Unauthorised Passion/Intimate Knowledge

by Amanda Stevens

  Jasmine tumbled over the walls, the scent lush and dreamy in the sultry heat. There were roses, too, although in such a tropical climate, they didn’t flourish, but grew pale and fragile on stems too delicate to support them. Penelope thought them beautiful just the same, but when she put out a hand to cup one of the blossoms, the petals disintegrated.

  She turned back to Elena, who waited just inside the doorway.

  The woman smiled anxiously. “Your quarters are satisfactory?”

  “Oh, yes,” Penelope said. “The room is beautiful, just like the rest of the place.”

  Mateo came in then with her suitcase, and Elena said something under her breath in Spanish as he brushed by her. He carefully placed the bag on an inlaid bench at the end of the bed, gave both women a polite nod, then hurried out.

  Elena walked over to the suitcase and glanced down. “This is your only luggage?”

  “Yes.” Penelope reluctantly left the windows. “I assume Alex—Señor Salizar—informed you that I’m only here for a couple of days.”

  “Then we’ll have to make your short visit memorable, won’t we?” Elena brushed back her long, black hair. “Would you like for me to help you unpack?”

  “I can manage, thanks.”

  “Can I get you a refreshment then? Something cool to drink? Or something to eat perhaps?”

  “No, I’m fine. I ate on the plane,” Penelope said, and laughed when Elena wrinkled her nose. “It was filling, that’s about all I can say for it.”

  Elena nodded. “If there’s nothing I can get for you, I’ll leave you to your unpacking. If you need anything, we have an intercom system.” She pointed to a speaker hidden behind elaborate grillwork. “It’s a bit antiquated, but it serves its purpose. Or you can just come and find me. I’m always around.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that.” When the woman started to close the doors, Penelope said quickly, “There is one thing…”

  Elena glanced back. “Yes?”

  “How far is the Las Hadas resort from here? I have a business meeting there at four o’clock this afternoon.”

  “It’s no more than five minutes or so by car. Mateo can drive you.”

  “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble? I could call a cab.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.” Elena smiled and drew the doors shut.

  Alone, Penelope took a few minutes to hang up her clothes and put away her toiletries, then she went out to the courtyard and sat down on a stone bench to watch the butterflies. She could see the fountain now, although it was fairly well hidden by the overgrown landscaping. Intrepid nymphs peaked through ferns and delicate blue lilies as water trickled from a stone jug. A swallowtail lit on the edge for a drink as a green lizard sunned nearby on a terra-cotta seashell.

  Through a wrought-iron gate, Penelope could see the ocean, a breathtaking blue glistening with diamonds, and a feeling of intense loneliness came over her. The place was so incredibly beautiful. So peaceful. It reminded her of all the brochures she and Simon had pored over before deciding on a Belize honeymoon. A honeymoon that had still yet to be. Might never be…

  Penelope blinked back tears. She wouldn’t think that way. Simon would get better. He had to.

  He’d wake up from his coma one day soon, and the two of them could pick up right where they’d left off. She would help him through his recovery, no matter how long it took. No matter what they had to endure. They would be together again because they were meant to be together. Penelope had known the moment she set eyes on him at the Morehart that destiny had brought him back into her life. Fate had made her skip lunch that day so that she would be there when he came in.

  And now she was counting on providence to bring them together again. Providence…and maybe a few prayers.

  HUGGING THE BASE of the sloping peninsula, the Las Hadas resort was a Moorish fantasy of courtyards, gleaming spires and winding staircases. An Arabian Nights wonderland of exotic gardens, bubbling fountains and, after dark, Penelope imagined, a canopy of stars.

  It was the most romantic spot she’d ever seen, and it gave her a momentary regret that she’d given up her suite there to stay at Alex’s home, although she couldn’t deny the beauty and charm of the villa. Not to mention the privacy. Still, she wished she at least had time for a leisurely stroll through the grounds, but she didn’t want to be late for her meeting with Manuel Vargas so she hurried along the cobblestone walkway.

