Mexican Fire (11 page)

“All right, I've done your bidding, I've unhanded you.” His knees sinking into the soft mattress, he towered at her side, folding his arms. “Are you happy now?” he asked.

Her eyes, exotic as a cat's, shuddered. She moistened her lips. A hand went to brush a lock of hair from her temple. She touched the hibiscus.

“What . . . ?”

“You look lovely in red,” he murmured in reply to her startled word and expression.

She took the flower from its resting place above her ear. And crumpled the lovely hibiscus in her palm. Pushing her feet to the floor, she got out of bed, then walked to the doors. A breeze caught the tendrils of her hair as she stared outside.

“I prefer the gardenias of Campos de Palmas,” she said.

It had been such a small thing, his offer of a flower. Yet he'd wanted her to be touched by it. Romantic fool that he was. Her repulse got to him.

That miserable feeling digging at his chest, he said in a voice gravelly and thick, “You were right, you know, from the start. I shouldn't touch you. I've been your betrayer, and who would want such a man between their silken legs?”

His body, traitor it was, refused to heed his surrender. Pressure continued to press his groin. His blood still rushed, heavy and hot. Of course there was no rhyme or reason to his obsession. But who could turn off their feelings just because they weren't returned?

Well, she would never feel anything for him, unless . . .

Slowly he got out of bed, walked to Alejandra and turned her to face him. His fingers curling over her shoulders, he said honestly, “I'm sorry, very sorry about tonight. It was wrong of me not to believe you. You see, I thought you and Antonio were in cahoots against me, and–”

“In cahoots? Why did you think that?”

“As I said earlier, I thought he was trying to test my loyalty. He knows I'm more than smitten with you. And he's not above—Well, I want you to know I'm glad you're the lady you claimed to be.” His lips brushed her forehead. “Could you forgive my mistake in judgment?”

She looked up into his serious eyes. “It takes a strong man to admit he's wrong. I've always respected such men.”

In not so many words, she had forgiven him, he supposed. He would take her respect, though . . . and cherish it.

“Do you think Santa Anna is convinced away from suspecting me?” she asked. “And what about you? I did all I could to get you in trouble with him.”

“Antonio understands how it goes when lovers are at odds.”

“We aren't lovers,” she pointed out in a voice as soft as down.

“I'd like to change that.”

“We shouldn't. We are still enemies.”

He combed his fingers through the heaviness of her hair. His thumbs rested beneath her ears. “Would you like me to show you all the things I should not do to you?”

She swallowed. Eyes the hue of an early-autumn leaf looked up at him, and no refusal showed there.

“That is my answer, Jandra.” He smiled. “
Mi querida amor.”

As his hand smoothed over her bosom, she tensed. Why? It wasn't fear, he was certain, and no way would he ever believe her reaction had anything to do with repulsion or disinterest or lingering anger. Innocence. It had to be that. Which puzzled him. It was as if she were a maiden at the threshold of her first encounter with a man. Excitement spiraled through him, set his blood soaring even more powerfully. He wished she were a virgin. Yet he gained a certain delight in knowing the first was never the best.

He would be the best.

He collected her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Now I will do all the things I shouldn't do.”

She was feeling no pain as he whispered, “Now I will do all the things I shouldn't do.”

The wound in her upper arm twinged, yes, but her senses were centered on Reece. It was wrong, wanting this scoundrel, this blackguard, this golden-haired god. So wrong. And more than in her heart as well as the eyes of society. He was her enemy. Earlier tonight he proved that she and her fellow Federalists couldn't depend on him, yet his apology had appeased her anger . . . and his virility made her reprehensibly weak of will.

Alejandra allowed him to carry her back to his bed. She leaned her head against a wide shoulder, her mouth brushing against the hair-dusted chest of the man she shouldn't be wanting.

He was, oh, so handsome and manly. His body was as . . . Suddenly a strange comparison came to her mind. His body was as finely honed as the machetes that cut sugar cane at her parents'
azucarera
, Hacienda del Pappagallo.

She smiled. What would he think of such a notion?

Once again she lay on his bed. He stood over her, smiling and gazing at her. Suddenly inhibitions beset her. Shouldn't they just blow out the light and get on with it? That was the way it had always been done.

Her eyelids closed as she twisted her face toward the pillow. His finger moved to the corner of her eye to massage it open.
“Querida, mi alma,”
he murmured, his voice raspy yet tender, “don't be bashful.”

“I can't help it.”

His deep voice as warm as hot butter on
pan dulce
, he said, “Perhaps I've waited too long to show you all the things I shouldn't do.”

“I—I don't know about that.”

“I do.” His palms cupped her face. “It would be wrong to kiss you. Shall I show you the evil of it?”

“No,” she returned without conviction, yet his lips muffled her word against his silky yet commanding demands.

His tongue slipped into the recesses of her mouth. His mustache in tandem with his lips did wondrous things to many facets of her perception. He tasted slightly of brandy. Fine, intoxicating brandy. Bay rum, just a tinge of the oil of myrcia cologne, clung to his slightly shadowed jawline. The scent reminded her of England and Christmas—the most serene period in her life. But there was nothing serene about this moment.

