Midnight Fire

by Linda Ladd

  Chase said nothing, only stared at her so intently that her nerves began to jump. What was he thinking? Was he glad they were man and wife? Or did he really hate her?

  "Chase, could we talk now, please?"

  "What about?"

  She shifted uncomfortably. Now that they were alone, his voice had a hard edge again.

  "About us, of course."

  "What about us?"

  "Oh, please, Chase, let's not fight. We're married now. Why can't we try to make it work?" She reached out to touch his knee. "I love you, Chase. You must know that."

  She was in no way prepared for his reaction. He pushed her hand away from him.

  "Don't say that to me, comprendes? I don't want to hear it."

  "But why? Why won't you let me tell you how I feel?"

  "Because I'm angry," he said, uttering each word with slow succinctness. "I'm so angry my guts are tied in knots, every day, every night." He leaned forward and took her by the shoulders. "And you know why, Carly? Because Esteban's dead." He opened his palms and thrust them out in front of her eyes. "And because Perez did this to me."

  "I didn't want that to happen, Chase! Why won't you believe me? What do I have to do to make you see how sorry I am?"

  "I wanted to kill you when I saw you dancing with Perez. But then you took care of that, too, didn't you? You had to help save my life so I couldn't even put my hands around your neck and enjoy that revenge. And now as the last slap in my face, you carry my child, and I'm damned to see you everyday, to relive it all, over and over again."

  Carlisle sat frozen.

  Raising his hand, he beat on the ceiling with his fist to signal the coachman to stop. When the carriage halted with a lurch, he thrust open the door and leapt to the ground.

  "Wait, Chase, where are you going? It's our wedding night!"

  "A wedding night is not required to give my child a name. Sleep well, Carly."

  The door slammed, and Carlisle strove desperately to fight off her hurt. She knew he blamed her. At least he'd finally accused her to her face. Perhaps this outburst would help drain away the anger festering inside him.

  Despite her attempts to be reasonable and try to understand Chase's cruel behavior, she felt deep, razor-sharp humiliation when she stepped down in the courtyard of the Casa Amarilla and faced the servants alone, abandoned on her wedding night.

  Valiantly, she smiled and endeavored to act as if her heart were not bleeding. Everyone was quiet and asked no questions, but she saw the sympathy in their dark eyes, so she avoided speaking to them, lifting her gown and hurrying upstairs.

  Like that of a wounded doe wanting to die in her den, her first impulse was to seek the sanctuary of her own bedchamber. Chase's suite had been prepared as the bridal bower, and some innate streak of defiance made her pause before its open portal.

  Fresh flowers had been collected into huge, showy bouquets—so many that the sweet scent of roses and gardenias permeated the room. Tears burned, but she quickly recovered herself as Juana appeared from the adjoining bathing chamber. The girl seemed surprised to see her.

  "Dona Carlita? I did not hear you come in. Are you ready to bathe? Or will you and Don Chaso wish time alone?"

  "A bath, por favor. Gracias, Juana."

  Juana turned to her chore, and Carlisle stopped her with a second request.

  "And would you prepare the sleeping potion you gave me when I was ill? I want only to sleep and forget everything that's happened."

  "Sí, Dona Carlita," Juana answered, but her eyes were troubled as she hurried off to draw the bathwater.

  Carlisle set about making her mind as blank as humanly possible. She carefully removed the delicate mantilla and lay it over a chair. She wouldn't think about Chase, she decided, because when she did, she was either miserable or angry. She felt numb and empty, but those feelings were preferable. Damn Chase, anyway.

  With difficulty, she unbuttoned her dress, feeling a twinge of regret as she set it aside. Last year when she was in the convent, how could she ever have imagined what a horrible wedding day she'd have, already pregnant by a man who hated her?

  Sighing, she thrust Chase from her mind again and. entered the elaborate bath. Since her first days in Mexico City she'd marveled at the palatial marble fireplaces and sunken tubs of the Casa Amarilla. She slipped out of her chemise and stockings, moved across the blue-and-white mosaic tiles, then stepped down into the deep, round pool in which wispy steam rose from the warm, rose-scented water. Her tight muscles began to relax, and she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  "I have the potion, Dona Carlita," Juana said from where she knelt beside her. "It will relax you, and then later, you will sleep long and deep, and have wonderful dreams. Drink. Then I will turn back your bed and bring your nightgown."