  In spite of the sheer enormity of the resort, she had no trouble locating the al fresco restaurant where they had agreed to meet. The place was almost empty when she arrived. A young couple sat cuddled at the bar while at a nearby table, a man wearing a tropical-print shirt and a baseball cap had his nose buried in a newspaper.

  The only other patron was an elegantly dressed man of about thirty-five. He was too young to be Manuel Vargas, but Penelope’s gaze lingered on him anyway. She couldn’t help herself. He was movie-star handsome with dark, smoldering eyes and full lips that curved sensuously beneath a well-groomed mustache.

  To her surprise, he rose and strode toward her. “Ms. Moon?”

  She tried not to stare. “Yes?”

  “I’m Tonio Vargas. My father sends his regrets. He’s feeling a bit under the weather today.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Penelope murmured, noting that the younger Vargas didn’t offer his hand. His tone was cordial, but she didn’t find him especially warm. Just the opposite, in fact. “It’s not serious, I hope.”

  “Nothing a few days of bed rest won’t cure. Shall we sit?”

  She followed him back to his table, and when he waved off a hovering waiter, Penelope took that as her cue to get right to business. Opening her briefcase, she withdrew a large envelope and placed it on the table between them.

  “These are the documents your father requested, including copies of all the permits we’ve obtained from your government, a revised insurance policy with a rider that stipulates coverage while the masks are in transit, and an affidavit from the firm that installed the museum’s security system. I think you’ll find that every precaution has been taken to insure the safety of the exhibit.”

  “I’ll deliver the documents to my father. You have my word on that.” Vargas’s eyes lifted to Penelope’s and something in those dark depths made her shiver. “But I feel I must warn you that I also intend to do everything in my power to keep those masks from ever leaving my father’s possession.”

  Penelope blinked. “But…I don’t understand. Your father has already agreed to the exhibit.”

  “My father is an egocentric old man who can sometimes be flattered into doing foolish things,” the younger Vargas said bitterly.

  Penelope hesitated, trying to choose her words carefully. She couldn’t risk offending Tonio Vargas. Too much rode on the acquisition of those masks. “If you’re worried about the reputation of the Morehart, let me assure you—”

  He gave a dismissive wave. “The museum’s reputation is not my concern. Nor is yours, I might add. You have exceptional credentials. An undergraduate degree in English from Smith, graduate degrees in Anthropology and Art History from Stanford. Very impressive.”

  “You’ve done your research, I see,” Penelope murmured, disconcerted by the man’s intimate knowledge of her.

  “Yes, I have,” he agreed. “And what I’ve learned about your colleague distresses me a great deal.”

  “My colleague? I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

  His expression turned scornful. “I’m referring to the Morehart’s curator. Avery Bennett.”

  Penelope stared at him in shock. “But Mr. Bennett’s credentials and reputation are impeccable. He’s worked at some of the most famous museums in the world, including the Metropolitan in New York and even the Egyptian Museum in Cairo for a short time. He has degrees from Harvard—”

  Vargas cut her off with a disdainful snort. “I’m aware of Bennett’s credentials. I’m also aware that he left the Wexler House in Chicago under a cl
oud of suspicion.”

  Penelope frowned. “Suspicion of what?”

  Vargas glanced around, as if worried they might be overheard, then he leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “He was suspected of using the museum to buy and sell artifacts on the black market.”

  Penelope gasped. “I don’t believe that. He has far too much integrity. He would never be party to something like that.”

  Vargas eyed her coolly. “Are you so certain? Have you never wondered how a man with his credentials ended up in a tiny museum in Houston, Texas? You said yourself, he’s worked at some of the most prestigious institutions in the world. Why the Morehart?”

  “I assume he came there for the same reason I did,” Penelope said a bit resentfully. “The Morehart may be small, but we have a very generous endowment. And thanks to Avery, we now have one of the finest exhibits of pre-Columbian masks in the world. Your father’s collection would be in very good company.”

