Hidden Agenda

by Rochelle Alers

  Matt waited until Alma left, closing the door behind her, before he extended his arms. A wide grin displayed his straight, white teeth. “We did it,” he said softly.

  “Thank you, Matt.”

  He tightened his hold on her slender body. “You should accept the accolades. You were perfect.”

  What Eve didn’t know was that she was going to make his last mission a lot easier than he had expected.

  “I’ll see you for breakfast,” he continued. “After that we’ll go shopping.”

  She yawned delicately, placing a hand over her mouth. “Please excuse me. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  “You’re excused,” Matt countered, noticing her drooping eyelids. “You’re on a different time zone, and with the change in altitude you probably need as much sleep as you can get.” He released her. “Do you need help unpacking?”

  Eve yawned again. “No, thanks.” Tilting her chin, she stared up at Matt peering intently down at her. His nearness made her uneasy, made her senses spin, as a rush of heat burned her cheeks.

  An emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time and did not want to feel swept through her. She had to fight the rush of sensations that made her want to remain in Matt’s arms as he offered his protection and strength.

  Her delicate jaw tightened. “Good night, Matt.” There was no mistaking the underlying coldness in her voice. She had just dismissed him.

  The dismissal was apparent to Matt. His body tensed, then relaxed. She’s exhausted, he thought, noting the slight puffiness under her eyes. And he had no doubt that the strain of playing his intended was also stressful.

  His brilliant jade and gold gaze slowly caressed her face. “Good night.” Turning on his heel, he walked out of the room.

  Eve sank down onto the mahogany four-poster bed at the same time the door closed behind Matt’s departing figure. Staring up at the intricately crocheted lace canopy, she counted the pounding beats of her heart.

  She and Matt had fooled Alma and Carlos, but she did not want to think about her reaction to the man who pretended to love her enough to offer marriage; and she did not want to remember the alien feelings she had locked away forever.

  A smile eased her strained expression. The curtain had come down on the first scene of the first act.

  Matt lay sprawled on the sofa in the darkened living room, smoking and staring out at the lights blinking over the city. El Moro had been built close enough to the center of the city so that the monument El Angel was clearly visible in the center of Paseo de la Reforma. The impressive monument had been dedicated in 1910, rising above the Paris-styled avenue and celebrating Mexico’s centennial of independence from Spain.

  Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he smiled. A Spanish monument in the center of a French-styled avenue. Like the towering luxury hotels and modern office buildings, the teeming city life, the slower, surrounding provincial village activity, and the mixture of its people, Mexico City was diversified and exciting.

  He dropped the cigar in an ashtray on the floor and drew in a deep breath. Within a month he would be leaving it, with Eve Blackwell-Arroyo.

  Finding her son, if he actually was still in Mexico, would be easier than solving a child’s riddle compared to what he had to go through for Harry and his people.

  Grimacing, he wondered how his Mexican grandparents and his other cousins would react if they learned of his clandestine operations. He had earned a great deal of money from his covert missions, and even after he’d invested a small fortune into the once nearly bankrupt hotel and purchased the land in New Mexico, he still had enough to invest in other ventures.

  Each mission had been his last…until the next time. However, the risks and the lure of excitement had proven too much for him to decide to retire and take over running the horse farm. Now, operating openly in Mexico went beyond daring. It had become a deliberate flirtation with exposure and death.

  His conversation with Harry washed over him: “Don’t worry, Blackwell, I’ll send her back just like she arrived—safe and beautiful. I suppose we can call it even after this one is over?”

  “I don’t think so, Sterling. Get my niece’s son back and I’ll owe you. I’ll make the arrangements for their departure. Adios, amigo, and buena suerte.”

  “Good-bye and good luck to you, too,” he’d whispered to the dial tone.

  He needed more than luck. Eve’s ex-husband was a Delgado-Quintero, and that meant he was a member of one of the most influential families in the country. It was no wonder Eve couldn’t get the American or Mexican governments to cooperate with her. Not even her uncle’s influence reached that far.

