Prisoner of War Page 5

  When she reached the end of the wooden walk that led to the private beach, they both halted when the sentry challenged them quietly in Spanish. Calli’s Spanish was getting better every day, only Nick needed to give them this order, not her, so she turned to him.

  “Ask them to pull back to the inner compound gates and stay there until we come back.”

  He considered this for a moment then reached out and patted her ribs. His hand slapped against the pistol nestled under her arm. “I see,” he said. He lifted his voice and gave the order as she had asked and the sentry in front of them called to his two companions. They nodded as they passed Nick, trotting up to the high fence that barricaded the walk from the house proper.

  Calli took Nick’s hand once more and led him down to the sandy beach. There was little light. The moon was a thin slice and low in the sky. Yet the waves had a glowing luminescence that guided them to the water’s edge.

  “If it doesn’t offend you,” Nick said, “I’ll take the gun.”

  “I was hoping you’d offer,” Calli said, thankfully stripping the jacket off and slipping out of the harness. The beach was a private one, yet there was nothing to stop Serrano from landing a flotilla of armed men if he wanted to. Nick kept sentries on the beach only to raise an early alarm. He rigidly insisted that no one else use the beach. It was too dangerous.

  It made the white, sandy bay one of the few private locations on the whole estate.

  She handed the gun over and Nick slipped the holster off the harness and clipped it over his belt instead.

  “I have been practicing,” she told him.

  “Which is reassuring. You’ve never shot a live target, though.” Nick checked the load in the gun, then lifted his head. “I hope you never will have to. For now, I will carry the gun. I like you better without that bulky jacket, anyway.”

  She was wearing a T-shirt that was too short for her long torso. It ended above her hips. The jeans were low-rise—the same jeans that, four months ago, she had been wearing when she arrived in Vistaria. The night she had met Nick.

  She put her hands on her hips. “You would like it better this way.”

  “Is that the silver buckle I gave you?”

  “Yes.” She was pleased he remembered it.

  “You brought that out of Vistaria? You were carrying nothing but a pouch on your hip.”

  “All the essentials,” she assured him. “Passport, wallet, papers.”

  “And the buckle.”

  “And the buckle,” she agreed. “I couldn’t fit the shoes in, but I tried.”

  Nick gave a low chuckle. “I think some of Vistaria’s sentimentality is rubbing off on you.”

  “Just you, Nicolás,” she said softly. “Just you.”

  He reached for her and Calli danced nimbly out of his reach. He looked surprised and lunged for her again. She dodged again and stood just out of his reach, her hands on her hips. She cocked her head at him. “Slow, Nicky. Slow. So much for the vaunted Red Leopard.”

  She could see his eyes narrow even in that low light. The gleam in them shaded. “You know, I’ve had a whole day of trying to get things done and having people slip out from under my grip.”

  Calli kept her expression neutral, though she already knew from Josh and others in the household that Nick’s day had been more than usually frustrating. “Awwww, poor baby. Losing your grip, Escobedo?” It was a deliberate taunt.

  He lunged again and almost had her. It was only because she was ready for his move that she escaped him. As it was, the closeness made her gasp. Her heart pounded. Nick Escobedo, even tired and distracted, was fast indeed.

  She danced away again and teased him with a laugh. “Too slooow,” she crooned.

  “¡Ahora le tendré!”

  Calli couldn’t help the high, gasping shriek that escaped her as she turned and ran down the beach as if her life depended on it. She could hear Nick pounding after her, very close. It gave her speed. She knew Nick would soon catch her, but for a few moments she kept ahead.

  Calli could feel herself beginning to tire. That was when Nick caught her. He didn’t tackle her from behind or grab her arm. He scooped his arm around her waist and lifted her right off her feet. At that pace, though, the momentum was too much even for a man of Nick’s strength and speed. They toppled into the soft dry sand and rolled over.

