They stood that way, apart yet together, then she shocked him. She deliberately raised her arms and linked them around his neck, drawing his head to hers. As soon as he was close enough, she began to kiss him. It was a kiss of need. She wanted him to obliterate the misery, to take away the pain of what she had just gone through, and she knew exactly what she was doing.
He obliged her without thinking twice.
She murmured his name into his open mouth as he smoothed his fingers down her back, then lower to the curve of her hip. Beneath his hands, her body was soft and giving, and a rush of desire coursed through him. As if she felt the same jolt, Emma moved even closer. He held her for as long as he dared, the kiss becoming more passionate as her breasts pressed into his chest, then he pulled back. He had to.
She looked up, her mouth slightly open, lips swollen.
“Maybe we should go inside,” he said.
She nodded, turned and started up the walk. He followed, and a few seconds later they were inside. He opened his arms to pull her to him, but at that very moment, somewhere in the house the phone rang.
Their eyes locked and held, then she backed away from him, her sandals whispering against the floor as she turned and crossed the hall. He leaned against the front door and took a deep breath.
He heard her murmuring voice rise slightly, as if in argument or disbelief, and he started forward in the direction she had taken, toward the back of the house. He found her in the kitchen, gripping the phone.
“How bad is it?” she asked with concern in her voice.
She listened to the answer, then seeing Raul’s questioning expression, shook her head.
“I hate to hear that,” she said after a moment.
“But I understand. Stay in bed and take care of yourself.”
She listened for another minute, then spoke. “I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry. No, no. It’s okay.”
She hung up. “That was Reina. She’s sick, something she picked up from a client.” She started to say something more, but instead, paused and shifted her stance to look out the kitchen window to the garden beyond. Clearly she was trying to make a decision, and Raul stood by silently. Finally she spoke again, her back to him.
“Maybe it’d be best for you to leave,” she said.
“This isn’t important and we don’t have to go.”
He waited for a second, then made his own decision and crossed to where she stood. Placing his hands on her shoulders, Raul experienced again what he’d tried to stem outside, an emotion he didn’t want.
He forced the feeling down, back into the box where it belonged. Turning Emma to face him, he looked into her uncertain eyes. “Let’s go without Reina. I want to see Samaipata. And you need to take the bank’s donation.”
“I’m not sure…” Her words trailed off.
“If you don’t show up, you’ll disappoint the children.”
She nodded slowly.
“It’ll be okay.”
She looked up at him then, and his unspoken message communicated itself through his touch and his gaze. She nodded again, and they left.
THE TRIP WENT BY fast. Raul was a good driver, and the Range Rover handled the horrible road as if it were the finest highway. They arrived at the orphanage in record time, which was good for Emma because she was an emotional wreck.
She’d thrown herself at him like some kind of desperate woman. She hadn’t had any other choice; her need to feel some kind of love had swept through her like a tornado. As addictive as a drug, his embrace had felt too good, too safe, too wonderful to ignore. She’d never done that kind of thing before with any man, but Raul made her do a lot of things she hadn’t done before. Like ignore her better judgment. Instead of kissing him, she should have been asking him about what Reina had told her. Deep down, though, Emma didn’t want to ask, because she didn’t want to know the answer. The consequences of Raul’s having been in prison were something she couldn’t deal with right now. Maybe later, but not now.
Emma was happy to see the main street of Samaipata. The tiny village was a madhouse—there were people everywhere preparing for the parade, laughing and hanging crepe-paper roses, calling out to each other and decorating windows with bright paint. Emma gave directions to Raul, and within a few minutes they were driving up to the compound.
“Park over there.” She pointed toward a shaded area just outside the wall that surrounded the buildings. “We can get the kids to unload everything.”
Raul nodded and eased the truck to the spot she indicated. Then, before he could even cut the engine, the gates flew open and a flock of children—all girls—spilled from the opening and ran toward them. Behind them came two nuns. Dressed in brown habits with hems that brushed the ground, the two women beamed and waved to Emma.
Emma introduced Raul to the nuns as they climbed from the truck. “This is Sister Maria and Sister Abelia,” she said. “They work here with the children.”
Raul shook hands with the two women. Their fingers were rough and work-worn, and he could only imagine the tasks they accomplished every day just to keep the place running.
They greeted him in Spanish and a little broken English, then began to chatter with Emma. The children swirled around them like a cloud of unbridled energy. Raul watched in awe, though Emma had already prepared him for what to expect. The girls ranged in age from three to eighteen, and they all wore the same thing—white dresses with blue trim. There were 120 students in the parochial school, none of them boys.
Leaving the women to their talk, Raul unlocked the back of the truck and began to remove the boxes and place them into the children’s waiting arms. It looked as though Emma had been collecting clothing and anything else she could lay her hands on for months. With everyone loaded down, the girls started into the compound. Raul handed Emma a smallish box, then took the largest one for himself. He had to stop and watch, though, as she headed for the buildings. Her progress was slow.
