Mexican Fire

by Martha Hix

  The singer, a young woman, left the musicians and, dancers clearing her way, she slunk over to Reece. He tightened his arm around Alejandra’s back; his feet slowed. Tossing her head, the entertainer lifted her graceful fingers. Click . . . click, click went the castanets as she warbled about fleeting love and enjoying every night as if it were the last.

  “¡Ole!” rang through the hall. The singer thrust her hip, snapped the clappers, and went back to her post.

  Alejandra looked up at Reece’s face, scanning the Norman features, the flaxen hair, and the blue eyes that were welded to her hazel ones. The scent of the cool winter night clung to his clothing and mixed with his particular scent—oh how she loved the way he smelled! Excitement tingled through her veins. She snuggled closer. She felt the outline of his manliness against her belly. Would he make love to her tonight?

  She wanted him to.

  From the moment she saw him on the street, bending to help that beggar girl, Reece had awakened a side of Alejandra that had been missing since before English school days. The untamed side of her. It was as if she were a hoyden again, un garçon manqué, loving life and living it to the fullest. Only she was no longer a girl. With Reece, she was a woman—wanton and willing and wild.

  It was a stupendous feeling.

  “Hungry?” Reece asked, bringing her fingers to his lips.

  “Oh yes.”

  She wasn’t referring to the plate of food he fetched for her after breaking away from their dance, though the piquant fare tasted marvelous. Nor was her fourth cup of rum punch something she yearned to partake of.

  By the time she had finished it, midnight was past. They were seated on a long bench, their backs touching the wall. Her hunger for Reece wasn’t assauged. As she had for more than an hour, she was hungry for him to douse his cigar and pull her into another dance. Down on his lap wouldn’t be bad, either.

  Her feelings couldn’t be called love, of course. A few frank words uttered beneath tonight’s half moon had not been enough to open the gate of her heart. Her emotions were rife with carnal appetites, that was all. Which was a sin, but she was vulnerable tonight, both to Reece and to the song that kept lingering in her mind. In life there were no guarantees; Miguel could have attested to that. So why not make the most of each moment?

  She took another swallow of the sweet ron poco.

  “Let’s dance,” she said, moving her palm to Reece’s thigh.

  “I think a cup of coffee is in order.”

  Coffee. She didn’t want to think about it, but liquor having loosened her tongue, she groused, “I’m tired of coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee. Grow it, pick it, hull it, roast it, sell it. My whole life is managing the land and its people.” That and family problems. And concerns for her country and those in it, be they family or friends. Why was life never simple? “I want to—”

  “Let me get you a cup of that brew.”

  “Why are you being such a gentleman?”

  Reece wagged a finger. “Because you’ve had too much to drink, and a gentleman takes care of his lady.”

  “You’re not a gentleman.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Don’t try too hard.” She curled her fingers around his steely bicep. “I like it when you, mmmm, well, you know . . . are all demanding.”

  From his expression she figured he was on the verge of giving up all his courtliness.

  A couple danced by. A soldier wearing the red, black, and green of a cavalry sergeant, slowed his partner and winked at Reece. “Having a good time tonight, Colonel Montgomery?”

  Reece clipped a half hearted salute. “I’m trying my best.”

  “You should have no trouble, Colonel. A lady as lovely as yours would make any night good.”

  “Vidalino!” The sergeant’s woman slapped his shoulder with the flat of her hand. “Pay attention to me!” Vidalino rolled his eyes, tightened his grip, and danced his offended lady away.

  “How did you get to the dance?” Reece asked Alejandra. “You got a driver waiting?”

  She motioned across the crowded dance floor. “That’s him over there. Zenon. He’s kissing that round girl in the purple skirt. I’d hate to spoil his evening, so will you escort me home, my good fellow?”

  With the lightest of touch, Reece ran the tip of his finger down the edge of his mustache. “I’ll see you home, yes. Provided you promise to inform your mayordomo not to turn me away when I drop by tomorrow.”

  “Drop by?” She edged closer. “I don’t intend to let you leave before tomorrow!”

