Vows

by Rochelle Alers

  “I hardly think so,” she teased lightly. “All I know is your name, you’re flying to Mexico City on business, and that you speak—”

  “And pleasure,” Joshua interrupted, his voice lowering seductively.

  “And pleasure,” Vanessa conceded. “I also know that you say you speak six languages.”

  As he leaned to his left, Joshua’s warm, moist breath caressed her cheek. “What else do you need to know? Vital statistics? I’m thirty-eight,” he continued, not giving her a chance to answer. “I was born and raised in Miami, Florida. My parents are African-American and Cuban-American. I learned Spanish from my mother, and picked up the other languages from traveling. I’m six foot three inches and I weight one hundred and eighty pounds. I’m also single and have no children,” he concluded with an irresistibly devastating grin. He noticed Vanessa’s downcast gaze, thinking perhaps he’d embarrassed her. What he had revealed to her was valid, because he wanted her to know enough about him not to be wary.

  It wasn’t embarrassment that made Vanessa cautious, but Joshua’s sudden attempt to engage her in conversation, and the fact that he was so willing to talk about himself. They were less than half an hour from Mexico City and he was coming on to her.

  Glancing up at him, her smooth forehead furrowed in a frown. “Why are you telling me about yourself? You barely looked at me or said more than three words to me during the flight from Santa Fe to El Paso.”

  Joshua was not rebuffed by her sudden withdrawal. If she was a part of an espionage ring she would always be alert to anyone who tried to get too close to her. A wry smile softened his features. She would be a worthy target.

  “You’re right about my only saying three words to you, but you’re very wrong about my not looking at you. I noticed you the moment I stepped foot onto this aircraft, and I couldn’t believe my good fortune once I realized we were sitting together.” What he did not tell her was that their seating was prearranged.

  She met his level stare, noticing the darkening of his penetrating eyes as the blood heated up in her face and spread slowly over her neck and chest. His gaze inched down to her chest, where the tightening of her nipples was discernible through the cotton dress; she was angry with herself for responding to him, and that he knew she wasn’t unaffected, by his blatant masculinity.

  “Why are you coming on to me?” she whispered.

  Joshua’s familiar impassive mask was back in place. “Because I was hoping that maybe we could share dinner one of these nights. After all, we’re fellow Americans and we’re both traveling alone. I’m more than familiar with being in a foreign country, where I need to hear the bastardized English which we seem to change every two or three years.”

  “But you speak Spanish, so you shouldn’t feel like a foreigner. I’m the one who only has a rudimentary knowledge of the language. I know enough Spanish to ask directions,” Vanessa argued.

  “How about ordering food?” he challenged.

  “Chicken is polio, and meat is carne.”

  He shifted an eyebrow. “If that’s the case, then please forgive me for being forward, Miss Blanchard. I meant no disrespect.”

  He moved away from her and stared out the window, his jaw tightening. She wasn’t going to cooperate. Dammit! He only had nine days to get what he wanted from her. That wasn’t going to happen if she refused to see him.

  Vanessa placed a slender hand on the sleeve of his crisp, white shirt and Joshua jumped as if she had burned him. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to sound like a shrew.”

  His head came around and he stared at her with a deadly calm which chilled her. It was a look that those who were familiar with Joshua Kirkland recognized immediately. It was cold and lethal.

  “I don’t need your pity.”

  “And you don’t have to be so rude!” she snapped in anger.

  He exhaled audibly and covered her hand with one of his. “I meant no harm, Vanessa,” he countered in a softer tone. “All I asked is that we have dinner together. You acted as if I’d asked you to go to bed with me.”

  Vanessa felt properly chastised. She’d planned to spend ten days in a foreign country, traveling alone, and what harm would it do if she accepted his invitation to have dinner? And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been attracted to him. She would accept, but it would be on her terms.

  “Tomorrow night. At my hotel.” A part of her hoped he wouldn’t be available.

