Born Into Love (4 page)

“I can assure you, we are prepared.”

My real worry is being held in your arms.
. “The yacht’s not going out very far, is it?”

“No. Try to enjoy it. The sea floor has been doing a good job for a long time. I think we can trust it tonight.”

In spite of her dread of the deep, she laughed. “I can be obsessive.”

“We each have our little quirks.”

He offered his arm. She accepted. He acted too polite, too formal. One of them had to break the tension. And soon. Should she be the first?

He guided her to the car. He was tall enough, broad enough,
and smart enough. Was he too much of a good thing? Her hand slid over his forearm. The man felt down-to-earth, reassuringly solid, chiseled by Michelangelo. Her pulse raced and she prayed her hand wouldn’t get clammy.

“I thought we would stay close enough to see the coastal lights, but far enough to sense the roll of the sea. How does that suit?”

He had the courtesy to look into the distance. That gave her a few seconds to consider. Already she was floundering and they hadn’t left land. Still, before she committed, there were things she wanted to know. “Do you have a zodiac?”

“Yes. And a skilled crew.”

“So we won’t be alone.”

“Not unless you push them overboard.”

“Hmm. Let me think.” He caught her returning his smile.

“You have not answered my question regarding our adventure tonight.”

“Near the coast sounds okay, but I’d like to call my sister once the car gets rolling.”

“Of course.”

Midway through town Mercedes linked up with Annie and signaled to Diego that things were better.

She liked the way he had concentrated on driving allowing her a semblance of privacy. His good manners made him even more attractive. Thank heavens they wouldn’t be alone on the boat.

* * *

Diego wanted to run his hands through Mercedes’ hair, kiss her neck, but tonight he would content himself with watching her. She gaped when they stood next to
La Dorada
, the Golden Woman, and a vessel dear to him.

“It’s a yacht.”

“You did not believe me?”

“I had my doubts.”

On the bridge Mercedes touched the burled wood control console. “Everything glistens like it hasn’t been used. How old is this?”

“Two years.”

“How long is it?”

“A little over sixty feet.”

Diego backed
Dorada
out of its berth and maneuvered it between the rough water that rushed between the rock jetties. “This is a no wake zone. We have to go slow. But past the rocks, we will gain speed.” Retreating, Mercedes straddled the threshold between the enclosed bridge and the outside deck. “Have I scared you? Is that why you keep your distance?”

“No. I want to fill my lungs with this great air.”

He appreciated her efforts for her bosom heaved and fell in a physical tide he enjoyed. “Come here. Try your skill at steering.” He wanted a wheel for show, but the actual controls were computerized and integrated. The simple wheel reminded him of the voyages he took with his brother when a manual touch played a critical role.

She approached, not through any command of
his, with a determination in her eyes that bordered on a challenge. Where had she acquired so much spunk? Perhaps he should first ask how she came to have it.

“What’s our course?” she asked. Then she placed her hand on the wheel.

“Not to worry. Our course is set.”

“I’m not really steering, am I?”

“No, but you are having fun.”

She smiled. “
That’s true.”

After several minutes of two-footers slapping the hull, she bit her lip. “What’s the matter?”
he asked. Luz had mentioned previously that men did not ask this question enough.

“I’m staring into darkness. I don’t like it. Makes me think the world’s disappeared.”

“Let me turn us to port.” It was a simple procedure. “Do those coastal lights make you feel better?”

She nodded. “Can we anchor here?”

He used the controls to drop anchor and set the engines.

Mercedes peeked around
him at the deck. “I can barely see your mate. He’s a big shadow. Shouldn’t he be wearing something white? What if he tumbles overboard?”

“He is fine. Would you like to visit the salon?”

“Okay, provided I don’t panic when the horizon disappears.”

“There are portholes, windows even.”

Below deck he offered her wine and something Luz insisted were nibbles. He provided three packages of different chips and deposited them into crystal bowls.

“Where’s the steward?”

“Tonight he is in the crew’s quarters. I can handle the food preparation for one evening.”

Mercedes scooped a handful of the spicy potato crisps. “Got a napkin?”

He opened four drawers before he found them.

“How about a tour?” she asked.

They made an effort not to touch on the spiral staircase to the lowest deck and intensified their effort in the narrow galley. When she peered into the master bedroom, her eyes widened. “No windows.” She dismissed the queen-size bed. “Takes too much space, makes the room claustrophobic.”

“Whatever you do,
don’t spare my feelings.”

“I think you like hearing the truth.”

“When did I become transparent?”

“When you swam past the pier to rescue me and the dog.”

Two seconds later she assessed the crew’s bunk beds that resembled berths on a train.

“Way too narrow. They remind me of a crypt.”

And had been used as such. “Care to retreat to the salon?”

“Aye, captain.”

“Does that mean you will obey?” No one had used his rank since Rodrigo and he cut their way through the jungle. Diego’s Toledo sword, his lance, all lost in the Amazonian rainforest. He refused to unearth them in his thoughts a second longer. Mercedes brought him back to the present.

“There’s little chance I can be obedient.”

Diego sat on one of the banked sofas. The lights were low. “Nevertheless,
mi casa es tu casa.”

