Against the Wind (16 page)

Ortega followed all this with great interest, and for a moment Maddy wondered whether Soledad could be trusted. Apparently, for all her extramarital activities, Jake did trust her, or he never would have let her near Ortega. As far as she could tell Jake didn’t make mistakes, certainly not of that magnitude. She had no choice but to trust her also and be grateful that she could finally escape to the coolness of the second-floor bedroom. The tropic heat and the briefness of her sleep last night had left her uncharacteristically drowsy.

She could feel two pairs of dark, hispanic eyes following her as she left the room once all the polite words were said. There was no sign of anyone as she climbed the stairs to the second floor, and for a brief moment she considered climbing one more flight. Her father had said he had something to tell her. Maybe there was a vague, distant possibility that he would tell her he loved her. Hope sprang eternal, she thought in disgust, stopping on the second floor and heading down the hall toward Jake’s room.

Someone had closed the shutters, someone had put her copy of Hemingway back on the pile of books, someone had once more searched her suitcase. The candy box lay on top, still untouched amid the tangle of clothes, and Maddy swore, a short, obscene word that gave her great satisfaction.

This time she didn’t bother to repack. What was the use? The moment she left her room it would be torn apart again. With a sigh she dropped down on the narrow bed, closing her eyes. She should take out her contact lenses, but she was only going to rest for a moment. General Ortega had been exhausting, with his relentless questions and unending probing. In ten minutes she’d feel more like herself, and then she’d go up to the third floor and demand to see her father once more. After all, if they were about to spirit her away with that damned candy box, she deserved every moment she could snatch with her father. It had been more than clear that once she left the hacienda and Puente del Norte she would never see him again.

The scent of the flowers carried upward on the hot wind, wrapping around her tired body as she lay on the bed. Never would she smell the scent of wild gardenias and roses and not remember San Pablo, she thought wearily. The smell had penetrated her skin and melted into her bloodstream, weaving its hypnotic, erotic spell, leaving her powerless to fight it. Just ten minutes, she promised herself. …

Once more she was a prisoner. The room was dark, velvet black, and she was trapped on the bed, unable to move, unable to say a word, entirely at the mercy of the man who’d been part of her life, both consciously and unconsciously, for the last fourteen years.

And she had no desire to escape. There was something blissfully simple about being caught by him, held by him. She no longer had any choice. Whatever he forced her to do, whatever pleasure he inflicted on her would leave her guiltless and free. The threat he presented was more than implicit. It was deadly clear and the dreaming Maddy had no intention of running.

The bed sagged suddenly, and her eyes flew open. It was the night, the darkness surrounded her, and Jake sat beside her on the bed, staring down at her with fathomless eyes.

His arms were on either side of her, his hands pressing deep into the mattress, holding her there without touching her. The chambray shirt was unbuttoned, and she could see his chest in the dim light, the smooth, silken muscles, the faint trace of hair, the hint of scars recent and distant. His long hair was no longer held back by the bandanna, it fell around his face, and Maddy could tell it was wet. He must have just taken a shower, and she could smell the faint scent of shaving soap.

Say something, she ordered herself, not moving. Ask him if you can have a shower too. Tell him you want to see your father. Tell him to get the hell off your bed.

The silence lengthened, stretched and grew into a thick web of dazzling beauty. Those deep, unreadable eyes must have hypnotized her, she thought, as she carefully, deliberately moved her hand up inside the prison of his braced arms, moved up without touching him past the open shirt, the lean, strong shoulders, and gently touched his shadowed face.

His skin was smooth and hard and warm, and the wet hair was a silken swathe against her fingers. He shuddered, a small, almost delicate movement, and then suddenly
she could read everything in his mind and for a moment she was terrified.

His hands left the bed to gently cup her shoulders beneath the crumpled shirt-dress. Slowly he moved her up, pulling her away from the bed, and the careful certainty of his movements gave her more than enough time to pull away. Her hand slid down from his face, trailing against the muscled column of his neck, and then her hands were clasping his shoulders as his were clasping hers. And bending his head further, he gently placed his lips against hers.

