Captive Heart

by Patti Beckman

  "This way, por favor," Miguel said with a slight bow. "I show you your rooms."

  "Well, thank you," drawled Uncle Edgar, with his almost-smile pulling at his lips.

  Miguel led the way up a curved marble stairway. He stopped at a door and opened it for JoNell. "You like?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

  JoNell stared. She had never seen anything like it in her entire life. A huge bed with a red velvet canopy matching the bedspread dominated the room. The walls were lined with baskets of red roses. The dressing table was topped with red roses. In fact, the entire room was a sea of red roses.

  "Oh!" JoNell squealed. "I can't believe it. Are all those flowers for me?"

  "Si, seňorita. They are a gift from seňor Del Toro."

  Some of JoNell's elation evaporated. Of course Del Toro had ordered the flowers before he met JoNell. He had had the roses placed in her room when he thought she was coming to Peru with her father, wanting to be the elegant and expansive host of the Americano fliers. Now, after discovering JoNell was going to be his instructor, and after the way she had tricked him into the airplane and then scaring the living bejabbors out of him, he probably wished he'd had the room filled with stinkweeds!

  "I bring your luggage right away," Miguel said. He disappeared down the hall with Uncle Edgar.

  JoNell pushed unpleasant thoughts about Jorge Del Toro out of her mind and dashed from basket to basket, hugging huge armfuls of flowers, drinking in their fragrance. Once she caught sight of herself in a mirror and giggled. Her casual braids, blue jump suit and white sneakers were definitely out of place in all this opulence.

  A knock at the door signaled that Miguel had arrived with her bags. "Dinner is at ten, seňorita," he said in Spanish.

  "Thank you," JoNell replied in the same language. "Uncle Edgar and I will be there."

  Miguel's round face lighted up in obvious amusement. He set the bags down and left.

  What was so funny? Her Spanish wasn't that bad. Her Cuban friends back home told her she spoke like a native. Perhaps Miguel too was amused at how silly she looked in her scruffy flight clothes amidst all these elegant roses.

  The first order of business was a hot bath. JoNell found the adjoining bathroom. It had white plastered walls, a sunken blue tile tub and a rich blue rug on the marble floor. On the dressing table was a small portable color TV. JoNell flipped it on.

  Slender fingers turned on the gold hot water knob, sending billows of steam into the air. JoNell unzipped her one-piece jump suit and let it fall around her fragile ankles. How wonderful it would feel to wash away the grime of travel. She had plenty of time for a long, hot soak in the tub. Next, she removed the rubber bands which held her thick braids and shook out her wavy hair letting it fall in a golden cascade down her back. The steam would loosen the design imprinted by the plaits and make her hair softly manageable. She dumped a generous amount of bubble bath into the tub, tested the water with her toe, and then slid into the billowing suds with a happy sigh.

  For a taste of this luxury, she supposed she could tolerate Jorge Del Toro for a while. After all, she had braved types like him before in her father's business. Some of those rich businessmen who had come to her parents for flying lessons were almost as boorish as Del Toro. They threw their money around and thought it would buy them special privileges with the instructor's daughter. She had decided long ago that men with money and power never learned to develop themselves as compassionate human beings. They figured they could buy their way through life. And Jorge Del Toro was certainly no exception. However, he had the added threat of a brooding handsomeness that gave him a double-edged power with women. His wealth, power, self-assurance, incredible good looks, all combined with the remote coldness in his eyes, was a challenge that few women could resist.

  And I'm a woman, JoNell thought with a momentary stab of uneasiness as she pictured the intimacy of the airplane cockpit, with just the two of them cruising at romantic altitudes. A perfect place for him to try to trap her into wanting to fire the mysterious cold green depths of his eyes with desire.

  She blushed and silently chided herself for the direction her thoughts had taken. She could rest easy! The cold steel in Del Toro's eyes was not intended to ensnare her. He saw her as a mere girl, certainly not in the class of a jet set playboy, and one that had caused him a great deal of irritation at that!

