Cravings (2 page)

Chapter 3

A
fter checking in with the security guards, then with the desk one more time about Jackson and Maeve and finding them still out, Sanj and Mary slipped into the elevator. He imagined Jackson's face if he discovered Sanj had a woman in his suite. Now that Sanj saw her in the light, he saw some age—or was it weariness? He guessed she was in her mid-thirties, about his age. Her scar appeared more prominent now, along with crinkles in the corner of her eyes and wisdom in their depth. Not that she still wasn't incredibly attractive.

Not only was she older than he had thought, but she was also a good bit dustier. She'd been on the road a while, he imagined. What kind of a man was after her? A pimp? An ex-lover?

Taking her to his suite wasn't a smart thing for him to do. But he couldn't bear a woman alone, afraid, and in danger in a place like Ecuador. If he could help, he would. One simply did not turn away from a woman in need.

“So,” Sanj said as they walked down the corridor to his suite. “You are trying to start a new life? Here? Of all places?”

“I know it seems like an odd place for a woman to start fresh. But I'm a woman of compulsions. Most of them are not so good,” she said, laughing. She had a pleasing, throaty laugh. “But one of my passions is chocolate.”

He stopped. “Chocolate?”

“Yes,” she said. “Isn't this a good place to learn about it?”

“Yes, well,” Sanj said. He fumbled with his card key. Damn things. He much preferred a real key. “They grow the cacao here, of course, but if you want to study chocolate, why not Paris? Why this place?”

“I want to study it from the ground up, see how it grows, learn the process inside and out and then move on to processing and finishing and one day, perhaps a shop of my own,” she said with a dreamy note in her voice.

Impressive. So many chocolatiers knew nothing about the crops and the processing of cacao. They knew only what they learned in books. Or from another chocolatier at some fancy pastry or cooking school.

Sanj practiced research and medicine in India, but food was his passion—and if he had to choose one food to make and enjoy, it would be pastry. He'd taken many vacations to Paris, where he'd taken classes from some of the world's greatest pastry chefs.

He slid his key into the door and opened it.

“Lovely quarters,” she said, walking into the foyer of his suite. “Where shall I put this?” She held up her frayed bag.

“The bedroom is upstairs,” he said, leading her into a huge living area, complete with a bar and kitchen. A glass wall offered a view over the bay, luminous from the city lights and boats.

“This is bloody brilliant,” she said. “What a view.”

“I love to travel,” Sanj said. “But I do like to travel in comfort.”

“Yes, I see,” she said, still taking it in.

“Tell you what. Take your bag upstairs and help yourself to a bath or shower. I'm going to shower downstairs. I'm knackered,” he said.

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

Her eyes met his. They sent shivers through him, straight into his guts. Seductive eyes, yes, but something lingered behind them. She was not quite as certain of herself as she tried to appear.

He watched her as she walked up the stairs. It was difficult not to watch her slender legs gracefully take each step. She moved like a lioness. He couldn't help but wonder, would she move with such confidence lying underneath him?

He closed his eyes.
Not a good idea,
he told himself.

But then again, part of him would not cease tugging at him.

Taking her in his arms, fucking her until all memory of Jennifer vanished, might be just what he needed.

He didn't want to think about Jennifer. The years of their relationship pulled out from under him in one fell swoop. It had been six months without her and he still smarted. One minute he caught himself wanting to call her and open his heart to her, the next he wanted to strangle her for the humiliation she brought to him.

The stairs made no noise as Sasha ascended to the second level. They were built well. This newly constructed luxury hotel was one of the city's recent efforts to attract rich tourists. A city with a past full of crime and destitution, it was reinventing itself, shedding the past by glossing it over.

 

Sasha sighed as she slipped into the hot bubble bath. She wanted to yelp with joy. She didn't want to think about how long it had been, especially in a tub like this—sunken, surrounded by low lights, and facing out over the harbor at the dusty blue sky and dark water.

