Hidden Agenda (2 page)

The man Matt had addressed as Esteban completed setting a table in an alcove with silver, china, stemware, and several covered serving dishes.

Matt replaced the telephone receiver on the cradle and Esteban nodded to him. “Dinner is ready, Señor Arroyo,” he announced softly. “Would you like anything else?”

“No thank you.
Mil gracias
, Esteban.”

“
De buen agrado
, Señor Arroyo.” He inclined his head, then made his way over to the elevator.

Crossing the room, Matt extended his hand to Eve. She took the proffered hand and he escorted her to the table in the alcove.

M
att seated Eve, lingering over her head. She was like the perfume she wore—alluring. Smiling, he spread a pristine linen napkin over her lap. Straightening, he walked around the table, taking a matching chair opposite her.

“Do you speak Spanish?” he asked, watching her intently.

Eve returned his stare. “A little. Alex hired a Spanish-speaking nanny for our son, and I managed to pick up a few words and phrases.”

Matt frowned at her reply, his mouth tightening noticeably under his mustache. He had to make certain she knew enough of the language if they were to travel throughout Mexico together. His frown disappeared as quickly as it had formed. He filled two crystal goblets with a pale yellow liquid from a chilled pitcher and handed her one.

The overhead light cast a golden glow over her obsidian head, and for the first time he detected a liberal streaking of silver in the raven-black curls. Eve was graying prematurely. He knew her to be only thirty-four. He was thirty-eight, and his hair was still free of any traces of gray. Not that he hadn’t earned them. The escapades he had been involved in were enough to turn his hair white
and
give him cardiac arrest.

He took a sip of his drink, then leaned back on his chair, flashing a wide grin. His teeth appeared white against the thickness of the black mustache.

“I suppose you know most of the curses.”

“But of course.”

Eve gave him a warm, open smile for the first time. Seeing her slanting eyes crinkle and her lush mouth soften delighted him as he leaned closer.

“Did you learn the curses from the nanny?”

She wrinkled her delicate nose. “I learned the curses at a prison that was licensed as a school.”

“I take it you attended a boarding school?”

Her jaw hardened and the brilliant lights in her eyes faded. “It was more like a prison than an exclusive school for girls.”

“How many years did you attend?”

She gave him a cold stare. “Twelve. My stepmother insisted that the school was what I needed to turn me into a respectable lady. She claimed I embarrassed her because I preferred baseball games to high tea, wrestling matches to ballet, and Aretha Franklin to Leontyne Price.”

“I assume you and your stepmother did not get along too well,” Matt concluded, concealing a smile behind his napkin.

Eve speared a small portion of cold fish salad, shaking her head. “She despised me, and the feeling was mutual.” Her gaze was fixed on her plate. “My father married Janice less than a year after my mother’s death, and she played her role well as the adoring stepmother until she had to compete with me for my father’s attention.”

Her head came up slowly, and she stared across the table at Matt. “My mother developed multiple sclerosis within three months of my birth, and her health deteriorated rapidly over the next five years. I didn’t know it until years later, but my father and Janice were having an affair during this time. She waited until my mother died, then legalized her claim on Floyd Blackwell.”

“What did your father say about her sending you away?”

“Nothing.” The single word was flat, emotionless.

Matt leaned forward. “I can’t believe he said nothing.”

Eve swallowed painfully, meeting his topaz gaze. She was angry with herself because she’d revealed more than she wanted to. “I came to Mexico to ask you whether you would accept payment to return my son to me, not to give you a familial overview.”

Resting an elbow on the table, Matt glared at her. “Miss Blackwell, you need me.” His voice was deceptively soft. “I want you to try to remember that, because I sure as hell don’t need you, or the pittance you’re prepared to offer me.”

She felt her face burn. Pittance. What she was going to offer Matthew Sterling was all of the money she had left. She had spent practically all of the proceeds from the sale of her Washington, D.C., gift shop hiring investigators to find her son and bring him back to the
States, and here this pompous pig was calling her offer a pittance even before he heard the amount.

“Maybe to a man of your means twenty-five thousand dollars would seem like a pittance, but I’ve heard stories where people were hired to eliminate others for a lot less,” she snapped at him.

Matt hadn’t missed her slender fingers tightening on the handle of her knife. He smiled.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars would just be enough to cover the bounty on one of my ears, Miss Blackwell,” he crooned, and the drawl of West Texas was distinctly noticeable in his speech pattern for the first time that night. “The word is that the last time I left Colombia the price for my ears was up to fifty thousand.” He placed a large brown hand over his heart in a gesture of remorse. “So you wound me, lovely lady, with your paltry offering.”

Her knife clattered noisily to the delicate china plate. Eve stood up, not knowing whether her quaking knees would support her body. It was over before it began. This man was her only hope; her last hope. Her anger did not begin with Matthew Sterling, but with her uncle. He had lied to her.

“Sit down,” Matt ordered.

“No!” she shouted.

Her rage shocked him. He hadn’t expected the outburst. In the two days he’d sat watching, Eve Blackwell revealed an elegant, composed woman. But then, he had to remind himself that she was related to Harry, and he had witnessed the man’s violent temper on several occasions.

“Please sit down, Eve.” His tone was soft, conciliatory. “There’s no need to get hysterical.”

“I’m not hysterical, Mr. Sterling. I’m just mad as hell at myself. I’ve been had. By you and my uncle.”

Matt rose to his feet. “I’ll look for your son, Eve.”

“How much?” she demanded.

He frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I said, how much do you want?”

“I don’t want your money.”

A frown creased her smooth forehead. “What do you want?”

