A Matter of Circumstance

by Heather Graham

  Then he and Sean went on to discuss the situation with the elder Garcia.

  Mandy concentrated on her shrimp cocktail. It was amazing. Last night she had been in absolute terror, wondering how Sean would ever stand up to two guns. Staring at her fingers, she shivered. She glanced up and found Sean’s eyes on her. He smiled. She looked down again quickly, hoping that Peter hadn’t caught the exchange.

  “Oh, Mandy! I forgot to tell you! The team from Colorado called the school. You’ve been invited to be a part of the new dig.”

  “Really? How wonderful,” she murmured.

  “Dig?” Sean inquired.

  “Yes,” Peter said proudly. “Mandy is a paleontologist.”

  Sean arched one dark brow. “Dinosaurs?”

  Despite herself, she grinned. “Their bones, actually, lieutenant.”

  “She teaches at the state college these days, but this sounds like the perfect time for a leave of absence. You could still manage some skiing out in Colorado.”

  “Yes, I suppose I could.”

  Skiing. She loved to ski. But at the moment the prospect meant nothing to her. She closed her eyes briefly. The dig, though, the dig would be good. The painstaking exploration, the wonder of discovery. The piecing together of ancient puzzles. It would be far away and remote, and she could forget all about Julio and Roberto—and Sean Ramiro.

  Their main course came, pompano, broiled and garnished and savory, but Mandy couldn’t taste it. She could only feel Sean’s eyes on her from across the table. She wanted to scream. She wanted to demand to know what he was trying to do to her, here, in front of Paul’s father.

  “Do you have a family, lieutenant?” Peter asked Sean.

  Sean grinned, swallowed a piece of fish, then replied. “Well, sir, everyone has some kind of family. But am I married? No. No children. My father is deceased, my mother lives in Miami Shores, and I’ve got no brothers or sisters.”

  “Divorced?” Peter asked him, and Mandy was stunned. Peter was never this rude.

  “No, sir. I’ve never been married.”

  “Never came close?”

  “Oh, yeah. I came close. Once.”

  Peter’s curiosity was quelled by the tone of that reply. No further questions in that direction would be answered.

  They bypassed dessert and ordered liqueurs. Mandy found herself feeling amazed. Last night she had been wearing old dirty clothing and sleeping in a hovel. Tonight she was surrounded by opulence: plush velvet, twinkling chandeliers, marble and silver. How quickly the world could change.

  As quickly as Sean Ramiro.

  They left the restaurant and went into the casino. Peter chose a roulette table; Sean sat down to play blackjack. Nervous and wishing that the evening would end, Mandy restlessly decided to play the slots.

  Her little buzzer went off instantly to announce a two hundred dollar jackpot, and two hundred silver coins came spilling out into the catch tray.

  She just stared at the coins, then started. Sean wasn’t playing blackjack anymore. He was leaning casually against her machine, staring at her mockingly, lashes low over his eyes, looking sensual and handsome despite his negligent stance.

  He touched a trailing lock of her hair. “Everything you touch turns to gold, huh?”

  She jerked away from his touch. “Silver dollars, Mr. Ramiro. And my hair is dirty blond.”

  “Oh, I don’t think anything about you touches… dirt.”

  “I work in the dirt. I dig up bones, remember?”

  “I wonder why that never cropped up in casual conversation.”

  “We’ve never had a casual conversation.”

  “That’s right. We were always pretty intense, weren’t we? Need some help with your money?”

  “No thanks. I’ll just play it back.”

  He moved closer to her, his dark head bending. “Mind if I watch.”

  “Yes, I do. What are you trying to do to me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Peter is here!”

  He arched a cynical brow at her. “Peter is here?” he repeated. “And now that Peter is here you have to pretend that you don’t know me? Funny, I don’t see the senator as a snob.”

  “He’s not—I’m not. Just go away, will you, please? Look, it’s over. I never understood you, you never understood me. You’ve got a chip on your shoulder the size of a cement block. And I’ve got a few—”

  “Prejudices?”

