Passionate Pursuit (13 page)

Beatriz embraced him with love, her tongue stroking his, the noises they made pleasant and happy.

When he broke free, he rested his face against her neck, lips skimming her skin, his breath heating her more than the sun ever could.

She burned these moments in her mind and eased her fingers through his damp hair.

“That feels good.” He sighed. “You must always tend to me like this.”

She couldn’t imagine doing anything else during the time they had left. “Of course. What are friends for?”

“Some might say to get to know each other better.” He stroked her nipple.

The tip hardened, halo constricting, pleasure coursing through her. “I may be wrong, but bathing as we are should mean we crossed the line from reserve to familiarity.”

“Not in every way. I want to know about you.”

Her stomach clenched.

He kissed her jaw. “Tell me why you were unhappy until we met.”

A chill ran through her, the tepid water suddenly seeming cold, the breeze icy.

“Was your mamá difficult to care for during her illness?”

She recalled her mother, the real woman, not the fiction she’d created to convince Señora Cisneros to hire her. Those rare times her mamá had laughed were unbelievably precious to Beatriz, even though her mother had always put on a brave front, smiling despite the sorrow in her eyes. No matter how bad their home life had become, she’d tried to make Beatriz’s days pleasant.

She was only fourteen when her mother had fallen gravely ill. The physician claimed a bad case of the fever had taken hold. Beatriz knew better. Her mamá had finally given up on living and welcomed peace.

On her deathbed, she’d embraced Beatriz as much as she could, given how frail she’d become.

“Always remember how much I love you and wanted you to be happy.” She’d spoken haltingly, no louder than a whisper. “Never let him destroy you. He is not what you think. Be stronger than I was and win against him.”

Beatriz had witnessed her father’s cruelty firsthand, had finally learned the full extent of what he’d done to her mother, and realized exactly what he was. She shook her head in answer to Tomás’s question. “She had never been any trouble. I tended to her gladly.”

“Would you like to have her here with you?”

“What?” Blood drained from her face, leaving her dizzy. “In the castle?”

“Where else?” He eased damp hair off her cheek. “You can keep an eye on her here, rather than making infrequent visits to the village. She may even like a position, something easy to avoid burdening her.”

“No. Impossible.”

“Why?”

The woman he spoke of didn’t exist. “She would never leave the village.”

“Not even to be with you?”

“She likes her home. Women her age grow set in their ways. Besides, what would the other servants think if she were here?”

“I hardly know and care even less.”

“Because you never have to deal with them on their level rather than as their patrón.”

He grew thoughtful and nodded. “Was your sadness because of your papá? Was he a brute to you?”

Not when others could see. He was unfailingly decent in public, his reputation stellar. He’d saved his rages and true nature for when he was behind closed doors. Beatriz couldn’t count the times her friends had said how much they’d envied her for having such a sweet papá.

Her mother had lived the awful truth and had died to get away from him.

“We were never as close as I would have liked.” She held Tomás more tightly. “Perhaps if I had been a son…”

With his hand beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his. “Is that why he taught you to read and ride? He wanted you to be like a boy?”

“I suppose. I never asked.”

“Why not teach you to bake too? I suspect if he had, everyone in my castle would be eating your bread.”

Caught in another lie, she searched for an answer. “Only a son would do in the shop. Business is a man’s right, not a woman’s. Most likely he thought me too stupid to follow even the simplest recipe.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but he was a fool not to have worshipped you.”

She laughed sadly at such an impossible notion. “What of you?” She ran her finger around his flat nipple and the scar nearby. “Are you and your mamá close?”

“She died when I was a boy.”

“Oh no. Forgive me for bringing up such a terrible moment.”

“No need. I remember her fondly, cherishing the times we did have. Tell me more about you.”

She tensed again. “I have nothing else to share. My life was simple and tedious until I met you.”

“What of the dreams you had for the future?”

There hadn’t been any except for her desire to escape. “Dreams are for those who can afford such luxuries. As long as I had a bed to sleep in and enough to eat, I was content.”

“You want nothing more now?”