  Closing his eyes, he planned what needed to be done to accomplish his missions—both of them. Somewhere between the time when most of the lights dimmed over the city and when the sky brightened beyond the mountains in the distance, Matt slept. His thoughts were untroubled. He had mapped out everything necessary to give Harry and Eve what they wanted. Not once did he ever think of what he wanted.

  Whenever he accepted an assignment from Harry Blackwell he never thought of himself. To do so would make him subjective and vulnerable. Becoming too involved meant he could lose his life, and he had lived on the fringes too many times to brazenly or openly tempt fate. He wasn’t ready to die—not yet.

  Chapter 6

  Eve stirred on the bed and shifted her prone position as ribbons of sunlight seeped through the shuttered windows, threading their way across her neck, cheek, and forehead. The heat penetrated her body through layers of silk, bringing with it a wave of moisture.

  Her lips parted as she struggled to open her eyes. Another surge of heat and an oppressive weight held her captive, not permitting her to move or escape.

  “No,” she groaned, struggling to free herself from whatever was holding her prisoner.

  “It’s all right,” crooned a soft, masculine voice.

  Eve came awake immediately, her senses stimulated by the warmth of the hard male body, the subtle yet sensual fragrance of aftershave, and the firm grip of Matt’s hands on her shoulders.

  Rolling over onto her back and peering up at him, she frowned, discerning the brightness of the morning sun through the shutters.

  “What time is it?” Her voice was low and husky from sleep.

  “It’s nearly eleven,” he replied.

  She tried scrambling from the bed, but he tightened his hold on her arm. “Why did you let me sleep so late?”

  “You needed the sleep.” Shifting her effortlessly, Matt pulled her across his lap, cradling her cheek to his shoulder. “I can assure you that once we share a bed you won’t have to worry about oversleeping,” he teased.

  Her head came up quickly and her fathomless dark eyes widened in surprise. Then, his mocking statement forgotten, Eve stared numbly at him. If it hadn’t been for his startling, hazel-colored eyes and the drawling Southwestern cadence in his speech she would not have recognized him.

  His hair had been cut so that thick, black strands lay close to his scalp, barely grazing his forehead. The thick mustache was also gone, revealing a strong, sensual mouth. His top lip was firm, while the lower was fuller, and drooped with enough petulance to make it hypnotically attractive.

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked, his lids lowering slowly over his brilliant eyes.

  Eve lowered her chin, smiling. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Matt ran a hand over his head. “I thought I’d affect a different look for our official engagement photo session.”

  Her head snapped up again. “What photo session?”

  “The photograph we’ll send to all of the daily and weekly newspapers announcing our upcoming marriage,” he explained, gently easing her off his lap. He stood up, walked over to the windows, and opened the shutters.

  Matt didn’t have to turn around to see Eve’s stunned expression. She still had not come to terms with their upcoming nuptials. He didn’t know why, but her reluctance to marry annoyed
him. Did she see him as a monster? Or—did she see him as beneath her? Would she have preferred him to come with foreign-service credentials, like her ex-husband?

  Turning slowly, he noted her slightly tilted chin and her dark eyes filled with contempt and another emotion he couldn’t identify. His own eyes narrowed as a realization shook him to his very center. Eve Blackwell was spoiled and used to giving orders, not taking them.

  The boarding school she claimed was a prison without bars was one of the most exclusive in the northeast. And he knew enough about the private Harry Blackwell to glean the prominence of the Blackwells of Virginia and Connecticut.

  The Sterlings of Texas may not have had the progeny of the Blackwells, with their ties to politics and the foreign service, but on the other hand Matt’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had made names for themselves throughout the States with their knowledge of animal husbandry. His father, Clayton, had bred a milk cow that was resistant to most bovine diseases while yielding lean, tender beef.

