Blue Knight (9 page)

“Yes.”

He stepped into the stream and began to climb. Then Téra realized he’d taken her confirmation that she could understand his English as confirmation that she would stay away.

Or had he deliberately misunderstood?

Nevertheless, the fever that had bubbled in her veins that afternoon had not abated in the three weeks that had passed since then. It hadn’t been a simple adrenaline rush. It wasn’t a passing fancy. It simmered in the back of her mind most days, an itch she could not scratch that drove her steadily crazy with need. If she happened to see Lucas himself her internal combustion exploded into a hot-tempered craving she could barely control.

She spoke to no one about her secret. She did not dare. Duardo would shoot her, then Lucas. His old-fashioned double standards and the friction that served as their relationship as brother and sister would see to that. There was no one else she knew well enough to confide in, except Minnie. As she was Duardo’s soon-to-be wife, Téra didn’t want to burden Minnie with a secret she couldn’t share with Duardo.

So Téra held it all inside her and watched Lucas whenever she could, until she could stand the simmering no longer. On the night of the wedding, she decided, she would seduce Lucas or die trying.

But now he stood at the wine table, barely looking at her, dismissing her once again as a little girl. He hadn’t even bothered looking at her.

Her heart skipped a beat.
He hadn’t looked to see who she was.
He knew it was her. He’d known all along. His sarcastic comment, the drawled “Don’t you have your own waiters slaving to your every attention at the head table, little one?” proved it.

“Did you know who I was on the stairs that day, Lucas?” she asked, in English.

He turned, finally, to face her. Tension radiated from every stiff line of his body. “It wouldn’t have made any difference if I had.” His jaw was a solid line, his lips held firm. His eyes were flint-black in the low light.

Téra stepped closer, so that there was a bare three inches separating them. She could feel the heat of his body through the silk of her gown and drew in a ragged breath. She looked up at him, feeling the heat breaking out inside her and struggling to control it. She was shuddering with need.

“Tell me you don’t want me, Lucas. Tell me in a way that makes me believe you.”

“I don’t want you.”

“Liar.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Lie? Yes, you do.” She moved the half-step closer she needed to press herself against him and drew in another shuddering breath and fought to control her reaction.

“Christ almighty, stop this, Téra,” Lucas breathed. “We’re in the middle of the dance floor.”

“So everyone can see the man I’ve chosen to seduce. Does that bother you?” She stared at him. “I can feel how much of a liar you are, Lucas.” His cock was a thick rod between them, hot and hard.

His jaw rippled as he clenched it. “You want me to walk away, to publically humiliate you?”

“You’ve already done that,” she reminded him. “I’m publically seducing you because you won’t let me do it in private.”

“You have no idea what you’re baiting here,” he hissed. “You don’t know me at all.”

She laughed. “I was kept in Zalaya’s bordello for three days while they prepped me for Zalaya himself. I got to see the most depraved sexual extremities known to man while I was there. You keep calling me a little girl. Who are you trying to convince?” She reached around his hips, cupped his buttocks and pressed her mons into his pelvis, so that her throbbing clit pushed against him.

He thrust her away and staggered back a step. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.” His voice was a croak. “For both our sakes, leave this alone.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I won’t.”

He leaned over to the wine table and picked up a whole unopened bottle of red. “You must,” he said bleakly and walked away.

Téra watched him step off the flooring onto the sand. He kept going past the bonfire, into the shadows beyond, well into the night, until she lost sight of him.

With her heart doing shaky adrenaline-spiked bounces around her rib cage, she made her way around the dancers back to the head table and sat back in her seat. She caught the waiter’s attention and ordered a double spiced rum, straight. Then she sat waiting for it to arrive impatiently.

Minnie tapped her on the shoulder and dropped into a crouch next to her chair, the lace train collecting around her in elegant drapes. Minnie was glowing.

Téra found herself smiling. “Hey, you’re really my sister now,” she said softly.

“I’m really your sister,” Minnie confirmed. “Here’s another grim fact. You’re going to be an auntie in about seven months.”

Téra swallowed a laugh. “Who would have predicted this, that night you arrived in our kitchen?”

