Harvest Moon (10 page)

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Regina snapped angrily, interrupting her father. “He’s dead, Daddy. Let him rest in peace.”

“I’ll send a courier to pick them up, and I’ll have them stored for you. What else do you need?”

There was no mistaking her father’s annoyance when his tone changed. His voice was softer, more controlled.

“I need you to set up a payroll and a household account for
El Cielo
. Oscar made provisions for the permanent live-in staff for the next twenty years.”

“That was very generous of him.”

“I agree.” This time there was no evidence of facetiousness in her father’s voice. “How long do you project all of this will take?”

“Hold on while I talk to Philip.”

Regina ran a hand through the hair she had unpinned from its elaborate chignon. Twisting a black curl around her finger, she examined it; she realized her hair was too long. Unbound, it reached her waist, and the only styles she affected were a single braid, ponytail, or a chignon. The long, curly hair and her dimpled smile had become her trademarks when she was an actress, but that phase of her life had been over for years.

A few times she had thought she would return to the stage, but changed her mind. Now she loved the entire process of designing
gardens, from drawing up the plans to seeing the blooming plants harmonizing with the surrounding landscape.

“Cupcake?”

The endearment wrung a smile from her. Her father had not let go of his childhood nickname for her. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Philip projects it should take about three weeks, give or take a few days.”

She glanced down at the open desk diary on the round rattan table. “If that’s the case, then expect me back around the first of October.”

“I’ll tell Philip to make this a priority.”

“Thanks, Daddy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I want you to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“When you come back this time you’ll stay for a while. I’m getting too old to fly around the world searching for my firstborn.” She laughed, the low, husky sound reminding Martin of his wife’s voice.

“You’re not old, Daddy. You’re only fifty-seven. Wait until you’re eighty-five, like Grandpa. Then you can say you’re old.”

“Your grandfather has been asking for you.”

“You tell him that I’ll be home soon.”

“You know your mother is planning a big party for you.”

“I figured she would. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again. Daddy, I love you.”

“And I love you,” Martin stated quietly.

“I’ll see you.”

She hung up, then closed her eyes. Everything was falling into place, and she looked forward to returning to her family with the same obsession which had made her leave Florida for Los Angeles two months before her seventeenth birthday. It had taken ten years, but she had finally come full circle.

R
egina met with the gardener, chauffeur, and housekeeper, informing them that they would be guaranteed a place to live while collecting salaries if they maintained a residence at
El Cielo
for the next twenty years. All were too stunned with their former employer’s offer to say anything as they stared at her with gazes filled with shock and gratitude.

“I’m going to hire someone to oversee the property,” she continued. “He will be responsible for repairs and the general upkeep of
El Cielo
.”

“Are you going away, Señora?” Rosa questioned, taking furtive glances at the others.

“
Sí
, Rosa.”

“Will you be back, Señora?” Rosa had appointed herself spokesperson for the group.

“Sí,”
Regina repeated. “I will be back, and so will Dr. Spencer. We may not come back at the same time, but I promise you both of us will return here many, many times.” This seemed to satisfy
the housekeeper, and her lips parted in a warm smile. “Rosa, I’d like to talk to you,” she continued at the same time the gardener and driver walked out of the kitchen, patting each other on the back.

“Señora?”

Her dark gaze met the equally dark one of Rosa Galan. “You can take the rest of the day off.”

“But, Señora, who will prepare dinner for you and Dr. Spencer?”

“I will.”

“
Sí
, Señora.”

It was not the first time she had taken over the cooking duties. Regina shared her father’s love of cooking, but hadn’t indulged herself with concocting new and exotic dishes. She had spent so much time looking after Oscar, and whenever she cooked for him most times his sensitive stomach would not tolerate anything but soft, bland food.

Once she returned to the States she would look for an apartment, decorate it, then plan her career as a landscape architect. Florida would be an ideal location because of its abundant sunshine and tropical conditions.

Aaron changed his clothes, made two calls to Bahia, then went in search of Regina.
Siesta
had ended, and he knew he would find her in one of two places: the garden, or her bedroom. He knocked on her door and encountered silence. He waited and knocked again. It was apparent she wasn’t in her bedroom.

His footfalls were silent as he descended the staircase and went to the garden. He asked the gardener if he had seen Señora Spencer. The man informed him that he had left her in the kitchen with Rosa.

Returning to the coolness of the house, he found her alone in the kitchen. Standing in the entrance to the large, modern,
functional space, he leaned against a wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at her.

He thought she looked younger today than at any time since he had met her. She had pulled her hair back and braided it in a single plait, securing the curling end with a red elastic band. Wisps of black curling hair fell over her forehead and ears. She had also changed from her tailored dress into a pair of well-worn jeans, a navy-blue T-shirt, and black ballet slippers. Her overall appearance was one of unabashed feminine innocence.

