Authors: Rochelle Alers
D
avid woke to the sound of rain tapping against the glass of the French doors. The heat had vanished, along with the oppressive weight, but hunger and thirst had taken their place. The rumblings and contractions gripping his stomach had him wondering when he’d eaten last.
His right hand went to his cheek, fingertips encountering an emerging beard. He jerked his hand away. The stubble on his jaw verified that he hadn’t shaved in days. Once he had begun shaving at sixteen, he had never permitted more than a day’s growth to cover his cheeks.
Scenes from the wedding flooded his memory. Had he drunk so much that he lay in a drunken stupor for days without getting up to shower and shave?
A frown marred his smooth forehead. He had not gotten drunk. In fact he was very alert and quite sober
when he boarded the jet for his flight to San José, Costa Rica! He was not in Florida, but in Costa Rica.
Suddenly he was aware of where he was and what had happened to him. Someone had broken into his hotel room and assaulted him while he was in the shower. Who was it that hit him, and why?
He wasn’t given time to ponder the questions. He heard voices—male and female. It was the female’s voice that held his rapt attention. He had heard that voice before—but where? It sounded so much like the husky, velvety whisper that belonged to his sister-in-law. He used to tease his oldest brother’s wife, telling Parris that she should’ve been a radio disc jockey because of her hypnotic, X-rated, dulcet tones.
The woman sounded like Parris, but he knew it couldn’t be she. This woman spoke Spanish like a native, while Parris had achieved only a perfunctory facility of the language.
Turning his head toward the sound of the voices, David discerned that he had limited use of his vision. Reaching up, he touched the bandage covering the left side of his face. The pressure of his fingers on the area brought on a wave of blinding pain.
The questions tumbled over themselves in his head. Where was he in Costa Rica? How many days and nights had he lost since his arrival? He didn’t have to wait for some of the answers.
“
¡Buenos días!
, Señor Cole. I am Dr. Leandro Rivera. How are you feeling this morning?”
David examined the young doctor for a full minute with his uninjured eye before he replied, “
Quiero algo de comer y beber
.”
Leandro smiled and placed a slender hand on his patient’s forehead. The fact that David Cole was hungry
and thirsty was a good sign. There was no doubt that he had not suffered any serious head trauma.
“Señorita Morris will make certain you’ll get something to eat and drink, but first I want to check your face.”
David could not see the Miss Morris the doctor referred to, but he could sense her presence and smell her perfume. It was a sensual, floral-musk scent. Closing his eyes, he tried remembering where he had detected that scent before.
Sitting down on the chair beside the bed, Leandro pushed his hands into a pair of sterile latex gloves, removed the gauze dressing, and peered closely at the stitches holding the flesh together along the left side of his patient’s face. There was only a little redness, but no swelling. He had to smile. Given the conditions, he had done an excellent job of repairing David Cole’s face. The wound would heal, leaving a barely noticeable scar—a thin scar that could be completely eradicated by a highly skilled plastic surgeon.
The area over the left eye did not look as good. The eye was still frightfully swollen, and the flesh over the lid claimed vivid hues of red, purple, and black.
Leandro replaced the dressing with smaller butterfly bandages, leaving the left eye uncovered. He would caution Serena not to let David see his face until most of the swelling had gone away. The discoloration would take days, if not more than a week, to fade completely.
He checked the right foot, manipulating the toes and registering David’s reaction. He winced slightly, but didn’t moan or cry out. Leandro had his answer. The ankle was not broken.
“How’s my face?” David asked.
“Healing,” Leandro said noncommittally.
“I know it’s healing,” David retorted. “What I want to know is what did you do to it?”
“I put thirty-six stitches in your face to close a gaping laceration.”
David stiffened as if the doctor had struck him when he realized his face would be scarred. Closing his eye, he turned his head, the uninjured side of his face pressed to the pillow.
David Claridge Cole knew himself better than anyone, and his haughty self-image was the result of not only bearing the Cole name, but also of his inheriting the genes of his African-American-Cuban ancestors.
He had entered adolescence with full knowledge that girls were attracted first to his face, then his family’s wealth. This all continued into his twenties, once he had made a name for himself as a talented jazz musician. The band had garnered worldwide popularity, while he had personally amassed groupies who waited at stage doors for him in every city Night Mood toured.