“Duardo did. He already knew he wanted to marry me, that night.” Minnie smiled.

“Yeah, well, my big brother has always been a stubborn son of a bitch.”

Minnie squeezed her arm. “You should be glad he is. If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Amen to that,” Téra murmured. She lifted the glass of rum the waiter put in front of her.

Minnie held a roughly torn, folded piece of paper out toward her. “Here,” she said softly.

“What is it?”

The corner of Minnie’s mouth lifted a little. “The number of Captain De la Cruz’s billet. He has one of the few private ones, I’m told.” She dropped the small wad of paper onto Téra’s lap.

Hot hope spilled through her. She looked Minnie in the eye. “You were told?” She tried to speak calmly, but her voice was thick with clawing, ravening lust. “Who told you?”

Minnie rose to her feet, which only put her a few inches higher than Téra anyway. She was a petite, delicate-looking beauty, but there was an inner core of toughness that Téra had learned to appreciate. Now Minnie leaned down to murmur close by Téra’s ear. “He’ll deny it until he’s blue in the face, especially to you, but Duardo told me.” She straightened, smiled at Téra, picked up her train and floated back to where Duardo was sitting ramrod straight at the head of the table, looking anywhere but at his sister.

* * * * *

By the time she got to her fourth martini, Olivia found that whatever was driving her had backed off enough to let her just sip the colorless liquid, instead of knocking it back in three or four swallows. She reached for the glass with a hand that was perfectly steady, while the barman watched with wide eyes.

Her hand never reached the glass. Daniel picked up the glass and brought it to his nose. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He looked at the barman. “How many?” he asked in Spanish.

The barman swallowed and looked at Olivia.

“Don’t look at her. I asked you a question,” Daniel growled. He pulled his hand out of his pocket. “How many?”

“Four,
Señor
.”

“Goddam it, Olivia,” Daniel muttered, not even looking at her. He jerked his head at the barman. “Could I see the menu?”

The barman’s brows rose. “The…menu?”

“The menu,” Daniel confirmed.

The barman twisted to reach behind him and pull one of the heavy leather-bound menus off the pile behind him. He passed it over to Daniel, who opened it, scanned it and grimaced. “On second thoughts, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll just head for bed.” He slapped the menu shut and thrust it at the barman. “I trust this will cover any indiscretions?”

The barman lifted the cover an inch and let it drop. “Señor,” he said softly in English, “you should know…I am loyalist. This is not necessary.”

“Consider it further inducement, then. The
insurrectos
can be very persuasive.” Daniel dropped his chin to his shoulder and Olivia saw his blue eyes over the thick curve of his shoulder. There was fury in them and no concession whatsoever. “Go to your room. Now. Make damn sure you do not stagger or weave or in any way indicate that you’ve got four stiff drinks in you. You hear me?” His tone was almost savage.

She pushed out her breath. “Like hell. I’m just starting to enjoy myself.”

“You want to get killed, Olivia? Because you’re lining yourself up for a bullet in the head.”

“I can hold my booze. I’ve been drinking on the diplomatic circuit for ten years—”

He turned to her. “You’re putting us all at risk with this stupid stunt. Either you go up to your room now, or
I’ll
put that bullet in your temple.”

She flinched. When his gaze did not waver, she put her feet on the ground and stood up. She couldn’t think of anything to say that Daniel would listen to. Not in his mood. So she left for her room.

Moving through the corridors told her the alcohol was impacting on her far more strongly than usual. It had been weeks since she’d had a drink. She wasn’t used to it anymore. With a sinking sensation somewhere in the area of her heart and her gut, too, she realized that Daniel had anticipated this.

A trickle of fear touched the base of her spine.

Here at the grand old White Sands nut house they were in, it wasn’t just socially unacceptable to get rip-roaring drunk. It was life-threatening to even hint that she might have a drink or two inside her.

A single stagger or slurred word could give her away and she’d knocked back four stiff drinks in twenty minutes and couldn’t handle her booze anymore.

Olivia kept her gaze straight ahead along the corridor. There were guards at various points along the passages. They never stationed them in the same places each day.