Her muscles relaxed. Funny, once she could never have imagined thinking a bath luxurious. It's odd what you get used to when you have money—and when you don't. As she slid the bar of soap around on her slippery skin, a feeling of contentment spread through her—but a jolt of fear brought her back. Was she as safe as she felt? Would Sam find her here? Her pulse quickened, a reminder she couldn't stay anywhere too long without being in danger. Could she stay with Sanj in this beautiful suite? Every part of her wanted to. Especially, she noted, parts of her that tingled at attention when she thought of him.

What would happen when she finally found Maeve? How would she react when she saw her? Sasha never knew if Maeve really liked her or if she tolerated her those few days because of her relationship with Paul. But it seemed as if they were becoming friends. And Maeve had a plan, she said. A plan to help Sasha start fresh.

Fresh is what Sasha needed. She yearned to start anew. And even though she had tried elsewhere over the past two years, like Italy and St. Thomas, Maeve pricked at her conscience. Sasha needed to put things right with her. Sasha wasn't a big twelve-step proponent. But she'd been through countless addiction programs—and steps eight and nine resonated with her.

A knock came at the bathroom door.

“Yes?” she said, after a moment.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Yes,” she replied. How long had she been in the bubble bath? “I'll be out in a moment.”

She lifted her body out of the water.

“I have a robe for you,” he said. “Shall I—”

She slipped a towel around her dripping body. “Thanks,” she said, opening the door. “I'll take it.”

She had meant to open the door wide enough to reach the robe, but she stumbled and the door flung open. There he stood in a white robe, his brown skin gleaming against it. Delicious.

She bit her lip and held back. He'd said he was tired, hadn't he? Besides, he seemed a proper gentlemen.
Mind your manners, Sasha.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the robe and shutting the door gently but not before seeing a hunger sweep over his face as he took in the sight of her.

The door shut. One door stood between them. One door. What pleasure lay on the other side? Was it worth the risk?

Suddenly Sanj was not so exhausted.

He stood anchored, his sudden erection poking at the thick white robe. He needed to walk away, take his hand to himself downstairs in the other shower. He didn't know this woman. His brain said
walk, you idiot.
But his feet remained planted solid as oak trees and when she came out of the bathroom, wearing that robe, the only thing he wanted was to see her naked.

“Sanj,” she said as she walked toward him and touched his just-shaven face. “It's okay. You can touch me.”

The hotel phone rang.

Mesmerized, he stood in place.
Let the phone ring.
He leaned down, pressed his lips to hers, and was met with such sweetness it made him ache. She kissed him back with those lips, that tongue.

The blasted phone. It wouldn't stop ringing.

“You better answer,” she said, pulling away, breathless.

“No,” he said, groaning, pulling her closer, pressing close to her, then pulling her toward the bed.

She wasn't even naked, yet he feared losing himself, like a teenage boy.

He laid her back and fumbled with the robe's strap—finally it opened, leaving her white, shimmering soft body for his eyes to feast on, his hands to roam, his lips to tease. Her breasts were firm, high, and more than a handful.

“Oh my God,” he said. “You are stunning.”

He hesitated, but she pulled him to her breast. She seemed to know what he wanted. So confident, so certain. At last his mouth found her rosebud of a nipple. She drew in a breath.

The phone rang again.

She tried to sit up and reach for it.

“No,” he said, breathy, pulling his robe off, revealing himself to her.

She gave off a little gasp. “Sanj, I had no idea. It—you—beautiful.”

She suddenly took control with ferocity in her eyes. He let go, let her have him. Amazing to watch her, to feel her knowing hands on him, pushing his back to the bed.

“Whoa,” he said.

“Shhhh. Lemme.”

She nuzzled and kissed and licked her way to him, sending spirals of tickles and pulses through him.

“Mmmm, Sanj . . .”

She reached for all of him with her mouth. That very mouth that intrigued him swallowed him, taking all of him in, swirling her tongue on him, sucking him. “Mmmm,” she said between mewling sucks and moans. Her breath tickled the tip of him.

He tried to think of something else so he would not come undone.