If his other kisses had swamped her with their erotic force, the tenderness of this swept across her emotions, leaving them shattered and wanting in its wake. He made no move to deepen the kiss. His lips seemed content to learn the contours of her mouth, her face, her willful chin and high cheekbones. Her eyelids fluttered closed beneath the gentleness of his mouth, and her fingers closed more tightly on his shoulders, pulling him closer, until her breasts were pressed up against that strong, smooth chest.

And then he was easing her back down on the bed, following her, his mouth traveling back to hers. And suddenly she was afraid of him, afraid of his power over her, and she kept her mouth tightly shut against the encroaching advance of his tongue.

He moved away, a bare fraction of an inch, and she could feel the soft breath of his laughter on her upturned face. “You aren’t seventeen any more, Maddy,” he whispered. “You should know by now how to kiss. Open your mouth for me.”

She was startled enough to obey, and he took immediate advantage of it, dipping his tongue inside with a calculated wantonness that drew an immediate response
from her. Her hands slid down the front of his chest, inside the chambray shirt, and for the first time revelled in the warm sleek hide of him.

He trembled again, and the feel of his response against her swept the last misgivings from her mind. His hands were still on her shoulders, but this time he was pulling the dress away, down her arms, down to her waist, and she couldn’t even remember when he’d unbuttoned it. He undid the front clasp of her lacy bra, his mouth never leaving hers, his lips and tongue a soothing litany, stealing away any doubts or fears. And the feel of his hard, calloused hands on her breasts was another wonder, a miracle that she’d never thought to experience. All she could think, as she arched against his strong, clever hands, was that she wanted more.

She could feel reality and common sense slipping away from her in a haze of desire unlike anything she’d ever felt before. He felt so good, smelled so good, tasted so good, that she didn’t think she could ever get enough of him. Nothing had prepared her for the intensity of her response to him, the dazed wonder of her movements beneath his practiced touch. She hadn’t known it could be like this, ever.

Then suddenly, like a snake in the garden of paradise, reality began to intrude, accompanied by its bastard kin, self-preservation. With every last ounce of effort she pulled herself back from the abyss into which she’d been sinking, and her hands slid away from his chest, back up to his shoulders, and she began to push.

She expected more of a fight. With only a lingering of regret his hands left her taut and tingling breasts, pulling the dress back up her arms and around her as he broke off the kiss. She stared up at him out of angry, passion-dark eyes, but once more his mask was in place.

“You changed your mind?” he asked quietly, his husky voice one more part of his seductive arsenal.

He’d moved far enough away, and he was no longer touching her, but she could still feel the heat emanating from his body, and her skin could still remember the touch of his hands. Carefully, so as not to touch him and start something anew that this time she couldn’t stop, she pushed herself until she was sitting up, back against the bedstead.

“I learned long ago,” she said, and her voice was rusty and a little raw, “never to sleep with men I despise. It’s bad for my self-esteem.”

He didn’t even flinch. A small, doubting smile played at the corner of his mouth. “So you despise me, do you? What made that happen? A few hours ago I thought we were going to be friends.”

“I’d forgotten about Soledad.”

He sighed, the small smile diminishing somewhat. “I’ve told you before, Maddy, I’m not going to offer you any excuses about Soledad.”

“And you feel no qualms about sleeping with Sam’s daughter as well as his wife while he lays there dying?” She was pleased to see him wince then, a shadow of pain cross his face.

“I can’t stop him from dying, Maddy. I can’t stop from … wanting you.” His voice was low, hypnotic, and she found herself slipping beneath its spell once more. “Life and death are cheap and quick here. I’ve been living that way for too long to start paying attention to a lot of half-formed ideals that have never been tested. Right now things are black and white. I want you. And you want me.”

If he touched her again she’d be lost, and they both knew it. She couldn’t refute his calm statement, not with
her breasts aroused and aching from his touch, not with her mouth swollen and tremulous and barely able to keep the words back that would call him to her.

“So why else do you despise me?” he asked gently. “There must be more to it than Soledad.”

Everything she could say in response would only damn her more. Yet she knew him well enough, recognized the nuances in his distant expression, to know that she would get nowhere until she told him.