  Vargas shrugged. “I admire your loyalty, Ms. Moon, but you haven’t changed my mind or assuaged my fears. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe there’s anything further for us to discuss.” He stood abruptly.

  “Wait.” Penelope rose, too. “If you would just allow me a little more time, I’m certain that I could put your mind at ease about Avery—”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve said all I came to say. Goodbye.”

  With a curt nod, he strode from the restaurant, and Penelope, still in shock, dropped back into her seat, realizing almost immediately that he’d left the papers behind. She started to run after him, but then decided the forgotten documents would give her an excuse to contact Manuel Vargas on her own. Perhaps in a face-to-face exchange, she could somehow reason with the elder Vargas and hopefully undo the damage his son seemed determined to inflict upon her career.

  As she tried to put together a battle plan, Penelope absently watched the man in the baseball cap follow Vargas out of the restaurant. She continued to track the man’s loud shirt until he and Vargas were both out of sight, and only then did she realize that the uneasiness suddenly sweeping over her was a feeling of impending doom.

  THE MAN IN THE TROPICAL-PRINT shirt nodded and smiled at the similarly dressed tourists he met on the flower-strewn pathway. His amiable demeanor, however, masked his growing concern as he tailed Tonio Vargas to the parking lot. As he watched Vargas climb into a white Porsche, he got out his cell phone and punched in one of the half-dozen numbers he’d made a point of memorizing.

  When his employer finally answered, he said grimly, “We’ve got trouble.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tonio Vargas is threatening to pull the plug on the shipment.”

  The voice on the other end cursed softly. “I was afraid of that. That’s why we went directly to the old man rather than negotiating with the son. We’d hoped the transaction could be completed before he got wind of it, but now he’ll have to be dealt with.”

  “How?” the man asked, wanting clarification.

  “Whatever it takes. Just make the problem go away.”

  Chapter Seven

  When Penelope returned to the villa a little while later, Elena was in the foyer arranging pink cattleyas and stalks of some creamy, sweet-smelling flower in a crystal vase. She looked up expectantly as Penelope came through the door.

  “How was your meeting?”

  “Not so great,” Penelope said with a sigh, already dreading, for more reasons than one, the phone call she’d have to make to Avery. Bad enough that she would have to tell him the exhibit had just hit a gigantic snag, but how was she supposed to handle Tonio Vargas’s insinuation that Avery had been involved in a black-market scheme to buy and sell artifacts?

  The suspicions were unfounded. Penelope had no doubt of that. Still…questioning a man’s integrity, particularly a man as proud as Avery Bennett, would be tricky, to say the least.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Elena asked sympathetically.

  Penelope shrugged. “Not unless you know how I can get in touch with a man named Manuel Vargas.”

  “Manuel Vargas?” Elena glanced up. “You mean the man with the masks?”

  “You know him?”

  Elena nodded. “As it happens, my cousin works for him.”

  Penelope’s mouth dropped in astonishment. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, it’s true. Maya is his personal secretary. She’s been with him for years.”

  “You don’t think…” Penelope trailed off, reluctant to impose on a stranger.

  “What?” Elena pressed.

  “I need to see him,” Penelope said. “His son was supposed to deliver some important papers to him for the museum where I work, but he left them at the restaurant. I don’t suppose your cousin could arrange a meeting?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Perhaps. I can ask.” Elena glanced at her watch. “She’s probably gone for the day by now. I can call her first thing in the morning, though.”

  “That would be excellent.” Penelope let out a breath of relief. “You and your cousin just may end up saving my life. Or at any rate, my career.”

  Elena went back to her flowers. “I’m happy to help. In the meantime, I have some news that might cheer you up.”

  “Really?” Penelope selected one of the flower stalks and held it to her nose. “Hmm, this smells wonderful. What is it?”

  “Tuberose.” Elena gave her an enigmatic smile. “Its nectar is said by some to have special powers and its scent magical to all who experience it. Keep it,” she said, when Penelope started to return the stem to the table. “Wear some of the blossoms in your hair tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Alex has arranged for you to have dinner aboard his yacht this evening.”

