Jose let his hands slowly loosen and then fall away from her arms. “Your people… you need to call home, and let them know you’re all right.”
“Okay… but my mother doesn’t care. She said I was dead to her.”
He watched new tears rise in her eyes, and something he couldn’t understand drew his fingertips to wipe them away from her pretty, flushed cheeks as they fell. “Call her anyway,” he said in a gentle voice. “I have to call my mom, too.”
She nodded, adjusting the strap on her halter top, suddenly feeling exposed. It had to be the insane terror that had released butterflies in her stomach. She lifted her chin; no matter what her mother had said, she was no tramp. But those intense gentle, quiet brown eyes and strong grip made it hard to breathe. She studied the line of his solid jaw and then let her gaze travel over broad shoulders, and lean, sinewy arms that had held the bike steady to save her.
“You came back for me. Bless you with all the gifts of heaven.”
“I couldn’t leave you out there like that without trying… not after I saw what they could do.”
She stared up at him and swallowed hard. “You could have been killed.”
He gave her a half smile. “But I wasn’t and neither were you.”
She touched a finger to his lips. “Thank you. Say no more. Let me just work this out in my head for a minute.”
He didn’t move or blink while he watched her process it all. She was a still life, something his hands ached to immortalize in wet paint, charcoal, pencil, any medium that would hold her. There was a level of serene acceptance beneath her stricken state. In the moonlight, even with smeared makeup and wild hair, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever been this close to. It was reflex that sent his hand to stroke her hair and pull her into a hug. Why he was feeling like this at a time like this was way past crazy.
But the sensation of her silky hair under his palm and the way her breaths entered and exited her mouth to pour warm heat over his chest was beyond comprehension. The urge to take her mouth defied all logic, just as what they’d experienced was surreal. Rather than make her more nervous than she already had to be, he simply hugged her and nuzzled the crown of her hair.
“You’ll be safe here tonight. You can call home, get a shower and some hot tea, something to help you chill out… and some rest. My grandfather has some strange ways, but he’s a decent old man. Real cool like that.”
She nodded and pulled away from the embrace to stare up at him. “You’ll stay in the house with me, though… I mean… you won’t be too far away?”
“Yeah,” he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. She wanted him near? Thought of him like he was some kinda protection or something—a hero? Whoa.
Needing to move or else kiss her, he got off the bike and helped her down. For some reason, she snuggled in close to him, and for some reason, his arm threaded around her waist. They entered the house practically in tandem. His grandfather’s Navajo wife looked up, smiled, and brought a pile of towels and clothing forward. She petted the young woman’s face and turned to Jose for an introduction. It was only then that he realized he didn’t even know her name.
“Uh, we just met, and—”
“I’m Juanita,” the young woman beside him said shyly.
“Oh yeah, I’m Jose,” he said to the woman he’d saved, and then offered his grandfather’s wife an apology with his eyes.
The older woman said nothing, just simply handed off the pile of towels and clothing to Juanita, then kissed them both, held their faces for a moment, and left the house to go wait on the porch.
Jose’s grandfather nodded toward him. “My wife will gather with the women to make strong medicine to give to you both, but especially her, the one with the eyes of the night.”
Jose stood very, very still. He knew a little something, as memory served him, about old shaman ways—none of which made him feel comfortable in the least. If an all-female tribal night conclave was being convened to make serious medicine before dawn, then the men would be in a heavy spiritual ritual within a sweat lodge. He and his grandfather shared a knowing glance.
“Do not worry,” his grandfather said, setting his jaw hard as he fetched his gray felt hat with the eagle feather down from the wall. “You passed the first test—she is not dead; you also live unmarked by the beasts. This house cannot be entered by the shadows. Strong medicine keeps the path clear and this home untouched.” He strode toward the door, unfazed. “Besides, the man with a good heart who played the guitar taught you how to shoot a rifle. He is a good teacher. There is a rifle with special shells on the mantel.”
