Hidden Agenda

by Rochelle Alers

  “Will it bother you if I wear this down to the lobby, Matt?” she questioned sweetly, lifting the hem of the robe off the carpeted floor.

  His face darkened in annoyance. “You’ll have something to wear.”

  “Thank you, my darling.” The words dripped from her tongue like heated honey.

  Matt’s gaze swept over her smiling mouth, and he knew he couldn’t stay angry with her. Eve Blackwell challenged and pushed him to limits he’d never permitted other women, yet he still wanted her.

  Rising to his feet, he pulled her up hard against his body, startling her with the speed with which he moved. Lowering his head, his mouth covered hers possessively, not giving her an opportunity to protest.

  “You’re quite welcome, Preciosa,” he whispered against her moist, parted lips.

  Releasing her quickly, he turned on his heel, making his way toward the bedroom. Eve collapsed on the sofa, her legs trembling and every nerve in her body screaming from the overwhelming virility that made Matthew Sterling potent and intoxicating.

  Play with fire and you’ll get burned.

  And that was who Matt was—a fire god descended from ancient African and Zapotec warriors.

  Matt escorted Eve into the courtyard of the sprawling Lopes hacienda, a slight smile touching his generous mouth. He hadn’t missed the startled and admiring gazes directed at Eve by those in attendance. There was no denying his own satisfaction of seeing her coiffed and dressed in the silk chiffon, burgundy dress which clung to every curve on her slender frame. The color of his sun-fired eyes darkened to a deep moss green, mirroring the ripple of desire pulsing throughout his body.

  His arm tightened around Eve’s waist, encompassing more than her body, before he released her and offered his right hand to the man and woman approaching them. He greeted his host and hostess in Spanish, then switched to English as he introduced Eve.

  “Diego, Blanca, I’m honored to present my fiancée, Eve Blackwell. Eve, our hosts, Diego and Blanca Lopes.”

  Eve smiled, extending her hand. She hadn’t missed the shocked expressions on the faces of the Lopes’s, nor their searching gazes as they peered surreptitiously at the ruby on her left hand.

  “My pleasure,” she said quietly, her large eyes dark as black satin. “Señora Lopes, the arrangement of flowers in your courtyard is exceptional.”

  The light from dozens of brightly-lit lanterns hanging throughout the courtyard highlighted the attractive flush creeping up to the hairline of the exquisitely gowned and coiffed Blanca Lopes. Her trim figure and barely silver, pale hair belied her role of grandmother.

  Extending her hand to Eve, Blanca smiled attractively. “Let me show you around the gardens before I take you inside,” she offered in British-accented English.

  Matt watched Blanca lead Eve away, his gaze following until they disappeared. Turning back to his host, he noted the questioning look in Diego Lopes’s eyes.

  “You mentioned nothing about marrying last week, Mateo.”

  “That’s because I didn’t propose until yesterday,” he countered with a wide grin.

  “Eva—”

  “Eve,” he corrected quickly.

  Diego nodded in apology. “Eve is quite beautiful. Congratulations, Mateo. I hope I’ll …” He didn’t finish his statement, thinking perhaps he’d overstepped the boundary with regard to social protocol.

  Matt patted his friend’s shoulder. “Eve is beautiful. And yes, you and Blanca will be invited to the wedding.”

  Diego exhaled audibly. “Gracias, Mateo.”

  “Eve and I will marry at the end of April, and hopefully you and I will be able to finalize the sale of El Moro by that time.”

  Diego Lopes ran a hand over his straight, graying hair. “I’m just waiting for the bank’s approval. Did I tell you that two other men have approached me to go in as partners?”

  Matt shifted his eyebrows. “Equal partners?”

  “Oh, no. I’m prepared to offer them only one-third.”

  “If you accept, then you won’t have to secure bank financing. Think of the interest you’d save.”

  “I’ve thought about it, but something bothers me, Mateo.”

  “What?”

  “Why would two very successful businessmen from Venezuela and Peru want to invest in a hotel in Mexico City? Why wouldn’t they set something up in their own countries?”

