by Claire King
“Shut up, Bobby.”
“If it’s any consolation, she’ll be gone in the morning, carnal.” He started off after Olivia. “Then we can get back to work,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Rafe stared after them for a minute.
She’d be gone in the morning and they could get back to work.
Gone in the morning. Gone forever.
“Forget it,” Olivia said.
Bobby squinted at her—trying to look mean, Olivia thought. And failing.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I do have a choice. I’m not sharing a room with you.”
“Come on,” he wheedled. “We’ll just sleep together. Just sleep. Nothing else. I promise.”
Olivia had to laugh. “I’ve heard that line before.”
“Come on, Doc.”
Olivia worried her lip, looked over at Rafael. He was sliding bills across the worn counter of a registration desk. She didn’t want to know where the money came from. Then again, maybe it was left over from when he was a picker. That wouldn’t be so bad.
Olivia, amazed at herself, tore her gaze from him, looked around blearily. The motel was tiny but clean, and in the thick of town, where their coming in tonight and their going out tomorrow was not likely to be noticed. She ran her tongue around her teeth, resisted scratching under her hair. She needed a shower in the worst way, but she didn’t exactly relish the idea of sharing a bathroom with Bobby the smuggler, here.
“Why can’t you guys take one room and I have one to myself?”
“You know why.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you. I don’t have any money.” She pinched a fold of her skirt and lifted it an inch. “And I’m not really dressed for dancing, anyway.”
“We can’t leave you alone.”
“You think I’ll go to the police. Even after I’ve said I wouldn’t.”
Bobby shrugged.
“I’m not going to,” she insisted. “Look, you don’t know me very well, but allow me to let you in on a little secret about myself. I’m a practical woman. Eminently. I want to go home. I want to go home more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I’m perfectly willing to let you guys and Ernesto do your own thing down here until at least one of you ends up in jail. I’m not going to go to the federales and risk spending another minute with you and Señor Congeniality over there.”
“I thought you loved Baja,” Bobby said, sounding wounded.
She bared her teeth. “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s for your protection, too.”
“Ha!”
“It is,” he insisted. “Cervantes could track us here any time.”
Olivia frowned. “You’re just saying that to scare me.”
“So, it scares you, does it?” Bobby grinned. “Had a little time to think during the leisurely drive down in the local police vehicle?”
“Oh, leave me alone, will you? I just want a shower. If I had a thousand dollars on me, I’d give it to you if you would just let me have a shower.”
“Have you checked your pockets? You might have a thousand dollars on you and not know it—”
“Shut up, Bobby,” Olivia said looking back over at Rafael. He was leaning against the registration counter, patiently awaiting the outcome of her argument with Bobby. A plastic shopping bag dangled negligently from one finger. He hadn’t had that a minute before. She hoped he hadn’t robbed the desk clerk.
She glared at him. She knew he fully expected Bobby to convince her to docilely take this order, just as she’d taken all the other orders he had given her.
Sort of.
Well, tough. If she was going to suffer, so should he. He could sleep outside her room all night, if he was so worried she’d turn him in to the police.
“Tell him, no dice.”
Bobby dropped his head to his chest, groaned. “Just do it.”
“No. I want my own room. If he doesn’t trust me, he will just have to sleep outside my door.”
Bobby shook his head, his chin brushing his chest in defeat. “Please?”
“No. And stop looking like that.”
“You don’t know how mad he gets.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Fine.” He glared at her. “But I thought we’d established a certain rapport, here, Doc.”
“Okay, now you’re just saying stuff to make me crazy. ‘A certain rapport’?”
“We use that phrase all the time in Tepehuanes,” Bobby insisted. “It’s an old Indian saying.”
“It’s French,” she called after him, as he walked over to Rafe.
“She’s not going for it,” Bobby said.
Rafe chewed on the inside of his cheek. “She wants her own room,” he repeated. He met her furious eyes for the first time since he’d crawled out of the cave. Better furious than disdainful, he thought. He could fight with furious.
“You can’t blame her,” Bobby was saying. “She hardly knows me.”
“Better you than me, you would think,” Rafe said thoughtfully.
“What am I, a eunuch?”
Rafe bit back a reluctant smile. “I don’t worry about you. You know I’d kill you. After I made you suffer for a while.”
Bobby gave Olivia a quick once-over, just to make Rafe suffer. “Yeah, well, I still have needs, man,” he said.
This time Rafe had to smile. “You never will again if you touch her, my friend. I’ll cut off your needs and feed ’em to the sharks.”
Bobby chuckled. “Man, you have got it so bad.”
“I’m just looking out for a countrywoman,” Rafe stated blandly. “What else does she want?”
“Just her own room. She said you could sleep outside her door, if you like.”
“Did you tell her to forget it?”
Bobby nodded. “But she’s stubborn under all that girly hair and those big eyes. You can see how she made it to the top of her profession. I’ll bet those guys at Scripps never knew what hit them.”
“I’ll bet they did,” Rafe said. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
Rafe didn’t answer, just stalked to where Olivia was standing, mutinous and terrified.
“You can’t leave the room,” Rafe said curtly.
“I won’t,” she promised.