  “No! Damn you. Problems of my own!”

  “And what are they, Mrs. Blayne?”

  How dare he? she wondered furiously. Confusion joined the tempest in her heart, and she was afraid that she would burst into tears right there.

  She didn’t. She just inhaled deeply and spoke with a voice as sharp as a razor. “No one, Ramiro, will ever need to tell me that life can be rough. I don’t care what’s happened to you, there is nothing—nothing in life like losing a child!”

  She turned around in a whirl, leaving her coins in the machine, fleeing the room.

  Peter would be upset, of course. He would wonder what had sent her flying out. But she couldn’t even care about Peter just then; she had to leave.

  Mandy had no problem getting a taxi to take her back over the bridge to Nassau and her hotel. Once she got there she knew she had to leave a message for Peter. She did so, then started forlornly for the elevator. She didn’t know why she felt so lost, so miserable. It was as if the past and the present had collided to bring her agony just when she should have been eternally grateful that she had been rescued and given a future.

  She should have sensed that something was wrong the moment she entered the room, but she didn’t. She didn’t even bother to turn on the light; moonlight was drifting in through the parted curtains anyway. She just closed and bolted the door, tossed her handbag on the dresser and fell back on the plush double bed.

  It was then that she heard the rustle of movement and saw the silhouette moving in the darkness.

  She tensed and opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped tightly over it.

  “Shut up. It’s just me.”

  “Just you!” Furiously she twisted away from him, sitting up, wishing she could see him clearly enough to belt him a good one. “You scared me half to death! What are you doing in here? I’m getting so sick of your strong-arm tactics.”

  “Take your clothes off, Mandy.”

  “What?”

  “Take your clothes off. It seems to be the only way we can communicate.”

  “Get out of here! I’ll call the co—”

  “Cops? Honey, you’ve got one already.”

  “Sean…”

  “Mandy?”

  His fingers slid into the hair at her nape, his palm cradling her skull. He held her there while he came ever closer, his lips meeting hers at last, hesitating for just a breath, then coming alive. For an instant, she clenched her teeth against him, but the warm pressure of his tongue dissolved her resistance, and with a little sigh she fell into his arms.

  Circumstances changed. People did not. And darkness had come again.

  In seconds he was stretched out beside her. They were both fully clothed, but she felt as if she was touching him, all of him.

  But it was not passion that goaded him, not that night. He brushed her cheek, and she felt his eyes, emerald flames that defied the darkness.

  “I’m sorry, Mandy.”

  She couldn’t answer him. She shrugged.

  “I can’t forget what happened.”

  “No one has asked you to forget.”

  “Mandy…”

  “You’re strange, Sean. I thought I was, but you’re stranger. We make love at night, and in the morning you behave as if I’m a bee with a particularly annoying buzz. One second you’re as charming as a prince, and then the next—”

  “I had a few raw deals. I took it out on you.”

  “I can’t help the color of my hair, or who my ancestors were.”

  “Wait a minute! Wait a min
ute! Get off my case. You were the one who didn’t want to touch me with a ten-foot pole the second other people appeared on the scene!”

  “You don’t—oh, never mind. You just—”

  “Mandy!”

  “What?”

  “Did you smell this bed? Did you touch it? Feel it. So soft, so fresh.”

  She didn’t know why she obeyed the command, but she did, inhaling deeply. And it was true, of course. The bedding smelled wonderful.

  “It’s so clean,” she murmured.

  He ran his knuckles tenderly over her hair. “And you’re so clean.”

  “I beg your pardon. I was always clean.”

  “Well, I wasn’t so great.”

  “Really? For shame, Lieutenant Ramiro.” She couldn’t stop herself from grinning in the darkness. “I’d never thought your confidence could be so low. I always thought you were at least okay.”

  “I was…okay?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  “Hmm. Well…”

  “Well?”

