Unattainable

by Garcia, Leslie P.

  “Regrets already?” Jovi’s voice was low and gentle, the mocking tone he’d used minutes ago gone. “Nothing happened.”

  “I wouldn’t say nothing,” she returned shortly, not able to meet his gaze. She glared at him. “Did you come here expecting — ready — to make love?”

  He looked at her blankly for a moment, then shook his head. “Don’t carry condoms in my trunks,” he admitted, his tone light but his expression abashed.

  She snorted. “Couldn’t fit even a foil package in those,” she muttered, glaring at the too-tight trunks. She shouldn’t be thinking about what could or couldn’t fit there. She should be upstairs in her room. Asleep.

  She looked again toward the second-story windows. “Hopefully no one was awake.”

  He glanced at the house, too. “I’m sure no one was,” he said soothingly. “We’d probably better get to bed.” She looked back at him. “Our own beds,” he amended quickly.

  She didn’t seem particularly appeased, and the steadiness of her regard was discomfiting. But after long, silent seconds she merely nodded. “Good night,” she said, and walked toward the house, leaving him standing alone by the pool. When he was sure she was gone, he allowed himself a long, loud sigh. Then he cursed for good measure, and headed back to the dark, lonely foreman’s house.

  • • •

  Dell leaned her chair back and stared listlessly at the wall. She had come to the study to busy her mind and her fingers, because rehashing what happened — or almost happened — on the patio with Jovani was driving her stark raving mad, and she’d been doing it for two days straight. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable or threatened. Her lips twitched. She also didn’t like feeling unwanted or discarded, she admitted. Jovi’s apparent ability to forget how close they had come to making love was irritating, in spite of her grim determination to regain control of her senses. And her body.

  She shifted in the chair, aware the incessant ache of wanting him was back, throbbing through her, painful in its intensity. She thought of her other fleeting relationships. Even her fiancé had not made her tremble with need from the inside out. No, Jeremy’s appeal, overwhelming at the onset, had faded into a morass of lies, broken promises, and disregard for any future they might have together. She’d do well to remember he’d merely used her — and she let him. Pretended not to see the drug use. Believed he’d give it up for her if she waited. Excused the deception, because he’d soothed her doubts with loving words and the promise of forever. Forever had been just a few short months, and he’d taken his life in her apartment, shattering her belief in herself and in love.

  Sighing, she looked down at the paper, covered with neat notes. She had promised Judge Ovalle-Martinez to allow Michelle’s mother to visit the ranch. The judge had arranged for a mediator to drive the woman out the first time. The teenager was unhappy and nervous about the visit, but Selina and Amy rallied around her, assuring her time would pass quickly. The visit specifically required private time for the two, and although Michelle looked apprehensive, Dell offered them the study or the patio for their time together. After the two had had a chance to talk, Michelle’s mother stayed to dinner. She was timid and unsure of herself and kept casting furtive glances around what had become her daughter’s temporary home. While they ate, she told them about the classes she was taking, and her face glowed with her newfound success and independence. Dell could see the woman was seriously trying to make amends to her only child, and she suspected it was only a matter of time before the court decided to send Michelle home.

  Logically, Dell knew it was for the best. She believed children should be with their mothers, or fathers, even if they were young adults. Most parents loved their own, even when they lacked the tools to convey that feeling. She closed her eyes, breathing a troubled little prayer as her thoughts turned from Michelle to Becky. Did Becky’s mother ever miss her? Did she want her home again? Would it matter to her that Becky was learning colors and could count to five in English and in Spanish? Losing Becky now would be more than she could bear, no matter how deeply she believed families should be kept together.

  Dell drummed her fingers on the desktop. She could do any number of things. Her contacts were widening. A number in Houston now graced the top of her “to do” list. A woman had called earlier, asking her if she could provide advice on which locations in Monterrey would provide suitable housing for employees who were being moved there to staff a branch office. Asking about security arrangements. Dell agreed to work on recommendations, but for the first time since she decided to start offering her services again, she resented the intrusion on her time and thoughts.

  She knew herself well enough to know why, too. She was still upset and frustrated over the whole situation with Jovi. For two days, they’d tiptoed around each other and their frustrations, losing themselves in their separate tasks. She’d bumped into Jovi on several occasions, taking the girls out on rides or walking through the barn to visit the horses, and he’d been civil and distant.

  A sharp pain lanced through her head, and she stopped drumming to massage her temples. His behavior was exactly what it should be, she thought with a trace of bitterness. Deferential. Accommodating. She didn’t understand his withdrawal. She had always been distant. La inalcanzable. He’d been warm and provocative. Well within reach. He wasn’t role playing or engaging in payback. He’d physically distanced himself, and for reasons she didn’t want to analyze, it angered her. And hurt her.

  Frowning, she got up and walked over to the window. The drapes were open in spite of the strong slant of the sun. The heat outside would be oppressive — it always was. She glanced at the clock. In spite of the brightness and the scorching temperatures, it was already almost seven. The horses would have been fed, the stalls cleaned. Danny and Pete would be in their rooms for the night. The girls were watching television, oblivious to the world. Becky was asleep, and Rosa sat in her corner in the living room, embroidering with her slow, careful fingers. Day was done, and everyone was at home.

