In the Dark (9 page)

"What's in it?" she asked, curious despite herself.

He slanted her a look with one dark eyebrow raised. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Stir-fried almonds, pecans, peanuts, and shelled
pepitas
are blended with chilies in a turkey broth."

"That sounds simple enough."

His eyes glinted. "Then you sauté a ripe thick-skinned plantain, setting it aside. Next, you sauté tomatoes, adding raisins and the sautéed plantains at the last minute. Run this fruit blend through a sieve before adding it to the chili puree."

His voice had a sensual, hypnotic effect on her. Leila felt herself falling under its spell.

"After that," he added, "you brown an onion and garlic clove in a clean skillet. Add peppercorn, chickpeas, and anise; a cinnamon stick, Mexican oregano, dried thyme, and sea salt. This, too, is added to the puree."

He held up the glass jar before dumping it in a blender. "But I do all that in advance."

Watching him at work in his kitchen was fascinating, almost magical. He fried a hunk of bread in oil as well as five coarsely chopped tortillas, adding them to the blender with the chili puree and a cup of turkey broth.

Warming strips of turkey breast in the oil he'd used for the bread, he poured the sauce from the blender over it, leaving it to simmer. He measured out a half cup of brown sugar and stirred it in. And then came the chocolate.

Leila had a weakness for chocolate. She watched it melt into the fragrant, spicy-sweet smelling sauce, and her mouth watered.

"When did you learn to cook?" she wondered aloud. How could he have had time as a SEAL in charge of so many men?

"My mother needed help in the kitchen," he replied, reminding her that he was the oldest of eight, that his father had died, postponing his dreams of college, making it necessary for him to join the Navy. "Fortunately," he said with a half smile, "I enjoyed it." He ran his rather elegant-looking hands under the faucet, while gazing at her. "And you?"

She shrugged. "I was made to learn. Turkish women are expected to toil in the kitchen," she mocked.

"And when did you learn to dance?" His eyes warmed with appreciation.

"School dances," she admitted, looking away. "I was forbidden to go, but I found a way. The cheerleader sponsor saw me on the dance floor and begged me to join the dance team. By the time my parents found out, I was too involved to quit. When I went to college, I majored in it."

Having revealed that much, she felt suddenly exposed to him. There were some things Sebastian didn't need to know about her, even if he did become the father of her child. She turned abruptly toward the sliding-glass doors and unlatched them, stepping outside onto his balcony.

She took a breath to clear her head, to gather herself.

The sun had set, leaving the Atlantic Ocean looking like a giant pot of ink. Tonight the moon was not in sight, but the stars winked on, one by one. The scent of seafood wafted on a breeze that carried the sound of laughter. It would be so easy to lose herself, to let her guard down as she had before.

As if to prove just that, the melodic notes of piano music greeted her ears. Sebastian had turned on the stereo. Leila closed her eyes, lured helplessly into the romantic atmosphere.

She sensed Sebastian stepping onto the deck behind her and her breath caught as she anticipated his arms going around her. He would pull her against his lean male body. His touch was all it would take to shatter her resistance.

"Qué bella la noche,"
he commented.

She opened her eyes to find him propped against the deck rail, regarding her.

"It is beautiful," she admitted, striving for a conversational tone.

"Not half so lovely as you."

The compliment snapped her out of her trance. "Okay, stop," she said, propping her hands on her hips. "If you brought me here to feed me, Sebastian, then that's one thing. But you're not going to seduce me. We have a deal, and it doesn't include seeing each other whenever whim dictates, do you understand?"

To her discomfiture, he merely looked at her, making her feel like she'd displayed unseemly emotion for nothing.

"Would you care for a glass of wine?"

"No," she said. "Thank you." Wine was the last thing she needed; his company was intoxicating enough.

"Come and see what I have, though," he offered, gesturing with his head.

Recalling the fabulous Crest Chardonnay he'd shared with her on a picnic a month ago, she trailed him back into the kitchen. The aroma of chocolate and chilies filled her senses as she stood beside his wine cabinet.

He pulled a bottle out for her inspection. "Château Lafite Rothschild Pauillac, 1996," he announced, handing it to her. "It conveys an essence of limestone, honeysuckle, and pear. But a dark wine would be best with our meal. This is Swanson Cabernet Sauvignon, 1997. It blends cassis and black raspberry, with cedar and ash, sage, thyme, vanilla, and bittersweet chocolate."

Chocolate again.

"Are you sure you won't try it?" he asked, avoiding eye contact.

"Perhaps just a small glass," she conceded.

She sipped the Cabernet with secretly profound appreciation as he stirred their dinner. For a man who wielded a gun for a living, Sebastian had such sensitive-looking hands, with handsome knuckles and long, slender fingers that knew just where to touch her and just how.

Before she knew it, her wineglass stood empty. They'd discussed their favorite music and the best places in the world to see. And those to avoid.

With a start, Leila realized that she was feeling relaxed and warmly alive. She'd let her guard down. Sebastian had ignored her warning earlier. He was slowly, inexorably drawing her in.

Before the night was through, she was certain he would peel her clothes off in that very deliberate manner of his and kiss every inch of her, beginning with her lips, her neck, her breasts, and so on, moving down the length of her body until she was nothing but a pool of liquid need.