So many things had changed since he left the band: he’d become CEO for ColeDiz International Ltd., had a custom-designed, ocean-view house built in Boca Raton, Florida, that he hadn’t moved into, and he was in the planning stages of starting up his own recording company. What he had not planned for was marrying. He still had too many projects to realize before he settled down with one woman and fathered children.
“Where am I?” he questioned, his voice muffled against the pillow.
Serena looked at Leandro, who nodded. She stepped over to the bed and touched David’s bare shoulder. Shifting, he stared up at her, his eye widening noticeably.
He remembered seeing hair—lots of it—and now he knew who the hair belonged to. Dark curls were secured
on the top of the young woman’s head, a few wayward ones spilling over her high, smooth forehead.
She was a rich, lush shade of brown spice: cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and cloves. And the hypnotic fragrance he had detected earlier came from her. It was a seductive musk with an underlying scent of flowers. Her perfectly rounded face claimed high cheekbones, a short, rounded nose, soft chin, a full, overly ripe mouth that was a deep, rich, powdery cocoa shade, and a pair of large, round eyes that were the clearest brown he had ever seen. There was just a hint of gold in their shimmering depths.
“You’re in Limón,” she said, speaking English. “My father’s driver found you in an abandoned van,” she continued in Spanish. “He recognized your face and had you brought here.” David nodded slowly, grimacing. Serena was aware of the effort it took for him to move his head.
The voice. The deep, husky voice also belonged to her. She was the angel in his dream. She was the one who held him, comforted him, and offered him succor during his pain and suffering. And the pain was back—with a throbbing vengeance.
“How did you come to be in the van?” Leandro questioned.
“Someone broke into my hotel room and hit me while I was in the shower.”
“Why do you think they hit you, Señor Cole?” Leandro continued.
“I…I don’t know,” he gasped, breathing heavily. The image of the large man towering above him in the shower came back, along with the memory of the blinding, red hot pain. He wondered why he had been assaulted. By whom and for what reason?
Serena felt the muscles in his shoulder tighten under her hand. Without David saying anything she knew he was in pain.
“Why don’t you rest, while I get you something to eat and drink?” Her gaze met Leandro’s and she motioned for him to follow her.
They stepped outside the bedroom and she rounded on him. “David Cole may be your patient, but he is in my parents’ home. My father has assumed responsibility for him. And that means he will monitor any police investigation and
interrogation
.”
Leandro stared at her, complete surprise on his face. His expression mirrored Serena’s own shock at her reprimand. Never in her nursing career had she ever come to the defense of a patient. Perhaps it had something to do with the setting, and just maybe it had something to do with the patient, but she was totally out of character. Sharing David Cole’s bed had also been out of character for her.
What was it about the man that made her go against everything she had been taught as a health care professional? Over the past twelve years she had earned a B.S., R.N. and a Master’s in Public Health, and not once had she ever been cited for any professional violation.
What she had to do was acknowledge the reason behind her behavior: fear. Unconsciously she had substituted David Cole for Gabriel Vega. David, in a foreign land and imprisoned by pain, was in a position so like Gabriel’s. The only difference was that once David healed he would be free to return home. Her brother, if found guilty of the charges against him, would more than likely forfeit his young life.
They apologized in unison.
“I’m sorry, Leandro.”
“Forgive me, Serena.”
Serena gave him a warm smile, her lush mouth softening attractively. “I suppose I’m a little overzealous.”
He returned her smile. “You have every right to be. And you’re right. Your father is paying me to treat Señor Cole, not interrogate him.”
She touched the sleeve of his lightweight jacket. “When will you return?”
“I’ll be back tonight.”
Serena’s clear brown eyes were shadowed by sweeping black lashes. “Perhaps we could share dinner,” she offered, hoping to make amends for her scathing rebuke.
Leandro nodded. “I would like that. Is eight too late? I have office hours until six.”
“Eight is perfect.”
She walked Leandro down the staircase and waited until he drove away in his Jeep before she returned to the kitchen to see about getting something for David Cole to eat.
The scent of the woman lingered in the room long after she left, and David drew in a deep breath, savoring the lingering smell of her.
A crooked smile softened his parched lips when he recalled the soft press of a feminine body next to his. He’d awakened briefly during the night to find her beside him and tried reaching out for her, but couldn’t. He had been too weak.
