The Witch Narratives: Reincarnation (28 page)

He let up on the pressure and kissed her slowly, sensuously. His gentleness melted her resistance, and she hesitantly returned his kiss. His moist lips assaulted her senses, and she clung to him, afraid that he might stop, but the kiss went on and on.

“Salia,” he moaned into her ear, dampening her lobe with his lips. He shoved her hand inside his tuxedo jacket so that she was touching him on his chest. She could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt. He shoved his hand into her cape, squeezing her breast.

Pulses of heat shot through her body, making her feel tingly all over. She breathed heavily, feeling a loss of control which scared her. She pushed him away. “Don’t,” she said.

He flung his head back against the seat and straightened his pants.

She huddled in the opposite corner. She was shaking with indignation and desire, mostly desire.

He stared out the window, clenching and unclenching his fists. He swung his head to her. “Didn’t I treat you like a lady all evening?”

“Yes,” she said in a choked voice.

“Well, what’s wrong then? I respect you, Salia.”

“If I was Miss Hughes, would you be touching my breast?”

“No.”

Salia snorted, turning her head from him.

He squeezed her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “I wouldn’t be touching Miss Hughes, you idiot, because I don’t want Miss Hughes. I don’t desire Miss Hughes.”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Salia, you’re hurting me. I ache for you. I’m in deep pain, because of you.”

He could feel her softening towards him. He moved his hand to her cheek, rubbing her face gently. He kissed her, placing his hand on her thigh and massaging her leg.

She ran her fingers through his hair, and he shuddered at her caress.

A coyote howled, reminding her where she was—a million miles from Samuel’s world. She turned her face away.

He hugged her against his chest, breathing into her hair. “We’ve arrived at your house,” he said, flippantly, as if the last five minutes in the car meant nothing to him.

“Yes.”

The driver opened the door. Samuel ran his fingers through his hair and stepped from the car.

She took his offered hand in her gloved one and with his help, climbed out of the car.

He offered her his arm and they walked up to her door.

“It’s early,” he said.

“No, it isn’t.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Invite me in?”

“No. You need your beauty rest, Samuel.”

He laughed, half-heartedly.

She swung open the door.

“You don’t lock your door?” he said in astonishment.

“There is no need.”

“I should go in with you. Make sure that it’s safe,” he drawled.

“It’s safe,” she said, smiling.

“I don’t think it is,” he said, motioning with his head to a coyote, standing under a full moon.

The coyote growled at them.

“Sh,” she said, stamping her shoe against the porch boards.

The coyote hung its head, whining.

Samuel stared at Salia with shocked eyes.

“The coyote is my friend. We are alike, both of us half-breeds. Thank you for a wonderful evening, Samuel,” she said, kissing his cheek.

“Be careful of teasing me,” he said in a tight voice.

“Teasing?”

“You know what I mean. And just the same, I do worry about you here, all alone, even if that damned coyote is a friend of yours. Why don’t you come to my house?” he challenged. “There are plenty of empty bedrooms.”

“I will come to your house. Tomorrow. After lunch. Have a dried, red chili with you,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

“Come for lunch. High noon. I’ll send my driver for you.”

She nodded her head.

He bowed, kissing her hand.

She closed the door.

He ran down the steps, whistling some nonsense he couldn’t remember the name of because his head was filled with the smell of peaches.

32

I
t was exactly noon when Salia was escorted through the double doors into the Big House. The Christmas tree from the amusement hall had been relocated to the middle of the living room, which had a taller ceiling.

Samuel took her elbow, leading her into the dining room.

When they were through eating, Salia told him to choose one of the dried red chilies that were in a basket on the table.

He sat across from her, a small ornate table between them.

“Crack the chili open, and let the seeds fall where they may,” she said.

With skeptical humor shining from his eyes, he snapped open the chili in two pieces. He turned the pieces upside down and shook them.

While she bent her head over the seeds, he roamed his eyes over her, trying to read her, and what it might take to conquer Salia so that he could go back to Albuquerque, and leave this two-bit town behind him, these damned mountains, this cursed snow. And her, because once he got what he wanted, he was no longer interested and went on to other challenges. Like most rich men, he was too easily bored.

“So, can you read your own fortune? See your own future?” he said.

“No. The seer cannot see herself within the seeds, only others. The seeds never lie,” she said, chewing her bottom lip and concentrating.

Samuel freely examined the top of her blouse where her breasts jutted forward, while her eyes scanned the seed pattern.

“You will have a son,” she said, smiling.

“Do the seeds say anything about a wife?” he said with a cynical tone.

She simply lowered her head to the seeds, while he lowered his thoughts to his bedroom upstairs with a comfortable bed much too large for just him. Though she was unaware of it, Salia was an honored woman. She was the first woman to ever visit the Big House. He would not have dared brought any of his girlfriends from Albuquerque to Madrid with him, which would involve taking a woman on a trip. No matter where he went, he never had any problem finding female companionship. Plus, a woman could get the wrong
impression, making her feel her importance was greater than it was, and that she had a hold on him.

“You will spend the last years of your life in Madrid,” she said.

“You’re wrong,” he snorted. “The seeds do lie.”