  Calli struggled to be free. She pushed at his shoulder, kicked and wriggled. She could hear his breath, heavy and broken, as he worked to overcome her struggles. There was an odd sort of pleasure in the struggle. Nick was using little of his full power against her, yet the idea of him using brute strength to overcome her made her belly ripple with growing arousal.

  She gave a small, breathless exhalation as he grabbed her arms and threw himself on top of her to keep her still. He was breathing deep and steadily while her chest heaved. “What is this, mi dama fuerte?”

  “Bully. Want to get off me?” She heaved with her hips and almost dislodged him.

  Nick swore under his breath and straddled her hips, clamping them with his knees, his hands still anchoring her wrists in the sand. He looked down at her and even in the little light available, she could see the sexual heat in his eyes. He had responded to her mood.

  “Take off your shirt,” she said. Her voice was husky.

  “And leave your hands free? Do I trust you?”

  “Your choice.”

  He brought her wrists together, clamped his hand around both and used the other to pull the short-sleeved shirt right over his head. He shrugged one arm out of it before moving her wrists to the other hand and dropping the shirt to the sand.

  Calli stared at the rounded caps of his shoulders, the gleam and shadow play over his chest. Nick Escobedo was a fine man indeed. Watching him, Calli felt a liquid heat spread through her. She couldn’t help the sinfully proud thought; And he wants me.

  Nick returned her hands to the sand, holding them down easily. When she tested his grip, it tightened just enough to still her movements. “What is this, my long, tall lady? What has inspired this mood?”

  “Why should I tell you?” She struggled again, but it was a pathetic movement, made helpless by the powerful arousal shooting through her. She wanted Nick to tear her jeans from her. She wanted to be plundered in the most archaic way. Portraying reluctance was becoming more difficult by the moment.

  Nick rode out her struggles easily, watching her. “I see,” he said. His voice was low and thick with his own driving need. She recognized it and shivered in anticipation.

  He leaned down to kiss her and she averted her face.

  “Are you sure you want to play this game?” he asked, his voice soft. He sounded dangerous.

  Calli did wonder if she was being wise. There were undercurrents in Nick’s voice that she didn’t understand. Before she could reconsider, Nick dipped his head and kissed her. His teeth nipped the delicate flesh of her lip. Calli groaned, racked by a burst of pleasure.

  Now Nick was playing by his own rules. His exquisite torture did not let up for a moment. He seduced her with hard, rough movements. He knew her every weakness and delight and he spared her nothing.

  Calli lost track of all but what Nick was doing to her. The soft pounding of the surf a few feet from them faded. The breeze did not register on her skin.

  Her eyes had closed and her hips arched hard. Her hands curled into fists, trying to grasp the sand, as her head rolled back. She was panting.

  And still he did not spare her. He took her there on the beach, casting aside every layer of her clothing and driving himself into her with hard movements, until her climax tore through her and induced his own.

  Afterward, he almost collapsed upon her. He held himself up with one arm and she could feel him trembling with the aftermath. Then he drew a deep lungful of air, slid his arm beneath her and rolled over onto his back, turning her and bringing her with him so that she lay across his chest.

  He caught her face in his hands and brought it down so
he could kiss her, slow and deep. Then he let his arms fall back to the sand.

  She smoothed his brow. “So...no more tension?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Someone’s been telling tales.” His tone held a tiny note of irritation.

  “They didn’t have to,” she assured him. “I just have to watch you move through your day to see it. You’re driving yourself too hard, Nick.”

  He patted her hip. “I need access to the gun,” he said gently.

  She moved off him. As he sat up, she reached for her jeans and slid them on once more.

  “I’m not angry with you,” Nick said at last.

  “I know.”

  “It’s just that you’re the second person today to tell me to take it easy.”

  “I didn’t say to take it easy,” she told him gently. “I just said I can see how hard you’re working. That’s all. I’m not stupid, Nick. If you don’t do it, there is no one else.”

