Fires of Paradise (37 page)

Chapter 44

Lucy straightaway went to the consulate to ask Janice to have Shoz contact her. Although she stressed that it was urgent, Shoz had still not appeared at the villa by midnight, and Lucy had nearly paced a hole in the rug of her bedroom. Thinking he would enter her room as he had done the night before, from her terrace by way of the gardens below, Lucy stepped through the open balcony doors to wait outside.

The night was pitch-black, starless, and still, but it was also thickly sweet and fragrant. Lucy leaned on the polished mahogany railing, trying to pierce through the darkness blanketing the gardens and swimming pool below. Suddenly he swung over the rail and landed beside her as silently and unexpectedly as a jungle cat.

He did not give her a chance to speak, but grabbed her roughly. "What were you doing with General Weyler today?"

Lucy blinked in surprise, for only Venida and the rest of her household staff, and of course, Bamie, knew she had been escorted by the general to Maravilla. "How did you know I was with Weyler?"

He was furious. "That is none of your business. What in hell were you doing with him?"

"He escorted me to Maravilla, that's all."

"Maravilla!" It was an explosion, and he grabbed her. "I thought I told you—begged you—to be careful!"

"I was being careful," she protested angrily, trying to free herself from his grasp. "How better to travel there than with a military escort?"

"You shouldn't have gone at all! Didn't I make it clear? Cuba isn't safe, not for you, Lucy, not for anyone. What if Weyler's troops had been attacked? Dammit! And that's the one man I want you to stay away from. Do you understand me?"

He was hurting her, and she finally wrenched free. "I have a few questions of my own, dammit! You obviously have spies everywhere. Is Janice one of them? Is she the spy—or are you?"

"Don't worry about her, Lucy, or about me. You had better worry about yourself! Dammit! I can't spend my time worrying about you!"

Her heart skipped a beat. She touched him. "Do you? Worry about me?"

He refused to answer. "What is so urgent?"

Her hopes were winging, no matter how hard she tried to rein them in. Her fingers settled around his wrist. She could not let this go, not now, in the balmy intimacy of the Caribbean night. "Shoz? Do you worry about me?"

For a moment he did not move. She could hear him breathing, then he yanked his hand free. "What is so urgent?' '

She straightened, certain that she had attained a small victory. Now she would attain another one. She told him about the rebel slated for public execution tomorrow at noon.

"How in hell did you find that out?"

"From General Weyler."

He grabbed her again, this time shaking her. "What in hell did you do to make Weyler confide in you?"

"Let me go! You're hurting me!"

He ignored her. "He seduce you, Lucy? Is that it?"

She gasped. Outrage filled her. "Why don't you ask one of your spies! Apparently someone left a few details out!"

"You have ten seconds to answer me. One."

He meant it. Lucy answered. "When we stopped on the way back to Havana, I happened to overhear him talking with his officers."

"God!"

"What was so wrong with that?"

"You happened to overhear him?" He was incredulous. "I pray you're not playing spy! Stay away from him. Or you might be very sorry."

She bit her lip. "You could at least thank me for the information."

"Thank you for spying on Weyler? Forget it! I want you to mind your own business, Lucy, dammit!"

He still held her. He was so angry, so upset. Lucy knew then, with all her soul, that he was afraid for her. She swayed against him. "You still care about me."

He stiffened. Then he rudely ground his pelvis against hers. "That's what I care about, doll."

It hurt. Lucy refused to believe him, and she twisted free. Clouds broke, spilling moonlight on them both. His eyes blazed. "Sometimes I hate you," she said bitterly.

"Yeah, out of bed."

"Why did I bother to even tell you about that poor Cu-ban!"

"I can't figure that one out, either."

"Are you going to do something about it?"

"That, lady, is none of your concern!"

"I've only been in Cuba five days, and already I'm sick of everyone telling me that everything isn't my business!"

"Maybe you should try taking some advice—before you get hurt."

"There's something else I want to tell you." "I'm all ears."