  His anger spiraled. Eve Blackwell reminded him of another woman he once thought himself in love with and had offered marriage. She’d laughed in his face, saying she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life on a farm wearing flannel instead of silk and smelling of fertilizer rather than imported perfume. It was the last time he had asked a woman to share his life—until now—even if it was only temporary.

  His sensual mouth, no longer hidden under a mustache, tightened. “Now that you’re up, get dressed and be ready to leave within the hour,” he ordered. “We have a lot of things to do today.”

  Eve frowned, confused. She stared at Matt as he stalked out of her bedroom, slamming the door behind him. What was wrong with him? What had she done or said to make him growl at her? And he had ordered, not asked, that she get dressed.

  Their so-called marriage was in trouble even before they exchanged vows. If Mateo Arroyo thought she was his chattel, then he was seriously mistaken. She had no intention of being ordered about; he would find out quickly, very quickly, how difficult his life would become.

  Matt’s hand halted filling a cup with strong Mexican coffee the moment he spied Eve approaching the table where he sat on the loggia with Alma. Without warning, his pulse quickened and his gaze narrowed. Seeing Eve Blackwell in the full light of day was astounding, and he was momentarily paralyzed as well as speechless. The startling effect of her dark beauty dazzled him once he finally rose to his feet.

  All of the gold in his eyes vanished, leaving them a deep verdant green. He smiled his approval. The wait was worth it.

  Eve was fully aware of the impact she had made on Matt. She’d washed her short hair, applied a styling gel and brushed the naturally curly strands off her forehead, molding them to her scalp and showing off the delicate bones that made up her exquisite face. Her subtly applied makeup, white linen, short sleeve blouse and tailored black linen slacks, her imported lizard-skin loafers and matching narrow belt around her slim waist, were all classic and elegant.

  Grasping her hands, he pulled her closer and pressed a kiss at the side of her mouth. “You look beautiful,” he said softly, but not softly enough. Alma had overheard the caressing compliment.

  Eve smiled, patting his lean, clean shaven jaw. “Thank you, Darling.” She permitted him to seat her. “Good morning, Alma.”

  Alma glanced down at the watch on her wrist. “Buenas tardes. Cómo está?”

  “Muy bien, gracias,” Eve replied quickly.

  “Bueno,” Matt complimented, pleased that Eve hadn’t hesitated to reply to Alma’s greeting in Spanish. “I don’t mean to rush you, Preciosa, but we must leave as soon as possible. I’d like us to do some shopping before the siesta.”

  Eve noted the thin gold watch on her own wrist. “What time is siesta?”

  “Usually two to four.”

  “Do I have time for coffee?”

  Matt hesitated and Alma smiled at him. “Lighten up, Matthew, and let her eat something, or else she’s going to faint in this heat.”

  “She’s not pregnant,” he countered, glaring at his cousin before his gaze dropped to her rounded belly.

  “You don’t have to be pregnant to faint, Matthew,” Alma shot back. “In case you’ve forgotten, Eve’s not used to this altitude, or our polluted air. Here, Eve,” she persisted, pushing a plate full of freshly baked rolls across the table. “Eat.”

  Matt clenched his teeth. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Eve to eat. He’d delayed having his own breakfast because he wanted to share the meal with her. He’d planned to take her back to the hotel and introduce her to a variety of breakfast and lunch foods before they visited the upscale boutiques in the Zona Rosa.

  He hadn’t known until he’d watched her sleep earlier that morning that he wanted to spend as much time as he possibly could with her. There was something silent, mysterious, and almost hypnotic that drew him to her, and he wanted to find out what that something was.

  Reaching into the pocket of a pale gray linen jacket on the back of his chair, Matt withdrew a flip-open cellular phone. He punched in several numbers, spoke rapid Spanish, then pressed a button, terminating the call. His conversation lasted less than ten seconds.

  Alma’s embarrassment was apparent. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I had no idea you’d made plans to eat with Eve,” she apologized.

  Matt’s fiery gaze was fixed on Eve’s face. “How soon you forget, Alma,” he stated quietly. “Sterling men always take care of what belongs to them.”