  “I’m great now. Want to try me? Clean as a whistle. I even shaved, and you didn’t even notice.”

  “Oh, but I did. I think. You looked so great in that suit.”

  “Aha! I told you I was great!”

  “Bragging will get you nowhere.”

  “Okay. Take your clothes off. We’ll go back to brute force.”

  “Sean…”

  He stopped her words with a kiss that seemed the most natural thing in the world. It always seemed to be like that; the taunts and the bitterness, but then somehow the laughter, and the irresistible urge to touch.

  She would probably never know which was real, the laughter or the pain. But in the darkness, even darkness kissed by moonlight, it didn’t seem to matter. When she was with him she always felt as if she had a driving thirst, as if his touch was water that cascaded over her, a fountain that sparkled and rippled, soothing and delighting, sweeping her away to new heights.

  His hands moved over her, frustrated by her dress. He groaned softly. “Take your clothes off.”

  “Is that the only line you know?” she whispered.

  “It’s a damn good one,” he assured her. And she laughed, laughed until his fingers rode along her bare legs to her bikini panties and teased her flesh through the silky fabric. Then her breath caught and she could laugh no more, and she was suddenly thinking that surely this would be the last time that she had to drink in all of him; the bronze flesh and muscle and sinew; the dark hair that dusted his legs and chest; the powerful line of his profile….

  “You take your clothes off,” she told him huskily. “On second thought…”

  She started working on the tiny pearl buttons of his vest. He took a deep breath, watching her, watching the tiny frown that furrowed her brow. He held his breath as she undid the vest and then his shirt, and then he expelled it with a heady groan as she brought her mouth against him, delicately touching him with the tip of her tongue. Then she grew bolder, grazing his skin with gentle teeth that sent streams of lavalike desire rippling through his body. She moved sinuously against him, her hands moving over his back, his chest, then to his shoulders to shove the annoying material from the form she was so eager to know.

  There was nothing like this, she thought. Nothing like feeling his reactions to her kiss, her touch. He trembled beneath her, yet he was taut, and with each ragged breath he took she felt bolder, more feminine, more vibrantly aroused herself. He was right: he was clean; he was great; the fresh masculine scent of his body was an aphrodisiac in itself, and she wondered at the beauty of him as her head reeled. She slipped her fingers along the waistband of his pants, teasing his belly, finding his belt buckle and leisurely working it free.

  Too leisurely, perhaps. His groan resounded like thunder, and he set her aside, destroying her illusion of power. He left her to feverishly shed the remainder of his clothing, then lay back beside her.

  “What’s this?” he whispered huskily.

  “My dress.”

  “Get rid of it!”

  She giggled breathlessly. “I thought you were going to do a striptease and then dance.”

  “I intend to dance, all right.” He swore softly in Spanish, having a miserable time with the tiny hook at her nape. He paused, shrugged and snapped it, and she didn’t care in the least. She was suddenly as anxious as he was to feel their bodies together.

  As soon as her clothes were gone she stepped back to him, remembering their first time. She knelt down and let her hair fall over his feet as she massaged them, then dusted them with kisses. Her body was liquid as she moved against him, using the tip of her tongue at the backs of his knees and all along his thighs.

  He held his breath again, as taut as wire. She waited, drawing out the moment, her hair spilling over him.

  And then she took him with her touch, with her kiss.

  She heard his words, sweet and reverent, in English and in Spanish, and they all meant the same thing. His fingers were tempered steel when they closed around her arms as he drew her to him, moving swiftly, stunning her with the electric force of his entry. The moment was so fulfilling that she cried out softly, only to have her words stolen once again by a kiss.

  They moved together in the moonlight, until finally she lay panting in sweet splendor. She was so tired, so spent, yet each new touch awakened her anew, until she moaned softly, curling into his chest with the sweetest sigh.

  He held her there for what seemed like forever.

  * * *

  She didn’t know when the change came, only that he suddenly stiffened and then rose before padding naked to the window to stare out at the Bahamian night.