But the sensation was too much, as if all of his senses were centered on his cock. The tug of her soft mouth, her hands cupping his balls and now, her mouth moving toward them and taking them very gently into her warm mouth.

Was she going to . . . ? He drew in a breath.
This was new
.

He nudged her away.
His balls? Really?

“What's wrong,” she said in a breathy voice.

Had he ever been so nervous and hard at the same time? So carried away by a woman's mouth?

“I, ah,” he started to say, but found it hard to voice.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I won't hurt you. I know what I'm doing. Trust me?”

His eyes met hers and he nodded, unraveling even more as he glimpsed that face between his legs. He held back a growl.

Sasha sucked his balls into her mouth again and rolled them gently between teeth and tongue. He allowed the delicious sinking tingling feeling to overcome him. Just when he thought he would explode with pleasure, she slid her tongue from his balls back up to the tip of him, began to nibble. She slipped her wet, hot mouth around him, and took all of him in at a tantalizingly slow pace.

That sexy, upturned, full mouth was on him, taking all of him in, swirling her tongue on him, sucking him. Oh, he was going to—

He pulled away.

“Don't pull away, Sanj. I am hungry for you,” she whispered with urgency, voice thick with lust.

“What?” he managed to say.
Did she really mean it?

A steady rapping noise invaded his bliss.

“The door,” she said, freeing him but nuzzling up to his chest.

“Someone is persistent,” he said, which almost came out as a growl.

“Your friend?” she managed to say.

If it was Jackson, an ass-kicking was in order.

He reached for his robe, leaned down to kiss her. “Be right back to continue.”

But Sasha closed her eyes—and didn't wake up until 4:12
A.M.
Alone. Sanj had thrown a blanket over her. She stumbled out of the bed. He wasn't in the other bed, either. She padded down the stairs. Could he have fallen asleep on the couch? No, not there.

She eyed the kitchen. Yes, a coffeemaker. Next to it a box of chocolates and a slip of paper.

Something, some unnamable emotion caught in her throat. How sweet. How utterly charming. Was this man for real?

Jackson? Could it be Maeve's Jackson? How many foreign Jacksons could be in Ecuador?

Her heart raced. She felt safe here. Sam wouldn't find her in this suite. She could stay here and wait. But Sanj? So sweet and charming. She couldn't risk him. Not one more minute.

Chapter 4

“I
n prison? Jackson?” Sanj asked, with his head a blur and his heart pounding.

“He threatened the life of a citizen of this country,” the consul said, perched on a huge leather chair behind a desk with few papers on it. “Quite publicly, as a matter of fact.”

“That doesn't sound like him,” Sanj said. “Something must be wrong. What about his wife?”

He tried to maintain composure, having been around a few consulates in his day, knowing panic and emotions didn't sit well with them. He would be escorted out immediately if he made a scene. He wanted to strangle the tiny man behind the big desk.

The man sat back in his chair. “We have no information on her whereabouts. It seems as if she left him.”

Sanj frowned as his stomach twisted, fists clenched. “No. Not possible. Maeve is crazy for Jackson.”

He took a deep breath, just like he'd been taught to do to calm down. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. He could almost hear the voice of his uncle as he taught him to meditate and to carry those principles throughout his daily life.

“This is the only information I have. I apologize for the lack of clarity. It's all I can manage at the moment. The officials here don't take kindly to Americans threatening the lives of citizens.”

Sand noted a primness to his statement and his stomach twisted. “No, of course not. May I see Jackson?”

“I'll try to arrange it,” he replied. “I'd like to see him myself. But prisoners in this country don't have the same rights as Americans do in their country.”

“It's crazy. He was here on assignment covering the cacao plantations for a cookbook project and this happens? It makes no sense,” Sanj said. His head ached. He fought dizziness—when did he last sleep? Eat?

He took another deep breath, as beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“I appreciate you coming at this ungodly hour, but I just received word. You understand this is a delicate matter and usually we'd share this information only with family, but since you inquired and we know . . . who you are. May I offer you breakfast? I'm having some delivered. Please stay,” the consul said.