She wasn’t certain what he meant and wouldn’t ask, risking more lies. After what he’d done for her, he deserved better than her continuing deception.

“You mean other than this?” She gestured to the lovely room. “A meal would be nice.”

He glanced at their untouched basket. “I forgot to feed you.”

She trailed her fingers down his neck, liking how the ridge in his throat bobbed with his swallow. “You were busy making me a woman.”

“Are you sore?” He cupped her face. “I should have asked but forgot. Are you?”

“If I die from hunger, what will a little stinging matter?”

He threw up his hands. “Again, I forgot our food.” He pointed. “Stay where you are as I serve you.”

He left the pool. Water coursed down him, leaving puddles as he padded to the basket. He glanced over twice.

Checking to see if she’d obeyed and stayed put?

Feeling playful, she waited until he’d dug through the basket before she slipped beneath the surface.

Water filled her ears. She waited. He didn’t shout with worry no matter how long she stayed down. When her lungs burned for air, she finally surfaced and gasped.

Tomás was on one knee at the edge, his expression sour.

She affected an innocent look. “I swooned from hunger.”

He made a disbelieving noise and pushed a piece of bread at her. “Eat.”

She licked his thumb.

His shoulders trembled with laughter. “Will you never learn to obey?”

“You have much to teach me.”

* * * *

Tomás fed her on a mattress covered with dark blue silk, numerous pillows behind her shoulders. He’d posed her as a sultan might have done with an odalisque, her nudity exhibited for a man’s pleasure. Water dripped from her hair, beaded on her nipples, and sparkled on the curls between her legs.

His shaft was hard and aching for her.

Ignoring his discomfort, he slipped orange slices, boiled eggs, crispy white bread, and roasted beef between her lips. She ate the fare quickly, then lingered on his fingers to lick away sweet juice and stray crumbs.

After he’d given her half the food and offered still more, she grabbed his wrist. “You need to eat too.” She pushed his hand to his mouth. “You need to maintain your strength if you intend to keep up with me.”

He threw the bread to the side. “Is that so? You think me frail?”

She regarded his shaft, so rigid his crown pointed at her cleft. “How can I say until you prove your strength?”

Ah, she sought to challenge him. He pushed the basket off the mattress and flipped Beatriz on her belly, her buttocks exposed.

She looked over, eyes rounded. “What are you doing?”

“Proving my vigor. On your hands and knees, legs spread, back arched. Present your sex to your master for him to take, use, and enjoy.”

She grinned. “I think I like this.”

He stifled a laugh. “Did I say you could speak?”

“No, my lord, forgive me. I shall be quiet from here on out.” She achieved the position he wanted and looked over. “Is this about right?”

She’d spread her lovely cheeks quite nicely, revealing her tight, pink ring and cleft, her sex wet with arousal. He hardened himself against impossible need. “Are you talking again?”

“Forgive me. No sound will pass my lips from this point forward.”

Silly girl. His satisfaction wouldn’t come until she shrieked in delight and screamed for more.

He mounted her, swift and deep, until they touched. Her flesh hugged his. He grunted to show his approval. She moaned throatily.

Not enough. He demanded everything she had to give. “Tighten your opening around my shaft.”

She squeezed his sex repeatedly, her rapid pace keeping time with his heart’s frenzied beat, driving him wild. “No, no, no, slow down.”

“Like this?” She squeezed for a long moment, rested briefly, and resumed.

She was going to kill him with nothing more than her channel. Sweat stung his eyes. If he clenched his teeth any harder, they might break. His chest and shoulders hurt from trying to restrain himself. “Slower.”

She tightened her muscles around him again. He waited for her to relax. She didn’t.

“Slow enough?” she asked.

He pounded into her, crazed with lust. She was equally lost to pleasure, pushing into him on each thrust, forcing him to tunnel deeper. Once he had, she shouted in delight. Never had he known a more unrestrained woman.

Tomás pumped, staving off release far longer than what should have been possible, and stroked her nub again. Jubilant cries rushed from her.

He finally threw back his head and howled with naked indulgence.

The sounds echoed through the chamber.