  "Sí, Juana, gracias," Carlisle said, taking the cup. She drank the brew quickly, wanting Juana's concoction to plunge her into immediate oblivion.

  Instead, her whole body grew warm, beginning at her toes and moving slowly upward like a low-grade fever. But with it came the most wonderful sense of contentment. Soon she felt suspended in a netherland of dreams, warm, cloudy, and beautiful. She did not know how long she drowsed there before voices in the next room compelled her to open her weighted eyelids.

  Chase stood in the doorway, Juana behind him, and Carlisle knew she had to be dreaming.

  "Leave us, Juana," her husband ordered, without looking at the Indian girl. Carlisle's delicate brows drew into a mild frown. Damn Chase, he even tormented her while she slept!

  "Go away, Chase, and leave my dreams alone," she muttered, her voice thick with sleep. "You're not even real."

  "The hell I'm not," he answered, his deeply timbered voice echoing through her drug-muddled brain.

  The fact that he answered her brought Carlisle closer to awareness. She struggled to sit up, sloshing waves against the walls of the marble tub. She endeavored to blink away her fuzzy vision as he approached her, not completely sure if he was real or imagined.

  "Why are you here?" she asked, confused.

  "I changed my mind and decided to enjoy my wedding night, after all."

  To Carlisle, it seemed he spoke from the far end of a tunnel. So it is a dream, she thought. Chase would never come back. Through a misty haze she saw him unbutton his shirt and the lightly furred, sun-browned muscles of his chest emerge. Then he unbuckled his belt. She watched with dreamy fascination as the rest of his clothes disappeared and he stood naked before her.

  "Why do you have to look so good, like some big Viking god?" she asked peevishly, groggily surprised when he gave a low laugh and stepped right down into the water with her! He wore the old, slow smile, with deep dimples grooved into his tanned face. She loved that smile so much, she thought. Then a low moan was torn from her lips as he pulled her body tight against him. Bare flesh, slickened by warm water and scented oil, met and slid together, his muscles as hard as rock against her naked breasts. Then his fingers threaded their way up beneath her heavy coil of hair, pulling her head back until her throat arched.

  Breathless and dazed, Carlisle parted her lips, and Chase's mouth came down on hers, so hungry, so tender, and all a wonderful dream.

  "Make love to me, Chase," she whispered thickly when his mouth let up in its erotic search of her tongue and lips. "I love you, I love you—"

  Everything was indistinct now, all wavery and blurred as if they embraced beneath a tranquil sea. From somewhere far away, his muffled words reverberated in her somnolent mind.

  "Dios, Carly—"

  What a wonderful dream, Carlisle decided. She really loved this dream, and she loved Juana for giving her the potion that made it possible.

  "I love you," she murmured to her handsome bridegroom, sliding her hands over the bronze skin of his shoulders as he leaned her back, his forearm supporting her head. "I always have, you know, from the first moment I saw your beautiful blue eyes."

  Her conjured lover groaned, his lips seeking hers agai
n, very gently, as if he feared he'd bruise her. How real his palm felt sliding over her bare hip! If only Chase had really come, were really on his knees, sliding his arm beneath her waist and lifting her from the water so he could taste her breasts.

  "Oh, please, let you be real!" she cried, writhing and clutching her fists in his soft blond hair. Her head dropped back, more of her pins and combs coming loose, more silken hair tumbling over his arms. "I can't bear it if you're not real!"

  "What in God's name did Juana give you?" she heard him say. Then he laughed softly when she pulled his head down and kissed him passionately.

  After that, vaguely, she felt him carry her to the softness of the bed, felt him kiss her all over until his body covered her own, his elbows braced on either side of her head. Her hands found his shoulders and slid down his back, her fingers outspread and clutching the molded, rippling muscles. Convulsively, her fingernails curled into his skin, and she arched up to meet his movements, sheer ecstasy controlling her as they moved together, their bodies joined, his anguished cry muffled against her cheek.

  "Oh, God, Carly, I loved you! I loved you so much! Why did you have to betray me?"

