Expedition of Love (30 page)

Once she stood before him naked, he reached out and trailed his fingers up her arms to her shoulders, barely touching her skin. Her nipples hardened from the delicate stroke.

Stepping closer, he lowered his lips to her neck as his hands skimmed down the sides of her body, lowering to her thighs. Slowly, his mouth followed, pressing worshipful kisses to her heated skin, and she was lost to his tender caresses. She gasped as his fingers slipped into her moist heat, and stroked her passion to a fevered pitch as his tongue swirled across her breasts.

Clutching his broad shoulders, she bit down hard on her lip to keep her moans of pleasure from resounding across the encampment. She couldn't take much more of his exquisite torture, having thought of nothing but the feel of him and wanting him for days. Oh, if only they were out on the plateau, alone, with no one around for miles and miles, where she could be free to cry out.

He gripped her hips with his long talented fingers as he moved lower kissing and nipping her skin. “Stephen, what—"

"Shh."

She shivered as his warm breath brushed her woman's mound before he kissed her in a way she had never seriously considered, although she'd heard it was done. As she held in her cries of delight, his lips and tongue cast her into a floodtide of ecstasy the likes of which she never imagined. Something inside her grew to indescribable proportions until she exploded in a rain of fiery shards. Her entire body quaked and trembled with her release as she collapsed into his arms.

Swiftly, he placed her on the cot and kissed her tenderly, then straightened to remove the rest of his clothes. She watched through slitted eyes, content and yet breathless with expectation, still wanting more, wanting all of him.

In moments, her blood heated again as bare flesh met bare flesh. He caressed her cheek, brushing back the stray tendrils of hair, his eyes looking deeply into hers. She knew what he was saying without the words, but refused to let the guilt and shame she carried ruin their last moments together.

Lowering his head, his tongue traced the edges of her lips for several delicious minutes before his own hunger grew to be too much. Feverishly devouring her mouth, he thrust forward.

Electricity flashed between them in a blinding light, and together they rode its turbulent wave until their entangled bodies lay sated and moist.

"You are not thinking clearly, Chica. This is not how to solve your problem."

Kristina avoided Antonio's midnight eyes. They always seemed to see into her soul, missing nothing, and perceiving what she did not wish to perceive.

When she was all knees and elbows, scrapping with the world around her, he was the one who helped her find peace with herself. The loss of her mother had been like a loss of her sanity, but this time she couldn't allow his interference. This time she knew what she wanted, who she was, and what she needed to do. And no one was going to stop her. Not even the insistent murmurings of her heart.

She snapped her traveling bag closed with finality. “I don't have a problem. I have a destination. Now, are you going to escort me or not?"

Sighing, he rested his hands on her shoulders. She hadn't realized how much her body shook until his callused fingers pinched and rubbed at the tension in her muscles. She wanted to lean back against his broad chest and let him comfort her, but she couldn't allow him to know how difficult it was to leave. If he did, he wouldn't take her to Confluencia. Away from Stephen.

"Running from him will not make your heart obey your wishes, Little Mule. Once the seed of love is sown, it will hold fast and not let go. Just as the trees on the plateau hold to the earth against the battering winds. They bend to the elements, but they never let go. The roots run too deep."

She shook off his mesmerizing fingers and hypnotizing voice. “I am not in love with anyone. I've told you that time and again.” She lifted her small valise and turned to face him. “You and Papa are worse than matchmaking old women."

He chuckled deep in his throat, flashing a bright smile. “All right, Chica. You win. I will take you. Your father would not be happy with me if I allowed you to make the journey alone. And I know you would, if I did not do this.” His smile faded. “But I fear you will soon regret the decisions you make today.” Gathering her bags, he took them to the wagon.

He assisted her up into the seat, and they quietly rode out of camp. She vowed not to look back, rationalizing that her life lay in front of her, not behind, but the feeling of being watched was too strong.