“There are no phones inside.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I told you. I’m not going to call anyone. I’m not an idiot. Whatever else Cervantes is, and I’m by no means convinced of anything, amigo, he’s also a sheriff, and I assume he will have called his cronies in La Paz by now. If I call the police, the likelihood is I’ll be held in Mexico until all this is straightened out, right?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, “but I meant that you can’t call from room to room. If someone comes to your door, you won’t be able to call me.”
She lifted one small, dirty fist to his face. “I can pound on the wall.”
That little hand, raised so bravely, just about broke through his anger.
“Fine,” he said, his jaw working. He started toward their adjoining rooms. “We’ll get you clean clothes in the morning when the shops open.”
“It’ll be Sunday,” she reminded him. It had only just occurred to her.
“Then we’ll get you clothes when the shops don’t open,” he muttered.
They reached the door to her room. Rafael opened it and went inside. Olivia followed him, turning on the wall light.
“You’re going to steal clothes for me?”
He went into the bathroom, placed the shampoo and soap he’d bought from the desk clerk on the counter. “Would you rather go home looking like a street hag?” he called.
“A street hag? Listen, Mr. Charm, I don’t want you to steal for me.”
He came back into the room. “What difference does it make, Olivia? You know what I am—or you think you do.” He wrenched open the closet door, checked inside. “What’s one more crime?” he said, seething inside. He closed the closet door ever so careful
ly. He wanted to rip it off its hinges.
“You can’t steal from these people. It’s not the same as what you do with the…other thing. You can’t go into some woman’s little shop and take a dress that she needs to sell to put food in her children’s mouths.”
Nor would he have. Ever. He was not opposed to a little breaking and entering, of course, but he would have left money for whatever he’d taken. Enough and then some. Did she really think he was so anesthetized to the plight of the poor in Mexico?
He shook his head slightly. Well, of course she did. She thought him guilty of far more serious crimes than insensitivity.
Better that she did, actually. Better for everyone involved.
He squared his shoulders, summoned up a sneer. “You should have become a judge instead of a doctor, Olivia.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes at him. He wanted a fight, did he? She was just fed up enough to oblige him.
“A judge! Look who’s talking. You were pretty quick to judge me for what happened in that cave back there.” She’d worked up a good head of steam over it, too. It was better than being miserable. “You’ve been furious with me ever since, as if you have any right!”
Rafe stared at her. “Me? Judging you?”
Olivia widened her eyes and bobbed her head. “Who do you think? It was just the two of us in there. I don’t remember anyone else accusing me of having ‘experience’!”
“You were crying!” he accused.
“So what? Excuse me for being a little overwhelmed. I’ve never made love to a criminal before,” Olivia shouted.
You still haven’t, Rafe wanted to yell back at her. Unless she counted the kisses she shared with Cervantes. But he kept his mouth clamped shut. He knew she wasn’t in league with Cervantes, had known it since she’d thrown herself in front of him at the hacienda. But until she was safely on a plane to the States, it was too great a risk telling her the truth about his and Bobby’s assignment, their quest. God only knew what the bastard would do to her if he somehow got hold of her again.
Not that he would, Rafe vowed silently.
“Well, life is full of surprises, princesa,” Rafe said tightly.
“It certainly has been lately,” Olivia conceded. “What happened in the cave…if you want me to say I’m sorry for something, you can forget it. This isn’t 1850s Spain, you know. I don’t have to apologize for a perfectly natural physical reaction. Besides, it was just as much you as me. More,” she finished defiantly.
“Natural physical reaction?”
“Yes. I can’t seem to help how my body responds to you. It doesn’t make any sense,” Olivia said. “So, too bad for me and too bad for you, chemically speaking, because we obviously have nothing else going on here.”
“Wait a minute.” Rafe shook his head to clear it. “Let me get this straight. You were crying because you were embarrassed by how you responded to my kissing you?”
“Not embarrassed!” Olivia protested vehemently. “Appalled! My head knows what a colossal mistake it is, being attracted to you. My body just seems to be taking a little more time to figure it out.”
Oh, he couldn’t hold out. Couldn’t resist. The smirk he wore slid away. How could she be so honest about it? How could she reveal so much? He felt the same about her; his body craved her like a drug, even though his head told him how utterly hopeless it all was.
His entire life was about concealment, and her simple candor undid him.
Giving in to his own body, giving in to his heart, he placed his palms flat against the wall on either side of her, leaned in. “Listen to your body, Olivia,” he urged. “Forget what your head tells you. It’s wrong, anyway,” he murmured. He didn’t dare take her mouth. Her blouse had drooped below her collarbone, exposing soft, tanned skin. He kissed her there. “I’ll never see you again after tonight,” he said against her body.
The thought of that made his throat close curiously. Even if he did see her, by some odd chance, it would never be the same. She would be back in her ivory tower, among the swells of San Diego Latino society. Dr. Olivia Galpas. And he would still be a peasant. A law-abiding peasant, but a peasant nonetheless. Never again would she be weak in his arms, her lashes soft on her cheek, her breath coming unsteadily.
“Olivia,” he whispered, and kissed her where her lashes lay.