  He stiffened.

  “What?” she asked, sitting next to him. She could feel the heat radiating from him, this close.

  “That’s not the way I planned it.”

  “Planned what?”

  “It’s not supposed to be me at all,” he said softly. “It can’t be.”

  “What’s not supposed to be you?” she asked gently.

  He was silent a long time. It was so unlike Nick to not have the answer at hand that she could feel her heart starting to thud with the tension of wondering what had disconcerted him so much.

  He picked up her hand and placed it on his thigh. He stroked the fingers, sending shivers up her arm, but he did it absently. The physical man’s equivalent of doodling. “The Mexican government has asked us to reopen diplomatic relations with them,” he said at last.

  Calli nodded. “That makes the people in this house the official representatives of Vistaria...” Then it fell into place for her. “Nick, are you saying you don’t think you’re fit to lead them?”

  “I’m not a leader.”

  “Yes, you are,” Calli said quickly. “You’re a natural leader. I’ve seen you. It’s second nature to you.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not supposed to be the leader. That’s not my place. General Blanco is destined for that role, not me.” He sighed. “He will not step into it.”

  “Will not, or cannot?” she asked gently. “There is a difference, Nick. For you, leadership comes easily. Blanco can direct military affairs, because in that role he has systems, predictable actions.”

  Nick shook his head. “I am not the one to be their leader. That was not what I was supposed to be. I’m not even a proper—”

  “No!” she protested. “Don’t tell me you’re not a proper Vistarian.”

  “It is a truth we cannot ignore,” he said gently.

  “Do you have a coin in your pocket?”

  She could feel his puzzlement. Still, he delved into his pocket and pulled out one of the big Vistarian coins and held it out to her.

  “Throw it on the sand over there. About twenty feet.”

  He tossed it and it plunked onto the wet-packed sand in front of them, about twenty-five feet away.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “For what?”

  “Try to stop me.” As she finished speaking, she went for the gun on Nick’s hip. She pulled it out of the holster, turned, sighted and fired. At the same time, she threw her left arm up, blocking Nick’s hand as he reached for the gun.

  With a sour whine, the coin flew up into the air, flickering before falling into the froth of an oncoming wave. Bull’s-eye.

  She returned the gun to the holster and looked at Nick. Even in the dark, she could feel his astonishment. “We’re all doing things we never thought we would be called upon to do,” she told him. “Why should you be the exception?”

  Chapter Five

  His fingertips slipped down her cheek, their touch soft as petals. “I have never seen such beauty before. Tell me what to do to keep you by me.” The words were Spanish, breathed with buried passion driving them.

  Even as Minnie delighted in hearing Duardo’s voice, in feeling his touch, she knew she was dreaming. She recognized, too, that she was on that fleetingly rare borderline between wake and sleep, where dreams took on more substance and became rich emotional memories that would survive the waking.

  Sadness tore through her. She would not be able to linger in this moment.

  Then, abruptly, she was awake. She kept her eyes closed, her cheek still tingling where the dream-memory Duardo had touched it. Slowly, the real world intruded upon her senses. Soft movements sounded as someone went to bed or rose from it.

  The room was a makeshift dormitory. Sixteen women used it. They came and went at different hours, according to the roles they had taken in the household. Minnie couldn’t tell if it was late or early in the morning. There were no windows in the room and the lamps that served it were always turned low.

  She hugged herself under the covers, still not fully awake. Even the lumps in the thin mattress did not register. If she could slip back into sleep, would she revisit that long-gone moment? That touch on her cheek...that had been the first time she met Duardo. The night of the Luna Festival, the night Calli had first arrived in Vistaria and got herself arrested.

  Minnie tried to sink into the memory, to coax both the memory and sleep to take her.

  Calli had been arrested and Minnie’s father made frantic phone calls, trying to find a way to get her out. Minnie went with him to the police station because she was dying to find out what the festival was all about and the station was located in the central square in the downtown area—the heart of the festival.