  Only his iron-willed control prevented Joshua from revealing any hint of satisfaction. “It happens I’m free tomorrow evening. Where are you staying?”

  “La Mérida.”

  He studied her thoughtfully for a moment, something lazily seductive in his look. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at eight.”

  Extracting her hand, Vanessa nodded. “You’ve got yourself a date.”

  The flight attendants walked up and down the aisle, checking whether seat trays were put away, seats were in the upright position, and carry-on bags were secured as they prepared for their final descent.

  Vanessa closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as the plane lost altitude, her fingers gripping the armrests; she felt the warmth and strong grip of a hand on her right one. Joshua’s thumb grazed her knuckles, massaging them until her grip loosened.

  The jetliner touched down with a squeal of rubber hitting the tarmac, and she opened her eyes and rewarded him with a dazzling smile.

  For the second time since he had met Vanessa Blanchard face-to-face, Joshua was stunned by her sensual beauty. He looked forward to spending time with her—alone.

  He followed Vanessa off the plane, waited with her while she filled out a baggage declaration form, then made certain she secured ground transportation to her hotel.

  Leaning in through the cab window, he winked at her. “Tomorrow night at eight,” he reminded her.

  “Tomorrow night at eight,” she repeated.

  He watched as the car sped away from the curb. Shifting a garment bag over his shoulder, he picked up his single piece of luggage and walked over to an awaiting taxi.

  Day One—he had met Vanessa Blanchard, engaged her in conversation, and secured a promise of a dinner.

  Chapter 3

  Vanessa settled into her hotel suite, pleased with her opulent surroundings. The hotel staff were professional and bilingual, reminding her that if she needed anything all she had to do was to pick up the telephone.

  Closing the door behind the departing concierge, she headed for the bathroom. Stripping off her dress and underwear, she covered her hair with the ubiquitous hotel shower cap from a small wicker basket on the vanity filled with a typical hotel supply of soap, shampoo, lotion and other grooming aids.

  Minutes later, she stood under the warm spray of water, reveling in its rejuvenating power. She showered twice each day and allowed herself a leisurely bath once a week. Filling her bathtub with a rich, scented, bubbling bath oil on Sunday nights had become a ritual once she moved from Los Angeles to Santa Fe.

  Her life changed dramatically once she had come to work for Grenville-Edwards. Unlike with teaching, she worked year-round, and a normal, scheduled, nine-to-five workday was the exception rather than the norm. She was very good at what she had been hired to do and paid very well for her expertise. She had attended meetings which lasted twelve hours. Grenville-Edwards had become the largest corporation in the Southwest in the manufacture of aerospace components, and the corporate giant had no intention of losing that distinction.

  But right now she forgot about contracts, budgets, and anything and everyone at Grenville-Edwards as she prepared to enjoy her Mexican vacation.

  She emerged from the bathroom and walked into the adjoining bedroom, a bathsheet wrapped around her moist body. She went through her normal ritual of moisturizing her body from head to foot, then slipped into the underwear she had laid out on the king-size bed.

  Making her way to the closet where she had hung her clothes, Vanessa surveyed the dresses, blouses, and slacks, knowing she
would have to take advantage of one of the hotel’s amenities—most of the garments needed to be ironed.

  She selected a pale blue chambray shirt with a long, slim matching skirt. At five-foot-nine inches she favored mid-calf garments that flattered her slender body. It was only on rare occasions that she wore anything above her knees.

  Right now it wasn’t her wardrobe that filled her thoughts. She had planned her itinerary carefully, using Mexico City as her home base. Her list included wooden masks from the capital city, ceramics from Puebla, silver, woven shawls, or blankets from Taxco or Oaxaca. Her excursions to these other cities would be by bus or train.

  After slipping into a pair of comfortable leather low-heeled shoes and securing most of her precious and sought after American dollars in the hotel safe, she headed toward Mexico City’s business district with a small shoulder purse slung across her chest.