  Matt shrugged a broad shoulder under his white dinner jacket. “It could be that they have some money they have to invest in several foreign markets.”

  Diego leaned closer to Matt. “Are you suggesting illegal activities?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. It could be that someone told them that you take in dirty laundry.”

  Blood suffused Diego Lopes’s face. “I’m a legitimate businessman, Mateo.” There was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

  “I know that, Diego, otherwise I’d never offer to sell El Moro to you. Just make certain others know you’re legitimate. You’ve been conservative with your investments. Try to remain that way. If you go in over your head, then you’ll be inviting people like these two to help bail you out.” Matt’s expression hardened. “Remember, Diego, I offered El Moro to you because I trust you.”

  “And I’d never betray your trust, Mateo.”

  “Good.”

  Diego rubbed his palms together. “Now that we’ve settled that, why don’t we go inside?”

  Matt’s gaze swept around the courtyard, recognizing the faces of several prominent Mexico City residents, searching for Eve.

  “I’d like to wait for Eve.”

  “Mateo. She’s not going to run away,” Diego teased. “Blanca just wants to show off the new array of exotic plants the landscaper put in last week.”

  “I’ll wait for her,” he insisted with obvious impatience. He felt rather than saw Diego walk away.

  He’d promised Harry that he would protect his niece, and he couldn’t do that if he lost sight of her; and he was certain the word had gotten back to Alejandro Delgado that his ex-wife was in Mexico, and it wouldn’t take a genius to uncover why she had come.

  Making his way across the courtyard and toward the gardens, Matt’s body tensed before relaxing. The involuntary action had heightened all of his sensory reflexes as he registered the distinct sound of Eve’s contralto voice, the tapping of heels along the octagonal slate path, and the cloying fragrance of Blanca’s prizewinning roses.

  The area ringing the garden was lit with soft yellow light, and the shadowy forms of trees, shrubs and bushes took on alien contours; the area on the back of his neck tingled as if cold air had swept across it. His hands formed fists, muscles bunching up along his upper arms, and a cloud of uneasiness tightened his features. A silent voice told him Blanca and Eve weren’t the only ones in the garden.

  He was annoyed with himself. He never should’ve permitted Eve to go off with Blanca. “Dammit,” he growled under his breath before repeating the word silently, then adding a few more colorful expletives.

  A couple headed toward him, and he was able to relax; he recognized the young man and woman as Diego’s eldest son and daughter-in-law. Seconds later, Blanca and Eve came into view.

  Blanca saw Matt and gasped. “Does Diego need me for something, Mateo?”

  His smile did not reach his eyes. “No, I came for Eve.”

  Blanca touched the sleeve of his pristine white jacket. “Forgive me for monopolizing your novia.”

  He extended both arms. “Ladies.”

  Eve smiled at Matt, slipping her arm through his. Her smile vanished at the firm set of his lean jaw and the tightness around his mouth. They returned to the large house and she stopped him from following Blanca.

  “What’s bothering you, Matt?”

  “You,” he shot back without hesitation. “Everything about you bothers me.”

  As she pulled away from him, her chest rose and fell heavily. Eve was confused by his unexpected response to her query. What was it about her that made
him despise her very existence?

  Suddenly she felt the need to lash out, to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. “The feeling is mutual, Mateo,” she spat out. Turning her back, she walked into the Lopes house, hiding the humiliation she refused to let him see.

  She repulsed Matt the same way she’d repulsed Alex. The only difference was that she’d once loved Alex; with Matt there would be no love.

  She realized she had to fight her own battle of resistance. She would not succumb to Matthew Sterling. Inhaling, she tilted her chin. She had had a lot of experience hiding her feelings, and thirty years of practice had rendered her an expert.

  Chapter 9

  Eve made it through the Lopes’s dinner party, smiling politely and charming all who congratulated her and Matt on their upcoming nuptials. She’d angled her head close enough to Matt, giving the appearance of hanging on to his every word, smiled up at him, and feathered her fingers over his arm or hand possessively. Her performance was flawless, while Matt had faltered.