With every step, more children greeted her. Little girls and big, hanging on her, touching her, kissing her, so starved for attention they clung as closely as they could. Over her shoulder, she threw him an apologetic look, but then she focused solely on the children. The cool, remote banker was replaced by the woman he’d suspected was underneath, the one he’d glimpsed earlier in the day—a vulnerable, caring individual who had a lot of love and no one to give it to. The pain of seeing these kids must have been overwhelming, yet she had time for them all. There wasn’t a single child she didn’t touch or kiss or somehow connect with. It was amazing.
She was amazing.
“Is this a government facility?” Raul finally caught up with her and glanced around as they passed through the gate. The barren courtyard wasn’t exactly homey, and the square concrete buildings were stark and ugly in the hot sunshine. In the dirt two chickens scratched.
“Not exactly.” A pair of parrots swooped and screeched in a nearby cage as Emma dodged three dogs chasing a fly. “The government is supposed to give them fifty cents a day per child, but they never do. The place is funded by private donations—from churches in Italy and America mainly. Which makes sense.”
One of the younger girls grinned up at Emma and murmured something. Emma bent down and gave the child a quick kiss, then raised her eyes to see Raul staring at her.
“Why is that?” he asked.
“It’s usually Americans or Italians who come here for the children. No one in Bolivia adopts.”
Raul stopped on the sidewalk. “What do you mean—Bolivians don’t adopt?”
Emma halted, too. “They don’t accept the children as their own. It’s a cultural thing.”
“Then all these kids will end up in America?”
“No. Not these.” She shook her head slowly and met his eyes. “No one from outside Bolivia can adopt a child older than five. It’s the law. But they won’t take them themselves. Most of these kids will never have parents.”
IF SHE’D HAD any doubts about wh
at kind of man Raul was, Emma lost them at the orphanage.
She took him through the entire place. Through the dormitories, where each room had six small beds each with a stuffed animal sitting on top of them. Through the cafeteria, where the tables were already set for the next meal. Through the laundry room, where two washing machines worked twenty-four hours a day. Through the garden, which produced far too little for so many.
The children were shy around Raul at first, but the longer he and Emma stayed, the bolder the little girls became. Finally he gave in, picked one up and carried the lucky child in his arms as they’d toured the outer buildings. All of three years old, if that, she grinned and flirted, batting her eyelashes at him, then finally put her head on his shoulder in blissful delight, her eyes dragging shut. He carried her up to her room and laid her down on her cot. Tenderly. Quietly.
Watching with a tight throat and a sting behind her eyes, Emma had almost broken down and wept. She could easily imagine him doing this with a child of his own, a little boy who looked just like him, or a little girl as dark and gorgeous as the one he’d just tucked in. Only when they went downstairs a few minutes later did she realize how everything had affected him, as well. He looked completely drained as they entered the courtyard, his face a reflection of the sadness he was clearly feeling, his eyes too bleak for her to endure. She didn’t understand his reaction, but she knew it was genuine. She’d seen the same black look in her own eyes.
The smell of homemade bread filled the terrace as they walked outside, the cries of the children echoing off the sun-streaked walls.
“Let’s go in here,” she said, pointing to one of the buildings. “It’ll be cooler and quieter than the cafeteria.”
He followed her into a room filled with sewing machines. She answered his unspoken question.
“They make most of their clothes,” she said, “but they also do embroidery to sell and make money.” She picked up a square of cotton, edged in lace. “These are pillowcases. They decorate them and peddle them downtown for a quarter apiece.”
Ignoring her explanation, he took the bed linen from her hands and put it down on a table nearby. “Why do you do this?” he asked. “Why do you torture yourself like this?”
“I love the children,” she answered. “They need my help. Why not?”
“But surely it hurts?”
“It would hurt more to never be around them.” She looked at him curiously. “And don’t say you don’t understand. I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”
She watched him struggle with an answer. After a long moment, he spoke. “I’m not the man I used to be, Emma. At one time, yes, I wanted to have a family, a home, a wife.” His voice turned husky. “But that didn’t work out…and it’s not something I’ve thought about in a very long time.”
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
He lifted his gaze to hers, and it was so full of anger, she took a step back. He blinked and the emotion disappeared. Had she imagined it? “It’s not worth talking about,” he said tightly.
Even though she knew it wasn’t a good idea, Emma started to press him. At that moment, though, two of the children rushed in, each holding a huge bowl of soup with slabs of bread perched on the side of the plate. They ate in silence, and when they were finished, Raul stood. “Shall we go into town?”
THEY WALKED up and down the narrow cobbled streets of Samaipata, peering into dark shops and stopping on the corners to admire the work of local artisans, who were sitting on blankets on the hard sidewalks amid their wares. The festival and parade gave everyone a chance to show off their talents, and they were selling everything from handmade flutes and carved gourds to delicate gold jewelry. Raul insisted on buying it all, and by the time the sun had slipped behind the mountains, they were loaded once more with gifts to take back to the orphanage.