  Vanessa was assailed by sounds and sights which threatened to overwhelm her. Traffic jams at every intersection made vehicular transit horrendous and the air quality unpleasant and unhealthy. The streets were clogged with well dressed locals, designer-clad tourists, and many shabbily dressed natives, each jostling for his own personal space. The sounds of rude car horns and radios blasting salsa filled the air.

  She passed a group of young Mexican men who stared and called out to her, and even though she did not understand what they were saying, she knew enough not to make eye contact or appear insulted. There was much to be said for a woman in a foreign country without a male escort.

  Male escort! Since she left the airport she had temporarily dismissed Joshua Kirkland, even though she had promised to have dinner with him in the hotel’s supper club. Most of the clothes she packed were casual and practical, because she intended to use room service for most of her meals. That meant she had to buy something suitable for tomorrow evening.

  Damn you! she thought angrily. Mentally assessing how much money she had in her purse, she headed toward the Zona Rosa, a shopping district that boasted shops similar to those found along New York City’s Fifth Avenue.

  She strolled along La Rosa, peering into the windows of the many prestigious shops and boutiques. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was near time for siesta. She had to buy what she wanted in forty minutes or wait another two hours for the shops to reopen for the late-afternoon crowds.

  Walking into a shop which featured upscale dresses in the showcase window, Vanessa smiled as a beautiful, young sales-clerk came forward to greet her.

  “¡Buenas tardes!” she said, trying out her limited high school Spanish. “Quisiera comprar un vestido.”

  The salesclerk lapsed into a stream of rapid Spanish, and Vanessa stared blankly at her. Her expression of confusion was obvious when an older woman came to the front of the shop and spoke softly to the clerk, telling her to draw the awning in preparation for their siesta.

  The shop’s owner, her face and body giving no indication of her six decades of life, was exquisitely attired in a white silk sheath which clung to every line of her professionally nipped and tucked frame. She smiled at Vanessa. “May I help you?” she questioned in flawless English.

  Vanessa returned the warm smile with one of her own, relieved that she did not have to continue groping in her halting Spanish. “I need a dress,” she stated, repeating what she had told the salesclerk.

  “A dress to make a statement, or one to get attention?”

  Arching an eyebrow, Vanessa stared, speechless for several seconds. “That’s a very interesting question.”

  “I ask that of all of my customers.” The proprietor extended a delicate, pale hand. “I’m Elise Wilcox-Santana.”

  She took the proffered hand, replying, “Vanessa Blanchard.”

  “Well, Miss Blanchard, you didn’t answer my question.”

  She didn’t answer because at that moment she couldn’t. If Joshua had been present, she would have replied, ‘To make a statement.’ Because he wasn’t, Vanessa was uncertain how he would react to her if she decided to purchase a suggestive or provocative garment.

  The silent, sensual energy he had projected made her want to know him, be with him. However, without his strong, masculine aura to cast a spell over her she vacillated.

  But did she really want to be pragmatic? How long had it been since a man, any man, had intrigued her? Four years, a voice whispered to her—not since Kenneth.

  A voluptuous smile softened her full lips, assuaging her momentary uncertainty. “I want one that will get attention.”

  Elise Santana pressed her manicured hands together, obviously pleased with Vanessa’s decision. “What size are you?”

  “Six.”

  The two women spent part of the siesta selecting and trying on dresses that would get Joshua Kirkland’s attention. Vanessa wondered how her mysterious traveling companion would react when he saw her in the dress she had finally decided to purchase.

  Elise was smugly pleased with Vanessa’s selection as she led her to the section of the upscale boutique where she displayed elegant accessories. Vanessa chose undergarments, a pair of three-inch, black satin, sling-strap pumps and a small, black satin evening purse.

  A shiver of anticipation and excitement quickened her pulse as she handed Elise a credit card, and it was only when she had bought and paid for her purchases that she realized that the past four years had been spent in waiting.

  She wanted Joshua Kirkland, if only to make her see herself as a woman who needed more than a career. Her chest swelled with an emotion she had thought long dead—she wanted the man!