  “What?” Penelope asked in alarm. “Alex is here?”

  “No, he called from Houston. He thought you might enjoy a sunset cruise in the bay.”

  “That was…thoughtful of him.” And strange, Penelope decided. She still couldn’t figure out Alex Salizar’s motive. She hardly knew the man. Why was he being so nice to her?

  Although now that she was here, she had to admit that Helen had been right. She would have been kicking herself if she’d turned down the opportunity to lounge in the lap of such luxury.

  Aloud she said, “It sounds like a lot of trouble for just one person.”

  “It’s no trouble. The crew and staff are already on board. All the arrangements have been made. You’re expected at seven.”

  “In that case, I’d better get dressed,” Penelope murmured.

  “The Diosa del mar is magnificent. You’re in for quite an evening.” Elena’s smile flashed again. “And don’t forget to wear the flowers,” she called softly as Penelope turned and started down the hallway.

  PENELOPE DECIDED to wear the white lace halter dress, which, for some unknown reason, she hadn’t removed from her suitcase after her sister had left her apartment the night before. Now she was glad that she’d brought it along, because neither jeans nor a business suit seemed appropriate for a dinner cruise aboard a yacht christened the Diosa del mar.

  She’d tucked several of the creamy blossoms in her hair, too, just as Elena had instructed, and the heady fragrance drifted through the car as she settled back against the leather seat for the ride into town.

  Manzanillo had once been little more than a sleepy fishing village, but with the influx of tourists to the Pacific coast, shops and restaurants had popped up around the square, and the narrow streets were clogged with traffic.

  The police had closed the main thoroughfare for a parade, and dozens of costumed revelers, wearing masks and trailing colorful streamers, poured into the streets behind the floats.

  “What’s going on?” Penelope asked Mateo as the car slowed to a crawl.

  “La Celebración de las Dos Lunas. Celebration of the Two Moons,” he translated in halting English.

  Penelope had never heard of the event, and she wondered if it was a local festiv
al. She stared out her window, intrigued by the masks, as Mateo maneuvered the car through the heavy congestion.

  Once they neared the waterfront, the traffic thinned, and the smell of gasoline and motor oil mingled with the salty tang of the sea. A fleet of fishing boats was just coming in for the day while at the deepest point of the harbor, a cruise ship made ready to sail, its deep, plaintive horn sounding a warning to straggling passengers.

  Manzanillo was also home to the Mexican navy, and Penelope imagined that the docks could get pretty dicey after dark. The yacht marina, however, was like entering a different world. The gleaming white boats, many of them well over a hundred feet long, strained gently at their moorings as water lapped at the hulls.

  The captain of the Diosa del mar welcomed Penelope aboard and after a brief tour, they got underway. Penelope stood at the rail, sipping a cocktail as she watched the harbor recede in the distance.

  They headed north along the Bahía de Manzanillo, the older, tourist section of town, and the ship channel where the ocean liners entered the port. As they sailed past the Santiago Peninsula toward the Bahía de Santiago, Penelope tried to pick out Alex’s villa on the lush hillside using the binoculars the captain had provided her.

  She couldn’t pinpoint the house, lost as it was amidst a sea of glistening white homes, but she had no trouble at all spotting the Las Hadas resort. The setting sun gilded the spires and domes, making the place seem even more enchanted with the coming night.

  Dinner was served by candlelight even though the sun had not yet fully set. The sumptuous dishes just kept on coming, and Penelope, protected by a windscreen, found that she could do little more than sample each course, from the escargots swimming in butter and garlic to the pan-seared sea scallops paired with a delicate saffron pilaf. By the time she’d finished the passion fruit crème brûlée, they were gliding back into the harbor.

  Another yacht, even larger than the Diosa del mar, was just putting out to sea, and as the two boats passed, the sound of music and laughter carried across the water. Several couples were dancing on the main deck, but Penelope’s attention was drawn to the upper deck, where two men stood talking.