She settled on the leather sofa adjacent to
his, removed her sandals, and tucked her legs under her body. Six feet separated her from him. The gap felt wider than the Gulf of Mexico. Even from that distance, he knew his hand would feel at home on the curve of her back. Such knowledge did not come from familiarity with women, although he had had thousands. The sense that Mercedes and he had the potential to change each other’s lives teased him. How his condition could improve, he could not guess, but his existence was already better for having met her.

The silence grew until all
they heard were the lapping waves. Her hand rubbed the leather upholstery then slipped to the polished teak that trimmed the windows. How they broke boundaries he was not sure.

Diego
exercised no power over her.

Mercedes’ eyes searched
his, no longer the windows to his soul that he had been born with, but perhaps the very abyss she feared. Would she see his emptiness?

In grateful amazement
he watched as she came to him. He straightened as if he rode his daring stallion, among the first to climb the dunes on Peru’s arid coast.

Mercedes’ hair cascaded onto
his face, brushing his cheeks. The lustrous strands bound them together.

If only
he were just a man.

Her floral scent that toyed with
him earlier in between gusts of ocean air, slipped glove-like over his body.

“Are your lips cool like mine?” she asked.

“Touch them.”

She brushed her fingers against
his mouth. He smiled and rejoiced in her gentle touch.

Her hands rested on the corners of
his shoulders. The pressure she exerted pushed him deeper into the cushions. She studied his face then kissed him. A chaste kiss followed by playful nibbling. She pulled back and waited. He had honorable intentions with this raven-woman. “Mercedes, what have you started?” His voice echoed that of a prospective lover, annoyingly uncertain, fearing rejection.

“In the galley I saw my reflection in your eyes. I liked being there, but I needed to break the ice. You had me on edge.”

“And now?”

“I’d like another kiss.”

He began slowly with tender kisses along her temple then his lips followed the curve of her neck that smelled of beating life.

“I think you’ve had a lot of practice.”

“You bring out the best in me.”

“Tonight, I’m being a little reckless, but you need to know up front this time around I’m looking for a
caballero.”

“A wise decision this time and always.”
He sensed that tonight was not the time for more. Still, a boundary had been eased, another line crossed. This line was much finer than the one that had been drawn centuries ago in a far away land. Further delight would have to wait. He had nothing but time.

“I will take you home.”

* * *

Mercedes walked up Diego’s sidewalk wondering if going to his house was a good idea. Why had she made the first move? How could she have been so bold? Had Sister Margaret been right to call her a “brazen thing” in the fourth grade? And now she waited in front of Diego’s door. Could she be more out of her comfort zone?

Diego stared which didn’t help. Her heart galloped. Did the guy have to be so continental? “It’s late. Maybe coffee isn’t appropriate. What about Luz?”

“I hope she is asleep.”

“Why? You regulate her life?”

“I meant that she has a tendency to meddle. I do not want a visitation.”

Inside, Mercedes felt as though she should remove her sandals. Niches dotted a long wall. In the nooks, vases and vessels with stirrup spouts decorated with geometric drawings returned her gaze. Another wall held textiles, the dyes intense with red dominant. “These are stunning.”

“The woven material is relatively new.”

The dynamic designs drew her closer. “The ones under glass are so vibrant.” She smiled. “Imagine spinning wool, dying it and then creating something so beautiful.”

“They are artists.”

The interior of the house contradicted the cottage-y exterior. The floors were marble and cold, unlike her aunt's house where oak dominated and a staircase shouted master-craftsman-at-work. “Are these objects returning to Peru?”

“No. A touch would lead you to the truth. They are excellent copies. The kitchen is this way.”

She followed him down a wide hall into a room ten times the size of the yacht’s galley. Sparkling copper pots hung from a frame that dangled from the ceiling. Sage paint covered the walls. The floor tile formed a footpath in black and white. Formal and off-putting. The color scheme wreaked havoc with Diego’s complexion. And strangely enough, no scents filled the air, not spices or roasts or even detergent.

“Know how to use the coffee maker?” she asked.

He lifted an eyebrow. “All things are possible.”

She feigned interest in the china cupboard while he read the machine’s instructions. There he stood. A confused famous collector trying to make coffee for her. Before the silence grew again and she leaped on top of him, Mercedes shifted into action. “Want to use these cups?” She indicated the vessels behind the glass directly in front of her.

“Fine.”

He hadn’t even looked. Too busy dropping coffee grains over the multi-colored granite counter. She watched his reflection in the glass. The guy needed a maid. Mercedes came to his aid with the milk and sugar and napkins but it had been a long search. By the time the heavy aroma of an exotic blend laced the air she’d readied the table.

He stood by the counter and she sat across from him on a white cushioned stool. The coffee smelled delicious and she took a sip. He seemed to have forgotten his. “Do you take milk and sugar?” she asked.

“No, plain is fine.”

“Well, I’m a sugar fan.” She reached for the bowl and added a double dose. The square-shaped clock ticked, sounding like a metronome. For a few minutes she stared at his chest but longed to gaze into his eyes again.

“Are you looking forward to working at the museum?”

“Yes.” She found her courage and met his gaze. “I’m thrilled to be at the Pascuas. Saturday is your last exhibit. You must be excited.”

“I am relieved. It is you who excites me.”

She skirted his directness. “Tell me how you helped with the displays.”

“I provided the pottery. Luz handles the tedium.”

“You get the accolades?” His eyes flickered with bits of gold.

“No. I remind people that I have nothing to do with the creative aspect of the gala. I am the least important person.”