  JoNell's reverie was interrupted by a vague, uncomfortable feeling. A gnawing in the pit of her stomach was growing more insistent. Ah, yes, that was her stomach crying out for food. In her excitement, she had forgotten that it was a Peruvian custom to eat a very late dinner. She had failed to nibble on a snack to tide her over until the late evening meal was served. Her mouth watered at the thought of exotic, foreign cuisine in an authentic atmosphere. The foreign cooking promised an exciting experience almost equal to the flowers she had received.

  JoNell reluctantly lifted her revived body from the warm, sensual caress of the tub and toweled until her body glowed a healthy pink. Then she opened her suitcases for the first time and shook out her traveling wardrobe which consisted of several jump suits of different colors, a sweater, a light jacket, and three dresses. While she realized that pants on women were not as acceptable in Peru as they were back home, she had anticipated that most of her time would be spent with Del Toro in the airplane, and jump suits were the most practical attire. Just in case, however, she had packed one party dress. Her slender fingers caressed the black chiffon. Now she was glad that she'd had the foresight to include the party dress.

  Regardless of what Del Toro thought of her, JoNell was determined to give him those flying lessons. However, it would be more pleasant if he didn't continuously regard her with that superior, impatient smirk, as if she were nothing more than a stubborn, willful child.

  JoNell slipped the dress over her head and pulled its tight waist line down to hug her small middle. When she sat down, the draping fabric outlined slender, well-proportioned thighs, and a tight, compact set of hips. Her high breasts filled out the bodice nicely. The v-neckline hinted of voluptuous curves just begging to be seen, but in fact, it revealed nothing to view. Just let him call me a "mere girl" after he sees me in this, JoNell thought contemptuously. Black satin pumps with ultra high heels and a pearl necklace completed the picture of simple elegance.

  Dressed in black, she looked years older and almost seductive, she knew. But there was a problem with her hair. The fluff of blond curls tumbling about her shoulders said "model" or "actress" or maybe even "show girl." While she was tempted to see if her appearance would turn on a light in those cold, steely green eyes of her host, she decided that her main objective was to convince Del Toro she was a woman, not a girl. A flick of her deft fingers placed her hair in an elegant knot on the top of her head. A single red rose, pinned on the left side above the ear, completed the look she was striving for.

  She checked out the effect critically in a full length mirror. Full, almost pouting lips, a pert nose and long lashes were reflected. Yes, she decided, she would go the full route and put on mascara, a hint of rouge and frosted lipstick. Her creamy complexion needed no foundation, so she patted on a dab of powder to soften the sheen on the tip of her small nose.

  She had just finished when she heard a heavy rapping on her door.

  "You ready, pet?" drawled Uncle Edgar's voice.

  "Yes," JoNell called. "I'm coming."

  "I'm starved—" Uncle Edgar began, but stopped in mid-sentence. "Why, I never—" he blurted out. "My land, child. You're not a child anymore. You've gone and grown up on me. Overnight."

  JoNell's heart purred, pleased at Uncle Edgar's reaction. Just wait until Del Toro sees her. Quite a contrast from the pigtailed girl in the jumpsuit!

  They walked down the long hall, arm in arm, certainly a contrasting "odd couple," JoNell in her sophisticated black chiffon party dress and high heels, and Uncle Edgar ambling along in his wrinkled, out-of-style suit that was a good inch short of covering his bony wrists.
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br />   "I'll be leaving early in the morning," he told her. "Miguel is driving me to the airport. Do you want to come along to see me off?"

  She squeezed his arm affectionately. "You know I wouldn't miss it."

  They descended the stairs and turned down the hallway to large double doors. "This must be the dining room," JoNell concluded, hearing voices. Uncle Edgar opened the doors.

  A hush fell over the room. JoNell was surprised to see fifteen or twenty people standing to the left of a long dining table which was situated under a massive glass chandelier. She had expected a small dinner with just Del Toro and perhaps one of his lady friends. Invisible mice nibbled nervously at her stomach.

  Some forty pairs of eyes swung in her direction. For a moment, a feeling of panic touched her. But her nervousness eased when Del Toro moved away from the others to greet them.

  "I hope we're not late," JoNell apologized in Spanish. She stood tall, her neck arched like a proud swan. Large brown eyes searched steely green eyes for a reaction. Fire bit JoNell's cheeks as she saw amusement dance across Del Toro's perfect features. Mixed with the amusement was a curious glint in his eyes.

