She led the way down a carpeted hallway to the entry, feeling the warmth of Ernesto’s steady gaze on her back. She knew the attorney was interested in her, and had been for a long time.
Oscar had retained him to settle his estate, and she would concede to her late husband’s wishes, but what Ernesto Morales did not know was that—if Oscar had willed her the house and its contents—she planned to dispose of everything as quickly as possible before she returned to Florida. She had been away from her family and the country of her birth for too long, and she found it hard to believe that it had been eight years since she had called the United States home.
She and Ernesto stood at a set of massive, ornately carved mahogany doors, staring at each other. She offered her right hand and he took it gently and placed a kiss on a knuckle.
“I’ll call you to let you know the time for the service,” she reminded him.
He nodded, released her hand, opened the door and walked out of the large house and through the courtyard of the magnificent structure built on a hill overlooking a picturesque valley. He glanced over his shoulder just before he turned in the direction of the garages and saw that Regina hadn’t moved. She stood in the doorway, a slim, shadowy figure against the rapidly waning daylight.
Regina was in the same position when she heard the sound of Ernesto’s car drive away and the arrival of another. Straightening from her leaning position, she recognized the car as a taxi. She saw the driver stop, exit the vehicle and come around to open the rear door for his passenger. Not realizing she had been holding her breath, she let it out slowly when she saw the figure of a tall man emerge from the backseat.
Even in the encroaching darkness there was something about the man that reminded her of Oscar, and without seeing his face she knew the passenger was Dr. Aaron Spencer.
Reaching into the pocket of his suit trousers, Aaron withdrew a money clip, peeled off several bills and handed them to the driver. He then waited for his luggage to be unloaded from the trunk. It was only after he had hoisted a garment bag over his shoulder at the same time the driver picked up two carry-on bags and set them down in the entryway of the house that he noticed the door stood open and a woman stood at the entrance awaiting his arrival.
He counted the steps which brought him face-to-face with a young woman dressed entirely in black. His large, dark, slanting eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t be! He shook his head. This woman couldn’t be Regina Spencer. There was no way she could be his stepmother!
Regina took several steps backward and opened the door wider to permit Aaron Spencer to enter. “Please come in, Dr. Spencer.”
The instant she opened her mouth she confirmed what Aaron did not want to accept. The deep husky sound of her sensual voice had resounded in his head hours after he’d hung up from her call. He had sat in his study, staring into darkness, and recalling her statement: Dr. Spencer, I’m Regina Spencer. I called you because I want to inform you that your father passed away earlier today. He did not suffer.
After hearing her statement he had wanted to cry, but did not—because he could not. He could not because he had spent twelve years hating the man who had given him life.
He walked into the opulently decorated entryway, then turned and looked down at the woman who had been his father’s wife. He visually examined her, complete surprise freezing his expression. Not only was she very young, she was also stunningly beautiful. He did not notice the slight puffiness under her large, dark eyes which indicated she had not gotten enough sleep. All he saw was the delicacy of her features, the lushness of her perfectly formed mouth, the flawlessness of her brown skin and the soft curves of her womanly body.
She extended her hand. “I’m Regina.”
Lowering the garment bag to the floor beside the matching leather carry-ons, he took the proffered hand. He inclined his head, his gaze fixed on her mouth. “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.”
Regina felt a tingle of awareness when her hand was swallowed up by Aaron’s much larger one. “Yes. It is unfortunate.” She withdrew her fingers, still feeling the warmth of his flesh lingering on her palm.
Aaron Spencer had inherited his father’s height and lean face, but that was where the similarities ended. His features were nothing like Oscar’s. Her gaze caught and held his as she silently admired the exotic slant of his eyes. His nose was bold, almost aquiline, and his mouth was strongly masculine with firm upper and lower lips.
She watched him watching her, a knowing smile flashing the dimples in her cheeks. He was intrigued. It was obvious he hadn’t expected his stepmother to be younger than he was. He gave her a lazy smile, and his lips parted to reveal a set of perfect white teeth.