He thought of Mary sleeping alone in his bed. She slept so peacefully that he hadn't had the heart to waken her.

“Thank you, but I should go,” Sanj said. “You will let me know when I can see Jackson?”

“Of course,” he said, standing and shaking his hand. “We'll do everything we can.”

But something about the man's tone made Sanj uneasy. It hinted at finality. Or was he imagining it? His head swam. When he thought about the past twenty-four hours, getting in and not finding Maeve and Jackson, then meeting the gorgeous Mary, bringing her back to his room and starting to experience one of the best blow jobs he'd ever had, only to be interrupted by the hotel management accompanied by government officials, he wondered if he had fallen asleep. Was he dreaming? Having a nightmare?

He walked through the snaking corridors, led by an official, past the security officers, out the glass doors, and into the bright, steaming city. A cab sat nearby. Thank the gods for small favors. He slid into the taxi and gave him the hotel address.

This part of the city was sleek. The people on the streets dressed in business clothes and carried briefcases. As he moved farther into the city, into the shopping district, color exploded on the streets. Women dressed to the nines. There. That one, all dressed in white, with a gorgeous white-brimmed hat, she looked as if she could be Indian. He loved seeing the way Ecuadoran women could look like Indian women. Or Irish women could resemble German women. It was one of the little games he played when he traveled. The car stopped—traffic halted.

Sanj scanned over the crowd. One woman's face stood out. Something about her eyes reminded him of Jennifer. His heart sank. Would she never stop haunting him?

The traffic began to move again as her last words played in his mind.

“Is that all you can call me? All you can say is I'm too American?” Her face was an angry red. “Well, listen here, you bastard. I've never pretended to be anything else with you. I've told you from the start I'm not converting to your religion, I'm not moving to India, and I'm not kowtowing to any man. And that includes your uncle. So you're damned right I'm too American. But that's who I am.”

She stormed out of his hotel room. And that was the last he'd seen of her.

He sank back into the cab's seat and tried not to fall asleep. Jennifer. The trouble was she was absolutely right. She'd always been honest with him—but he was too busy falling in love to really hear her.

He wouldn't make the same mistake again. He prayed to see people more clearly so that he could spare himself and anybody else more pain. And that included the woman in his hotel suite. He was tired, but still, he stiffened at just the thought of her. Her mouth on him—that sweet face taking him all in. An image he'd never forget. The hollow slope of her cheekbones as she sucked.

Until the interruption.

Now what could he do about Jackson? He was like a brother to Sanj, and the two of them had been though hell together. Sanj tried to will away the sense of impending doom.

“Your hotel, sir,” the cabbie said.

Sanj paid him and walked into the hotel, flashing his ID to the security man in front.

As he walked in his suite his cell phone went off. Jennifer.

“Yes,” he said into the phone.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Nice to hear from you, too,” he said.

“Where is Maeve? I can't reach her. Nobody can. Are you there?”

“Calm down,” Sanj said.
Where is Mary?

“Well—”

“I've just come from the consulate. They told me Jackson is in prison. He threatened to kill someone.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“And Maeve?”

He paused.

“Sanj?”

“Nobody seems to know where she is.”

Silence on the other end of the phone.

“Can you get an itinerary or something from the publisher? If I know where's she's been, I can ask around. That's the only thing I can think to do. The authorities here . . . well . . . they seem unconcerned.”

“I'll get right on it,” Jennifer said. “I'll contact their agent. I'll see what the editors here know. Are you staying at the same place? Will the management let you into their room?”

He hadn't thought to ask.

Of course, he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours and his brain was a fog of weariness.

“No, but I will,” he said.

“Stay in touch,” Jennifer said after a minute. “I mean it, Sanj. Whatever has happened between us . . . we can't let it get in the way of finding Maeve.”

“Agreed,” he said. “I will be in touch.”

He clicked off the cell phone and sat down on the couch. Where was Mary? Could she still be in bed? Beautiful Mary. He swung his legs up on the couch, laid his head back, and drifted off to sleep.