  She thought of Jovi, dressed in his skimpy shorts, coming down the stairs at the foreman’s house. Completely at home. She looked around the elegant, empty study, suddenly unwilling to live with the loneliness any longer. She wasn’t a teenager, and she could make responsible choices. She could be discreet. What she couldn’t be anymore was alone. Unloved.

  She checked her watch, verifying the time. Giving herself a few extra seconds to change her mind. Then she slipped silently out of the study and out through the front door. She could call Rosa later if she needed to, and present some reason for her abrupt absence. But she wouldn’t waste precious time now, trying to explain the emotion or the desire that drove her.

  By the time she reached Jovi’s door, her chest was slamming painfully in her chest, and she was breathless. She made herself breathe deeply once or twice and brushed at her damp forehead with the back of her hand. She knew it wasn’t exertion that had caused her pulse to accelerate and her legs to buckle momentarily; it was the enormity of her decision. She raised her hand to knock, knowing her decision to spend most of the night with Jovi was irreversible. Karla’s friendly jab had been right after all — nothing mattered except the need to make love to Jovani Treviño. With one final, deep drag of air into her constricted lungs, she rapped the door sharply.

  The porch light was on, but the front room was dark. She supposed Jovi was either in the kitchen, eating, or upstairs. Couldn’t be watching TV in the living room — there was no telltale glow or flicker of changing scenes. She listened, trying to hear him make his way to the door, but could hear nothing. Her heart slowed and each beat was a separate, painful blow against her chest.

  Then the door swung open silently, and he looked at her with undisguised surprise. But, she noticed, without real invitation. He didn’t seem pleased to see her, really, just surprised.

  “Hi,” he said finally, and moved out of the doo
r. “Come on in.” He closed the door after her and then walked over to pick up some scattered magazines from one of the chairs. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, noticing with some disappointment that he wasn’t in shorts. Actually, he was in jeans, a clean shirt, and polished boots, as if he were on his way out. The burning sensation low, low in her stomach that had been desire was slowly cooling, hardening. Into a premonition of disaster. Still, she had walked into this. She wouldn’t go without letting him know why she had come. Not this time.

  Biting her lip a little, she gave her head another brief shake. “Nothing’s wrong,” she replied, her tone cool and level. She looked him over again. “But am I keeping you from doing something? You look like you’re ready to leave.”

  He didn’t deny it, just returned her appraisal. Then he motioned toward the chair he had just cleared. “Well, I have some time to kill, so make yourself at home,” he invited. Courtesy. She hadn’t wanted or expected that from him. Not tonight. Still, she wasn’t sure how to tell him what she did want, so she walked over to the chair and sat down obediently.

  “Well, if nothing’s the matter, let me get us something to drink,” he suggested. He tilted his head. “Tea?”

  She thought for a moment, trying to think of a subtle way to announce her intentions. “I don’t suppose you’d have any wine,” she said, after a moment, slowly, feeling the slightest trace of warmth push up her throat into her cheeks.

  He obviously read between the lines, because, just for a minute, both his eyebrows shot up, and his eyes widened. His mouth, full and sensual under the mustache, twitched. But just as quickly, he managed a slight, regretful smile.

  “No wine. That’s fancy lady stuff.” He gave her a wink. “I could get us a couple of cold brews.”

  Dell’s nose wrinkled in distaste. She didn’t even like the smell of the stuff. He laughed at her.

  “My bar stock obviously isn’t up to snuff,” he admitted. “But you’re in Texas, honey. Texans drink beer.”

  “Not this one,” she said primly, and then smiled back at him, taking the arrogance out of her retort. “How strong is the tea this time?”

  He shrugged expansively. “A babe could drink it,” he assured her with another quick wink.

  She sat uncomfortably in the chair, listening as he clanked ice into a glass. He was back in no time, carrying a beer and an impossibly tall glass of tea. Freshly cut lemon and artificial sweetener graced the small round tray he handed her, and she put it down on the table beside her before he could notice the slight tremor in her hands. She’d always credited herself with being thoroughly modern, honest, and efficient. But her insides were shaking at the thought of asking Jovi to take her to bed. How did women proposition men, anyway? She was abruptly convinced that this equality of roles, sexually speaking, was for the birds. She would much rather he do something, say something. She couldn’t. But he just perched himself on the couch, opened the beer bottle, and chugged most of it down in one swallow.

  Then he set the bottle on the coffee table, propped up his feet, and gave her an affable grin. “Good. I’d wipe my mustache with my sleeve, but I’m being polite.”

  She nodded. “I noticed.” There really wasn’t anything else she could think of to say. Why was he so far across the room? And why did he watch her so intently from the unfathomable depths of those dark eyes?

  She’d seen movies where a woman simply stripped off her clothes to announce she wanted someone. She lifted her hand to brush absently at her hair. His eyes followed the slight movement, but his expression never changed. Somehow, fighting her way out of the buttoned cotton blouse and tight jeans didn’t strike her as seductive, but embarrassing, if the moment wasn’t just right.