Jose nodded. Jack Rider had definitely taught him how to shoot, how to ride, and how to play a little guitar. The reference to his old mentor’s presence at the house brought back good memories. But, still, Jose wished his grandfather had decided to stick close to home. He wasn’t no punk, but damn. They were gonna leave him and Juanita there all by themselves? What if something else wack jumped off? Learning how to shoot a rifle years ago, with a wild-man guitar player while drinking Jack Daniel’s and hanging out on bikes, was not exactly commando training!
Jose glimpsed the mantel, and then Juanita. She stood stock-still, like a paralyzed deer caught in the gun-barrel sight of a hunter. Her knuckles were losing color as she clutched the pile of fabrics to her chest. Girlfriend looked like she was about to pass out, and he couldn’t blame her.
“Uh, listen… why don’t you call your mom, tell her you’re okay? I’ll call mine. Then you can get a shower and I’ll root around in the fridge to see what’s to eat.”
“You know how to shoot that gun?” Her gaze ricocheted from him to the mantel and back.
“Yeah, I’m okay at it.”
She shook her head in a slow, frightened daze. “I can’t go into the bathroom alone… it has a window, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Uh-uh! No,” she whispered, panic strangling her voice. “Please don’t leave me alone in any room at any time.”
“But what if you have to pee?” he said, trying not to smile.
“So!” She began walking in a tight circle. “You can bring the gun in there, stand by the window, keep your back to me, and then when I tell you I’m decent, you can turn around.”
“The bathroom ain’t but so big, ‘Nita.” He chuckled and raked his fingers through his hair.
She looked up at him, a plea in her eyes. “What did you call me?”
“‘Nita. Why?”
She glanced away, her face flushed. “That’s an old nickname. Only people who know me real well ever call me that.”
He shrugged, new tension threading through him as he stared at her beautiful, stricken face. “Well, sorta makes sense that we get real cool real fast, if we’re gonna listen to each other pee, don’t you think?”
She just stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing. The sound of her voice ran through him and tightened the tense muscles in his spine.
“Good to see you finally relaxing.” He looked down at his grimy, gook-splattered clothes. “I’ll ransack the fridge after I wash up, on second thought.”
“You’re still gonna go in the bathroom with me, with the gun, right?” Her eyes searched his face for a commitment.
“Yeah. No problem,” he said, feeling an odd mixture of nervousness and excitement. This woman didn’t know him from Adam, yet trusted him not to be some weirdo. She was gonna allow him to guard her, naked in a shower, and not try to violate her. Deep. Jose went to the mantel and turned to face her. He watched her shoulders drop an inch in visible relief.
Chapter Three
The responsibility weighed on him heavily in several ways as he ushered Juanita to the bathroom. Part of him stood taller, felt a sense of quiet, resounding pride that a woman as beautiful as her actually thought of him as some sort of neighborhood knight. Him? A kid from the barrios without any real money beyond chump change to his name? But every glance she offered was filled with awe
and respect like he’d never been given by any female eyes. Yet another part of him was extremely worried. What if his grandfather had been wrong and those things that attacked them came back… what if he wasn’t able to fend them off this time? What if they hurt her in some way? That outcome was totally unacceptable now, especially when she’d scooted into the bathroom behind him and shut the door, seeking a lock.
“My grandparents don’t believe in locks in the house,” Jose said, turning his back to Juanita.
Her eyes darted between him, the window, the door, and the shower. The man hadn’t lied; the bathroom was so small that both of them could barely turn around within it, but every horror movie she’d ever seen converged in her rapid pulse.
“Check the shower,” she said, whispering. “Please.”
Jose flung the curtain back with bravado, brandishing the weapon, using the rifle barrel to hold back the white plastic. “It’s cool.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “Good.”
Perhaps it was the expression of relief on her face or the way the statement had come out on a breathy rush, but it made him need to turn around to pull himself together.
“I’ll, uh, just stay like this till you tell me it’s cool. Okay?”