“You left me,” she said on a bitter sigh. “You took my father and you left me without a word, without saying good-bye. You let my father abandon me and my brother without a backward glance, not caring what kind of person my mother was. You knew her as well as anyone, hated her. And yet you left me to her.”

“Maddy, I had no choice—”

“You had every choice,” she interrupted ruthlessly. “You’ve never let anyone else dictate your life, you can’t blame that on anyone. You left, and you ignored the letter I wrote you. For God’s sake, Jake, I was a poor, love-starved teenager! Couldn’t you have written back, let me dream a little longer? Do you have any idea what kind of hell my life was for the next few years?”

He was very still. “I can imagine.”

“But like my father, you thought the starving masses were more important than a stupid, lovesick child.” She shook her head, trying to banish the clawing sense of desertion that had washed over her unbidden. She managed a shaky smile. “Well, I suppose you’re right. I shouldn’t hold grudges, or wallow in self-pity, or any of the weak, unpleasant things I’ve been doing.”

He still didn’t move, but she could see the flash of pain in his hazel-dark eyes.

“But I’m not going to get embroiled with you again. It
was bad enough when I was seventeen. Now I should be old enough to know better. Anything I feel for you is nothing more than nostalgia for a lost childhood,” she said ruthlessly. “It has nothing to do with reality.”

“Of course,” he agreed, his voice distant and toneless. He moved from the bed then, and in the darkening room she couldn’t see his expression. Not that it would have told her anything if she could. “Someone will bring you up something to eat. I assume you’d prefer it wasn’t Soledad.”

“Is she even here? I thought she might have gone off for a roll in the hay with General Ortega,” she said cattily, her heart aching for the loss of him, for his sudden withdrawal, ignoring the fact that she’d driven him away.

A smile lit his dark, weary face. “She did. She’s back already.”

“Do you think that’s safe?”

“Soledad has a good head on her shoulders, despite her particular weaknesses. Alcohol and passion have never made her politically indiscreet. Socially indiscreet, perhaps, but she’s always been acutely aware of how tenuous life is.” He hesitated for a moment. “You might try not to judge her too harshly. This has been a hard life for everyone, and Soledad gets lost and frightened sometimes.”

“Is that the story she told you?” Maddy shot back. “I think she gets drunk and horny sometimes.” It was an impossibly bitchy thing to say, and Maddy was ashamed of herself the moment it came out. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t jealousy that made her hate Soledad, tried and failed.

Jake withdrew even more. “I’ll have Ramon bring you something to eat.”

“Why can’t I come down?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“But—”

“It’s not open for discussion, Maddy. You’ll stay in your room.”

“Why can’t I eat with my father?”

“He’s … asleep. You wouldn’t want to disturb him.”

“I wouldn’t disturb him. I’d just sit quietly by his bed,” she said, pushing.

He moved closer then, stopping on his way toward the door, and his face was bleak and cruel. “Do you really think Sam Lambert would care one way or the other?”

It was worse than a low blow, it was a glittering shaft of pain that left her breathless. “May all heaven and hell damn you,” she whispered, stricken.

“Yes,” he said wearily, “I expect they will. As a matter of fact, I think both heaven and hell already have.” Without another word he was gone.

Bean paste again, this time without even the dubious saving grace of tortillas. The sight of the candy box was driving Maddy crazy, and even the knowledge that only an inedible videotape rested inside didn’t soothe her chocolate cravings. She spent the hours after dinner planning just how many raspberry creams she was going to eat once she got back. There was a French confectionnaire in Manhattan Beach. She might even stop on her way home from the airport, assuming she was ever going to see LAX again. At this point even that seemed doubtful.

For a while she lay there in the dark. The dim light bulb wasn’t much to read by, and it attracted the swarms of mosquitoes that Ramon still insisted were nothing compared to a real infestation. Every now and then she thought she heard the muffled sound of gunfire, and each rumbled blast shot through her body like lightning. She was beginning to understand something of what Jake had told her. The guns seemed to be getting closer. He had told her life and death were quick and cheap, and she wondered if she was going to die in her bed that night.