Women who shared his bed always shared their bodies with him. But this time it was very different. He found it difficult to move his head or even sit up. He was as weak and helpless as a newborn.
Feeling pressure in the lower part of his body, he knew he had to leave the bed or embarrass himself. Moving slowly, he turned over to his left and half-sat and half-lay on the bed. He reached across his body with his right hand and pulled himself into a sitting position, using the headboard for support. Objects in the room swayed before they righted themselves. He sat on the edge of the bed for a full minute before his feet touched the floor. The sheet fell away from his naked body as he stood up. Without warning, the floor came up to meet him, and seconds before he slipped back into a well of blackness he heard a woman screaming his name.
“D
avid!”
There was no mistaking the hysteria in Serena’s voice as she knelt beside him. He lay facedown on the floor, motionless. What she feared most was that he had reopened the gash along his cheek. She managed to roll him over, sighing in relief when she saw that no sign of blood showed through the bandages.
He groaned, then opened his one good eye. Serena’s face wavered dizzily before he was able to focus. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he explained, his breathing labored.
Slipping an arm under his neck, she cradled his head gently within the crook of her elbow. “I’m going to have to help you whenever you want to get out of bed.”
David tried shaking his head, but gave up the effort as a ribbon of pain tightened like a vise over his left eye. “No,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she countered. “You’ve suffered a concussion, and it’s going to be a while before you’ll be able to stand up on your own.”
Gritting his teeth, he tried pushing himself up off the floor. “Let me go.”
Despite his weakened condition, David Cole was still twice as strong as she was, and Serena couldn’t hold him when he turned away and pushed himself to his knees.
“David! David,” she repeated. This time his name came out softer, almost pleading. “Let me help you.”
He halted, staring at her. There was a silent plea in his gaze that implored her to understand his predicament. It was enough that he was injured, helpless, and naked. But it was an entirely different matter that he needed to relieve himself.
Something in his expression communicated itself to her, and Serena nodded slowly. She understood his embarrassment. “I’m a nurse. This is what I do—every day. You’re my patient, David Cole, and I’m going to take care of you whether you like it or no, or whether you’re embarrassed because you have to do what every living organism must do to survive.” Pausing, she noted resignation in his expression. “Now, are you going to cooperate with me?”
Did he have a choice? The pressure in his lower body was so intense that he doubted whether he could make it to the bathroom before he shamed himself.
He hated the weakness, his helplessness. He had always prided himself on having excellent health, only succumbing to exhaustion after a multi-city tour. But exhaustion was a part of his past once he left the band.
Relenting, he said, “Yes.” The single word came out in a lingering sigh.
Serena braced a shoulder under his armpit, supporting his greater weight against her hip, and helped him to his feet. He put one foot in front of the other, taking long strides despite the fact that his knees shook uncontrollably.
“Easy there, Sport,” she teased. They made it to the adjoining bath, she helping David over to the commode. Sitting down heavily, he sighed in relief.
Stepping back, Serena smiled down at him. “I’ll wait outside for you. Call me when you’re finished.”
“Thanks.” The single word conveyed assuagement and appreciation.
She returned to the bedroom, busying herself smoothing out the sheet and straightening the lightweight blanket on the bed. The rain had stopped and she opened the floor-to-ceiling French doors. The sweet, cloying fragrance of tropical flowers and damp earth was redolent in the humid air. A rising fog hung over the nearby rain forest, turning the landscape a wispy, heather gray.
Ten minutes passed and still David hadn’t called out to her. Shrugging a bare shoulder, Serena stood at the open French doors staring out at the land surrounding
La Montaña
, recalling the happy times she had spent there.
Her family moved into the large, beautifully designed house twenty years ago, the day she and Gabe turned ten and six, respectively. The move had been planned to coincide with a most lavish birthday celebration, and never had she felt so grown up as she did that day. The housewarming/birthday gala was never duplicated—not even when she was formally presented to Costa Rican society during her fifteenth year. Her mother had gone along with the Spanish custom of presenting her
daughter at fifteen instead of the customary American Sweet Sixteen and coming-out observances.