“No.”
He heard that no. Perfectly. He pushed against the wall until he could look into her dark, flashing eyes. “Don’t say no.”
Was it only sexual desperation she saw in his eyes? she wondered fleetingly. She thought she saw more. Yearning, perhaps. Loneliness. She shook off the sensation, steeled herself. How could a man so criminal, so corrupt, touch her so deeply? What was wrong with her?
“I have to.”
After a minute, he closed his eyes, sighed.
“Okay,” he said finally.
She wanted to weep. In relief, and regret.
He stood back, looking everywhere but at her. “Don’t go outside. For any reason.”
Olivia shook her head. “I won’t.”
“Okay,” he said again, stalling for time. He hated to leave her here. He heard Bobby rattling around in their shared room. A shower awaited him in there—and a soft bed, the first he’d slept in for weeks. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone. “Will you be all right?” he asked roughly.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve spent a lot of time in little motel rooms at the ends of the earth.”
He nodded. Of course she had. She was a well-traveled, well-respected scientist, a woman with all the experience in the world. It was ridiculous that he should be feeling so protective.
Only, she’d been in his care for too long now. In his care, in his head, definitely in his libido. Working slowly and inexorably into his heart—brave, smart, beautiful woman.
“Rafael,” she said.
“I’m going,” he said, and walked toward the door. It was better this way. He didn’t deserve a woman like her, any more than Cervantes did. She stood at the light switch, watching him. He stopped next to her, but kept his eyes on the door. “I’m sorry, Olivia. For everything.”
Then he was gone, leaving her with her breath stopped in her lungs and her heart beating like a wild bird against her chest.
It was hot in her room when Olivia woke the next morning. And bright. She sat straight up in her narrow, sagging bed and blinked in the direction of the thinly curtained window.
“Oh, no.”
It had to be mid-morning, at least. She could hear the sounds of street life outside her door; of men and women long awake and going about their business. She was supposed to be on the first flight out of La Paz this morning—that was the plan.
Apparently, she’d slept through the plan.
She whipped the worn sheet from her legs and scooted out of bed. She took another quick shower just to make up for the two or three she’d missed, and combed out her hair. It had dried on her pillow during the night and one side was flat while the other puffed out in a wavy mass, but she hardly noticed. She began to plait it tightly to her head, smoothing out the odd bumps as she went. She’d wash and dry it again when she got home.
Her fingers fumbled in her braid.
Home. It seemed impossible she’d be home today. Had it only been three weeks since she’d arrived in Mexico, three weeks since she’d met Ernesto? Less than three days since she’d met Rafael?
Both men had changed her life profoundly.
Home seemed almost unreal to her now. Oh, she could picture it perfectly: the bougainvillea that swept along the iron railing on the second story; the view of both the ocean and the eucalyptus trees of Balboa Park; the sound of her brothers and sisters running across the tile floors toward some mischief that she, as the eldest sister, was bound to disapprove of. She loved the house almost as much as she loved the people in it. It was why she’d allowed her parents to convince her to stay there when she wasn’t on a tiny boat in the middle of some ocean somewhere. It was convenient,
beautiful, and the only place she’d ever really wanted to live.
But it wasn’t real anymore—not the way it had always been when she’d come back to it after a long assignment.
This seemed real, she thought, looking into the mirror. It was insanity, and she told herself she couldn’t wait to see it end, but this was real. Being with Rafael was real. The tense conversations and whispered words and powerful kisses—those were real. They scared her, and they had to stop—today—but they were more intense, more stirring, than anything she’d ever had with any other man.
It was only the danger, she knew. The thrill of the unknown. The circumstances. She knew it. Her excellent brain, which had never failed her, told her. But it simply didn’t seem to matter.
She scrubbed her teeth with her finger and dried her mouth. There was no sense even thinking about it. The fact was, it was nearly over. This morning she’d get on a plane and leave Mexico. And Rafael and Ernesto—bad guys, good guys, whichever they were—would be nothing but an ache of regret in her heart and a stab of shame in her gut.
She padded back into the tiny room to gather up her filthy clothes and put them, reluctantly, back on her clean body.
Her dirty clothes were gone.
On the bed, where she wouldn’t be able to miss it, was a bag. Attached to the bag with a staple was a handwritten receipt for one dress, a pair of panties and a bra, and one pair of white socks.
Olivia sat down on the edge of the bed, clutched the bag to her naked chest and told herself under no circumstances was she to cry.
Chapter 8
Rafael and Bobby were already dressed and waiting for her, when she left the motel room, dressed in the not-stolen clothes. They looked dreadfully uncomfortable in their own starchy new clothing, and they smelled faintly of chemical dyes and mothballs. But Bobby no longer looked like a reprobate from clown college, and Rafael looked cooler, dressed in a white cowboy shirt and denims instead of a black turtleneck and black jeans.
Her own dress was plainly fashioned and of an unappetizing orange color, but it felt marvelously clean against her skin. She wished Rafael had thought to buy her a little makeup, but she decided she could get around having to explain to her mother why she had left the house without mascara by having someone pick her up in Tijuana and take her by her office first.