  A strong, masculine hand reached for her fingers. Momentarily, JoNell was electrified by the sight of Del Toro, with his nostrils flaring, his hard green eyes sending shivers down her spine. He looked absolutely devastating in his immaculately tailored black dinner jacket set off with one bright red rose in the lapel. No wonder he was a lady killer! He might be a complete wash-out in the personality department, but those devilishly good looks would set any woman's heart aflutter. As impervious as JoNell felt herself to be to his artificial charms, she felt uneasy about spending much time in the presence of such a dashing man. But then she remembered his rude, supercilious manners and assured herself that any advances from him would be easy to rebuff, regardless of his good looks.

  "Your timing is perfect," Del Toro assured her in English with a sweeping bow.

  His large hand lifted her delicate one to his lips. JoNell's flesh stung where he planted a lingering kiss on the back of her fingers. Oh, I get it, she thought; Mr. Personality saves all of his charm for public displays. She remembered how brusque he had been with her at the airport, how perfunctory his manners had been there. But now he had an audience. What a hypocrite, she thought!

  Del Toro, the perfect, suave host, moved toward the dinner table. His firm hand gripped JoNell's left elbow. "You look stunning," he said huskily.

  "Like a woman?" JoNell demanded her victory. "Not a 'mere girl'?"

  "Very definitely like a woman," Del Toro conceded.

  The upward thrust of JoNell's tapered chin signaled triumph. But the hard squeeze of Del Toro's fingers biting into the soft flesh of her arm unnerved her. Had she overplayed her hand? She was definitely not throwing herself into the ring to be one of Del Toro's playthings, to be toyed with, then made to suffer after she had lost the battle. Her only purpose was to make Del Toro take her seriously.

  "You are to sit next to me," Del Toro commanded. He led JoNell to her chair, pulled it out for her and waited until she was seated. The other guests were sitting around the long table. Uncle Edgar was relegated to a place near the far end of the table. JoNell's concern for her uncle was relieved when she saw his "almost-smile" as he chatted with a guest who obviously spoke English.

  JoNell found herself seated across the table from a petite, demure young woman in her early twenties. Her simple but elegantly styled gown and the jewelry that twinkled on her fingers and wrist gave her an air of family wealth.

  "Permit me to introduce Consuelo Garcia," Del Toro murmured.

  The pale-skinned young woman lowered her eyelashes in apparent embarrassment. The blue veins beneath her delicate complexion throbbed noticeably. Shyness must have kept her tongue immobile, for she said nothing to JoNell. A flush spread over her milkwhite cheeks.

  JoNell felt a chilly draft in the air. An expression of hidden amusement in Del Toro's eyes told her there was something going on here that she did not understand. She felt uncomfortable, and he seemed to sense that and enjoy it.

  No point in getting tangled in Del Toro's little web of a joke, JoNell told herself. Instead, she glanced in the direction of the other guests. She felt out of place here, but it was more than just being in a foreign country with strangers. JoNell didn't fit in; there was a kinship among these people that excluded her.

  Her gaze fell on the huge diamond worn by the man seated next to her. Everywhere she looked, she saw elegant clothes, genuine diamonds and gold. Only she wore costume jewelry. Of course she felt like an outsider in this circle of the super rich.

  Then the sumptuous Peruvian meal was served, and JoNell temporarily forgot about being self-conscious. First there was a fish appetizer, escabeche. Then a soup course, chupe de camerones, made of potatoes, milk, shrimp, hot chili peppers and eggs. The main course was duck served with steaming rice. And a second meat course were anticuchos, the shish kebab of South America which consisted of beef hearts served on a skewer and dipped in piquant sauce. For dessert, there was arroz con leche, more rice, which seemed so popular on Peruvian tables, cooked until soft, sweetened and then topped with raisins, orange rind and cinnamon. A large bowl of black-skinned fruit JoNell had never seen before was served with dessert. Several kinds of fine wine added their touch of elegance to the meal.

  At one point, JoNell glanced up into a pair of glacial green eyes. "You're not eating," she said to Del Toro.

  His full mouth twisted into a mocking grin. She saw that amused twinkle in his eyes again.