Gabe, mesmerized by the grandeur of the house and the number of people filling the expansive living room, never spoke more than ten words all that day. After all of the celebrants left he spent the night sobbing uncontrollably. He wanted his old house and old room back.
Serena realized at an early age that her younger brother detested change. He only wanted what appeared to be safe and familiar. Gabe surprised her and his family when he decided that he didn’t want to attend a Costa Rican college. He wanted to follow his sister to the United States.
She was elated when Gabe was admitted to a college in South Florida. They were more than thirteen hundred miles apart, but they got to visit each other more often than if he had remained in Costa Rica.
Their roles were reversed once she decided to end her marriage to Xavier. Gabe flew up to New York from Miami and stayed with her until she settled into her new apartment, and she suspected that he had confronted Xavier about his treatment of his sister. Xavier had alluded to it when they met again at her lawyer’s office, but when she asked her brother about the incident he refused to discuss it with her.
From the time that he was born she had taken care of and protected Gabriel Diego Vega. However, at twenty-eight she’d let him protect her for the first time.
Serena found it hard to believe that two years had passed so quickly. It was only two years ago that she had become the wife of Dr. Xavier Osbourne. Determination hardened her delicate jaw. Xavier was her past, and she had taken a solemn oath to never marry again.
All thoughts of her brother fled when she glanced
down at her watch. David Cole had been alone in the bathroom for almost fifteen minutes. Retracing her steps, she hurried into the bathroom and went completely still. Anger and annoyance pulsed through her as the sound of running water filled the space.
Taking the few remaining steps to the shower stall, she flung open the door. David sat on the floor of the stall, water beating down on his head and rinsing a layer of soap from his large body. She reached over and slapped the lever controlling the flow of water.
David’s head came up slowly and he glared at her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Serena swallowed back the angry retort threatening to spill from her constricted throat. “What do you think
you’re
doing?”
“Taking a shower,” he shot back.
“I said you could relieve yourself, not shower.”
“I needed a shower.”
Resting both hands on her hips, her gaze narrowed. “What you needed to do was keep those stitches dry for at least forty-eight hours.”
“I was beginning to smell.”
“Let
me
determine whether you smell, Mr. Cole. And if you do begin to smell, I’ll wash you.”
Bracing a hand against the tiled wall, David pushed himself to his feet. He rested his forehead against the cool tiles as a wave of dizziness gripped him, while managing to swallow back the bile rising in his throat.
“You will not wash me.” His refusal came out haltingly, from between clenched teeth.
Her hand went to his thick wrist and she led him slowly out of the stall. “What are you, David Cole? Stubborn, stupid, or maybe just obsessively vain?”
David leaned heavily against her side when she
picked up a thick towel and blotted the water from his body. His gaze was fixed on the profusion of curling hair, neatly pinned up off her long neck. As she leaned closer the soft curls brushed his shoulder, causing him to jerk his arm away.
Her head came up and their gazes met. Even with his limited vision he was astounded by the perfection of the face only inches from his own. Her rich, dark beauty was hypnotic, and he couldn’t look away. Silken, black eyebrows arched over her large, round eyes, giving her the look of a startled little girl.
But there was nothing girlish about her body. It was slender as well as lush. The loose-fitting slip dress could not disguise the curve of her full breasts or her rounded hips. From his superior height he could easily see down the bodice of her dress whenever she leaned over, and he felt like a pervert because he liked what he saw. The rich, even layers of browns on her face extended to her shoulders and breasts, reminding him of spun sugar. He didn’t know why he thought of her in terms of foods. Perhaps, he mused, because she looked good enough to eat.
“To answer your question, Miss Morris, I am neither of those adjectives. What I am is hungry, thirsty, and in lots of pain. And what I don’t like is not being able to take care of myself.”
Reaching up, Serena dabbed lightly over the bandages covering his wound, using a corner of the towel. “What you don’t have right now is a choice, Mr. Cole. Someone opened your head like a ripe melon, resulting in a severe concussion. You are also running a temperature, which means there is evidence of an infection. You’re in my parents’ home, where they have assumed responsibility for your safety and recovery. And that means I give the
orders and you’ll do exactly what you’re told to do. Is there anything about what I just said that you don’t understand?”
He went completely still, one dark eye focused on her mouth. “Are you in the military?”
His question caught her off guard and she stared back at him, a frown creasing her smooth forehead. “No. Why?”