  He hadn’t meant to blurt out that she bothered him. However, it was too late to retract the accusation. Eve did bother him, because she was too damned attractive for him to ignore, too feminine for him not to respond to her as a male, and much too sensual for him to deny he didn’t want to make love to her.

  How was he going to keep his hands off her? What would happen once they married?

  Matt cursed to himself for the second time that evening—raw, ugly curses.

  Diego Lopes stood up, clearing his throat and shaking Matt from his reverie. He informed his guests that Isabella had offered to entertain everyone with her last dance performance on Mexican soil before leaving for Spain the following morning.

  “While she’s changing,” Diego continued, “aperitifs will be served in the sala.”

  Matt pulled back Eve’s chair, his strong fingers curving around her upper arm. “Do you mind if I step outside for a few minutes?” he asked close to her ear. He felt safe leaving her with a room filled with more than a dozen people. Her brow creased with concern. “I need a cigar,” he explained.

  Eve’s frown deepened. “Smoking isn’t good for you.”

  You aren’t good for me, he thought. “I’ll only take a couple of puffs.”

  “A couple of puffs can kill you,” she whispered.

  He brushed his mouth over hers. “I hope you’re not going to be a nagging wife.” Not giving Eve the opportunity to reply, he escorted her to the sala before making his way to the courtyard.

  Reaching into the breast pocket of his dinner jacket, Matt pulled out a slim gold case. Within seconds he extracted a thin cigar, then flipped the top on a minute lighter; a flame flared around the tip of the imported tobacco, a wisp of fragrant smoke rising and disappearing into the blue-black night.

  He’d prided himself on cutting back the habit of smoking a half dozen cigars to one or two a day. There were occasions when the humidor went untouched for days at a time. However, from the first night he’d sat watching Eve Blackwell wait for him he’d begun smoking again.

  He took three puffs of the cigar before discarding it, the lingering taste of tobacco sharp and acrid on his tongue. Shaking his head, he snorted derisively. Eve Blackwell had gotten to him. He had let her get to him!

  All he had to do was marry Eve, reclaim her son, arrange for their return to the States, then annul the marriage; and with the annulment the curtain would come down on the final act of their carefully scripted performance. His smile mirrored confidence about the reminder of his objectivity.

  The clear, crisp notes from a guitarist playing a classical composition floated throughout the courtyard. Matt reached for Eve’s hand, squeezing it gently. She gave him a warm smile before turning her attention to the young woman who swept dramatically onto a portable stage, her slender, graceful arms poised above her head. The clicking of castanets, the rustle of red and black silk, the passionate strumming of the guitar, and the rhythmic tapping of sturdy shoe heels filled the courtyard.

  Eve’s breath quickened as she watched Blanca’s daughter seduce the assembled. The slight turn of a wrist, the tilt of her chin, or a shrug of a shoulder, every motion was choreographed with an ensuing message of seduction. It was as if Isabella danced for an invisible lover.

  Matt stared at Eve instead of Isabella Lopes. Her tightly curled hair framed her delicate face with ebony ringlets, while her expertly applied makeup complemented the burgundy dress. His gaze lowered to her legs and feet. Sheer black hose covered her slender legs, and her feet were encased in a pair of stunning black silk sling-strap heels with tiny jeweled buckles.

  Eve felt the heat of Matt’s gaze on her, refusing to acknowledge him as her pulse fluttered erratically. She had to erect a wall of resistance around her. She had to remind herself that Matt was the conduit through which she would reclaim her son.

  Isabella’s dance ended and she bowed gracefully to her applauding audience. Her accompanist took his bows, smiling and also applauding the genius of the young woman who was certain to make a name as a gifted flamenco dancer.

  Matt tapped the crystal of his watch and Eve nodded. He saw that she’d been unable to stifle several yawns during the meal. It would take some time before she got used to eating dinner after 8:00 p.m. They said goodbyes to their hosts and began the drive back to Alma’s.

  “It was a lovely dinner party,” Eve stated simply as she reclined against the leather seat.

  “You were lovely,” Matt countered, his voice soft and coaxing.

