by Ann Major
Divorce was the pits. Julio still thought he could run her life. Worse, every time he got the chance, he tried to hit on her.
What she needed was stability. Why couldn’t he just be a better, more consistent father?
She looked up at Aaron. “I have to get home now to see about Isabela’s roofers and to drive her to the airport.”
“Always errands for your spoiled sister-in-law.”
“She’s in love,” said Vivian, her voice going dreamy. “That’s a very special time in any woman’s life.”
“I hope she doesn’t think she can manipulate him the way she does you.”
“Look, I’ve gotta go—” Vivian hopped off his boat and raced toward her battered Chevy.
“Call me when you change your mind about sex, baby.”
She got in and shut her door.
“A sexy woman like you can’t do without it forever—”
She rolled her window up, hoping she wouldn’t be able to hear him.
What is it about this testosterone-ridden country? She started her engine and drove off, leaving him in fumes of exhaust and plumes of dust.
She had to get her life back on track. Aaron White wasn’t the answer. No man was.
There were some things, like making a life for herself, a real life, that a woman had to do on her own. Too bad it had taken her this long to figure that out.
Tires squealing, Vivian took the final turn on two wheels to her sister-in-law’s sprawling, modern mansion with its shaded terraces and huge, airy rooms. The high walls surrounding the house were painted in bright Gauguin colors and had been a design of Isabela’s world-famous father.
It was almost too late when Vivian saw the mound of orange fur in the middle of the road and hit her brakes. The dog lifted its head. His huge, brown eyes gave her a trusting stare.
Oh dear! “Concho! Idioto! Move!” Honking and swerving, she barely missed him.
The skinny orange dog had turned up in Isabela’s wealthy neighborhood a week ago and instantly won Vivian’s heart. At first Vivian had tried coaxing him out of the street. When that hadn’t worked, she’d sprayed him with the hose every time she caught him, but, dumber than a zero, he still napped in the street every chance he got.
When Vivian parked her battered Chevy in the carport beside her sister-in-law’s luxurious black, gold-trimmed Suburban, Concho trotted up, whining for a handout.
His velvet brown eyes got to her every time. Instantly, she began to dig in her purse for a treat. “All I’ve got is a sugar cookie.”
He jumped, placing dusty paws on her thighs, and barked wildly, wolfing the cookie in a big gooey bite. She got out the sack of dog food she’d bought and filled his bowl in the carport and made sure he had water.
Usually Miguelito came running when he heard her muffler, but Julio was entertaining him today. It was early afternoon and so hot, Vivian unbuttoned the top two buttons of her white cotton blouse and fanned herself with her hand. When she headed through the wrought-iron gates, Concho whined.
She turned and petted him. “Dios. Be good. You know Isabela says no dogs behind the wall.” Concho tilted his head and moaned when she abandoned him. “Gotta go see Isabel—now.”
Concho’s nails scraped concrete as he pranced back and forth. Then he hurled himself at the gate.
Out of the corner of her eye, Vivian saw Miguelito swimming in the pool. His dark face, so like his handsome father’s, lit up when he saw her. The housekeeper sat by the pool watching him.
“Mommy, come swim!”
How he loved her, and he was such a little extrovert. He’d grown up with so many relatives and friends lavishing love on him, he adored everybody.
Wishing she had time to play with him, she waved back. She could spend whole days just being with him. “I have to see Tía,” she called.
Isabela opened the door of her balcony and called down to her. “Did you get the ironing?”
Vivian was nodding when she heard a wolf whistle. Instantly, she grabbed for the open plackets of her blouse. Looking around, she frowned when she spied Julio on the pool house roof with the roofer. Both men were shirtless and grinning at her like a pair of lusty apes.
Annoyed and more than a little mortified by their attentions, Vivian waved at Isabela and ran toward the house.