"They're expecting supplies for the troops within a few days." "Where?" "I don't know." "Anything else?"

"No." Lucy folded her arms around herself, wondering what to do now. Shoz hadn't moved since she had stopped speaking. He was staring at her, and in the light spilling from her bedroom, she could just make out his shadowy features. She wished she could see his eyes more clearly. She didn't want him to go.

"Got an itch?" The words were rude, but his tone was not. It was a whisper, soft and gratingly sensual.

Lucy just looked at him.

His fingers touched her chin, raising it. His slight touch thrilled her the way no other man's ever had. If he wanted to, in moments, he could have her on her knees, begging for his attention. Lucy did not delude herself.

"Promise me," he said huskily, and Lucy rocked toward him, "Promise me you'll stay away from Weyler, promise me you won't go anywhere unescorted. Promise me you'll stay where you're supposed to stay, and do what you're supposed to do. Promise me, Lucy."

His tone was mesmerizing and sexy, despite his message. She was stunned when he pulled away from her and moved to the railing, about to leave.

"You—you're not staying?"

"I can't, not tonight."

She wanted to ask him why; she didn't dare. Anguish flooded her. She watched him straddle the rail, and when he was poised on top of it, she said, "You care about me, but you won't admit it. Well, I'm braver than you, because I'm not afraid to say it. I still care about you, Shoz; God help me, I do!"

She turned and ran into her bedroom, flinging the French doors closed behind her, and then she was clinging to their frame.

Daylight brought sanity, making her midnight confession seem foolish and melodramatic. She had only given him power over her, which he would not hesitate to use. Today she was determined not to dwell on Shoz, although she wondered if he would attempt to rescue the rebel prisoner. She had tremendous faith in him, she realized, for she did not doubt that he would succeed against the odds if he tried.

The world Lucy had so far moved in was carefully circumscribed by diplomatic dinners and the ladies' lavish luncheons, by the finest shopping in the city, and by her own elegant villa. Lucy decided that a tour of Havana was in order. There must be much more to the city than those fine shops of imported goods where all the diplomats and titled Spanish shopped. However, her driver did not want to take her around the city. Lucy had to threaten to go alone with a hired cab before he succumbed, albeit reluctantly.

And then she ordered him to take her to Havana Hill.

"You don't want to go there, senorita," he begged, clearly distressed. "Yes, I do."

She knew that Havana Hill was one of the reconcetrado camps. Her driver's blunt refusal fueled her determination to go. She threatened to dismiss him, and they finally set off.

They soon left the stately, charming Havana Lucy was accustomed to behind. She grew somber as they entered Havana's slum neighborhoods. The buildings were low, squat, and crumbling adobe; tiles were missing from the roofs. Doorways were often open or doorless. Shops were empty, windows broken or boarded up. Lucy glimpsed an abundance of stray cats. Ragged clothes hung from some lines outside some of the tenement windows—so apparently someone lived there. But she did not see a soul, as if every-one were in hiding, and it was eerily quiet. Lucy felt distinctly uneasy.

Havana Hill was not deserted. To the contrary. The buggy stopped in front of a high wire fence. The fence stretched through the slums as far as Lucy could see—restricting everything and everyone on its inside from leaving its con-fines. Spanish soldiers patrolled its exterior and its gate.

"Oh my God," Lucy said. Not really aware of what she was doing, she stepped from the carriage, staring.

Within Havana Hill, people were everywhere. Old men and women and children sat on the street, on stoops, on upside-down garbage cans. Aimless and vacant-eyed. Poor people, skinny people, people half-clad in rags. Sick people, emaciated people. People who limped and hobbled, people with festering sores, people lying with fever. There were no young men, no teenage boys. The youngest children ran naked, thin and sticklike, their swollen, starved bellies testimony to their desperate plight.

Lucy realized she was clinging to the fence, trying not to faint. Two children ran up to her, no more than five or six, the boy clad only in a ragged shirt, the girl naked. They held out their palms. They begged.