She hadn’t noticed him watching her as she busied herself sectioning a chicken on a cutting board. She wielded a cleaver with consummate skill, which verified that she was more than comfortable with the inside of a kitchen.

“What’s for dinner?”

Regina dropped the cleaver, it falling with a dull thud onto the cutting board. A slight frown marred her smooth forehead. “Stop creeping up on me,” she gasped, wanting to scream at Aaron, but couldn’t, not when her heart was pounding like a rapid-firing piston.

He closed the space between them with long, fluid strides and grasped her wrist between his fingers, monitoring her pulse. “I really did frighten you, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” She stared at his throat rather than meet his gaze.

His brow furrowed in a frown. “What makes you frighten so easily?”

She snatched her hand from his loose grip. “Nothing. It’s just that I didn’t expect to see you standing there, that’s all.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Whistle. Sing. Just make some noise.”

His frown deepened. She was afraid of something, and he knew he wasn’t the cause. “How’s your blood pressure?”

“It’s normal. Why?”

“I don’t want you stroking out on me.”

She gave him a saucy smile. “I can reassure you that I won’t have a stroke or a heart attack.”

He returned her smile. “Good. And I promise I’ll whistle before I come up on you again.” Moving closer, his chest only inches from her back, he examined the different foodstuffs on the counter. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had gumbo.”

Regina suffered his closeness as she pretended indifference to his presence. She wanted to flee the kitchen and hide behind the door to her bedroom. It wasn’t that she wanted to hide from Aaron so much as that she needed to hide from herself, and the feelings he aroused in her.

“Do you mind if I help?”

“Not at all,” she said a little too quickly, realizing she would agree to anything to make him move away from her. Then she remembered his admission that he was a very good cook.

“I’ll take care of the chicken while you slice the peppers and the okra,” he said.

“Okay.”

Aaron washed the chicken, patted it dry, then tossed the pieces in a large plastic bag filled with flour seasoned with salt and pepper. He preheated the oven, added butter and vegetable oil to a Dutch oven, and placed the chicken in the pot, then into the oven to brown.

“How spicy do you like your food?” he questioned as he picked up several CDs from a countertop next to a compact disc stereo system.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I don’t mind if my food bites back.”

“All right,” he drawled, grinning broadly. “So, the girl likes it hot and spicy.”

“If the truth be known, I like it
real
hot
and
spicy.”

He gave her body a raking gaze, then slipped six CDs onto the carousel. “Like your music?” She gave him a lingering stare.
“I doubt very much if my father listened to the Barrio Boyz, Babyface, India, Jon Secada, Marc Antony, or DLG.”

“He liked Babyface and Jon Secada.”

Picking up a case for DLG—Dark Latin Groove—he read the selections aloud. “
La Quiero A Morir
. That’s heavy, Regina. Dying for love. Dad was more comfortable with Frank Sinatra, Nat Cole, and Sarah Vaughan.”

She sucked her teeth at the same time she continued to trim the okra. “Don’t be so cynical, Aaron. One of these days love is going to jump up and bite you on your behind so hard you won’t have time to holler.”

“You think so?” he questioned, stalking her and reminding her of a large cat.

Holding a small paring knife in front of her, she warned softly, “Stay away from me, Aaron.”

“Put that thing away.” Before she could inhale, he caught her wrist and took the knife from her loose grip. “I didn’t bring my medical bag, so let’s try to act civil.” Pulling her up close to his body, he swung her around in tempo with the pulsating Latin rhythm. “Dance with me,” he urged when she went stiff in his arms. He tightened his grip on her waist, molding her to the length of him until they were fused from shoulders to knees. “It’s been a long time since I’ve danced with a woman.”

Curling her arms around his neck, Regina relaxed, closed her eyes, and inhaled the hauntingly sensual scent of his natural body fragrance mingling with his cologne.

“What’s the matter, Aaron? You don’t get out much?”

He laughed, the sound rumbling like thunder in his broad chest. “Apparently not enough. I’m usually invited to a lot of parties during the Christmas season, but I manage to make it to only one or two.”

Pulling back, she smiled up at him staring down at her. “What about Carnival?”

He shifted his eyebrows. “I stay away from Carnival.”

“Why?”

“It’s become a little too boisterous for me.” He swung her around, his hips moving sensuously against hers as he kept pace with the throbbing rhythm.

She nodded, concentrating on the intricate dance steps Aaron executed. He had failed to mention that he was also an excellent dancer. She followed his every move. The selection ended but he did not release her, and she did not want him to.