“Because you give a lot of orders,” he shot back.
Her frown disappeared and she gave him a slow, sensual smile. “I only give orders when I have to.”
David stared mutely at her smiling face. She’d half-lowered her lids over her hypnotic eyes and stared up at him through her lashes. It was a gesture he’d seen many times when women flirted with him. But this woman was not flirting. What she was doing was ordering him about like a storm trooper.
“Then you must be a supervisor, Miss Morris.”
She opened her mouth to come back at him, but didn’t. She wasn’t going to explain herself. Not to David Cole. He needed her, not the other way around.
Tossing the towel on a chair, she curved an arm around his waist and steered him out of the bathroom. “You’re going back to bed and I want you to stay there until I bring you your breakfast. After you eat I’ll see if I can’t find you something to put on.
La Montaña
is beautiful. However it is hardly the Garden of Eden.”
David sat down heavily on the side of the bed, his legs shaking. They weren’t shaking because of the weakness wracking his injured body, but because of what Serena had just said.
“
Where
am I?” he whispered.
Serena eased his legs up onto the bed and waited until he lay back against the mound of pillows cradling his
shoulders. Pulling the sheet up to his chest, she said, “You’re at my parents’ house.”
“But you said that this is
La Montaña
.”
“It is.”
A fist of pain gripped his temples. Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes. She was lying to him. Her name was Morris, not Vega.
Raul Cordero-Vega owns La Montaña
, he wanted to shout, but the words never came out. He tried to concentrate on what she’d told him, but his thoughts were a jumble of confusion. She’d said
La Montaña
was her parents’ home, and if she wasn’t a Vega then what was her connection to the man? Another wave of dizziness accompanied the pain, and within seconds darkness descended and he slipped into a world where there was no pain, no haunting scent of the woman who stood over him.
Serena’s fingers grazed David’s stubbly cheek before going to his forehead. His brow was moist and clammy. He had overexerted himself by attempting to shower.
“You’re a vain fool, David Cole,” she whispered softly. He had lied to her, saying he needed to shower, while the scent of cologne and aftershave still lingered on his large, hard body. The scent of his cologne suited him. It was subtle yet dramatic. It was like its wearer—she knew after less than twelve hours of meeting David Cole for the first time that he was powerful and dramatic.
Despite his physical state, he exuded power and confidence. There was no doubt he was used to giving orders and having those orders followed without question. She recalled some of the rich and powerful people who had been invited to social gatherings at
La Montaña
. They came wearing haute couture and priceless
jewels, looking down their noses at the household staff as if they were insects who annoyed them.
A smile softened her lush mouth. Many wealthy people had come to Costa Rica to retire, taking advantage of the weather, Central America’s purest democracy and highest standard of living, and the highest degree of economic and social progress. Some came to conduct business because of the nation’s political stability, strategic location, infrastructure, inexpensive labor force, and various government incentive programs.
Raul Cordero-Vega, as Minister of the Interior, oversaw the Ministry of Economy, Industry, and Commerce like a despot. The president and his cabinet ministers were aware of her stepfather’s zealous nationalistic fervor and did nothing to curtail it. Raul protected Costa Rica for all Ticos.
Serena left David and went downstairs to the kitchen to see if his breakfast was ready. As an American, David Cole was a foreign businessman, and even though Raul had taken David into his home she knew it still did not bode well for the younger man. Like her mother, she had never become involved in Raul’s work, but like her mother she knew that he detested all foreign businesses. He referred to them as locusts. They swept through his country, devouring everything in sight before they disappeared like apparitions.
It would be best if David recovered quickly so he could conclude whatever business he had come to Costa Rica to conduct, she mused as she walked into a large kitchen. A large assortment of cooking utensils hung from overhead hooks in the brick wall space.
Luz Maria Hernando smiled and handed Serena a covered tray. “It is ready,” she said in accented English. The talented cook took every opportunity she could to
use the language. She had come to
La Montaña
a month after it was built as an interim cook and never left. She had secretly asked that Serena teach her to speak English, becoming completely bilingual in the twenty years she lived at the house. She remained in residence at
La Montaña
even when Raul and Juanita returned to San José during the intense summer season. She and Serena were alike because they both loved the heat and the surrounding rain forest.