Regina felt her pulse quicken and she glanced around his shoulder at her housekeeper, who had approached silently. “I’ll have someone show you to your room. Rosa, please see Dr. Spencer to the guest room in the east wing.”
Rosa nodded, smiling. “Sí, Señora Spencer.”
She watched Aaron pick up his luggage and follow Rosa through the entryway to a flight of curving stairs leading to the upper level. Even after he’d disappeared from sight she was able to recall the width of his broad shoulders under his expertly tailored suit jacket. And in one glance she had taken in his close-cropped, gray-flecked black hair, the richness of his sun-browned dark skin and the masculine sensuality he wore as proudly as a badge of honor.
She realized Aaron Spencer wasn’t as handsome as he was sensually attractive. Even his voice was erotic—deep, powerful and seductive.
What she did not want to acknowledge was that she was attracted to the son of her late husband.
A man who was her stepson!
Aaron stood in the middle of the bedroom where he would reside during his stay in Mexico, staring at the queen-size bed’s wrought-iron headboard. Twin emotions of rage and sorrow assaulted him as his hands curled into tight fists. He had flown thousands of miles and across several time zones to attend the funeral of a man whom he had symbolically buried years before—a man he hadn’t seen or spoken to in twelve years. Just this once he wanted Oscar alive, so he could damn him for destroying the love and trust between them, and for not permitting him to trust a woman.
Closing his eyes, he relived the scene which had haunted him for years—the one where Sharon had come to him, her eyes awash with tears, when she told him she couldn’t marry him because she was going to marry his father.
She had waited exactly one week following his graduation from medical school to disclose her intentions. She returned the engagement ring he had given her for her birthday, then stood up and walked out of his life and into his father’s. He did not attend their wedding, telling himself that he did not have a father.
But he did have a father—a man whom he despised. But Oscar Spencer had spent the last ten years of his life dying from a disease that had ravaged his body; a disease that left him racked with pain and suffering; a man whose last days on earth he could have helped make comfortable because of his medical training.
Slipping out of his jacket, Aaron placed it over the back of a plush armchair. He hadn’t spoken to Oscar, and his father had forbade anyone linked to him to contact his last surviving relative. A wry smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. Whatever Oscar’s reason for not contacting him no longer mattered.
“And that suits me just fine,” he whispered between clenched teeth. Now, we’re even, he added silently.
It took an hour for him to put away his clothes, shave, shower and change into a pair of black slacks, an oatmeal-hued, short-sleeved silk shirt and a pair of black, Italian-made loafers. He dimmed a lamp on one of the bedside tables, closed the door to the bedroom and made his way down the hallway to the staircase leading to the main level.
It was apparent his father hadn’t spared any expense when he purchased and furnished the sprawling house for his young wife. Priceless, colorful handwoven rugs covered wood floors, and the tapestries covering the seat and back cushi
ons of various chairs, chaises, and settees were exquisite. Walking into the living room, he ran his fingers over a side table boasting a marble inlaid surface. The dark-green, gold-veined marble was the perfect complement for the surrounding gleaming oak.
His footsteps were silent on a sand and ocher blend print rug as he moved over to a hand-carved, Mexican stone fireplace. He stared at a pair of massive, gilded candlesticks flanking an ornate ormolu clock resting atop the mantel. The candlesticks and clock were a bit too fancy for his more Spartan taste.
His gaze shifted upward and he stared into the mirror hanging above the mantel, seeing the reflection of his stepmother standing under the arched entrance to the living room. He went completely still, wondering how long had she been there.
His pulse quickened as he noted the ethereal slimness of her body in a black, floor-length slip dress and the cloud of ebony curls falling over her bare shoulders and down her back.
