Fierce Pride

by Phoebe Conn

  The detective’s eyes were bloodshot, and he appeared to have as little enthusiasm for Santos’s cause as he had displayed previously. “I do not routinely cover traffic accidents. Please explain how you are involved.”

  Santos provided a succinct account of the time leading up to the accident. “I don’t know why he followed us, but he may be the one who’s trying to kill me.”

  “And maybe not,” Nuñez replied. “If Ms. Gunderson was with you, where is she now?”

  “Just down the street. Manuel, we shouldn’t have left her alone.”

  “I’ll go.” The chauffeur took off at a run.

  Santos watched until Manuel had reached their SUV and waved. “Do you want to speak to her?”

  “No. Will you be home later this afternoon? I should have the accident victim’s name for you by then. If he’s an artist who owns a rifle, we may have found the man we’re after.”

  “I sent you another drawing.”

  “I’ll add it to the file. You needn’t remain here. If this wasn’t the man who’s after you, you ought not to be standing in the street.”

  Santos nodded and made his way back to his car. Libby’s beautiful complexion had taken on a pale green tinge that worried him. “We won’t know anything until the man’s freed from the wreck. We’re going home. Will you be all right until we get there?”

  “I think so.”

  Apparently not convinced, he placed his crutches in the front seat, climbed into the backseat and drew her into his arms. “It was frightening,” he offered softly, “but not as bad as being shot at.”

  “No, that was definitely worse. Maybe everything just caught up with me all of a sudden. Give me a minute, and I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t have to be fine. I’m the one who has to be fearless.”

  “You really are. Will the police need us as witnesses?”

  “Nuñez has our names. Other people saw the accident. All you need do is forget it.”

  “How do you forget the sound, the shrieking brakes and the loudness of the collision? Even crushed, the pickup truck bounced into the air and landed with a bang.”

  Santos smoothed her hair. “Let’s think about something else. I weighed five pounds less than I usually do at the doctor’s office this morning, so you’re clearly a great personal trainer.”

  “I can’t take the credit.”

  “Why not? I hired you to make certain I’d still fit into my clothes, and it’s working.”

  She leaned close to whisper, “Only because I have you out of them so often.”

  “Your methods may be unorthodox, but they’re effective.”

  She appreciated his teasing tone, but she had the horrible feeling the danger stalking him hadn’t passed.

  When they got home, Manuel helped Santos up the stairs. At the top, Santos caught Libby’s hand. “Come into my room. I’ve been working on the ‘Matador Blues’, and I want your opinion.”

  She seriously doubted it but understood his true intentions and followed. He took his place on the bed leaning against the headboard, and she circled the bed to climb up beside him. She remembered the chorus. “I was wrong all the time, and every mistake was mine.” Even if she didn’t sound as good as he did, she remembered the tune. “That would be good in a duet, with the woman echoing the man’s apology and adding her own.”

  He nodded. “I could tell the story in a dozen ways, but I was wrong all the time, and every mistake was mine.”

  “I love listening to you sing.” His accent made the words melt on his tongue. He had every advantage, and she hadn’t done a damn thing to resist him. She wasn’t in the least bit ashamed either. “Put down the guitar.”

  He could barely contain the width of his grin. “I thought you loved hearing me sing.”

  “I do, but right now, I need a more compelling distraction.”

  “Distraction is a difficult word to use in lyrics.” He leaned the guitar against the nightstand and pulled her close. “I hope the man isn’t dead.”

  “Is that your idea of a distraction?”

  “No, I want this whole ordeal over so we can stop looking over our shoulders and just live.” He rolled over to trap her beneath him and nuzzled her throat. “Is this better?”

  “For a start.” She slid her hands under his shirt. “I’d thought of asking Tomas to stop making desserts, but if you’re wasting away, the calories won’t matter.”

  He nibbled her earlobe. “To be healthy, I should eat more protein and vegetables.”

  She giggled. “I’m not a vegetable.”

  He licked her lower lip. “Should I consider you in the protein category?”

  She moved her hips to rub his erection. “We’re both all protein.”

  He rubbed his thumb over the lace shielding her peaked nipple. “Even the soft, delicious parts?”

  “Every one. Take off your shirt.”

  He moved aside. “Only if you take off yours.”

  She cupped his crotch and felt the heat through his jeans. “Do you really want to waste time playing with our clothes?”

  He closed his eyes and moaned. “I haven’t wasted a second with you.”

  She rolled to her side, raised his shirt and placed a noisy, sloppy kiss in his navel. “I’m about to overdose on your cologne. Better rescue me quick.”

  He peeled off his shirt and shoes, then stood to shuck off his jeans, but he took care with his healing knee. “I may not be quick, but I’m thorough.”

  She’d worn a short white skirt that would have been easy to remove had she wanted to try on clothes, and her yellow sweater. She tossed them over the nearby chair and left on her pearl pink lingerie. The hungry gleam in his eyes prompted her to slip out of her panties before she crawled back up on the bed.

  “I promise to keep my eyes closed if you’ll drop the bra.”

  She laughed. “You wouldn’t have to close your eyes. There’s nothing to see.”