Lucy reached into her purse, and through the fence, she gave them everything she had.

"Senora!"

Vaguely she was aware of a soldier questioning her. He sounded far away, but he was standing at her elbow. He demanded she state her business. It was the last thing she was aware of; she fainted.

"General Weyler." Lucy managed a warm smile. She had never known she could be such an actress, but too much was at stake.

"Senorita, I am honored." He ushered her into his cool, spacious office at military headquarters. The contrast with Havana Hill was gruesome, nauseating.

It was several hours later. Lucy had revived from her faint to find herself in the offices of the local camp commander. After she had explained who she was, she had been allowed to go. She had come directly here, to Weyler.

Shoz's words flashed through her mind: Promise me you'll stay away from Weyler.  "I need your help, General," Lucy said briskly.

"I am eager to give it."

"Good!" She went on to explain her intentions—she wanted to organize a relief effort for Havana Hill and any other concentration areas in Cuba. She would bring in food and medicine and organize volunteers to clean up the camps. Unsmiling, she waited for his reply.

"I'm afraid that is not possible."

"Why not?"

"It is the policy of the government not to allow any relief to the prisoners."

"That's inhumane."

"We are at war."

"Surely you can bend the rules."

"I'm afraid not." He stood. "Can I offer you some refreshment? Coffee? Tea?"

Lucy stood. "General, we must do something about those poor starving—dying—people!"

"Once the rebels cease hostilities, I assure you, they will be freed. That is the government policy."

Lucy debated arguing with him, and decided against it. "May I have permission to go into the camps?" "Why?"

"To bring what comfort I can." "I'm afraid not."

"I see." She smiled tightly. "Good day, General."

He grabbed her arm. Lucy froze. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement."

Lucy looked at him, trembling with disbelief and anger. Surely she was misunderstanding him. "What kind of arrangement?"

"Perhaps an intimate dinner? Or lunch?"

"And after our meal?"

"You can convince me to accede to your request."

"On your sofa?" she said sarcastically.

"You should not be offended. You should be flattered. I find you incredibly desirable, my dear."

"I don't think so, General!" She turned and stormed to the door, her heart thundering.

"If you change your mind," General Weyler said, "please let me know."

Lucy slammed the door shut behind her. Outside, she sank against the wall, trembling. Why did she feel that she was getting deeper and deeper into something she could not control? With no way out?

That night Lucy did not sleep. Images from Havana Hill haunted her. Weyler was the most inhumane man she had ever met. She wished Shoz were here; she needed so very much to share with him what she had seen.

She soon realized she could not live with herself if she did not do something, anything, to help those poor inmates at Havana Hill. It seemed to be some vast moral obligation which she just could not escape. But what could she, Lucy Bragg, do? The inmates needed so much.

She had been sitting in bed; now she tossed the sheet aside and threw her feet on the floor. The solution was so obvious! The one thing she had was money, and a lot of it. She would buy all the relief supplies she could, and she could do it right here in Havana.

Her mind raced. The goods would have to be smuggled into Havana Hill. Shoz could do it; she knew he could. She would talk him into it when the time came, even if it meant using all the powers she had as a woman over him. And in the meanwhile, she would have to do a little research to rind out what the inmates really needed.

She smiled, filled with a tremulous kind of anticipation, afraid, yet exhilarated. Deeper and deeper. Lucy knew she could stop this right now, before becoming irrevocably in-volved in breaking the law. Before becoming a part of a revolution.

But she could not.

Chapter 45

He wondered what she wanted now.

He wondered if she was jerking him around on purpose.

Shoz hadn't seen Lucy in three weeks, not since their midnight encounter on the terrace of her home. From her balcony he'd gone directly to his men to make plans, and they had successfully rescued the rebel slated for execution that following day. In doing so, he had once again infuriated the authorities and General Weyler; he had been the subject of a massive manhunt in these past weeks, and he had been hiding deep in the jungles near Santiago. Despite the ensuing time, he hadn't been able to forget that encounter with Lucy—or her words.