  Although he said nothing, she had the impression he was in a hurry; she saw him sneak a quick peek at his watch. Was he going out with someone? Did he have plans to spend the night in some other woman’s bed? She wouldn’t let him do that.

  She stood up abruptly, without speaking, and he started. She walked over to the couch, sitting at the end farthest away from him. He put his feet down and turned obligingly, but again she sensed his surprise. And his discomfort.

  “Jovi,” she said, “you know … why I went to your room, when we were in South Padre.” It was a statement, not a question, but he nodded slowly anyway.

  “Yes.”

  He knew where this was going, too, why she was here, but he wished he didn’t. Not tonight. Because when he turned her away tonight, he knew she wouldn’t be back. He considered not turning her away. He didn’t work for DEA, not really. His convictions were strong: drugs were destroying the country. He’d seen things in Florida he hadn’t seen in the military, in countries at war and suffering through genocide against one or another group. Drugs were killing his countries — killing Mexico, destroying the States. He believed that absolutely. He also didn’t believe that he, or any one person, could do a damn thing about it. Hampton and Ortega wanted him to look at some new surveillance photos. There had been another small boat landing in the same, isolated corner of the ranch. Dell hadn’t even been on the premises at the time; she’d been in Laredo. But they clearly wanted him away from here — away from her — before they shared the specifics.

  He could tell them to go to hell. He could stay here with Dell tonight, spend the night making love to her, breaching the distance she kept between herself and the world. Reaching her, touching her. Hearing her cry out his name. His jaw tightened, and he forced the muscles to relax. He couldn’t, and he couldn’t tell her why.

  She had left him an opening, had tried to draw him into what she was about to say, but when he said nothing, she fidgeted on the couch, twisting her graduation ring around on her too-thin fingers. The paleness of her hands had never really held his attention the way it did now. But he didn’t want to look at her lips … or the softness of her breasts under the crisp cotton shirt …

  When he continued to sit silently, waiting, she looked up at him again, and groped for words. “I’m not sure why or how, but things have changed since then,” she said. “We’re not … as comfortable as we were.”

  “No.” Jovi didn’t deny it, didn’t rationalize it. She bit her lip, but her eyes didn’t waver.

  “I want what we had again.” The words were almost a whisper. The honesty in her eyes was painful. He reached out a hand, curving it around her cheek, stroking her lips with a gentle thumb, sealing her words away, unspoken.

  “We can’t have that,” he said quietly. “We’ve reached that decision … I don’t know how often. And it’s the right one.”

  Her chin lifted defiantly. “Why?” she demanded, her voice soft but insistent. “Because you’re on your way out and it’s not convenient? Because I said no the first time?”

  “No.” His tone was curt, and he stood up, putting distance between them, not wanting to face the accusation and hurt in her eyes. He paced around the room once before turning and walking back over to her and catching her gently by the shoulders, then shaking her lightly.

  “Because, believe it or not, someone was watching us. Someone was taking pictures when we were in the patio. Someone wants to know if we’re screwing around!” He used the vulgarity cuttingly, deliberately, wanting her to back off, but she didn’t.

  “Even if that were true — and I don’t believe it — what’s the worst that can happen? We’re adults, we’re free — ” She froze suddenly, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m free. As far as I know, you are?” This time she was asking, and he scowled at her and gave her another, less gentle shake.

  “Yes, damn it, Dell, I’m ‘free!’ There’s no wife hidden away somewhere. Get this straight — if I ever marry, there’ll be one woman in my life! I’m not my father’s son, Dell — running off or hooking up with any woman that walks by.”

  He released her shoulders and spun away, frustrate
d and angry. “This isn’t about whether or not we’re free, or even whether or not we want each other. Don’t you understand no one could want to watch us together except for really twisted reasons?”

  “Of course I realize that. I’m not stupid, Jovi. I just refuse to believe you heard what you thought.” She took a step toward him, gesturing emphatically. “And I won’t believe it without proof, or a reasonable motive and a reasonable suspect!”

  “The motive? I’m sure you could come up with one or two, if you sat down and looked at things logically,” he returned coolly. “And suspects? Only one makes sense. Your grandfather.”

  Dell gaped at him.

  “Maybe Lionel is a little more involved in your life than you want to believe,” he suggested grimly. “Quite frankly, from what I’ve heard of him, he sounds like the type who’d spy on his own family for his own sick reasons.” He didn’t add that Hampton and Ortega had questioned whether or not the two were really estranged. Hampton had intercepts of a few calls from Monterrey to the ranch. They were to a cell number, not the main phone, nor Dell’s cell. But Dell paid the account along with all the other bills.

  She considered what he said, then shrugged. “I’m not my mother,” she said, her voice thin. “No one would drive me away from … ” She stopped. From a man I love, she’d almost said. “From a relationship,” she finished slowly. “Certainly not the man who destroyed my father’s life. Not Lionel De Cordova.”

  She sounded very sure of herself. Jovi thought of his own mother, clinging tenaciously to the man she had loved. His mom had given up so much for such brief happiness. Could he and Dell have more than that? He swallowed hard, thinking of having her and then losing her. Worse, of having her and betraying her.