  “Yes, there is. I’ve felt it in the dark.”

  “It won’t be dark in here for a very long time.”

  He lay on his back and folded his hands over his stomach. “I’ll wait.”

  “No, you won’t.” Considering it a challenge, she pulled out her braid, brushed her flowing hair over his hips and drew his cock into her mouth. She tongued the soft tip and tickled his balls with a fingernail.

  He grabbed her arms. “That’s unfair.”

  “Are you calling a foul?”

  He gave her a long, controlling kiss and then shook his head. “There are no rules here, so it can’t be.”

  “Then don’t interrupt me when I’m just getting started.”

  He lay back and raised his hands in surrender. “I love your idea of therapy.”

  “I believe you’ve said that, but when you write the recommendation you promised, you mustn’t be specific.” She rolled his cock between her palms to make him grow even harder. “You’re a particularly responsive client.” She bent down to give him a slow, teasing lick. “You’ve also got a lot to respond with.”

  “I could come just listening to you.”

  “Let’s try it sometime when we’re in a crowd, and you won’t be able to let even an eyebrow twitch.”

  “This is already torture. Sit on my hips.”

  She straddled him but sat across his thighs and pinched his nipples. “I like tall men. There’s so much more to love.”

  “What a coincidence, I like tall women.” He stroked her thighs and rubbed her clit gently. When she leaned down to kiss him, he held her so tight she couldn’t get away. “I’d unhook your bra, but it would spoil the mood.”

  She leaned over to open the drawer in the nightstand and grabbed a condom. “I’ve got great legs; let it go at that.”

  He relaxed his embrace so she could sit up. “You’re great all over. Stay on top.”

  She ran her fingertips down his abs. “I like the view from here.”

  “It’s not nearly as good as mine.”

  With h
is smile and accent, he was utterly convincing no matter what he said. She wanted to believe he actually meant it too. She licked her lips and savored every second they were together. “I want all your posters.”

  “They’re four, and I’ll give you two of each.” His voice was low and husky.

  She ripped open the condom and flung the wrapper aside. She unrolled it down his cock and smoothed the silky tip along her vulva. “This feels so good.” She raised up on her knees and took him in slowly without taking her eyes from his. Deeper and deeper until their bodies were flush, fused with a delicious heat.

  She leaned back, and he rested his hands on her hips. Stretched to a luscious fullness, she swayed above him. He moved beneath her in a slow, gentle rocking.

  His pleasure glowed in his dark eyes, reminding her he was nothing like her blue-eyed boyfriends. They’d been overgrown children who knew the mechanics but possessed none of the affectionate finesse Santos lavished on her. Now she was so spoiled, there was no going back.

  He caught her hands and laced his fingers in hers to guide her subtle moves. She took her time, making each shift of her hips sing along his shaft. He held back, but his breathing quickened, and she wouldn’t tease him. She held still and flexed her inner muscles, challenging him to take them both over the edge. He pulled her down on his chest and rolled her beneath him.

  “Does this exercise have a name?” he asked.

  She answered with a deep kiss rather than make up one. He knew exactly how to align their bodies so his strokes brushed her very soul. She came with a grateful sigh, and he delved deep to find his own joy. His weight was a comforting burden, but when he moved away she was too content to complain, until he tickled her toes. She pulled her foot away, but he grabbed her ankle.

  He trailed kisses up her calf. “You have the most beautiful legs.” He licked her knee. “Your skin is such a pretty shade.”

  It took all her energy to prop herself up on her elbows to watch him. “Maybe I spray it on.”

  He looked up at her. “Do you?”

  “No, but I’ve been tempted.” She lowered her voice to a sexy purr. “There’s a thin line between fair and ghostly pale.”

  He kissed the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “If you ever become a ghost, please haunt me.”

  “I’ll put you at the top of my list.” He rubbed his cheek against her inner thigh, and she squirmed in gleeful anticipation. “You should write a sex guide and title it Make Love Like a Matador.”

  His laughter buzzed against her knee, and he caught himself before the whole house heard him. “What would I advise, wrap a woman in a cape and stick it to her?”

  “No, you’d have to give advice on how to lure a woman close, how to be handsome and dangerous, irresistible.”

  “Do I already know that?”

  Sliding her hand between her thighs, she stroking herself lightly. “Show me.”

  His low moan sounded of real pain. “I’m going to lose my mind over you.” Moving closer, he pulled her legs over his shoulders to open her fully and gave her a luscious kiss. “Everything about you,” he whispered, “makes me want to eat you alive.”

  She lay back and stretched out her arms. “Tiny bites, so it’ll take forever.”

  He teased her with the tip of his tongue, lavished kisses along her cleft and used his thumbs to open her fully. Rolling his tongue into her, he followed with twisted fingers to tickle her deep.

  Her whole body throbbed with a new burst of heat, and she grabbed his hair and pushed down against him, wiggling to enhance the joy swelling within her. He drew away to find another condom and crawled up over her to kiss her while her own essence flavored his lips.