Slowly, she turned and found Stephen's silhouette against the early morning sun, watching the wagon amble across the plateau. Their last night together far surpassed anything she had ever thought possible, and still she couldn't find the words he needed to hear. The words he held back while they made love. In all her life, she would never know another man like him, but she couldn't give him what he needed.

With tears stinging the backs of her eyes, she turned on the seat and faced forward.

"Is something wrong, Chica?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm just tired. And uncomfortable.” She tugged at her bodice, wishing the stays didn't dig so deep into her skin, forcing her to take shallow breaths. Or was her chest pulled tight by something else?

"You are very beautiful in your dress, but I am sure that you are more comfortable in your work clothes,” Antonio said.

She laughed softly, dismissing the uncomfortable question floating around in her mind. “That is an understatement. I shall never understand why women are forced to wear all of this nonsense."

"To catch the gentleman's eye,” he said with a slow wink.

She relaxed in the warm companionship of her friend. “You are a rogue, Antonio. I fear Confluencia is full of women with broken hearts."

He laughed. “Perhaps. But the one heart that waits for me is not there."

"Waits for you? You mean you have someone? You never told me. Oh, wait. Let me guess. Is it Maria?"

His face turned grim. “No. Maria died more than a year ago."

She placed her hand on his arm, feeling his muscle tense beneath her touch. “I'm sorry. I always thought you and she—I'm sorry."

"It is sad, yes, but she was not the one for me, although she thought otherwise."

"I know she worshipped the ground you walked on when we were children. I always suspected that she loved you."

"Obsession, Kristina. Not love. So much so, she threw herself in the river one day after seeing me with Angelina."

"Oh, my. Oh, Antonio, I'm sorry."

"It is all right, Chica. It is all in the past.” He smiled softly and squeezed her hand.

Although she knew it would be kinder to change the subject, her curiosity had been sharply peaked. “So, is Angelina the one who waits for you?"

"No."

"Then who?"

"I do not know. I have not yet met her.” He grinned crookedly. “And I have looked very hard."

She cast him a grin, relieved their discussion had lightened. “Rogue is too soft a word. Perhaps cad would be better."

Laughing, he said, “No, Chica. I have never taken that which has not been freely offered.” He looked out over the plateau. “But she is out there somewhere, and when I find her, I will be whole.” He turned back to her and studied her face. “Just as you will be whole when you realize you have found him."

Her eyes rolled heavenward of their own accord. “I sense another lecture. Really, Antonio, if I'd known you were going to be so persistent on the matter, I wouldn't have asked you to escort me back to town."

She shifted on the seat, adjusting her skirts. “If you wish to believe all that piffle about making yourself whole, then go right ahead. But I for one refuse to believe that having a man in my life could ever make me feel more complete than I do now."

"You cannot deny what is, Little Mule. Did your mother not feel love for your father? Does you father not feel a large part of him missing now that she is gone?"

"That's different. She managed his household. She arranged his social calendar. She took care of his needs.” Her voice faded as she listed the various things she remembered her mother doing, and always with a bright smile on her face.

"Sí, Kristina. She did all those things because she loved him, and he did things for her. And she was happy. They were happy."

Dropping her gaze to her lap, she studied the stripes on her dress. Antonio was right. Her parents did love each other very much, she knew that. But marriage wasn't for her. She needed her freedom, her independence. She would smother if a man ruled her life, whether it was out of love or not. Putting herself, her heart in another's hands was something she could never do. Hearts were fragile things, things to be protected, hidden.

A few hours past before Confluencia rose into view on the horizon. People bustled about as Antonio pulled the wagon up in front of the little hotel. Not as nice as anything she would find in New York, but it was clean and serviceable, and a vast improvement over a tent. She suspected it would be quite some time before she yearned to sleep in the wilds again. Cots weren't made for two.

Oh, blast her flighty mind. At every turn Stephen slipped into her thoughts tormenting her with vivid memories. Would she ever remember their time together without wishing for more?