  There had been chat amongst mining staff that Fiesta de la Luna was, in practice, more like a Saturnalia than a cultural acknowledgement, a week when Vistarians shucked off their most proper dignity and left their honor at home. The gossip had piqued Minnie’s curiosity.

  Her father was forced to leave the car a quarter mile away from the main square. Traffic was congested and the square itself blocked to anything but pedestrians. They wended their way past Vistarians in the colorful national dress while Minnie’s eyes grew wider.

  Inhibitions were gone. Minnie watched, amazed, as men and women who appeared to be strangers would greet each other and come together to kiss and caress. Her father didn’t notice.

  When they reached the station, Minnie glanced in at the unshaved soldier behind the reception desk, his rifle on the desk, while he leaned frankly against the wall. The soldier’s gaze narrowed when he saw her through the glass doors. A lewd smile appeared.

  She knew that smile. She’d seen it many times on other men. She stepped back down to the ground. “I think I’m going to stay out here,” she told her father.

  Josh glanced at the soldier behind the counter, which told her he’d noticed the man’s smile, too. “All right,” he said with a distracted air. Then he glanced around the square. “Don’t wander away, huh? It doesn’t look much better out here.”

  “Tell me about it,” she murmured. “I’ll be right here.”

  Josh went into the station.

  Minnie looked around, wondering where she could wait that wouldn’t involve her in the fiesta. She wanted to watch but had no intention of letting a strange man kiss her.

  She moved a few feet from the steps and leaned back against the wall of the station. It put her in shadows and in a good position to watch the dancing and listen to the music. It was endlessly fascinating.

  The police station was located on the corner of one of the tiny side streets that fed into the square. From that narrow, cobblestone road, a group of three Vistarian soldiers moved into the square, heading for the station. They patently had nothing to do with the festival. They wore the dark green pants with the double red stripe down the leg and the short, light jacket with red stripes around the bottom of the sleeves to denote rank.

  One was taller than the other two. He had glossy black hair pulled back into a short po
nytail at the back of his neck. In this matter, the Vistarian army appeared to hold different standards from the rest of the world. He was laughing as the three climbed the steps. The lights inside the station fell on his face.

  Minnie caught her breath. Oh wow!

  He had white, even teeth and midnight black eyes to go with his olive skin. High cheekbones, a strong jaw. Wide, square shoulders, tight hips and waist...

  They slipped inside and the door swung shut on them.

  Minnie sighed to herself. Vistarian men all seemed to lean toward the taller, overtly masculine male. Combined with Mediterranean looks, it meant there were an above average number of men in Vistaria who were too damn sexy for Minnie’s pulse. She smiled—Vistaria was a great country in which to stand around watching the world go by.

  After a few minutes, the door to the station opened again and she looked up, expecting her father and Calli, but the three soldiers re-emerged with their heads close together. They moved slowly down the steps, talking hard and came to a stop on the cobbles.

  Minnie straightened and focused on the taller one. His smile had gone, replaced by a thoughtful look. He listened to the others and shook his head, glancing around the square.

  His gaze found her in the shadows and Minnie caught her breath as he spoke to his friends then stepped around them and walked toward her, speaking rapid Spanish. His voice was pleasant.

  Minnie caught only the odd word here and there, enough to know he was asking if she was all right. Clearly, her position close by the station, standing in shadows had alerted him. She stepped out from the shadow and held up her hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t speak much Spanish. Just some. Ummm...¿Apenas un poco español?” She held her forefinger and thumb a bare inch apart to indicate just how little Spanish she had.

  He smiled and held up his finger and thumb, about three inches apart. “I speak English this much, yes?”

  “It’s better than my Spanish,” she confessed.

  Again, the quick, flashing smile. “You are...okay? You are alone here, on Fiesta night.”

  “I’m waiting for someone. They’re inside.” She pointed toward the front door of the station.