"I'm braver than you," she had said, her face ivory in the moonlight, her eyes shimmering. "I'm not afraid to say it; I still care for you, Shoz!"

The words tore at him. They weren't real. He refused to believe she could have possibly meant what she said. He reminded himself savagely that she had eagerly divorced him, hadn't even come to say good-bye before she left with her all-powerful family—and somehow, as mad as he had been, he had been waiting for that moment endlessly. But she hadn't cared then, so why the hell would she care now?

In truth, he had been glad the circumstance of war had forced him to stay away from Havana. His instinct for self-preservation was strong. Now, in hindsight, he knew he had loved her when she had been his wife. He was damned determined not to make that same mistake—and he was close to making it again.

Surprisingly, the anger over her betrayals, not just in Matamoros, but with Leon as well, had begun to fade away. Taking its place was raw frustration—and anxiety. In the first week she had been in Cuba, Lucy had done every damn thing she shouldn't, going out of her way, it seemed, to court danger, turning the hairs on his temples gray. The past few weeks had been unnaturally quiet, and he would have been relieved if he didn't know her so well.

Not hearing from her, or about her, fed his anxiety. She was up to something, meddling where she oughtn't; he could feel it.

He had enough problems in his life without adding Lucy to the list. Yet Fate seemed to be laughing at him, taunting him with the woman he had once loved, just a little, testing his patience and his resolve. But Shoz knew that as long as Lucy was here, despite the past, he could not turn his back on her. If he questioned his motivation too deeply, he would have answers he did not care for, frightening answers.

Today Janice had sent him another message from Lucy— and he had been alternately excited and dismayed. She said that she urgently needed to see him. He knew how fanciful she could be, yet he rode like hell back to Havana when his man brought word from Janice. She would get him killed yet, he thought grimly, yet he only saw one patrol and evaded it easily.

Four days had certainly passed since she had given her message to Janice when he arrived at the villa. It was very early, the sun was bright, the birds chirping enthusiastically. Most of her neighbors would still be asleep, and Shoz chose to ring at the front door—it looked better than if someone should happen to see him scaling her balcony wall. His insides were tied in knots—and it had nothing to do with the "urgency" she had communicated to Janice.

Venida answered, and the instant she saw him, she scowled. "Wondered when you'd show up."

"Good morning, Venida. May I come in?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Shoz laughed, the sound rich. "I'm not that bad."

She turned her back on him, waddling in. "You's probably the worst."

Shoz walked in behind her. "You needn't show me up. I know my way."

She snorted in disapproval and glared; Shoz bounded up the stairs. He knocked once and opened her door, his pulse racing, tension filling every fiber of his being.

She wasn't asleep. She sat on a plush chaise clad in an exquisite peach chiffon dressing gown, the fabric spilling over her curves like liquid silk. Shoz momentarily froze, his heart picking up a heavy beat, his groin tightening, reminding him that he hadn't been with a woman in a long three weeks. She became motionless, holding a porcelain cup near her lips.

His smile was mocking to hide his agitation. "You summon, and I obey."

She set the cup in its saucer, pursing her mouth, yet her gaze swept him, and it fed his hunger. Her laugh was shaky. "I wish."

She was at it again, and it infuriated him. "Really?" He stepped into the room, closing the door. "Stop playing games, Lucy; I don't like it."

She swung her incredible legs to the floor. "I'm not playing games. I stopped playing games with you a long time ago—when I realized I couldn't win."

He felt like smashing something. She was at it again, saying what he didn't want to hear, because if her words were sincere, he'd carry her off with him and never let her go, to hell with the past. "I think someone has emerged here as the winner, sweetheart, and it isn't me." His gaze raked her rudely, reflexively. The front of her robe had opened. She wore something silky and clinging beneath it in the same peach color. He wanted to rip it off.

"Why can't we both be winners? Why is this even a competition? Why are you so angry first thing in the morning? Is it something I did, or said?"