  “You are drunk, my sweet. I will see you home, you can be assured of that, but I’ve no intention of making love to an inebriated woman.”

  “You sound like me when I’m sober.” And Alejandra was sounding very like Mercedes, but her sister wasn’t all bad, so why not use any means necessary to get what she wanted? “You, my darling Reece, are too worried about right and wrong.”

  Frowning, he grabbed her arm and hauled Alejandra to the exit. “The rules of courting don’t include escort to the bedchamber.”

  She recalled the night at Casa Montgomery, when he’d teased her into making love. “We’ll see about that.”

  Reece handed her into the dark and curtained interior of his borrowed coach. The driver cracked the whip, putting the wheels in motion. The carriage swayed along the road leading from Pozitos. And Alejandra renewed her feminine assault.

  Her fingers dipped into the V of his pirate’s shirt. It felt so good, his pelt of chest hair. “Stop that,” he growled, but her nail teased his nipple anyway. Remembering how marvelous it felt to be flesh to flesh with Reece, she was all hot and heavy. All over. She was inebriated—why bother to deny it?—but her state hadn’t been wrought from alcohol. This heady feeling was brewed of desire.

  “Don’t you want to touch me?” she teased, her voice low and alluring.

  “Of course I do.” He sighed. “But right now, honey, I’m having a difficult time understanding your change of attitude. It’s not like you, being aggressive.”

  “I was pretty much that way the first night at your house. Anyway, what does it matter, the things that have happened before? All that counts is right now. And don’t you agree, it’s better in the dark? Hmm?”

  Beneath her fingers she felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled. “You’ll not get me cornered on that one,” he said.

  “Speaking of cornered, you are, you know.” This teasing was fun! “Cornered right here in this carriage. . . and it’s a fair ride to Campos de Palmas.” Her fingers slid behind his neck. “Couldn’t we try a tiny little kiss? Por favor.”

  He removed her touch. “I promised myself I’d be a gentleman and court you properly.”

  “Be honorable. That pleases me. But forget about it when . . . it’s just this lust we have for each other.” She twisted around to settle herself on his lap. Feeling his arousal, she moved her backside against it. “Do you deny this?”

  “I promised not to lie.”

  “You will be in pain, my darling gentleman, if you are not relieved. That would be most ungracious on my part. And I would know the pain of not having”—she rolled her hips—“your warmth on this cool winter night.”

  She heard him swallow, felt the tremor that swept his lean body. His actions brought a smile to her lips. “You don’t like my ways?” she razzed.

  “On the contrary,” he replied huskily. “I like you all wanton and wanting.”

  “Then kiss me.”

  He did. A hand callused and sure caressed her forearm, her elbow. Her fingers combed into his thick hair. Then the brush of his lips moved along the column of the throat she presented. A quiver of delight winding through her, Alejandra asked, “Will you take me here in this coach, darling Reece?”

  “God, Jandra, don’t . . . I’m weak when it comes to you.”

  “That’s not a good enough answer, my Reece.”

  “Well, how about this one? Be assured you’ll get what you’re hankering for,” he ans
wered against her ear, drawing another luscious quiver. “But this time, my sweet, we do it my way.”

  “And how is that?”

  “The way I wanted to have you the first time.”

  It was then he took full charge. Like a man possessed, he tugged loose the tie of her blouse and, his hand caressing the side of her breast, he captured the crest of it with his seeking mouth. And this time she felt no trepidations. She was squirming on his lap, his arm bracing her back. Moaning, she touched her lips to the top of his head. His suckling felt, oh, so right as it evoked even stronger urges within Alejandra.

  “Please,” she uttered, needing more. Of what she wasn’t certain, so dazed with libidinous greed was she.

  His attention left her breast. In the dim light she sensed the heat of his eyes as he said, “I yearn to do that for hours, but I’ve been too long without you, Jandra. I can’t wait any longer.”

  And neither could she, amazed as she was that she wanted him to rush.

  She moved away long enough to lift her skirts. He undid the laces of his breeches. There was a desire within her to touch his most masculine part, but when she did, he led her hand away. “If you do that, coraon de mi coraon, well . . .”