  “I thought I was a bother.”

  He gave her a quick glance, smiling. “I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”

  Eve returned his smile. “Are you apologizing, Matt?”

  “I am.”

  Settling deeper into the seat, Eve closed her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to apologize.

  “Well, Eve?”

  “Well what?” she asked lazily.

  A muscle in Matt’s jaw twitched. “Aren’t you going to accept my apology?” he practically growled. The silence that ensued became almost unbearable. What did she want him to do? Grovel?

  “Matt, I don’t understand what you want from me,” Eve replied, her voice quivering with uncertainty. “You want me to be affectionate, obedient, and passionate. Now you ask that I also humble myself?”

  Matt threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Please don’t do that, Preciosa. I don’t need to be bored that much.”

  Somehow Eve knew Matt enjoyed the gentle sparring as much as she did. “I can be many things, but never boring,” she replied confidently.

  “That is an understatement.”

  “Don’t press your luck, Señor Arroyo.”

  “Believe me I won’t, Ms. Blackwell.” His sudden grin was irresistible, and Eve returned it with one of her own.

  The light mood continued long after Matt saw Eve to the door of her bedroom and he returned to El Moro, reflecting on what had passed between them.

  He’d learned she could purr like a kitten yet show her claws within seconds, and that even though she feared thunderstorms she would not permit herself to be intimidated.

  Matt puffed on a cigar, blowing out rings of smoke. He chuckled. She was quite a woman!

  A month had come and gone quickly. Alma and Carlos had hosted an official engagement party a week after the announcement of Matt and Eve’s upcoming nuptials appeared in all of the local newspapers, initiating a month filled with an endless round of social obligations.

  The month had also changed Eve and Matt. They’d become so attuned to each other that they sometimes even fooled themselves with their staged affection.

  Alma tutored her constantly in Spanish, and the time had come when Eve began thinking in the language. She understood most of what was being said, but realized it would take a lot more time before she became fluent.

  She stood at the window in her bedroom, staring at the distant mountains. Today was her wedding day, and later that afternoon she and Matt would leave M
exico City for their honeymoon. Matt said he would use the honeymoon as a guise—to search for her son.

  She sucked in her breath, holding it until her lungs burned. “Chris,” she whispered softly. Her son was always in her thoughts. Even when she smiled, a part of her cried for her child.

  Turning away from the window, she looked at the dress she had selected for the ceremony. The garment was a street-length, eggshell white silk kimono with an obi in jade green. Her shoes were matching jade silk pumps.

  The clock on the dresser chimed the half-hour and Eve knew she had to ready herself for the ceremony, which was scheduled for eleven.

  Alma walked into the bedroom, smiling broadly. She wore a loose-fitting, green silk shift artfully designed for her pregnancy. “Are you ready for your big day?”

  Eve returned the smile. “I’ve been ready ever since Matt proposed to me,” she admitted.

  Alma sat down on a rocker, raising her feet to an ottoman. “I envy you, Eve. It took me forever to accept Carlos’s marriage proposal. I—”

  “But you two seem so happy,” Eve interrupted.

  “We are. But before I married Carlos I had my doubts. I had no inkling that he was interested in me until the father of one my students let it slip that Carlos wanted to see me socially. I thought he was charming and sophisticated, but I wanted nothing to do with a man old enough to be my father.”

  Eve sat on the side of the bed, stunned. In the month she’d lived with the Navarros, she saw only love and respect between Alma and Carlos.

  “What made you change your mind?”

  A mysterious smile played at the corners of Alma’s mouth. “Kindness. I agreed to have dinner with him, and from the first date I was smitten. Within minutes I forgot that he was twenty years older than I.”

  “Had he ever been married?”

  Alma shook her head. “No. He was the consummate bachelor. And he was also the perfect gentleman. He was so unlike the other men I had dated or had been involved with that it frightened me. This fear carried over when he asked me to be his wife. He talked about having a child, and I called a travel agent to book a flight back to the States. How could I marry a man, give him a child, then raise it alone because its father would never live to see its majority?”