Throughout the afternoon, Emma tried to reconcile Reina’s gossip with the generous, kind man beside her, but failed. When he finally suggested they stop for a drink before the parade began, Emma knew the time had arrived. She had to know the truth.
They picked a café on the square, facing the cathedral. A dozen or so tables lined the windows, each set with mismatched chairs, no two alike. Dark beams supported the low ceiling, and a long, wooden bar took up one side of the room. Two cats, sitting inside one of the windows licking each other, briefly stopped to inspect the new arrivals, then returned to their more important task of grooming.
Emma and Raul took the table nearest the front door, and a waiter appeared immediately. Raul gave him their drink order, then excused himself to go to the rest room. Emma felt as if she’d been granted a reprieve. She didn’t want to ask him about his past. She wanted to accept him just as he was. The warmth in his eyes, the taste of his lips, the way he knew what she was feeling simply by looking at her—those were the only things that counted. Weren’t they?
Just as the waiter placed her cola in front of her and Raul’s drink on the other side of the table, she sensed someone walking up behind her. Expecting Raul, she turned, and her eyes widened in shock.
William Kelman smiled back.
“Ms. Toussaint! I don’t believe it. What a coincidence!”
Was it? The question popped into her mind without a warning, and she immediately chastised herself. What else could it be but coincidence? He might be strange, but William Kelman wasn’t psychic, she was sure. And there was no way he could have followed them—all the way from Santa Cruz—and she not notice.
“Mr. Kelman. What a surprise to see you here. Are you in town for the festival?”
He nodded. “Yes, I drove down this morning. Dreadful road, isn’t it?” He started to pull out Raul’s chair and sit down, then he saw the drink and stopped. “You’re with a friend—I won’t intrude.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, he squatted beside the table.
“I won’t intrude,” he said, “but I will take advantage of the moment.”
She replied in the only way she could, her stomach turning over in a wave of anxiety. “What can I do for you?”
His eyes seemed to grow a little bluer, a little colder. “I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to rethink the opportunity we discussed last week. It’s still a viable option, you know.”
“I have been thinking about it,” she said, stalling for time.
“Good, good.” His expression held no warmth, although he was smiling.
A vision formed in her mind of her children moving farther and farther away from her. “My answer hasn’t changed.”
He let the words lie between them for a moment. “You’re making a mistake,” he said finally.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. But I’m sure you understand my position.”
“I understand. But I’m not sure you do.” He stared at her for a while, then stood. “I’m very disappointed we couldn’t come to an agreement. I think we could have helped each other.”
“I’d still be happy to help you.” She gripped her drink so hard she was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. She was giving up the best opportunity she’d ever had to get her children back, but she couldn’t do it this way. “I have to work within the confines of the system, though.”
He shook his head almost regretfully. “I thought you had goals, things you needed to accomplish. I guess I was wrong.”
She froze. “I’m sorry?”
His eyes pierced hers. “Don’t you need money, Ms. Toussaint?”
“Everyone needs money,” she said.
“But you have a special reason for it, don’t you?”
She rose quickly, so quickly the table shook as she bumped it on her way up.
He held out his hands and stopped her from speaking. “I needed some help and I thought you needed money. A trade seemed like the way to accomplish both goals. No need to get excited. I thought this was the way to do it, but obviously it isn’t.”
“You’re right. And my private life is just that—private.
I’d appreciate it if you’d recognize that fact.”
“Of course.” He stepped away from the table, both hands in front of him, just as Raul approached from behind.
Emma held her breath as Kelman turned and the two men stared at each other.
Raul spoke first. He wasn’t surprised to see Kelman, she realized, or if he was, he kept it from his demeanor. His tone was casual, his voice low. “Hello, Kelman.”
Something—surprise? dismay?—flared in Kelman’s eyes as he looked from Emma to Raul, then back to her. He’d known she was with someone else—he’d noted the glass—but he definitely had not expected that other person to be Raul. As improbable as it had to be, Emma had the fleeting thought that he’d planned the encounter, arranged it so he could approach her when she wasn’t expecting him. But how could he have known she was coming here? It didn’t make sense. Before she could think about it further, Kelman ducked his head in Raul’s direction. “Santos,” he said.
The silence that built was full of tension. From where she stood, Emma could see it in every line of Raul’s body and in the mask that Kelman wore.
The older man finally spoke. “I won’t keep you,” he said, his gaze directed at Emma once more. “But I will be talking to you. Perhaps we can work something out.”
She nodded stiffly, at a loss for what to say.
Raul spoke as soon as the other man left the table. “Where did he come from? I didn’t see him earlier.”
“I don’t know. I was sitting here and he just appeared. Said he’d come for the festival.”
“What did he want?” Raul asked the question with no special intonation. She heard the strain, though.
“It’s a business thing,” she answered. Her voice was equally blasé, but beneath the table, her knees still trembled. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger—or the realization that her goals were more out of reach than ever. “I really can’t go into it.”
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