A little boy barreled up the walk and leapt into Antonio's arms. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. He was the spitting image of her childhood friend.

"You're thinking again, Kris, and you are wrong,” Antonio said. “This is my nephew, Manuel.” He mussed the boy's hair with a wide grin. “My sister lives in town with her little family. Perhaps later you can go visit her? I will tell you the way."

She nodded with an embarrassed smile. How could she think such an awful thing about him? He wouldn't be so irresponsible.

Her hand flew to her stomach. Unless the woman wouldn't marry him.

The blood fled from her head and pooled in her feet. Not until that moment had she had the time or the inclination to think seriously about the possibility of being pregnant.

What if she did carry Stephen's child? Would she truly be able to care for herself and the babe? Could she live with the humiliation, could her father, and could she be so cruel as to ruin the child's future because she refused to sacrifice her freedom?

She reached out to steady herself against a post. What in heaven's name was she going to do?

Antonio's arm wrapped around her waist. “What is it, Chica? You do not look well."

"I-I'm tired.” Her legs turned to water beneath her.

He supported her until they reached a small settee in the lobby. “You must tell me what is wrong, Kristina. Now is not the time to be stubborn."

She pulled her thoughts from the frightening possibilities of what might lie in her future. “I told you, I'm very tired."

He growled beneath his breath. “Very well. I will not press you, although I do not like it. You know I am here if you need me."

She managed a shaky smile. “Thank you. I'll be all right. I just need time to rest—and think."

With a sigh, he lifted her hand and kissed it. “I will arrange for your room and be back in a moment."

She nodded as her mind dwelled on her dilemma. If she carried Stephen's child, he had every right to be a part of his life. It would be unfair of her to deny him that, as it would be unfair to the child to deny him the opportunity to know his father.

A crooked grin stole across her lips. Stephen would be a wonderful father. She easily pictured him telling his son about all the magnificent beasts that once roamed the earth. The boy's tousle of dark hair that refused to stay combed, his large bright eyes staring up at him in awe as he captured the child's imagination. And what of her own father. Oh, what a doting grandparent he would be.

Antonio sat down beside her again and took her hand. “You look better, but
I
would feel better if you were to lie down. Señor Sanchez has your room ready."

She nodded, unwilling to let the sweet visions disappear completely from her thoughts.

After settling in her room, she gave Antonio the note she had written earlier for her father. He was not happy with her request that he wait and deliver it after she boarded the steamboat to Viedma the following day. And she had to admit that she was no longer certain it was the right thing to do.

If she carried Stephen's child, should she leave? Should she face Stephen here or do so in New York?

Confused by so many feelings, feelings she didn't know how to handle, she let her analytical side take over.

Clearly defining her problem, she realized that she couldn't make any decisions until she possessed all the facts. She would have to wait and see if she were pregnant.

She snatched back her note and Antonio grinned. “Don't get your hopes up. I've changed my plans slightly. I've decided to stay here in town for a while before leaving for home."

His face fell into a grimace. “And what am I to tell your father?"

She chewed on her lip while she considered the proper wording. “Tell him, I wanted to get some pictures of the town. For my work."

"And if he asks when you plan to return?"

"I don't know. I haven't decided. I may not return.” She sighed. “Please, Antonio. Just convince him to leave me alone for a few days. I have some things to think about, and I need to do it by myself."

"As you wish, Chica. I will tell him. I will return in a few days in case you change your mind and wish to return to your doctor."

"He is not my doctor.” She sighed and kissed his cheek. He really was a dear friend, even if he was a hopeless romantic.

With Antonio finally on his way, she was able to take a deep breath and relax. Looking out the window she noted a group of boys kicking a ball back and forth as they made their way along the street.

Her hand gently caressed her stomach. Would her child be healthy and be able to play as those boys did? Would he run home in the afternoons with a dirt-smudged face and scraped knees rambling on excitedly? Would he be the spitting image of his father with dark brown locks she couldn't keep her fingers from touching?