  She was too drowsy to rouse herself, and she wondered bitterly why he had decided to do so at such a time.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked softly.

  He whipped around, like a lethal predator, and moved back to the bed, perching at the foot of it.

  “What are we going to do now?” he asked her harshly.

  “Sleep,” she responded.

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  “Sean, don’t…” She lifted an imploring hand to him, but he ignored it.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Sean, I’m so tired.”

  “Then wake up. What are we going to do?”

  “We’re—we’re going to fly back to the U.S. in the morning!” she snapped at last. “I have to go back to work. I assume that you do, too.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What about us?”

  She held her breath, wondering what he was so upset about. Was he afraid that she would think she had some kind of hold on him? What was it with him? She didn’t understand him, and when he was like this he actually frightened her.

  She cared too much. Way too much. And she had promised herself that she wouldn’t risk caring that much ever again. Her career, her love of the past, would be her life. Nice safe dinosaurs that had been extinct for years and years and years….

  “You don’t have a thing in the world to worry about, lieutenant,” she whispered wearily. “I have no intention of becoming involved with you. You’re as free as a lark.”

  “Oh?” he said coldly.

  Chills raced along her spine; she wanted to touch him and erase the tension from his face. But she had already reached out to him, and he had ignored her.

  “So,” he murmured, “it all came true in a way, didn’t it? I might as well have been your gardener, dragged in when the odd occasion warranted it, huh?”

  She was instantly furious with him—and with herself, for always falling prey to him so easily. “You stupid bastard!”

  “Yeah, you’re kind of right there, too, aren’t you?”

  He prowled over to the window once again. “I’ve got just one more question for you, Mrs. Blayne.”

  “Do ask, lieutenant.”

  “I’m curious as to what precautions you’ve been taking.” />
  “Precautions?” Mandy echoed hollowly.

  He turned so suddenly that she thought he was about to take the drapes with him. “I’ll be blunt, Mrs. Blayne. I’m talking about birth control.”

  “Don’t you dare stand there and yell at me! I wasn’t planning on having an affair! I was kidnapped! I usually don’t worry about birth control when maniacs are abducting me! There’s an old saying that it takes two to tango, and I’m here to tell you that it’s true!”

  “That’s irrelevant.”

  “The hell it is!”

  “It’s irrelevant,” he repeated, bending over her so that his arms surrounded her like a cage. “Because any precautions I might have taken would have been evident. So we know that wasn’t the case.”

  She felt that she really did hate him at that moment. He stood over her like some superior god, the epitome of masculine force, beautiful still, and more hateful for it.

  She stiffened her spine, as heedless of her nudity as he was of his. “You have no problems whatsoever, lieutenant. I will never again have a child. Does that satisfy you?”

  For an instant she thought that he was going to hurt her, he looked so fierce. He didn’t. He pushed himself away from the bed in a fury, muttering something she didn’t understand. She shivered because without his warmth the night had grown cold.

  She closed her eyes tightly. “Sean,” she said miserably, “get out of here. Please, go!”

  Once more he came back to her. He took a strand of her hair, curling it around in his fingers. She’d never seen him quite like this, and it was all she could do to keep from tearing away from him, to keep from screaming out.

  “Not again, Mrs. Blayne,” he said softly. “Not again. Here’s another expression for you—those who play sometimes pay. And if you’re given a price, my love, you will pay it.”

  “What—?”

  “You can expect to see me again. Quite frequently. For the next few months, at least.”

  A new wave of trembling swept over her, along with a rush of conflicting emotions. She understood him now; at least, she thought she did. She’d assumed at first that he had no desire to be saddled with a child from their affair; now she knew it was the opposite. And with that knowledge she experienced a blank and cold dread, terrifying, horrible. It was if she had gone back in time, gone back to the time when the young highway patrolman had stood on her doorstep, telling her that not only her husband but her infant had been killed in the collision, the baby mercifully quickly….