Only then would he tell her how much he wanted her and what he was going to do to her, interspersing lilting Spanish phrases into his whispered predictions.

"Let's eat on the balcony," he suggested, oblivious to her carnal thoughts. "Would you light this for me?" He handed her a candle in a glass dome and a box of matches.

"Of course," she said. "I'll set the table," she added, desperate for some mundane task to take the edge off her traitorous anticipation.

It took her six attempts to light the candle. She blamed it on the ocean breeze, but her fingers shook as she laid place mats and silverware on the glass top of his wrought-iron table.

Sebastian brought the food out with a flourish. As they sat down across from each other, an awkward silence fell between them. "I like to say grace," Sebastian admitted.

"Yes, me, too. Go ahead."

He hesitated. "What faith will we raise our child?" he asked very seriously.

Leila narrowed her eyes at him. He made it sound like they'd be living together. "I don't think we need to face that right now, do you?"

He shrugged, closed his eyes, and gave a simple blessing, and the moment passed.

Leila found herself ravenous. A whimper of delight escaped her as she dug into her food. The exotic blend of spices teased her taste buds. The chocolate took the edge off the chili peppers, and the tender fare melted in her mouth. "You're very good," she admitted, forking up another bite. Her face heated as she considered just how very good he was, at
everything.

Sebastian's eyes held the candlelight as he regarded her. "Next time you can cook for me."

She wanted to retort that there would be no next time, only that seemed awfully rude under the circumstances. Her car had broken down and he'd rescued her. Not only that, but he'd been a faultless host, going to great lengths to feed her. Of course, she mustn't forget his ultimate intentions.

A pleasant shiver rippled over her.

Conversation moved to other topics, and before she knew it, she'd imbibed a second glass of wine, causing her to stagger as she rose to help clear the plates. Sebastian flashed a hand out to steady her. "Careful."

It was all she could do not to turn into his arms.

"Let's walk on the beach," he suggested, unexpectedly.

They put the dishes away and descended the myriad steps to the ocean. Leila lacked the will to protest when he took her hand, anchoring her to his side as they slogged their way through the dense sand to the rushing waves.

"Your hair will tangle," he observed, pausing to gather the long strands, twisting them in a loop, and drawing the ends through it.

She swayed against him, then, loving the feel of his hands in her hair. It was inevitable that he would make love to her tonight. She might as well be reconciled to it, and if she was honest with herself, she'd admit that she was looking forward to it.

But then he took her hand, and they began to walk. He talked to her. He told her the names of all his brothers and sisters, where they lived, what they did. His words filled her mind with vignettes of happy moments and warmhearted people. His youngest sister was the last to be mentioned. She'd just had her first son and named him Sebastian. "We are fifteen years apart, Marianita and I. Who would have thought she'd have a child before me, hmm?"

Leila's heart did a funny flip-flop. Why hadn't she considered when she'd made her bargain with Sebastian that he might want to be involved in their baby's life?

She had underestimated him, she realized. She hadn't predicted what a wonderful father he would be. But how much time should she allow her baby to spend with him? It depended on Sebastian's work, of course, but—oh, dear, just the thought of giving up her baby, even for a weekend, made her frantic. Perhaps if she came to visit also? But then she'd fall in love with Sebastian, and every time his team called him away, her heart would freeze in fear.

She lost track of how far they'd walked and when they'd turned around. There was only the velvety tenor of Sebastian's voice, the cool, moist sand between her toes, the wind caressing her body, and the warmth of his hand cradling hers.

She looked up and blinked, surprised to find them at the steps to his cottage.

"You must be tired," he said, still holding her hand. "What time did you get up?"

"Early. Six o'clock."

He chuckled at her answer. "That's not early."

Despite her weariness, all she could think about was sliding into Sebastian's bed to relive the night they'd met. It was taking forever for him to get around to seducing her.

They reentered the house together. He found her a towel, a washcloth, a new toothbrush, and ushered her into his bathroom right off the loft. As she stood under the shower, soaping herself, she felt lonely. A couple of hours in his company and she was already used to him.

When she ventured from the shower wearing his robe, she found the bed turned down waiting for her. Sebastian was downstairs, tidying up the kitchen. She gazed down at him, uncertain of his motives.

"The bed is yours," he called up, catching sight of her. "I'll be fine on the couch."

She stood there, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. Desire, still sparking through her veins, sputtered and dimmed, leaving her achingly unfulfilled, not to mention rejected. "Thank you," she said, though what she really wanted to say wasn't nearly that polite. "Good night, then."

She eased between the crisp, clean sheets and listened to the hushed sounds coming from below, waiting, hoping Sebastian would mount the steps and join her. But it soon fell quiet, meaning he'd fallen asleep on the couch.

She drew the extra pillow across her chest and put her nose to it. It smelled just like him.

This is what it would be like whenever he is called away,
she thought, seeking to ease the ache in her chest. It was a good thing he was a man of integrity; that he hadn't taken advantage of her, after all. How awful it would be if he'd made her fall in love with him!

She closed her eyes and slept, at last, his pillow clutched to her heart.