  Entering her with a gentle thrust, he rocked to go deep to spare his knee but his lazy strokes soon carried her to a steamy release. Libby held him tight, let the universe blur around her and spoke his name in a grateful whisper. He leaned into her, chasing his own dream and shuddering as he caught it. They lay in a tangled sprawl, too blissfully happy to move, until the heat of afternoon sun crested over the balcony and splashed their bed.

  Detective Nuñez interrupted their dinner. Santos didn’t invite him to join them, but instead had Mrs. Lopez escort him into the den. “Let’s hope the news is good.”

  Libby felt so relaxed after their lazy afternoon, she hated to consider what that might entail. She took her place beside Santos on the den sofa and reached for his hand. As always, his touch was calm and steady. She pressed his fingers, and he squeezed back.

  “Thank you for coming here personally,” Santos said. “What have you learned?”

  The detective sat on the edge on a black leather chair and flipped through his notebook as though searching for a forgotten detail. “The man injured in the accident earlier today is Rigoberto Avila. He’s the man in the photo you gave me. He’s a commercial artist who lives with his sister, Victoria Rubio.” He glanced up. “Their mother was married multiple times, and they had different fathers. Avila is in a coma, and the outlook isn’t good. We searched the wreckage of the pickup and his apartment but found no rifle. There were some sketches of you, similar to the drawings you gave me.”

  He closed his notebook with a snap. “I have a man watching Avila’s apartment, but Victoria hasn’t come home. There is one interesting thing.” He rose to his feet in sections like a collapsible ruler unfolding and stood gazing over them. “The manager of the apartment house said Victoria has a year-old baby. ‘A handsome boy,’ the woman said. Victoria claimed he’s your father’s son. You should have told me about him in the beginning.”

  “What?” Santos gasped. “She can claim anything she chooses, but my father never spoke of her. I never saw her with him. Many women came to see him when he was ill, but she wasn’t among them. If she’d had a child with him, she should have come forward, and we could have proved or disproved it with a DNA test.”

  “Perhaps your father threatened her,” Nuñez countered.

  “My father never even raised his voice to a woman. He’d not have threatened her. He was between wives, so another child wouldn’t have disrupted his life.”

  “Were you living here in the late summer two years ago?”

  “No, I had my own apartment, but I was here often. My father was dating Ana Santillan then. He favored blonde women, and I never saw him with a petite brunette.”

  The detective made a hasty note. “What about your mother?”

  Santos struggled to his feet. Without speaking above a whisper, he promptly silenced the detective. “Leave her out of this.”

  Libby stood and took a step to the side so if Santos threw a punch at Nuñez, she wouldn’t be caught in the middle. Apparently taking the same precaution, Nuñez moved around the coffee table and headed for the door.

  “You should speak to your attorney, Mr. Aragon. From the few facts we have, Mr. Avila could have been responding to threats you and your father made to his sister. I’m very good at discovering the truth, and you should cease hiding it.”

  Santos waited until he heard the front door close and then swore a menacingly vile oath. He didn’t translate the curse for Libby. “If Nuñez can find Victoria, we can match the baby’s DNA to mine, but I can’t understand why she’d hide the fact if my father sired him.”

  “That wouldn’t make any sense, would it?” Libby agreed. “The baby would be proof, and she could have taken your father to court for support if he refused to acknowledge the boy.”

  He shook his head. “Who knows what she was thinking if killing me struck her as the best option. This is all I need, another baby brother to raise. I didn’t think things could get any worse, but they keep piling on to make this the worst summer of my life.”

  Crushed he hadn’t excluded her, she closed the door on her way out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Libby left the house in tears and carried her sandals down to the shore where Santos couldn’t follow. He hadn’t enumerated the summer’s problems, and she knew she wasn’t among
them, but he should have said so. She didn’t want to be remembered as the girl from his worst summer ever, if he remembered her.

  She didn’t go far before sinking down into the sand. She hugged her knees and dried her tears rather than blubber pathetically. After all, she didn’t want to add to Santos’s problems, so she had to get hold of herself right now. She loved being with him, but therapy would take care of his knee, and they’d both known all along he wanted her company rather than a personal trainer. She ought to go home as soon as Maggie and Rafael came back so he wouldn’t be left alone.

  She didn’t want to go home though, not yet. She gazed at the moonlight caressing the sea until she grew too cold to stay. She pushed herself to her feet and walked up to the house, as disheartened as when she’d left. As she crossed the patio, she didn’t see Santos sitting in the shadows until he spoke.

  “You promised to tell me when I behaved like a squirrel-headed twit,” he murmured as she came near. “Come sit with me.”

  She brushed the last of the sand from her new aqua-and-black tie-dye skirt and took the chair he’d pulled close to his. “You weren’t being a twit. I just didn’t want to be part of your awful summer.”

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “You could come after me with an ax, and it wouldn’t even register this year.”

  The night hid her smile. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

  “No, but I’d thought you’d know I didn’t mean you.”

  “I do know,” she admitted. “But so much has gone wrong. Nuñez has never been sympathetic, and his latest opinions are beyond absurd.”

  “I’ve been sitting here thinking maybe not,” he admitted reluctantly.