Reece moved away, fractionally. Levering above her, he combed his fingers through her hair to spread it across his pillow. “You don't know how many times I've dreamed of having you here like this. Have you thought of being here?”

She blushed. “I shouldn't have, but . . .”

“Yes, you should have. It's the natural thing when a man and a woman are drawn together. It leads to this.”

“I suppose.”

“I want to see you, all of you,” he whispered and tugged at the satin ties of her chemise. His sharp intake of breath curled around her. Reece's eyes caressed her breasts. Her hands splayed over them.

Miguel had never been so bold as to gaze upon her as if she were all his for the beholding. Her husband had respected and revered her modesty.

Reece's lips trailing between the cleft of her breasts, she felt the need to further cover herself. But the mouth spreading heat to her flesh moved to plant a line of small kisses to her waistband. The feel of him as he did these things, it was the firmness of a machete, the brush of a fine hair broom, the heat of an
asoleadero.
Nothing about his touch reminded her of anything cool or soft.

He freed the skirt fastener, easing the material down her legs. Her body was uncovered. She tensed.

“Don't be shy. You are more beautiful than . . . than anything. You were made for loving,” he murmured huskily. “Made for my loving.”

It pleased her that he found her attractive, but she wasn't comfortable with all this shamelessness, all these confidences. The heat within her cooled. Kisses and caresses shared fully clothed were one thing, brazen behavior bereft of clothing was another. Yet she lacked the courage to leave him.

He laced his fingers with hers, bringing them to his lips, and she couldn't help but marvel at the differences in size, texture, and hue of their hands. His was so large and rough and tanned. So different from hers. So different from Miguel's. Perhaps it was disrespectful to her husband's memory, but the fingers holding hers were more fascinating.

Reece settled beside her. “You don't yearn for everything this night can give? For everything I shouldn't he giving you?”

Despite her modesty, Alejandra found herself strangely drawn into Reece's ardent scrutiny. Their gazes locked. “I want you,” was his message.

His fingers moved to a rounded breast, and he began to pluck the tip gently. The spell broken for her, replaced by her misgivings, she slapped at him. But her motions went unheeded.

“Don't stop me, sweet Jandra. I want to taste you here.” His head moved; his mouth descended. He took the tip into his mouth.

“Don't,” she said, but her plea was disobeyed.

Drawing and sipping, laving and loving, he stayed there. His fingers closed around her hip. And he pushed his manhood near the thatch of her womanly place.

They felt wonderful, these things he was doing to her. Yet she bucked away, and pushed his head from her breast. “I asked you not to do that.”

“Why not?” he whispered, his voice jagged with desire.

“Because I don't want to be touched there.”

Question in his Nordic-blue eyes, he looked at her. “Why?” Moving his calf between her knees, he repeated, “Why?”

“It is perverse.”

“Excuse me?”

“Only a babe should be there.”

“Sweetheart, who filled your head with such nonsense? Didn't your hus—well, never mind about him.” Reece moved aside and cleared his throat. “It's not wrong, what I was doing to you.”

“You didn't listen to what I said.” She moved out of his reach and hugged the side of the bed. “I'll not succumb to your perversions, and that's that.”

Exasperated now, Reece heaved a sigh. “No wonder you never had a child at your breast. As inhibited as you are, you probably never gave ole Miguel the opportunity to father one.”

She rolled over, causing pain in her arm. She ignored it. “Villain! You have no idea what went on in my life before I had the misfortune to meet you.”

“I've got a pretty good idea.”

The sheet pulled above her bosom, she bit out, “Then you must know I
did
have a child. Or would have had one.” She didn't want to cry. But she did. Scalding tears coursed down her face. “I lost it when Miguel went away.”

Reece's thumb moved to dry her tears. And then he was holding her. Tenderly, gently, protectively. “I'm sorry, Jandra. So sorry.”

For the longest time he held her while she cried for her losses. And then he was kissing her eyelids.

“Would you like me to stop?”

She watched his eyes and knew he would move away if she asked him to. The thought of his leaving caused a feeling of emptiness to hollow through her. She couldn't take another loss.

Reece's lovemaking was something she wanted. If only for the closeness . . . if nothing else.

“I don't want you to stop,” she whispered, then realized that she wanted more than just closeness. Before, she had never longed for the act of mating, had thought it boring in its physicality. Now she wanted, needed, and yearned for Reece.

Sure and arousing, his hand stroked her hips, then her flat stomach. She felt the soft texture of his breeches at her thigh. Beneath the doeskin, he was hard and ready. Her trepidations vanished. She wanted him. Right here in the lamplight.

Her fingers moved along the strong lines of his back before curling into his coarse flaxen hair as he began another luscious assault. He kissed her throat, her collarbone, the rise of the breasts now sheened with beads of moisture. Placing his ear between the cleft of her bosom, he listened to her heartbeat. She couldn't recall it beating this fast, ever.