  Carlisle felt her heart clutch, for she had no answer, and Chase did not wait for one as his mouth covered hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting him to be real, to be making love to her and giving her the pleasure that was so intense that the wild beating of her heart shook her limbs and made her lips tremble.

  "Please be real," she cried one last time before the sweet release rocked her body, spiraling deep into her quivering core, racking through her like a series of small shocks, until she lay limp and shivering, weak and satiated. When he groaned, his own cry of wonder loud in her ear, she was pleased. Then she gave in to the cloying, sticky strands of sleep tangling her thoughts and slept, her hands still clutched tightly in her husband's gilt-burnished hair.

  Chase jerked in his sleep, awakening with a start. It was early morning, and sun creeping through the shutter slats painted a mosaic of bright white bars on the dark blue bedcovers. Carlisle was cuddled close to his side, his arm resting atop her naked shoulders. Her small body felt warm and soft, and strands of her long coppery hair lay like satin banners across his chest. Gently he brought a fistful of the silken-textured tresses up against his face. The sweet, flowery fragrance invaded his senses, and when his arms tightened around Carlisle, she stirred sleepily, emitting a soft moan.

  God help him, if he'd ever had a weakness in his life, it was Carlisle. Even when he hated her, he wanted her. The night before, he had fully intended to let the beautiful cortesanas of Los Angeles erase Carlisle from his memory. He'd wanted to hurt her by leaving her alone on their wedding night. He'd measured his words with cruel deliberation and had triumphed when he'd seen pain in her eyes.

  But after she had gone, he'd visualized her humiliation when she was forced to face the servants alone, and felt a strong wave of guilt. He had no compunction about hurting her privately—she deserved it for her treachery against him—but her public embarrassment was different. She was his wife now, and even the most loyal servants gossiped with their counterparts in other houses. His slight to his wife would have been found out, and he had not wanted that. So a block away from the elegant bordello, he'd turned back toward home and Carlisle.

  Now, with her in his arms, he wasn't sorry he'd come. He was tired of fighting his own need for her. He wanted to be free to love her again, the way he had before Esteban had died. He wouldn't think of San Miguel or Javier Perez, and he'd let himself love her the way he used to. That's what they both wanted.

  Carlisle stretched, then snuggled contentedly into his arms, her lips against his chest, her gentle breath soft upon his skin. The drug still held her in its spell. Juana had made it strong. He stroked Carlisle's bare back, drawing the cover over her, then slid his palm over the deep indentation of her waist. Her stomach was still flat and firm, but his child grew inside her. If not for the baby, she would have been gone, back to America and her brothers.

  Despite all the protestations of opposition to her presence that he'd hurled at his mother and Tomas, the thought of never seeing her again pierced him like a thorn. He wanted her there with him. He'd married her to keep her with him.

  Shifting onto his side, he turned her face so he could look at her, marveling at the length of her curling eyelashes. Carlita has a face as sweet as an angel. Esteban's reverent voice echoed out of the mists of Chase's mind.

  "Oh, hell, why did Esteban have to die?" Chase said aloud, squeezing his eyes shut. Along with his grief, all the anger he'd wanted to forget came flooding back into him. No matter how much he wanted to forget it, Esteban's death was Carlisle's fault. She was as much to blame as Javier, who'd tossed the stick of dynamite into their midst.

  Fury engulfed him, and he sat up abruptly, releasing his hold on his wife. She rolled back and slept peacefully, her golden-red hair spread out on the pillow like a cloud of fire. Reluctantly, almost against his will, he uncurled his fingers and stared down into his palms where the ugly red scars still bore witness to his crucifixion. He felt the agony, heard his own screams, and the remembered torment brought him out of the bed and away from Carlisle.

  By the time he'd shaved and dressed, he'd managed to subjugate his anger, tamp it down and hold it inside himself as he'd done so often in the past few months. When he was ready to leave his chamber, he paused at the foot of the bed. Carlisle lay on her back, the bedclothes caught around her waist, baring her long slender legs.

  Chase's fingers caught the carved wood of the bedpost, squeezing hard enough to make his fingers go white; he fought the urge to jerk her up and kiss her brutally until she put her arms around his neck and surrendered with the weak mewling sounds he'd forced from her throughout the night. With incredible effort, he turned away and left the dusky bedchamber, closing the door softly behind him.