He laughed, a hard sound. "As if you don't know."

"I don't know. Surely you're not still referring to the past?"

He prowled forward. "The past? I never forget, I never forgive, but no, that's not what's on my mind." He paused in front of her. She sat up very straight, eyes clear and luminous and riveted to his. He watched her pulse leaping in her throat. Her nipples were hard, jutting through the thin fabric of her nightclothes. She was as aroused as he. "You know what's on my mind."

"We have business to discuss," she said weakly.

"Later." His hand had its own volition; he touched her cheek. Her eyes flew closed and she leaned into his palm. Shoz thought he might explode, then and there. His hand drifted down her neck, her shoulder, and across her breast. He felt her heart slamming against her breastbone like a hardball in play.

Whatever was so urgent could wait. Abruptly he lifted her in his arms and fell on top of her on the bed. Their mouths had already fused wildly, and then he felt her nails on his back, under his shirt. She was as crazed with wanting it as he was. He forced a strong forearm under her back, lifting her breasts to his mouth, sucking one distended nipple feverishly. Her hands were on his groin, stroking his straining penis through the denim, kneading it. Shoz gasped, coming up for air. She freed him. He shoved her wispy bedclothes up to her hips, lifting her again, and then he took her in his mouth, as much as he could, his tongue delving into every slick fold he could find. A violent orgasm wracked her.

He spread her thighs wide and thrust into her. "Come again."

She moaned in response as he drove himself into her. Liquid pooled beneath them. Shoz abruptly withdrew and flipped her onto her belly, jamming a pillow beneath her. He grasped her buttocks and entered her again. Lucy gasped, gripping the bottom of the headboard. Shoz watched his huge member plunging repeatedly into her slick, pink soft-ness. When Lucy keened his name, he convulsed deep within her.

Afterward, they lay side by side, panting. Heady emotions were washing over him, but he would not succumb to the need to take her in his arms and just hold her. He sat up and looked at her; she was gazing up at him.

With his eyes he worshiped her body, her beauty, his glance roaming over her long legs, her full breasts. Once she would have blushed at such an open inspection, but now she only sat up, modestly smoothing her gown back into place. She had changed, he thought, the innocence was gone—he had changed her.

"That's one thing that hasn't changed," he said ruefully.

"Yes." Lucy gave him what might have been a smile, then left the bed to go to the bathroom. While she was gone, he fixed his own clothes and helped himself to some coffee from the silver pot on the tray by the chaise. Lucy returned, still clad in her peignoir.

"Where have you been? It's been three weeks."

"Have you been counting?"

"Yes, I have."

"In hiding."

Her eyes widened. "What happened?" "I'm riding with the rebels, remember? This is a war, Lucy."

"The day after I told you about that rebel, the one slated for execution, he was rescued. It was you, wasn't it?"

"Don't ask me questions, Lucy. I'm not going to answer them."

Suddenly she smiled, and it was like a Caribbean sunburst after a tropical storm. "I knew you would rescue that prisoner!"

He said nothing.

"Weyler was furious." Seeing him jerk, she added quickly, "According to the gossip."

"You have stayed away from him?"

She sipped her coffee; he couldn't see her eyes. "Yes." She looked up. "Shoz, are you El Americano?"

He choked on his coffee. "What the hell!"

"It is you!"

He rose and stood before her furiously. "I don't want you to meddle in this damn war, Lucy! Jesus! You're putting yourself in danger—and you just might get me killed!"

She paled. She set her cup in its saucer shakily. "I'm sorry. Don't worry, really, I've never said a word, and I won't!"

"I didn't say I was him," Shoz ground out, low, unwilling to even say the nickname aloud. "You don't trust me."

He saw the hurt in her eyes and paced away, feeling guilty because, in a way, she was right. God, she could turn him upside down. "It's not that I don't trust you," he said slowly. "I don't think you'd betray me on purpose, but I think it could happen by mistake."