She swallowed. She had to keep looking sober and straight until she reached her room. Sweat broke out on her temple as she concentrated on walking straight and keeping her chin up.

The sight of her hotel room door was so welcome she almost wept with relief. What had become to feel like a prison was suddenly a sanctuary. She reached into her shirt pocket for her key, fumbling. She realized her hand was shaking. She bit her lip.

“No longer carrying it in your trousers, I see,” Daniel murmured behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t tease,” she said. “Not now. I’m such a stupid fucking moronic idiot. God, Daniel, what was I thinking?” She tried to get the key into the electronic slot, but her hand was shaking and she missed. Tears blurred her vision and she gritted her teeth. “Oh god, that’s just perfect. That really is just the last thing I need.”

“Here, hold these,” he said, handing her packets of coffee for the coffee machines in their hotel rooms. He took the key from her and opened the door. He pushed her inside, his hand hot on her shoulder through the silk of her shirt.

She hastily wiped her eyes before he could see the tears. That would be the last humiliation and she couldn’t stand it.

He took back the coffee and headed for the bathroom while she disabled the microphone under the bed with the glass of water on her bedside table.

“You’re going to drink coffee until you think you’ve got Blackwater fever,” he called out from the bathroom. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re stone cold sober again.”

“I feel utterly sober already. I think I just scared myself into it.” She hugged her arms around her middle.

He glanced up from preparing the coffee machine. “You might feel sober, but you’ve still got alcohol in your blood. It’s affecting your reactions. I’m not leaving until the alcohol is gone. That’s at least six hours. If Ibarra learned you were under the influence he’d have you pinned under lights and questioning you so fast it would make your head spin. So coffee to speed up your metabolism and me to watch over you and make sure you don’t do anything stupid in the meantime. We keep you under wraps until the danger is passed.”

She shivered. “I’m sorry,” she said inadequately.

Daniel strode out of the bathroom as the coffee machine started to gurgle and halted in front of her. “What were you thinking, Olivia?” he demanded softly. “Four weeks and you haven’t put a foot wrong. Why now, all of a sudden?”

He was too close. The air was too thick. She had trouble drawing it into her lungs. “I wasn’t thinking, I guess.”

“That’s a pathetic lie. You can do better than that,” he scoffed.

Stung, she looked up at him. “I wasn’t,” she said truthfully. “I saw you talking to Theresa and I just got up and went over to the bar and ordered the drink.” She tried to pull back the words, but it was too late. They were out there. She had spoken them out loud.

This was what Daniel meant about alcohol screwing with her judgment and behavior.

He grinned. “And you keep insisting you’re glad you’re invisible.”

It was the grin that did it. All the resentment and fury of the day rushed through her, giving her a rare courage.

Olivia squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I’m not invisible, Daniel. You see me just fine. You and I both know that. But I’m not on your list of quarry. Women under thirty are your exclusive prize because you’re too gutless to try for anything more challenging.”

She saw his chest lift as he drew a breath. Then he turned away, almost like he was pulling himself from her. He moved to the armchair and perched on the padded arm, spreading his feet. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

“Bullshit,” she shot back. “You know very well that alcohol merely lowers inhibitions. It’s just letting me talk. It’s not forcing me to make things up. What’s the matter? Am I scaring you? Insulting you, perhaps? I’ve heard British men are bad lovers. Perhaps it’s true.”

He smiled. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

She turned down the corner of her mouth. “You’ve never bedded a woman old enough to have the experience to judge. How would she know if you’re a bad lover or not?”

“I don’t bed virgins.” His hands were resting on his knees. The fingers appeared relaxed, but the flesh around the nails was white with pressure.

“You don’t bed women, either. You have sex with girls. They’re no challenge at all,” Olivia flung at him.

“Older woman aren’t more of a challenge,” Daniel replied, his voice low. “They’re simply more cumbersome. They come with histories. Hang-ups. Commitment issues.”

“Then you
are
afraid of them.”

“No.” He shook his head.

“So what is the problem, then?” she demanded. “Goddamn it, Daniel. You’re so two-faced!”