  “Then let us not wait a moment longer.”

  She straddled his hips, and he guided her downward. She felt the tip of his shaft on her most sensitive nub. Her pelvis tipped forward. His groan floated around her as he surged upward. Filled with the hugeness of him, tantalized, and eager to give as well as take, she threw back her head. In rhythm with the rocking coach, they rode to fulfillment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They retired to Campos de Palmas, to a sleeping chamber decorated in blue. It wasn’t Alejandra’s room; Reece refused to lie on Don Miguel’s bed. He didn’t cotton to the idea of encroaching on another male’s territory, even when the other man was dead. Reece didn’t have to be reminded her husband still lived in Alejandra’s heart.

  Reece was jealous, damned right he was, of a dead man. He had to find a way to put her memories to rest.

  Yet he loved her sexual aggression. He had certainly never expected it. Strange woman, this Alejandra Sierra. Strange and wonderful. As he pulled back the covers and drew her into his arms, he realized how little he knew about the widow of Campos de Palmas.

  When her fingers skimmed over his buttocks, Reece gave his attention to all her aggression . . . By morning they were exhausted from an evening of revelry and a night of passion. Without so much as a morning kiss, though, Alejandra jumped out of bed, collected her strewn clothes and saw to her ablutions. She dressed in riding garb, dressed quickly.

  “What’s the hurry?” he asked, propped on an elbow in the mussed sheets. Her reply was to ask for his assistance with a button. He complied, then got out of bed to dress in yesterday’s garb. “Don’t I get a good morning?” he asked.

  Tentatively, Alejandra smiled at him. “Well, yes. I—”

  He words were interrupted by a maid knocking on the door to serve morning coffee. Reece figured Alejandra’s haste wasn’t because his presence shamed her. Preoccupied was the only solution he came up with. At first.

  He followed her downstairs to the dining room. She didn’t bother to acknowledge him to the staff. Could he be wrong? Was she ashamed of bringing a man here? He understood that. He didn’t have a lot of experience with servants, since he was a simple man, but he knew enough to know they thrived on gossip. His presence would be fuel for the talk fire.

  Last night he’d wanted to court the widow Sierra, all proper and right, and here he was, standing with the scent of her body still clinging to his clothes as the morning sun spilled into the eating sala. He shouldn’t have put her in an embarrassing situation, but what was done, was done.

  “Something wrong, darling?” Alejandra asked.

  Shaking his head, he pulled out her chair.

  “I prefer informal breakfasts,” she explained, pointing to a mahogany buffet topped with silver, crystal, and porcelain. “Please help yourself.”

  All he wanted was to grab a cup of coffee . . . and to get her the hell away from Campos de Palmas.

  A lot of things had him uneasy. This place was a far cry from his boyhood home. The Montgomerys had lived in a trapper shack; they were lucky to have enough cutlery to go around. What in the name of Christ had he gotten himself into, thinking he could court such a wealthy woman? He could offer her love and a few financial comforts—he wasn’t stone broke—but would his offerings be enough for her?

  He poured himself a cup of the offered coffee.

  She didn’t intend to eat much, he noted. A bolillo roll and a slice of bacon was all she took on her plate. She was too busy barking orders to the serving girl—the moon-faced one he remembered as Ninfa—to pay attention to the fare.

  “. . . and tell Señor Ramirez I will meet with him, say in a half hour, at the west field.” Alejandra took the smallest sip of coffee. “Have the Christmas piñatas arrived?”

  “No, patróna.”

  “Send someone into town to find out what’s happened to them. I won’t have the children of Campos de Palmas disappointed at Christmas. Another thing, what about the gift baskets? Does Jaime have everything he needs to put them together?”

  Ninfa shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “We have everything for the food baskets. It will not be a problem there, Doña Alejandra. But the materials and threads for clothing, well, they are unavailable.”

  “Thanks to the blockade,” Alejandra muttered.

  “Sí.”

  Alejandra glanced at her plate. “Have you taken a tray to Don Valentin?”