  This time Eve did not misinterpret Matt’s statement. He didn’t see her as chattel, but as someone he had promised to protect, and that was what she’d sought all of her life—to feel safe.

  Her father had taken care of all her material needs, withholding what she wanted most—nurturing protectiveness. She had wanted him to hold her—when she woke up crying from her nightmares, when she fell and skinned her knees, when the boy she worshipped from a far treated her as if she had a contagious disease, and most of all when Alex openly flaunted his affairs in her face. She’d wanted Floyd Blackwell to put his arms around her and tell her that everything would be all right, and that he would never let anything harm his baby girl.

  But she was no longer a little girl. She was a thirty-four year old woman who had her own child. A child she’d carried to term, nurtured and loved. A child who was wrested away from her, and hidden where she couldn’t find him.

  Recalling his statement, Eve smiled at Matt. Sterling men always take care of what belongs to them. Even though they weren’t married, she knew he would take care of her; he would protect her and return her son to her.

  “We’ll have the rest of our lives to breakfast together, Matt.”

  He stared at her, complete surprise freezing his features. He knew her words were spoken for Alma’s benefit, but for him there was a hidden meaning. Just for a brief moment he’d wanted to believe her. This beautiful, sensual woman with whom he would exchange vows within a month made him forget that they were only playing a game. A game where, he prayed, there would be only winners.

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  Alma pushed back her chair, rising to her feet. “I’ll tell Mariana to prepare something.”

  Matt rose to acknowledge his cousin’s departure, his gaze never leaving Eve’s face.

  It was apparent that Eve Blackwell was a much more accomplished actress than she realized. More adept than he’d ever been or would be.

  The labels on Eve’s new wardrobe equaled the ones which once hung in her closet in Washington, D.C. As a diplomat’s wife she’d been expected to make the rounds of the endless parties in the capitol city.

  The elegant little shops in the trendy Zona Rosa carried creations by Von Furstenberg, Givenchy, Ungaro, Missoni and Chloé, and a larger shop yielded leather treasures of Gucci, Bally, and Cole-Hann.

  She tried on dresses, suits, and accessories, giving her approval and not permitting herself to succumb to the excitement of being graced with exq
uisite, eyecatching fashions many women dream about.

  Matt escorted her into a jewelry store, unaware that her monosyllabic responses were due to heat exhaustion. Her body hadn’t adjusted to Mexico City’s unusually high spring temperatures.

  “What kind of ring do you want?” he questioned, grasping her hand and helping her sit on a delicate chair in a corner of the shop.

  She tried smiling. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald. It’s your call.”

  She stared at him, marvelling at how he still appeared alert and unruffled by the extreme heat. His white cotton shirt was crisp and wrinkle free. He hadn’t removed his jacket in any of the shops or made an attempt to loosen his tie.

  All of the upscale shops were air-conditioned, but once they stepped outside onto the overpopulated streets with the smog and thermal inversion, she experienced difficulty breathing normally.

  Matt took a chair beside her and she placed a hand on his arm. “You make the selection.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You trust me?”

  Her smile was spontaneous for the first time in more than two hours. “Of course.”

  He splayed one hand possessively at the small of her back while gesturing for a salesperson. Eve waited as the salesman measured her finger, listening as Matt described his preferences. He favored rubies set in yellow gold, and she lost count of the number of rings slipped on and off her finger.

  They listened to the salesman extolling the superior quality of a two-carat oval ruby surrounded by a double row of channel-set diamonds. She spread her outstretched fingers under a lamp on the antique table, admiring the flawless quality of the blood-red stone.

  Matt cradled her fingers in his larger hand. “I’ll take it.”

  Her gaze lingered on his face. “You like the color red.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  He leaned closer, his warm breath sweeping over her ear. “Only on you. It complements your beauty.” Their gazes met and held. The rich, vibrant color emphasized the gold undertones in Eve’s flawless skin.