  "What is so funny?" she demanded hotly.

  "Your Spanish."

  "And just what is wrong with my Spanish?" she demanded. "I speak quite fluently."

  "Yes, that is true. But you talk like a Cuban. You swallow your s's. Do you know how amusing it is to encounter an American who talks Spanish like a Cuban?"

  "Is that what everyone finds so amusing?"

  "Yes, my little Cuban Flower," he said with that infuriatingly superior, mocking note in his voice.

  "I am not your 'little Cuban Flower'!" JoNell felt an angry flush sting her cheeks. "I am not your little anything!"

  "You're my little flight instructor," Del Toro corrected.

  "Why can't you take me seriously?" Anger made a pulse in her temple throb.

  "You want me to take you seriously? All right." With a silver spoon, he tapped a crystal goblet bearing the initials "JDT." A sudden hush fell over the room.

  Del Toro pushed back his chair and arose. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began in Spanish, "I want to introduce to you my special guests for the evening." He repeated his remarks in English, obviously for the benefit of Uncle Edgar. At least he had a modicum of genuine courtesy, thought JoNell.

  He introduced Uncle Edgar to the guests first. JoNell decided that his male macho background had taught him that men were more important than women. Then his gaze fell on JoNell. She felt a shiver from his penetrating stare. "And this is JoNell Carpenter, from the United States. She is going to give me flying lessons."

  JoNell sensed the curiosity in the many eyes looking her over. Were they asking, "Is she, the young Norte Americano, to be Del Toro's new romantic conquest?" Why else would he bring a flying instructor, a girl, from the United States? She could imagine the gossip already beginning. She felt even more self-conscious and angry. She had come here on a simple business mission, to deliver the airplane, give the flying lessons and return home. Being put on display and made a subject of gossip for Jorge Del Toro's friends was not part of the deal.

  As soon as the meal was over, JoNell fled from the room, through double doors to a veranda. Tears were stinging her eyes. She felt homesick, humiliated and angry. There had been a clash of personalities between her and Del Toro the first moment they met, and it was not getting any better. She found him insufferable. How was she going to give lessons to a man like that?

  A large hand grasped her elbow. "What's the matter, Pet?" Uncle Edgar drawl
ed.

  She was so grateful for his presence, she almost melted into his arms and cried on his shoulder. But she stopped herself in time. It would never do to let Uncle Edgar know how miserable she felt. As protective as he was of her, he might insist that she forget this whole unpleasant business and return to the States with him at once. That she could not do. For one thing, she couldn't take the chance of failing to complete the sales agreement of delivering the airplane along with flight instructions. The sale was too important to her parents' business. And in addition, she had too much pride to let Del Toro's arrogant nature send her whimpering home. She had stood up to him in the beginning and she'd continue to do so in spite of how uncomfortable she might feel around his snooty friends, in spite of how they might gossip about her, and especially in spite of Del Toro's infuriating, mocking manner.

  "I think I have a lash in my eye," JoNell explained to her uncle. "It really hurts. I'd better find a rest-room and see if I can get it out."

  JoNell fled gratefully into the security of a bathroom off the main hallway. She was glad to see she had a vanity room to herself. A look into a mirror revealed moist, dark lashes, but fortunately, the brown mascara hadn't run. JoNell dabbed carefully at her eyes so as not to ruin her makeup.

  Suddenly, the door opened. JoNell turned and recognized Consuelo Garcia, the quiet, beautiful, extremely shy girl who had been seated on the other side of Del Toro at the dinner table. JoNell tried a friendly smile. "Hello, Consuelo."

  The lovely young Peruvian woman did not smile back. Instead her black eyes narrowed coldly and her lips pursed. "Leave Jorge alone!" she snapped.

  JoNell was momentarily speechless. What a remarkable change had come over the pale-skinned, dark-haired girl! At the dinner table, she had been utterly demure, hardly saying a word, and apparently painfully shy. There was nothing shy or reticent about her now. Her eyes were blazing with a primitive challenge. There was metal in her voice.

  "I saw the look on your face when your eyes turned to Jorge," Consuelo continued. "You might as well get those thoughts out of your head, because he's mine!"