  Joshua arrived at La Mérida fifteen minutes before his appointed meeting with Vanessa, confirmed his reservation of a table for two in the hotel’s supper club, then returned to the lobby to wait.

  The hotel she had elected to stay in was one of the older establishments in Mexico City, and filled with Old World charm. The interiors complemented the hotel’s seventeenth-century appearance. Its architecture and furnishings were reminiscent of the spacious haciendas erected by the Spanish grandees in Old California.

  Sitting in a corner, his presence partially obscured by the fronds of a large palm plant, he surveyed the bank of elevators, and without looking at his watch he knew he had been waiting for more than a quarter of an hour.

  She’s late. The two words attacked him savagely. He detested tardiness, and he also knew that Vanessa Blanchard had never come in late in the three and a half years she had worked for Grenville-Edwards.

  So why was she late? Did she intend to stand him up?

  These questions hadn’t quite fled his mind when the doors of one elevator opened and Vanessa stepped out into the lobby.

  For a reason he could not explain or understand, Joshua was not able to stand and go to her. Not now. He wanted to give himself the opportunity to quell the silent storm raging throughout his body.

  He stared numbly, watching as she made her way across the carpeted floor. His gaze fixed on her feet and traveled slowly upward. Her long legs, which seemed to never end, were encased in sheer black hose, and he was momentarily stunned at the undulating movement of firm muscle in her calves and thighs as she glided over to him.

  Her black dress, what there was of it, was off the shoulder and clung to every curve of her incredibly tight, slender body. It showed off the perfection of her long neck, the concave hollows above her collarbones, and at least four inches of flesh above her knees. The long sleeves concealed her arms and offered the only hint of modesty. But there was no way the dress could be modest on Vanessa Blanchard. On another woman, perhaps, but not her.

  He rose to his feet and the fire burning within him was reflected in the deepening green of his electric gaze. Vanessa had styled her hair in a mass of black curls and swept them up in seductive disarray, adding, with her heels, another four to five inches to her already statuesque figure.

  Joshua moved forward to meet her, and he detected the haunting scent of her perfume as her warmth overpowered him. Her lightly made up
face hypnotized him as his gaze bore into hers. What stood before him was a woman who had not adorned herself with any jewelry, yet had become the most exquisite jewel he had ever encountered.

  He had planned to seduce her, but somehow Vanessa had reversed their roles. She was seducing him!

  Vanessa saw the stunned look on Joshua’s face and successfully concealed a smile as she extended her manicured fingers. She had gotten his attention.

  “¡Buenas noches!” she said, smiling.

  Joshua took her hand, cradling it in his larger one before turning it over and pressing a gentle kiss on her inner wrist. She stiffened and he tightened his grip.

  Exerting the slightest pressure, he pulled her closer until her full breasts grazed the crisp front of his white shirt. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips over hers.

  “¡Buenas noches!” he returned, the Spanish greeting flowing fluidly off his tongue. Pulling back slightly, he stared down at her. Biting down on his lower lip, he tasted the sweetness of her mouth a second time. “You look exquisite.”

  Vanessa’s lipstick, the deep shade of a ripe burgundy cherry, shimmered on her temptingly curved mouth, bringing his gaze to linger on the spot. There was something about her smile that nearly crushed the iron-willed control he had managed to maintain all of his life. He didn’t know whether it was her lips, the perfection of her straight, white teeth, or the way that skin around her large eyes crinkled at the corners that sent ripples of desire shooting through his groin.

  Vanessa lowered her lashes in a demure gesture. “Thank you.”

  His breath caught in his chest, then started up again. How could she dress so provocatively yet react to his compliment with such affected innocence?

  Who was the real Vanessa Blanchard—the sexy nymph standing before him, or the career-minded woman who had dated only three men during the time she had been under surveillance? And of those three, she had seen one only twice!

  “Are you ready?”

  Vanessa inhaled sharply as his right hand went to the small of her back. How was she going to make it through the evening with a man whose stunning virility seemed to suffocate her?