Racing lightly up the stairs with the ironing, Vivian found the door of Isabela’s room standing open. Isabela was inside, looking gorgeous as usual. Her black hair was done in a sleek chignon and her dark eyes and face were aglow. The slim fit and bright color of her red slacks and matching silk blouse flattered her.
Two suitcases stood open on the bed and on the sumptuous, modern, stuffed chairs. Isabela snapped the locks of one of them and moved a suitcase to the floor so Vivian could set the laundry on the bed.
“I finally found those pictures I took of him in Mexico City,” Isabela said as she rummaged through a second suitcase. “You’ve got to see them.”
Ever since Isabela had come back from taking care of her father in Mexico City after he’d had a heart attack, she’d talked of nothing but Cash McRay.
“Your rich, famous architect from the United States?”
“Who else?”
Cash was the reason she was going to Houston to shop before he came for a visit. Apparently, seven walk-in closets full of couturier clothes weren’t enough to assure success with this romance.
“When do you have to be at the airport?”
“There are the pictures of him,” Isabela said, handing Vivian a thick envelope as she fished in her purse for her plane tickets.
Isabela had been so flattering about him, Vivian didn’t believe any man could be so wonderful. Even after all her pain with Julio, she could still remember how wonderful being in love had felt, and how blind a woman could be when under love’s spell.
Faking a bored yawn, Vivian flipped through the pictures that were of the most arrestingly handsome man she’d ever seen—including Julio.
Cash McRay was tanned and big-framed and lean. His eyes were a deep, dark green, and something about them made her feel sad and a little lost…and way too vulnerable.
Her mouth went dry at the first photograph of him laughing with Isabel. The second was of him shirtless. At the sight of so much brown, sculpted muscle, Vivian’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Y-you look…er…great together.”
She raced through the rest of the snapshots and placed them quickly on Isabela’s bed.
Okay, so McRay was tall. So his body was rugged and rough-hewn. So his dark, brooding face was too like Julio’s. Dios! So what?
So—she was breathless. So, she couldn’t resist a second glance at the shots of him.
She picked the pictures up again. McRay’s slashed cheekbones and that wide sensual mouth were so exquisite, Vivian’s heart picked up its pace.
McRay looked as dark and strong as the stone faces carved on the Mayan ruins. He had an aquiline nose, a high forehead and thick, black brows. His hair was really extraordinary—thick and wavy and as lush and black as glossy sable where the ends grazed his collar.
“He has this thing about his hair,” Isabela said. “He’s very particular about who cuts it or touches it. He loves to have his head rubbed, too.”
Vivian’s flesh tingled at the thought of running her hands through Isabela’s modern-day Samson’s pride and joy.
“Aren’t his eyes gorgeous?” Isabela whispered adoringly.
Every time Vivian glanced at McRay’s dark green eyes, she felt a little breathless.
Carefully, she laid the pictures on Isabela’s bed again. “A man like that would never be faithful.”
“He was faithful to his first wife.”
“See—he’s divorced. And…and nobody’s as good as he looks.”
“Julio hurt you so much. Not everybody’s Julio, you know,” Isabela said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy.
“If McRay was so good to his first wife, why isn’t he with her now?”
> “What’s gotten into you?”
“It’s called divorce.”
“You’re your biggest problem,” Isabela said, but in a gentle tone. “Not my brother, Julio. He didn’t divorce you. You divorced him.”
“For a very good reason.”
“You have this bad attitude. In the beginning you love him madly—then you left him. Are all Americans like you?”
“Your brother cheated on me.”
“He is a man. You were his wife. He respected you. He still thinks of you as his wife.”
“It didn’t feel like respect to me. I know I was at fault too. I—I believed in wild, true love back then, in two people destined for each other.”
“And now?”
“Julio taught me about real life.”
“He still wants you, you know.”
“And every other redhead he sees.”
“Just American redheads who are good in bed.”
“He shouldn’t have told you how I was in bed! Sometimes I think he told every man in Mexico.”