  Outside, away from Carlisle's mesmerizing presence, he felt in control again, but the casa was quiet and deserted. Out on the patio, near the big fountain, he found his mother breakfasting with Tomas.

  "Chaso! Have we disturbed you?"

  "No," Chase answered in a noncommittal tone which discouraged any further questions. He poured himself café con leche, then glanced briefly at Tomas, whose brown eyes rested on him with haggard hostility. The poor boy was in love with Carlisle, and Chase knew how helpless that could make a man feel. But Tomas would have to get over her, and fast. He was betrothed to another girl now, and he had better get used to it.

  "Tomas, I need to talk to you. It's muy importante."

  "Is it about Carlita?" Tomas asked eagerly.

  Chase's face darkened with annoyance. "Now that Carlisle is my wife, your preoccupation with her will have to stop," he said bluntly.

  Tomas flushed, a deep, angry red. "She is still my amiga, Chaso, and she always will be. And she needs friends now, the way you treat her. It wouldn't surprise me if the marriage wasn't even consummated."

  "Tomas!" Dona Maria cried, shocked. "You speak out of turn!"

  Chase's blue eyes looked deadly. "The marriage was consummated. A number of times. But with the bride already with child, it hardly matters, does it, Tomas?"

  Tomas frowned, and with effort, Chase kept his burgeoning anger in check. Tomas's infatuation with Carlisle would cause trouble for all of them. Suddenly he was glad he'd decided to marry Tomas to Dona Marta. Still, Chase was reluctant to tell Tomas about his new novia, dreading the boy's reaction.

  "A decision has been made concerning your future, Tomas," he began.

  Tomas interrupted. "What gives you the right to make my decisions, Chaso?"

  "Because I'm the head of this family, and you're my brother. I thought you considered me as such."

  "That was before I saw the way you behaved to Carlita. She doesn't deserve to have to marry you and be treated like dirt."

  "She was perfectly willing to marry me," Chase answered as calmly as possible, within inches from losin
g all patience. "Perhaps you'd do well to analyze why she did so, Tomas, since you're obviously so besotted with her you can't think straight. Despite what you think or what you want to believe, Carlisle loves me and wants to be my wife."

  "But you don't love her, do you? If she were mine, I'd treat her like a queen."

  "Well, she isn't yours, goddamn it!" Chase roared. "And she never will be! You had better accept that, because I won't tolerate you lusting after her in my own house!"

  "The Casa Amarilla is Mama's house, not yours!"

  Dona Maria leaned forward as if to speak, but Chase began first.

  "Bueno, then, Tomas," he said between clenched teeth. "I'll take Carlisle to the Hacienda de los Toros and leave her there so you won't be around."

  His threat silenced Tomas, and Chase's frown grew more pronounced. They were already arguing, in a way they'd never done before, and he hadn't even broached the subject of Dona Marta.

  "As you are aware, there was a betrothal agreement between Dona Marta and myself," he said, forcing his voice down.

  "Sí, and you treated poor little Dona Marta as shabbily as you have Carlita. Marta's my friend, and now she probably hates you, too."

  With difficulty, Chase reined in his growing desire to throttle his little brother.

  "I'm very pleased to hear that you consider Dona Marta your amiga, because her padre

  and I have agreed that you should take my place in the betrothal agreement." Tomas's face drained of color, then grew mottled with scarlet blotches as Chase continued. "The whole purpose of the arrangement was to ally our families by a marriage. You'll do as Dona Marta's bridegroom as well as I would have, probably even better."

  "I won't wed her!" Tomas cried furiously. "Carlita's the only woman I'll ever marry!"

  "Sí, Tomas, you'll marry Dona Marta, or you'll be cut off from the family."

  Tomas's jaw went rigid. "Now I understand. You want to rid yourself of me so you won't have to share Mama's inheritance—"

  Chase shot to his feet. "Enough, Tomas!" he ground out harshly. "This wasn't even my doing! I went to Senor Moreno ready to offer a cash settlement for my breach of the betrothal contract. This was the girl's idea. According to Don Ernesto, she's already in love with you."