  Ninfa nodded. “He ate well this morning.”

  “Thank goodness. Well, that will be all, gracias.”

  Reece had had enough of this. “Hello, Ninfa. Good morning. Nice seeing you again.”

  The serving girl ducked her chin. “Good morning.”

  Alejandra blushed, but recovered quickly. Ninfa had no more than left the dining room before Jaime the mayordomo made an appearance. He carried a small silver tray that bore several envelopes.

  “Looks as if the norther has blown through,” Reece said to the butler. “Nice weather we’re having today, don’t you think?”

  Jaime didn’t appear fazed by Reece’s appearance at breakfast. In fact, that was a grin of approval on his long face. “It is warm for late December,” he said. “But, Señor, the weather is unusually fair in Veracruz.”

  “That will be all, Jaime,” Alejandra interjected. The butler leaving, she tore open the letters and read them quickly.

  “Bad news?” Reece asked, wanting to question her about several other matters. But this wasn’t the place, not with servants in the vicinity, and he wouldn’t put her on the spot.

  “No bad news. Just a few letters from my mother.” Alejandra broke the bolillo in half, then halved it again. She took a tiny bite of the bread. “And word that a hundred sacks of my coffee still haven’t been sold. They grow stale on the docks of Vera Cruz. Thanks to export problems.”

  What Baudin’s men wouldn’t give for that coffee. . . What they wouldn’t give for a good drink of water! Even though the islet citadel had been captured along with the other forts, no water supply had been secured. Lately, Baudin had sent north for kegs of water, but the supply arrived brackish. “A hundred sacks of coffee isn’t much in the larger scheme of things, I wouldn’t imagine.”

  Her mouth tightened. “Did you know it takes an entire season for a single coffee tree to produce a mere pound of beans?”

  “Guess there’s a lot of things I’m stupid about.” He pushed aside his now-cold coffee cup, and leaned toward Alejandra. “Like why you’ve avoided talking with me this morning. Does it bother you, having me here in your home?”

  She flushed. “I guess the morning sun puts a damper on wild and wanton behavior. I shouldn’t have to point out your presence here is highly improper. I’ve never brought a man to my hus—to my home before.”

&nbs
p; Reece didn’t miss her near mistake. Don Miguel may have been dead since ’36, but, like a male animal in the wilds, his territorial rights still lingered. It ragged Reece, her persistent devotion to a dead man, especially since Miguel’s death had provoked her into politics to begin with.

  Reece pushed his coffee cup toward the table center. “You could’ve asked me to leave last night. Or you could’ve objected to our coming here in the first place. Or were you too drunk to care what you were doing?” He paused. “Or who you were doing it with?”

  Her face went colorless. “I wasn’t so intoxicated that I didn’t know what I wanted. What I want. But, Reece, you must understand. I need to get used to being . . .”

  “Human?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Anyway, what is done, is done. ”

  “I’d hoped you wouldn’t have regrets.”

  “I have none where you’re concerned.”

  Those words sounded good to Reece. Damned good. “I know how we can solve the problem, Jandra. Let’s stay away from Campos de Palmas.”

  “Silly love! There’ll be less talk here than there will be from the attendees from last night’s la posada. You have a saying in the English language, something about making a bed and lying in it. Well, my bed is made. Now I will lie in it.”

  “As long as I’m with you . . .”

  She grinned. “What a nice bed to lie in!”

  He had won, and great satisfaction burst within him. But in his victory, Reece realized that he had made too much of the dead man standing between them. If the situation came up again, he would be more patient. He hoped.

  A worried look replaced Alejandra’s smile. “But first I must talk with my estate manager. Please accompany me, Reece.”

  Eschewing horses, for mounts would have precluded holding hands, Alejandra and Reece strolled into the balmy winter afternoon. He had been troubled by being at Campos de Palmas, and she was glad he’d dropped the subject.

  They passed a shed where roasting beans wafted a delicious aroma. Workers turned surprised eyes to the stranger who accompanied their patrona. And to a man, they smiled and tipped their sombreros.