was she kidding? she asked herself cynically. Everything he did meant a lot to her. She just wished he felt the same about her.

  Chapter 8

  “Why do they do it?” Krista raised a hand toward the valley below.

  Rafael sat up beside her and turned an empty stare onto the valley. “For hope, opportunity, a better life. Most people in my country are poor, trying to support a family of eight or ten on thirty or forty dollars a week. Life is better here. They can hope.”

  “Is that why you crossed over?”

  “I was desperate. We were starving on what my mother and father and I earned. But I didn’t come to stay. I’d work at whatever jobs were available and send money back home. When the jobs ran out I’d go back to Mexico for a while.”

  “Thirteen children.” She shook her head in wonder. “So many mouths to feed. Why did they have so many if they couldn’t take care of them?”

  He turned his head slowly to look at her. Though he said nothing, she saw the derision he felt for her question in his expression, and she hung her head in shame. “You must think I’m stupid,” she murmured.

  “No.” He looked away again. “My parents loved every one of us. We may have been poor and hungry, but there was always enough love.”

  “You’re very lucky. My parents could easily have clothed and fed a dozen children, but they couldn’t love even one. I was never poor, never hungry, and never loved. You are lucky.”

  Rafael reached for her hand. “Your father must love you very much,” he said, his voice quiet and strong.

  “All my life I’ve tried to make him just care about me. I wouldn’t ask him to love me, just to give a damn about me…but he doesn’t.”

  “He loves you, Krista,” he insisted. How could anyone not love her? “Maybe he has difficulties showing it, but—”

  She interrupted him to say, “My parents divorced when I was six. They fought over who had to take custody of me, and my mother won—meaning she didn’t have to take me. I’ve only seen her twice since then. My father put me in a boarding school, and I saw him once in the next two years. The only interest he ever took in me was to make sure I stayed out of his way. She didn’t want me, and he didn’t want me, and now…you don’t want me either.”

  A fat tear quivered on her eyelashes before it fell to her cheek. “I’m not a bad person, Rafael, am I?”

  He pulled on her hand, drawing her into his embrace. “No, pequeña, you’re not bad,” he replied softly, regretfully. “We’re both fools, your father and I. There’s only one difference: he doesn’t realize what he’s giving up. I do.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’ll reconsider, does it?”

  With a slender finger he wiped the moisture from her cheek. “No, Krista, I can’t.”

  She smiled wanly. “I’ll give you this much: you’ve got rejection down to a fine art. I don’t know too many guys who could get away with holding a woman like this while telling her they want nothing to do with her.”

  “Krista…”

  “It’s all right. I’m used to it. Handling rejection is the only thing in life I’m good at.” She laid her cheek against his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I wish I’d met you before Rebecca. Would things have been different twelve years ago?”

  “I was twenty-two, and you were sixteen. Your father would have killed me for seducing his virginal daughte
r.” He nuzzled her hair away from her ear and touched her skin with his tongue. “I wouldn’t have been able to resist you, even if you were a child.”

  “What were you like?”

  “I was very serious. Quiet. I began working in the fields when I was eleven. I knew it would take a miracle to get anything better, and I didn’t believe in miracles. I thought I would die in those fields.” He settled her more comfortably against him, spreading her hand across his chest, positioning each finger, then laying his hand over hers to hold it there. “We’re very different, little one, like day and night. You’re the sunlight, and I’m the shadows. You’re warm and loving and everything good, and I’m cold, chilling, ruthless.”

  She doubted the accuracy of his self-description. No matter how hard he tried to appear cold and ruthless, he cared. He cared very much.

  “Do you ever feel guilty, Rafael?” she asked, glancing toward the valley. “About your job? When you catch kids like Eduardo, are you ever tempted to let them go?”

  “Because I know what it’s like? What they’re trying to escape? Sometimes it’s hard, but it’s my job. Besides, what would a boy like Eduardo do on his own in the city? He’s only sixteen years old. Who would help him? Protect him? He’ll have a better chance when he’s older.”

  “Not if you’re around. You’re good at your job, aren’t you?”

  “I do the best I can.” He lay back, drawing her down with him. “Let’s talk about you. What were you like at sixteen?”

  She pursed her lips, thinking back to twelve years ago. “Immature,” she finally described. “I thought I was sophisticated and worldly, because I’d been in boarding schools in France and Switzerland, but I was very immature. And not very happy. And a virgin.” She rolled onto her stomach to look at him. “I wish I had met you then. I wish you had been my first lover.”

  He touched her hair lightly. “I wish I could be your last lover.”

  “That’s entirely possible.” Quickly she sat up again. “Forget I said that. I don’t want you to remind me again that it’s got to end tomorrow. Now…this place is gorgeous, Rafael, but I’m hungry, and I don’t see a restaurant for miles.”