“Oh, querida, why can’t you be happy here? We’re your family. You’re my sister.” Isabela went to her and put her arms around her. “This is your country now. Mi casa es tu casa. My house is your house.”
“But it isn’t my house. And it won’t ever be.”
“It is if only you’d let it be.” Isabela paused as if trying to think of a way to reach her. “You seem different today. Strange. Jumpy.”
“I’m fine.”
Isabela laughed softly. “Did Aaron make a pass at you?”
“I’d rather talk about your sex life—at least you have one. You don’t need new clothes. Just get naked when you’re alone with your Prince Charming,” Vivian muttered in a grumpy tone.
“What a strange thing for you to say.”
“I mean you don’t need to go to Houston. Clothes are to impress other women.”
Isabela tossed her glossy black head. “You Americans, especially you gringas, you think you are so smart. Cash is not like that.”
“What is he like, then?” Vivian leaned forward, curious.
Hesitating, Isabela folded her sheerest negligee and placed it in her suitcase. “He lost his wife and daughter in a fire. His heart is shattered. He’s not divorced. He didn’t cheat.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things.”
A lump formed in Vivian’s throat and suddenly it was difficult to swallow. In a flash Vivian remembered the car accident that had devastated her. Her own parents, who’d been so in love and so much fun…her baby brother…everything she’d cherished gone in an instant.
Well-meaning relatives hadn’t let her go to the funeral. The house had been filled with people who’d pampered her and made a fuss over her, but none of them had told her what was going to happen to her. There’d been some unspoken tension surrounding her future, for she was to live with her father’s brother, Morton, and nobody thought he should have her except Vivian’s mother and father, who were dead.
With an effort Vivian managed to push aside the scary memories of the loss she’d felt.
Against her better judgment, she frowned and lifted the photographs of the man Isabela was so set on catching, to review them a third time. As she sifted through them again, one by one, she felt sad for him, and, oh, how she wished she didn’t. Not only did she see his pain, she felt it, lived it—and she became so charged by it, she had to blink her eyes because they filled with swift, hot tears.
How could she feel so connected to a total stranger? How could a few pictures of a man she’d never met make her feel so shaky and uncertain?
Maybe because she knew what it was to lose everything.
Slamming her last bag shut, Isabela announced she was packed and they’d better run if they were going to get to the airport on time. She took the stack of pictures from Vivian, removed one and stuck it in her purse, placing the rest in a drawer in her bedside table.
“Okay, let’s go!” Isabela said as she glanced around the room. She rang a bell, and two male servants came to carry her luggage.
At the airport, Vivian hired porters and raced after Isabela when she ran inside the concourse. After Isabela had checked in and her bags had been searched and loaded on a conveyor belt, they hugged and said goodbye.
“Just call me on my cell when you get back and I’ll be here in ten minutes,” Vivian said.
“Promise?” Isabela kissed her cheek.
“Te prometo.”
They hugged again and waved and then did it all over again. Vivian watched her until she disappeared around a corner.
As Vivian walked back out of the airport to the SUV, she eyed the travel posters on the walls. If only she could just fly away as freely as Isabela and start a new life somewhere else—anywhere else.
She’d been so excited seven years ago when she’d come down here on an archaeological dig with her college class. She’d been eighteen and a virgin.
A week ago she’d had her twenty-fifth birthday.
She stepped out into the blazing, tropical sun and put her sunglasses on. The years would pass inexorably. If she didn’t make some changes in her life and seize control, she would be here forever.
Three
Vivian took the stairs two at time and flung Isabela’s bedroom door open. For a moment she thought the bedroom was empty. Then she saw eight suitcases lined up like soldiers beside the bed. The ninth lay open in the middle of the bed, new clothes spilling out of it.
But no Isabela.
Then Vivian heard somebody humming, and Isabela waltzed out of her closet in a sexy, black silk slip and bra that showed off her lush breasts and curvy hips. Ignoring Vivian, she went to her mirror and whirled playfully.