“You smell so good,” he murmured against the womanly curve, “taste so good . . .” He started to close his mouth around a puckered crest, but he moved back. “Kiss me,” he ordered softly.

Raising up slightly, she parted her lips. And when the kiss was done, he said, “I shouldn't do all this in
pantalones.”

“You shouldn't.” And she certainly didn't mean for him to stop.

His grin was wide and sensuous as he eased to his feet. Slowly he worked the laces and freed the doeskin breeches from his hips. She drew in a breath when his manhood reared from the confines. Tiny bumps rose on her arms. Despite Mercedes's gossip, Alejandra had never imagined that Reece could be so well-endowed.

The sight of it sent a surge of excitement through her. Her nipples further tightened. Passion, warm and churning, painted her insides and settled in her nether regions.

“Oh, my, Reece,” she said, “you are a . . . a, well, a . . .”

He chuckled. “A stallion primed to mount the most beautiful mare in the pasture.”

Being so compared enticed her, yet it also brought a memory forward. Outside, Moscada awaited. Just like Alejandra was waiting for Joaquin Navarro and Erasmo de Guzman. At this moment, she didn't care whether they ever arrived.

“Oh, Reece, the light.” Frantically, she motioned toward the hurricane lamp. “We must douse the light. I don't want to be caught . . .”

“Querida, mi alma, mi ángel,
I yearn to watch every expression in your face as I take you, but . . .”

He moved away to extinguish the flame, yet not the one burning in Alejandra. The protective night enfolding them both, she became more bold. Again, he reclaimed his spot beside her. Again, he began to caress her. Once more, his lips claimed hers.

“I want to taste you . . . everywhere. I shouldn't, I'm sure . . . but would it bother you?”

She didn't know exactly what he meant, but there wasn't a trace of shyness left within Alejandra. “I won't stop you,” she murmured.

Imparting kisses on her fevered skin, he descended to her thighs and between them. His experienced tongue and that ever so soft mustache invoked tremors within her. Her eyes were wide with the wonder of it all. Did men really do that to women? How could anything so wicked feel this marvelous?

Sliding above her, her scent on his lips, he murmured, “Touch me. Feel me. Know how much I want you.”

Her finger moved to a flat, hair-surrounded nipple. She could feel his heartbeat, true and fast and strong. His palm flattened over her hand, moving it against his chest. Then he guided her hand to his swollen manhood.

“I'm dying to be buried within you, sweet Jandra,” he said in almost a groan. “Let me inside. Let the stallion fill his mare.”

Nothing had she ever wanted more.

He shifted. She accommodated. With a groan he entered her. He was large, so big. But after a moment of adjustment, she made room for him. She felt the power and heat, the hardness and bridled passion, and it filled her as she had never been filled before.

“Reece,” she murmured, bringing her uninjured arm around his back. “Shouldn't you . . .”

“Shouldn't I what?”

“Be m-moving?”

“Like this?”

“Oh . . . yes!”

Balancing on his palms above her and undulating his hips in a rhythm that made Alejandra gasp and moan, he thrust. Again and again and again. The scent of his body, sweaty and manly, drifted to her and she breathed the heady aroma of sex. Her legs went around his hips.

“Jandra . . . my sweet, oh God! You feel so good.”

With a wildness she never knew possible within herself, she met his plunges. He kissed her. She kissed him. For long, long minutes, perhaps even hours, she reveled in all her bliss. Her eyes became unfocused, so much was she in thrall. And then . . . her breath went shallow, her pulse careening. She heard him calling her name once and then again, as if each syllable was a litany. Everything in the universe was suddenly centered in that part where he joined her. Ecstasy gripped her.

As it did Reece. His spine arched. His essence flooded into her.

Smiling, she had never imagined that lovemaking could be this wonderful and satisfying. And to think she had found it boring and a waste of time.

He lay atop her, yet he was careful not to place too much weight on her body, especially on her arm. His fingers, so long and wide and beautifully formed, swept up to her cheek. “Those were some of the things I shouldn't have done. But I intend to do again. And again.”

And he did.

Later, they slept wrapped in satiation and contentment. Joined like this, neither wanted to remember the problems separating them.

 

 

He slept no more than an hour, and awakened thinking of Alejandra with tears in her eyes. It hurt him that she had lost her baby. It hurt him because it hurt her.

As for Miguel, well, Reece couldn't mourn him. After all, Alejandra wouldn't be in the bedroom of Casa Montgomery if her husband were still alive.
Wouldn't she love to know you're thinking that?

He tried to go back to sleep. He had no idea of the time, but figured it had to be the wee hours before dawn. Damn! He had a rendezvous at Santa Fe, the fort on the easternmost outskirts of Vera Cruz. There, strategies would be finalized for Antonio López de Santa Anna to gain command of San Juan de Ulúa.

Getting inside the fortress walls was of utmost importance to Reece. His brother might be in the dungeons.

But finding Garth was a problem for the light of day. With darkness filling his sleeping quarters and rooster-crowing a while from now, Reece had another problem. His promise to Alejandra.