"I'm smarter than that." She stood. "But you've never given me credit for anything, have you? Except for sex."

He winced. He thought about Death Valley, how she had changed there, been strong in the face of adversity, been like a mother to Roberto. "That's not true."

She turned her back on him and strode to her closet, then beckoned him to follow. Shoz saw that one corner in the back, hidden by her clothes, was piled high with crates. He counted six and figured there were at least a dozen.

He was puzzled. Lucy opened one on the top and with-drew a bundle, handing it to him.

His skin prickled. He unwrapped the package, growing grim. In it was a small first aid kit, containing iodine, vaccinations, gauze, chloroform, and other items. She handed him another bundle, in that was canned and dried foodstuffs. He looked at her.

"I have a ton of medical and food supplies in these trunks. But I have no way of getting them into Havana Hill. Will you help me?"

Shoz was furious. "Do you realize what you've done!"

"Of course."

"Do you realize that if you are discovered defying edicts of the Spanish government—"

She cut him off. "I'm aware of all of the consequences. I thought it out very carefully—and I did what I had to do.

I could not live with myself if I didn't try to bring relief to those poor, suffering souls!"

It took Shoz some time to grow as calm as she. He was in a state of disbelief. Was this the frivolous rich girl he had abducted last summer? He realized he was staring at her. God, she had changed more than he had thought. But then, he had changed too, hadn't he? "I don't want you doing this again."

She turned away, fingering some of the clothing hanging in the closet.

"It's too dangerous."

She whirled. "Shoz—if you help me, we can do it together. We can—" "No!"

She stopped, drew herself up, exhaled. "All right. What about all of this?"

"I'll get it into the Hill."

Her eyes lit up; she smiled. "I knew you would!"

"I'll bring some men tonight."

"I'll tell Venida." Seeing his frown, she added quickly, "She already knows what I've been doing. I managed to get the first crates into the house when she was at the market, but, well, you know how she snoops. She discovered the boxes and I had to confide in her. But you can trust her, Shoz."

"You don't have to mention I'm coming tonight; she'll be asleep."

Lucy bit her lip. "I do have to tell her. So she can let you in." She briefly hesitated. "I won't be home tonight."

"Oh, really? Who's your latest conquest, Lucy?"

"It's not like that, not at all," she sparked. "Why do you always think the worst?"

He ignored her protest. "Where are you going?"

"Not that it's your business, but Captain Sigsbee is taking me to supper. He happens to be a friend of my Uncle Brett's."

Shoz scowled. Sigsbee was the captain of the USS Maine, which had docked at Havana two weeks ago, a response to the riots of the thirteenth and a potent reminder of the growing tension between Spain and the United States.' 'Sigsbee's old enough to be your father."

"Think what you want! You will anyway!"

"I've got to go," he said abruptly, "and get some men together."

She grabbed his arm, halting him. "You wouldn't do it, would you, unless you were sure you could smuggle those goods without getting caught?"

He was grim. "Do you want me to tell you it won't be dangerous?"

She studied him. "How dangerous? Shoz, I don't want you taking foolish risks."

"Why, Lucy? Why does it matter to you?"

"I wasn't lying the other night when I said I still care about you."

She was playing him again, smooth as could be, and she'd land him like some damn undersized catch if he wasn't careful. "Yeah, like you cared about Leon, right?"

"No," she said, so softly he wasn't sure she'd said anything at all.

She turned away to pour him more coffee. "I never cared about Leon."

"You sure had a lot of people fooled."

' 'Daddy arranged the marriage. I agreed because the scandal had ruined my life, and I wanted my place in Society back. But then I just couldn't go through with it."

He had ruined her life. Guilt struck him, hard. He had taken away her innocence, taken away her reputation, her standing among her peers. Did she really still care about him? Had she ever cared about him? She divorced you so easily.' his mind cried. "If this is a game, I don't like it, not one bit."

She slammed her cup down. "I can talk myself blue with you, can't I? But it won't get me anywhere. Well, I have pride, too!"