Juanita nodded and opened her eyes. The entire experience felt like a crazy, jumbled-up dream. A part of her was scared to death, horrified by what she’d seen. Another part of her felt like she was embarking upon the greatest adventure of her life… and the man who had saved her was the most handsome, sexy hunk she’d ever been this close to.
Tingles claimed her belly as she hunted through the medicine cabinet looking for mouthwash and spied small Dixie cups. There was baby lotion and Jergens lotion. She tried to forestall getting undressed as long as possible. But she knew in her soul that this barrio prince who stood like a soldier, back erect, gorgeous eyes alert to the darkness, would not turn around or fail her by breaking his honor.
Little by little, she eased her jeans down and then quickly turned on the water. “Don’t listen. This is so embarrassing.”
“I’ll just sing,” he said, laughing, and began humming a heavy rap tune. When she flushed, he laughed. “You’re gonna have to holla and stomp your feet to drown me out when I go, girl. That wasn’t nothing but a princess tinkle.”
She laughed as she washed her hands. “You so crazy.”
“Like none of what we’re dealing with tonight is crazy?”
“It is crazy,” she said, stripping off her clothing, by shy degrees. “But I’m not scared in here with you. And I’m sorta glad we met, anyway.”
“You know, most guys meet a fine woman in a club, down on Venice Beach, walking down the street… but no. I have to meet the finest babe I’ve ever seen while on a motorcycle tear down a demon-filled street. That’s the type of year I’ve been having. Truth be told, that’s the kind of life I’ve been having. So, my bad if I wish I had met you under different circumstances… but I am glad we hooked up.”
Juanita turned on the water and slipped under the spray without a word. He’d said she was the finest woman he’d ever met. Wow. A guy like him? He’d also said, in so many words, that he was unattached, since it was hard to meet people and he was having a bad year. Plus had said she princess-tinkled. She smiled as the warm water covered her and she doused her hair in it, finding a bar of Ivory soap on the rack. Her papi used to say that to her when she was a little girl… “go make a princess tinkle.” She wanted to laugh and cry both at the same time.
“Your people are really nice, Jose. Thank you for sharing them with me for the night, and for taking me in… and for doubling back to pick me up on your bike. My family isn’t as cool as yours.”
“Yeah, well, you ain’t never met my mom. She’s a trip,” he said, watching the window intently. The scent of Ivory soap was embedded in his nose, creating a memory template that he’d never forget. Wet woman splashing behind a thin curtain… naked. Trust was as thick between them as the growing steam and the heavy throb that had begun to cause a dull ache in his groin. Co-dependency—her dependent on him for safety, him dependent on her for hope, for balm to his wounded male pride… to make losing his mural, his last-ditch dream, worth it all, with both of them wrapped in the faith that they weren’t crazy. They’d both seen it, had tribal elders confirm it.
“My mom is a trip, too… that’s why I was out tonight,” she said so quietly and in such a sad voice that he was tempted to turn around but didn’t.
“Moms can be like that,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the response came out on a gentle rush of breath.
“You have any brothers and sisters?” She peered around the curtain and drew his attention away from his neutral post.
“No,” he said slowly, unable to keep from looking at her squeaky-clean face and how the water ran down her wet hair, down her throat, and then slid away behind the semi-sheer curtain that barely concealed her wet cinnamon-brown skin. “Long story. But it’s just me and her.”
“Oh,” she said, ducking back into the water behind the curtain.
Conflict tore at him. He wanted to keep staring at her and yet also needed to turn around to keep her from seeing the state she’d put him in.
“You and your mom had an argument?” He needed to talk, keep things moving in the bathroom. If it got too quiet, she might be able to hear him breathing through his mouth.