“Isabela—”
“Vivi!” Isabela lifted her eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Well…finally—I called and called you to come get me from the airport.” Her black eyes flashed.
Vivian swallowed. “I—I know. The battery of my cell phone went dead. I was at the airport on time, though.”
“When I couldn’t reach you to tell you I was coming home on an earlier flight, I felt like a peon…standing on the curb, felt like an idiota…with all my suitcases. I called you at least ten more times.”
“I couldn’t find the cord to charge my cell phone. I—”
“And Eusebio?”
“Sick.”
“If I find out he’s home drunk again, I’m going to fire him this time.”
Vivian slid her sunglasses and keys into her purse and rushed to her sister-in-law. “Please don’t, and I promise…it won’t ever happen again.”
Vivian steepled her fingers together and lowered her head in an attitude of repentance. “I’m the most terrible sister-in-law in the whole world.”
Isabela smiled at her gently. “I suppose anybody’s battery could go dead…especially yours, since we call you so much.”
“I missed you calling me,” Vivian whispered.
Isabela wrapped her arms around her and they hugged.
A few seconds later she let her go. “I wish I had time to stay mad at you, but Cash is coming! And I don’t know what to wear.”
“I told you before—nothing.”
“Stop with the jokes.” Putting her hands on her small waist, Isabela smiled at her dazzling reflection and then at Vivian with obvious pride in her hourglass figure and cameo-perfect face.
Vivian flipped a red lock of hair out of her eyes and tried to act nonchalant. “When will Prince Charming arrive?”
“He is Prince Charming. My very own Prince Charming.”
“I’ve never seen you like this. You’re so in love.” Warily Vivian eyed the drawer where Isabela had stashed her photographs of Cash. Vivian wasn’t about to admit she’d snuck into Isabela’s room several times to moon over those dumb pictures, and every time, she’d gotten that same vulnerable feeling in the pit of her stomach followed by a weird sense of connection to him.
“He’s coming tonight.”
&n
bsp; “What?”
Isabela whirled again. Her black eyes danced. “So, how do I look? I didn’t eat a single french fry or chip in Houston.”
“You know perfectly well how gorgeous you are. You appear transformed by love.” Vivian’s voice was dry.
Isabela arched a brow. “Transformed? Really?”
For the first time ever, Vivian felt a little jealous, not of Isabela’s beauty but of her joyous self-confidence. Isabela was like a peacock, while Vivian had always been shy about her body and worn clothes that camouflaged her curves.
“Cash called me on my cell when I was in Houston….” Isabela rattled on about the phone call, repeating everything he’d said. “He wants to see the beach house. You see, he’s agreed to help me repair it and enlarge it. He doesn’t know that I intend to turn it into our very own paradise.”
“Where you’ll both live happily ever after?”
“If tonight goes well—” Isabela paused “—we’ll drive out there tomorrow.”
The beach house was located on a sugary strip of beach in the nearby fishing village and port of Progreso, the same town where Aaron kept his boat. The house had suffered extensive damage during a recent hurricane. Thus, it was now a magnificent ruin with all its windows and doors boarded.
“We can swim and enjoy the grounds and picnic. He can sketch,” Isabela said.
Vivian was forming a romantic picture of them there when Miguelito squealed beneath them in the walled yard. Rushing to the glass door that opened onto a balcony, she stared down at her son. He was walking hand in hand with Julio and Tammy toward the pool, smiling up at them lovingly, the way he did at everybody…smiling as if he were their little boy.
Vivian wanted him to love everybody. Still, she pressed her fingertips to the glass and emitted a little sigh.
Divorce—would it ever stop hurting? She still felt guilty about leaving Julio, about them not being a family. She’d been too young to marry, not that she regretted Miguelito.
Julio was carrying a yellow beach ball. Golden-skinned Tammy, who was barely eighteen, looked sleek and sexy in a white thong bikini.