Dancing with Aaron reminded her of what she had missed. She had never been given the opportunity to date, dance, or flirt with a man. He was offering her that, and more. She registered the changes within her whenever he tightened his grip on her waist, making her aware of how different their bodies were. She successfully swallowed back a moan when she felt his rising hardness press against her middle, bringing with it a heaviness in her breasts she was unable to control. She was certain he was cognizant of the changes at the same time his breathing deepened.

Then, without warning, he went completely still, and she was certain she would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her and possibly injured herself.

His hands moved from her waist to cradle her face. She tried escaping him, but he tightened his hold. “Don’t,” he whispered, his moist breath caressing her mouth. “Please don’t move.”

Closing her eyes against his intense stare, she realized she couldn’t move. She couldn’t escape him even if she wanted to. It was too late. Aaron Spencer had become the itch she couldn’t scratch. Within two weeks he had become a part of her existence, and try as she could, she could not remember when he had not been at
El Cielo
.

She looked for him when she woke up, and before she retired for bed. They had taken to sharing all of their meals and walks together, and many times
siestas
in the garden. And there were occasions when they were content to sit beside each other without initiating conversation.

She knew he was going to kiss her, and she was helpless to stop him. It wouldn’t be the first time a man kissed her, but it would be the first time she would not have to take her cue from a director.

Aaron stared at Regina as if seeing her for the first time. He hadn’t realized the length of the lashes brushing the tops of her high cheekbones, the smooth, velvety texture of her skin, and the narrowness of her delicate nose. His hand splayed over her cheek, his fingers entwining in the curls framing her face. His head came down slowly, inch by inch, until his mouth hovered over hers, capturing her breath as she exhaled.

Angling for a better position, he slanted his mouth over hers, increasing the pressure until her lips parted slightly. That was what he needed to stake his claim, his tongue meeting hers in a heated joining which raced through his body like the rush of molten lava.

He tasted her mouth tentatively, kissing every inch of it. Then, with a rush of uncontrollable desire, he devoured its sweetness like a child who had been deprived of candy for years.

Regina moved closer, shocked at her own eager response to the feel of his lips on hers as she returned his kiss with a reckless abandon she hadn’t known she possessed.

He drew back to catch his breath and she collapsed against his chest, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Not only had he heated her blood, but his repressed passion had scorched her soul.

“Please, let me go, Aaron.” Her velvet voice came out in a breathless whisper.

Burying his face in her hair, he shook his head. “I don’t want to—but I will.” Releasing her, he stepped back, staring at her staring back at him. Passion had dilated her pupils, while her breasts rose and fell over her narrow rib cage.

“Aaron—”

“It’s all right,
Princesa
,” he crooned, interrupting her with
a knowing smile. “If you don’t want me to kiss you again I won’t.”

Her lids fluttered in confusion. “I didn’t say I didn’t want you to kiss me.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze narrowed. “Then what is it?”

“I want you to check on the chicken. I can’t abide burnt food.” He stared at her, complete surprise freezing his features. “If you’re not going to help me, then get out of my kitchen,” she challenged, pushing him aside to open the oven door.

He laughed, the sound exploding from his throat, as he watched her turn over pieces of chicken with a long-handled fork. His hungry gaze devoured her slim body in the revealing jeans, his laughter fading when she turned and glared at him.

“What’s so funny?”

He sobered. “How can you turn your emotions on and off like a faucet? You kiss me passionately, and then in the same breath you talk about checking on the chicken.”

“I can kiss you passionately because I’ve been trained to turn on the passion. You keep forgetting that I was an actress.”

His eyes widened, anger glimmering in their dark depths. “Are you saying that what we’ve just shared was an
act
?”

Rising on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”

His arm snaked out and held her fast. “Don’t play with me, Regina.”

Leaning closer, she bared her straight, white teeth. “Or you’ll do what, Aaron?” Their gazes fused, locking in a battle of wills where neither wanted to concede.
“¿Qué?”
she spat out.

She was asking him what he was going to do, and he couldn’t come up with an answer.
“Nada,”
he replied in the same language. If she continued to tease him there was absolutely nothing he could or would do. He would take everything she threw at him until he won. And he would not stop until she was his wife.

* * *

Regina sat on the patio with Aaron, enjoying the warmth of the late summer night. It had cooled down considerably, and she lay on a chaise, staring up at the starlit sky.

Dinner had been a success, the gumbo flavorful and spicy from the piquant chili powder. She had prepared a side dish of savory white rice, with an accompanying avocado and orange salad, and baked a small loaf of Rosa’s homemade bread. Her beverage was iced tea, while Aaron had opted for a frozen citrus fruit drink.

“How about a walk?” he asked lazily, his voice floating above as he stood over her.