“I wanted to go out with friends,” she said in a tight murmur, just above the spray. “But she slapped me and called me a whore—and I’ve never even been with a man. All I do is go to work, watch my little brother, clean up the house after him and Juan, my older brother, who she thinks walks on water, no matter what he does. Cook, clean, ‘do this, Juanita,’ ‘do that, Juanita,’ that’s all I ever hear, ya know? I wanted to go to college one day but wound up working in a drugstore ringing a register, just to help Momma out. So, I just got fed up when she slapped me for wearing red and makeup, and I ran away. But I didn’t ever think…”
“Hey, I hear you. Noticed you, like me, weren’t in a hurry to make the call home. Maybe when we get outta here, huh?” he said, trying to mentally catalog everything this beauty had told him in one rush.
She, that fine babe, was a virgin—he’d heard that first. Then, his mind processed the rest: She didn’t have a man. Had dreams that had been crushed by duty—he could relate—which meant that she had a good heart, a tender spirit, cared for people, and put family first. She didn’t have a man? Shee-it. Problem solved.
“What were you doing out there?” she asked quietly, turning off the shower.
Jose let out a long breath. “I was almost dog meat,” he replied, leaning against the wall with a thud as the grim reality finally hit him. “I was up on the scaffolding of the building that the city gave me a contract to paint a mural on. Up there, at night, by myself, studying the bricks and where to lay down the design—then cops pull up, hassle me, make me come down. In a weird way, they probably saved my life.”
He heard the curtain yank back and steeled himself against the shudder of desire that ran down his spine.
“Ohmigod, you were out there by yourself, all alone, doing the mural, and could have been killed? You’re an artist? Like a real artist, and went out there at night?”
The tone of her voice, the excited rush, and the awe that echoed in the bathroom made the muscle in his jaw pulse. No woman had ever listened to what he had to say with bated breath. No one had ever heard his tales of victory after near death like he was some street warrior returned from battle—he’d never had anything like the other hombres had to tell an adoring feminine crowd. But right now he had Juanita’s full attention focused on him, her wet movements beneath a towel driving him to the brink of insanity; then the sweet smell of lotion and the sound of it being applied almost made him groan out loud.
“Yeah… I can draw,” was all he said.
“But you were out there by yourself, Jose. Ohmigod!”
“Yeah. But it was cool.�
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“Whew,” she whispered. “Okay, you can turn around now.”
He shook his head no. “Uh… why don’t you turn around so I can jump in there?”
“All right. I’m not looking.”
She heard him drag in a deep breath and begin taking off his clothes. His sneakers fell to the floor in heavy thuds, and the vibrations made her belly quiver. This fine man was getting naked behind her back. This awesome guy had just stripped to the raw—this same man who had saved her life. He was an artist, single and unattached. The city thought enough of his work to give him a contract, at his age, so he had to be ba-a-ad. He was a man going places and a man unafraid. He made her feel safe and have hope and faith and something she dared not name. Just hearing him turn on the water and jump into the shower made her mouth go dry.
She peeped over her shoulder. “Want me to hold onto the gun?”
“It’s a rifle,” he said, chuckling, “but if it’ll make you feel better, just keep the barrel pointed away from me, aw’ight?”
She laughed and didn’t go near the weapon that rested on the floor. “That’s okay,” she said, stealing glances at his moving form behind the plastic curtain. Her body was responding against her will. The humid, foggy enclosure reminded her so much of the best parts of her crazy dreams… angry black smoke giving way to a thick rain forest-like mist… primordial steam, the sound of a waterfall. She was a water sign, Cancer, and the element was a part of her. That had to be it.
“So you hungry?” he asked over the din of the spray.
She towel-dried her hair harder, trying to wrest her thoughts back to appropriate topics. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Cool. After I get out, we can go see if there’s anything in the fridge.”
By the time the water stopped, her heart was thudding in mild arrhythmia. When he leaned out of the curtain to grab a towel, rivulets of water running down his body, she didn’t even bother to turn away. Toffee-hued bronze-tan skin cut through the steamy haze. Pure masculine scent mixed with the water and made her lean against the sink to stare. His chest was carved into two solid blocks of hard muscle, and as her gaze discreetly slid down his torso she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from going hang-jawed.
Love At First Bite Page 10