She jumped from the table, hurling the plate of seeds into the fireplace.

He whistled. “There goes the good china.”

She stood before the fire, hugging her arms. Her chest heaved and she clenched her fists.

“Bad news?” he said and had a coughing fit. He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

She remained silent.

He coughed again.

She brushed back her hair with her hand, smiling with her lips closed. “The seeds are always thrown into the fire with great passion. That is how it is done. The seeds say you will live a long, happy life.”

“Do the seeds say what it takes to make me happy?”

She said nothing.

He looked down at the floor, sighing. “I thought not.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, surprising him. He clung to the chair arms, staring at her with a perplexed look in his deep blue eyes.

She lowered her mouth to his.

He closed his eyes, their lips touching.

Hesitant at first, she stuck her small tongue into his mouth.

He groaned.

She gently placed her forehead on his.

He still had his eyes closed, breathing heavily. He rotated his forehead against hers, rubbing it gently, as if trying to read her mind. He still had not touched her but clung to the chair with white fingers. The fact that the reluctant Salia approached him was some turn on, and he was taking it slowly, reveling in the sensations he was feeling, not just sensual, but the victory of his conquest. She resisted him only a few days before. She seemed to hate all men yet, he had charmed her into climbing on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He flung his eyes open, moaning.

Their eyes locked.

“I ache for you, Samuel. Make love to me.”

He swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.

She clung to his neck, her head buried in his shoulder, her eyes damp with tears.

He kicked his bedroom door shut behind them.

He placed her on his bed, falling with her, on top of her.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Sinking into the large bed.

He slammed his mouth on hers, grinding his teeth against her teeth, rubbing his hard body against her, like he would devour her.

He yanked her blouse down over her shoulder, freeing her breast. He groaned, sucking greedily, lapping her skin with his tongue.

She cupped the back of his head, arching her body upward, moving against him.

He rocked against her, pushing his body against hers. He jerked her skirt up, touching her, rubbing her, caressing her.

His lips made her feel as if her head was floating, her body one sensation. She could feel every inch of his body, and how it pressed here and there against her. How his hands roamed across her skin. Taming her. Gentling her. Melting her. Seducing her.

She writhed on the bed, calling his name. “Don’t stop,” she begged, whimpering.

When it was all over, he covered her nakedness with the bed cover. He cradled her back with his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “Don’t cry,” he said in a flat voice. “It always hurts the first time.”

Silence. She rubbed her damp cheek against the pillow, staring blankly at the wall.

They both lay there for some time, breathing softly.

Now and then, she would shudder, her body shaking gently.

He merely blinked his eyes at the ceiling.

When she stopped shaking, he brushed her hair with his hand, stroking her neck.

She closed her eyes and moved her head slightly, drawing closer to him.

He rested his chin on her neck. “I have to leave tomorrow, Salia.”

Silence. Just the blinking of his lashes and her ragged breathing. She felt his warm breath on her cheek. She felt his words in the pit of her stomach.

“Look at me,” he said.

She slowly turned around.

He leaned on one elbow, his hair falling across his forehead.

She resisted the urge to touch him and brush the hair back from his face. She merely stared at him with an unfathomable look.

He leaned over her, his eyes caressing her, his eyes drilling into her soul. “Stay with me. Spend the night. Stay tomorrow. Stay, until I go.”

The silence was shattered when he slammed his head against his pillow.

She turned on her side, resting her cheek against the pillow.

A drawn out sigh came from him, as if his own soul had left his body.

She finally responded in a tiny voice, “I’ll stay with you, Samuel. I’ll stay, until you go.”

He buried his face in her hair and said in a muffled voice, “And you swore you’d never be sweet to me, Salia.”

She couldn’t say anything. Her heart had risen to her throat and was choking her. All she knew was that after reading his chili seeds, she needed to get closer to him, wanted it with a desperation she had never known before.

A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

33

S
amuel stood at the bedroom window, looking out at the Ortiz Mountains. He was dressed in a navy blue suit. His traveling case leaned against the door. His hands were on his hips. He rocked on his boots.

Salia sat in a chair with her hands folded in her lap, dressed in the same mended skirt she had always worn. He had offered to buy her some clothes, but she refused. She stared at the back of his neck, at the way his hair curled over his collar. “It’s stopped snowing. The sun is shining,” she said in a dazed voice.

“I don’t give a damn about the weather.”

Samuel placed his hands against the window sill, breathing on the glass. The window fogged up. The sun was deceiving. It was still cold outside.

He wiggled some lines on the window pane, the lines curvy and shaped like Salia. “Come to Albuquerque with me,” he said in a confident voice.

He smiled when he heard her surprised intake of breath. The invitation shocked him, too. He hadn’t planned this. When he was looking outside, he noticed the snow had melted, and the mountains were no longer grey but black with coal dust. He realized Salia didn’t belong in this two-bit village any more than snow belonged with coal.

She rounded her shoulders, twisting her hands in her lap. “No. I cannot.”

“You mustn’t be afraid of the big city. People in Albuquerque are more sophisticated and educated than the villagers here in Madrid. They’re not superstitious. They don’t go on witch hunts. Will their prejudice bother you?”