Wobbly, he sank to the side, bringing Beatriz with him, his arm around her waist, his sex still filling her.

They struggled for breath. He cuddled closer, loving how she nestled into him. With his carnal needs sated, he wanted only good thoughts lulling him to sleep.

What she’d revealed about her parents intruded instead.

He didn’t understand her reluctance to share any information about a mother she adored. Unmistakable love had sounded in her voice. Tenderness softened her features.

Distaste for her father had been equally evident.

If the man thought so poorly of her, why teach Beatriz anything, especially how to read and write. Those were far harder skills for her to learn than following a recipe. Yet, he’d gone to the trouble to educate her, almost as a lady. Seeing to her future like a father would do with a boy, then dismissing her from having anything to do with his business.

Either her father had been a most unusual man or she was lying. Tomás couldn’t imagine why but wanted to find out. He had to.

She was in his blood now. He required her as much as he needed food and drink, and had to make his plans.

* * * *

Shortly after he and Beatriz had returned to the castle, Yolanda came to his study unbidden. The child seemed far less confident than she’d been this morning, now shifting from foot to foot.

Little wonder. Servants never came to his study to speak to him. They went through Señora Cisneros.

When the girl didn’t say anything, he had to. “What is it?”

“Am I in trouble? Will I no longer work with the chandler? Are you going to dismiss me?”

“Did you start a fire with the wax or tallow?”

She gaped. “I would never do such a thing. Are you angry with me for believing Rufio? I saw Beatriz’s sleeve. She said one of the horses nipped her and when she tried to get away, the fabric tore. My wages should pay for the damage. If not, I can work extra until I can afford to buy her a new gown.”

Tomás warned himself not to smile. He certainly didn’t want Yolanda thinking he’d made light of her. She had a good heart. In many ways, she reminded him of how Beatriz must have been as a child. Loving yet spirited with an admirable sense of fair play. No wonder they’d befriended each other…and had probably shared their pasts.

He leaned back in his chair. “No need to worry about the gown. Since my horse ruined her garment, I should handle the repair. Your position is also safe. However, I do want to speak with you. Close the door and sit.” He gestured to a bench next to his desk.

She perched on the edge, hands clasped, her face grim as an undertaker’s.

He rubbed his mouth so he wouldn’t chuckle at how solemn she looked. “Before I begin, I need your word not to repeat to anyone anything said in here, especially Beatriz.”

“I would never.”

He believed her. “Has Beatriz told you much about her past? What village she came from? Her family? She seems alone to me and I worry for her.”

“She only spoke to me about an ailing mother who was better for a time, then grew ill once more. Or was she hardy and grew ill only to become hardy again?” Yolanda became thoughtful, then frowned.

He hoped the rest of what she knew would be more fruitful. “Did she say which village she came from?”

“The one to the east, I think. Or maybe the south.”

“Too far to walk from here?”

“Not for me or any other servant.” She grew pensive again and shrugged. “Maybe Señor Nuncio.”

Because he was old when Beatriz was young and quite fit. She’d tested Tomás’s stamina repeatedly today. If walking to those villages proved no problem for Yolanda, Beatriz should have found the journey equally easy, not difficult as she’d told him. Of course, Yolanda could have been mistaken in what Beatriz had told her.

“What about the communities beyond the nearest ones?” he asked. “How far are they?”

“Only been to them once. Took me several hours at most even with stopping to rest.”

Time enough for Beatriz to arrive by late morning, visit her mamá, and walk back here well before the end of the day. “And those even farther?”

“Never been there.”

Beatriz might have grown up in one. “Please find Señor Nuncio and ask him to come in here.”

“At once.” She raced from the study.

Nuncio must have been prowling nearby as he came in quickly. “Do you need the guards again?”

“No. Close the door and take a seat.”

He remained far away. “I have not been anywhere near Beatriz.”

Tomás looked past him to the open door. “And you want to make certain the rest of the servants know as much?”

Nuncio closed the door. “Whatever Beatriz told you, she has the wrong idea. I have no idea where she is or what she might be doing.”