Turning slowly, he watched her walk into the room, seemingly floating toward him and closing the distance between them within seconds. An unfamiliar tightening in his groin caused him to gasp, and his eyes seemed to darken with an emotion he knew was lust. His body’s violent reaction had betrayed him. It had been a long time—in fact years—since the mere sight of a woman had aroused him physically. He prided himself on his iron-willed control. Women who set out to seduce him always failed in their attempts to get him to commit to a future with them.
Regina was different, because she was seducing him unknowingly. She stood two feet away, golden light from an overhead chandelier shimmering on her exposed, velvety flesh. Transfixed, he inhaled the hauntingly clean smell of her body. The scent was reminiscent of the lingering fragrance of a refreshing rain shower. His penetrating gaze searched her face, lingering on her lips. She had not applied any makeup except to outline her lush mouth in a vermilion-red.
Perfect, he mused. Incredibly perfect. It was no wonder his father had been drawn to her. Regina Spencer was a temptress—a modern-day Delilah. What man could resist her once she set out to lure him into her beguiling web?
Arching a sculpted eyebrow, he wondered if she was aware of her seductive powers. If she was, he pitied the hapless man who would become her next victim. There was one thing for certain—he would not be the one.
She managed a forced smile, offering him an enchanting display of matching dimples in her silken cheeks. “I don’t know whether you’re hungry, but I had the cook prepare a simple repast. We’ll dine on the patio,” she said, not giving him time to accept or decline her invitation.
Turning gracefully, she walked out of the living room, leaving him to follow. He followed numbly, staring at the wealth of curling black hair falling to her narrow waist.
Regina led him outdoors to a patio overlooking the lighted courtyard. A small, round table had been set for two. A dozen blackened antique iron lanterns, suspended from stanchions, bathed the space in a warm yellow glow. She extended her left hand, and the light caught the circle of diamonds on her third finger.
“Please be seated.”
He did not sit, but walked around the table and pulled out a chair for her. “Thank you,” she murmured softly, permitting him to seat her.
Aaron lingered over her head, feasting on the soft swell of her breasts rising above the dress’s décolletage and the sensual fragrance of her body before he reluctantly rounded the table and sat down opposite her.
She removed the cover of a soup bowl, watching Aaron follow suit. It was only a week ago that she had shared her last supper with Oscar. There were days when he hadn’t been able to tolerate eating solid food, but he awoke one morning complaining that he was hungry. They’d shared breakfast in his bedroom, and an early supper on the patio. Oscar was more animated than he had been in weeks. They’d laughed and danced together, humming to their own music before he returned to bed, complaining of fatigue. That night was the last time his feet would ever touch a solid surface.
Aaron spooned the rich, flavorful fish soup into his mouth, watching his stepmother closely. She ate as if in a trance, and he knew she went through the motions because it was necessary to sustain her life. Laying aside his spoon, he reached over and picked up a bottle of chilled white wine.
“Regina?” Her head came up quickly. “May I serve you some wine?”
“No, thank you.” Her husky voice had dropped an octave, and he was enthralled with its cloaking pitch. “I don’t drink.” She picked up a goblet with mineral water and took a sip.
Tilting his head at an angle, he narrowed his gaze. “Are you recovering?”
She laughed softly, the sound floating up in the warm, summer night air. “No. I just have no tolerance for anything alcoholic.”
“How does it affect you?”
“Migraine.”
He nodded. “That’s enough reason not to drink.”
They ate in silence, both content to listen to the strumming of a flamenco guitar. After twenty minutes a woman joined the guitarist, her clear, lilting voice lifting in song and sending chills throughout Aaron’s body. He had forgotten why he’d flown from Brazil to Mexico. He wanted the reason to be different from the fact that he would bury his father without having cleared his conscience, to let Oscar Spencer know how deeply he had hurt him. And if he had to sit across from Regina, he didn’t want it to be because she was his stepmother. He didn’t want to be reminded that she had and still belonged to his father—a man he had not forgiven for his deceit, not even in death.
He finished the fish entree, dabbing his lips with a cloth napkin while watching his stepmother. There was a weariness about her that should not have been apparent with someone her age. And he wondered about that. She said his father had been ill for ten years, which meant she probably had been in her early twenties when she and Oscar had become involved with each other.
How could she? he mused. How could she sleep with a man old enough to be her father, possibly her grandfather? What was there about Oscar Spencer that young women could not resist? Had Oscar seduced her, or had Regina seduced him? There were a lot of questions he needed answers to with regard to Oscar and Regina’s marriage, but he decided they could wait.
“Where did my father die?”
She went completely still. It was the first time Aaron had mentioned Oscar, and she had to remind herself the reason she was meeting with Aaron Spencer was because Oscar had died.
“He was at home. He did not want to die in a hospital.”
“You said he did not suffer.”
She shook her head. “No. His doctor made certain he wasn’t in any pain toward the end.” Aaron sat motionless, staring at her, his expression impassive. Her gaze narrowed. “Do you think I would’ve permitted my husband to suffer more than was necessary, Dr. Spencer?”
“Aaron,” he chided in a deep, quiet tone. “I’d prefer that you call me by my name.”
“Then Aaron it is.”
Placing his elbows on the table, he rested his chin on a clenched fist. “Did my father give you any specific instructions on how he wanted to be buried?”
“You didn’t answer my question, Aaron.”
“And you didn’t answer mine, Regina.”
The strain of caring for a sick husband for the past eight years suddenly overwhelmed her, and she wanted to scream at Aaron Spencer that he had no right to question her role as wife and caretaker. Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with deep drafts of nighttime mountain air. All she wanted was for it to be over; she wanted to bury Oscar and leave Mexico—forever.
Opening her eyes, she glared at him. “He’d talked about being cremated. Then said he’d allow me to make that decision.”
Vertical lines appeared between Aaron’s eyes. “Have you considered cremating him?”
“No.”
He nodded, seemingly letting out his breath in relief. “Where do you intend to bury him?”
“I thought I’d leave that up to you.”
“I won’t make that decision. You�
�re his wife.”
“And you’re his son,” she retorted. “You and Oscar share bloodlines. Don’t you have a family plot somewhere?”
Raising his chin, he averted his gaze. “No. My mother was buried in Chicago, her parents in South Carolina and her only sibling in Bahia.”
“How about Oscar’s family?”
“He was an only child. He has a few distant cousins, but he lost contact with them years ago.”
Running a hand through her hair, Regina pushed a wealth of curls off her forehead. “Then we’ll bury him here at El Cielo. He will be closer—to…heaven.”
Her voice quivered as she struggled to regain control of her fragile emotions. She would not permit anyone to see her cry. She would do what she had been doing for years—she would grieve in private.
Rising to her feet, she placed her napkin beside a plate of untouched salad. Aaron also stood up. “I’m sorry, Aaron, but I must retire. Please stay and finish your meal.”
She took a step, but he reached out, his fingers snaking around her wrist and halting her departure. “There’s one thing I need to know,” he said in a dangerously soft voice.
For the second time since she had come face-to-face with Aaron Spencer, Regina registered the fiery brand of his touch. “What is that?”
“Did you love my father when you married him?”
She flinched, then squared her shoulders. He was just like all the rest. Everyone thought she had married Oscar for his fame, or for his money. Her head came around slowly as she tilted her chin to stare up at the man standing inches from her.
“I did not love him when I married him,” she answered as honestly as she could. “But I did fall in love with him before he died. And I made certain to tell him I loved him—every day. Is there anything else you need to know?”
Aaron released her wrist, his gaze boring into hers. “That’s enough, for now.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Spencer,” she said softly, her eyes narrowing.
He opened his mouth to reprimand her about using his professional title, but swallowed back the words. At that moment he felt vulnerable because Regina Spencer disturbed him, disturbed him in ways that aroused old fears and uncertainties. He watched her until she disappeared into the house.
Harvest Moon Page 2