“I want you to marry me,” he stated in a calm voice, surprising himself after he said it.

Eve blinked several times, shaking her head. Her mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. Her heart pounded uncontrollably, and she prayed she wouldn’t faint. A jumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed her as she played his offer over and over in her head. He didn’t want her money, but he did want her to marry him.

Sinking down to the chair, she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.
I want you to marry me
. There was no mistaking his proposal.

“I need my son, not another husband,” she insisted quietly, forcing the words from the back of her throat.

Matt pressed his attack. “Marry me or there’s no deal.”

She ran a trembling hand over her high, rounded forehead. “Why—why can’t you look for my son without me becoming your wife?”

Matt reclaimed his own chair. He hated to deceive her, but he wasn’t given a choice. He’d promised Harry that he’d rescue his grandnephew and deliver Alejandro Delgado, and that could only become a reality with Eve Blackwell as the lure.

“You and probably three other people in Mexico are
the only ones who know what I do when I’m not executing my duties as owner of El Moro,” he began solemnly. “I’m known in Mexico as Mateo Arroyo, not Matthew Sterling.”

Her confusion intensified. “Which are you? Sterling or Arroyo?”

He smiled. “Both. My father is an African-American from Texas. My dad’s family trace their roots back to Texas when it was still a republic, and also to southern Louisiana. I claim my Mexican heritage from my mother. She came to Texas to attend college, met my father, married him, and stayed in the States. And because my mother is an Arroyo, I’m Mateo Sterling de Arroyo in Mexico.”

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Eve closed her eyes, trying to comprehend what she was hearing. Matt did not want her money, yet he was willing to look for her son, but only if she married him.

Opening her eyes, she stared across the table at him. He returned her steady gaze, a slight smile playing around his mustached mouth. He seemed very pleased with himself. He knew she needed him, and he was content to play a cat and mouse game with her.

“So, if I marry you, I’ll be known as Eve Arroyo?” Matt nodded. “And after my son is returned to me, what happens to us?”

He stared over her head before replying. “After I return to Mexico City I’ll file for an annulment.”

Eve wavered again, trying to comprehend what Matt told her. “Why marry at all?”

“I’m a respectable Mexican businessman with a number of respectable Mexican relatives. If you travel with me, how do I introduce you? Do I say, ‘Please
meet Eve Blackwell. She’s keeping me
occupied
while I’m on holiday?’ “ He noted her downcast gaze.

She glanced up at him from lowered lids. “I thought I wouldn’t be involved when you began your search for my son, that’s all. My uncle told me you usually work alone.”

“I do,” he confessed. “But Alejandro Delgado is a former high-profile government official and a member of Mexico’s privileged social elite. I’m certain we’ll receive more than our share of invitations to these soirées so that everyone can catch a glimpse of Delgado’s ex-wife and her new husband, once the word gets out that we’ve married.”

He didn’t tell her of his need for a cover once he began his assignment for Harry Blackwell. Eve would be the perfect foil, because it would be the first time he had ever operated within his mother’s native country.

He would be above suspicion whenever he visited friends and relatives if accompanied by a beautiful American wife. He would be permitted one, and only one, opportunity to execute and complete his mission; to not complete it meant not only failure, but death.

Eve watched numerous expressions cross the lean, dark face. Matt didn’t appear to be pleased with the idea of marrying her. Well, it wasn’t as if she wanted it any more than he did. Being married to Alex had given her her fill of being some man’s wife, and she did not look forward to repeating vows with another one—even if it was temporary.

“Can’t we pretend to be married?” she questioned.

A frown settled between Matt’s eyes. “No,” he retorted. “Any pretense would very easily be discovered with a single telephone call from Delgado.”
Propping his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together, he glared at her. “No marriage, no deal.”

Running a slender finger down the side of the icy goblet, Eve shrugged her shoulders in resignation. “It looks as if I’m not allowed any options, am I? You’re saying that if I don’t marry you or pretend I’m your wife, then Alex will be alerted as to why I’m here. Or better yet, he will wonder about your association with me, and perhaps make
another
telephone call to initiate an investigation of exactly who Mateo Sterling de Arroyo is.”

Her delicate jaw tightened, and she tilted her chin as her dark eyes filled with determination. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Sterling. Or should I say Señor Arroyo?”

M
att raised his glass in a half-salute. He wasn’t going to pat himself on the back for achieving a quick victory in convincing Eve to marry him. Instinctively, he knew she would agree to anything to get her son back. Harry Blackwell had underestimated his niece.

“If we’re to be married you’d better get used to calling me Matt or Mateo, and forget the formalities.”

Eve swallowed her rising apprehension. The enormity of what she had agreed to rendered her speechless. How was she to pull off the farce that she and Matt were in love enough to marry? She wondered how many other times he had done something like this.

“How many other women have you married to complete an assignment?” she questioned, finding her voice.

The hooded lids and the thick, black mustache concealed
the amusement in Matt’s eyes and the smile curving his mouth. “You’re the first, Eve. I’ve never been married before.” Turning the full force of his golden gaze on her surprised features, he stared at the lushness of her parted lips.

A slight frown creased her smooth forehead. “If you don’t want any money, then what is it you’re hoping to get out of this?”

“I owe Harry Blackwell, and this will be my way of repaying him,” he explained softly, his Southern drawl more pronounced than before.

He did not disclose the sum of money her uncle had offered him on behalf of the United States government. The payment he would earn from this assignment and the proceeds from the expected sale of El Moro would afford him financial independence for the remainder of his life.

If you live to enjoy it
, a silent voice taunted him. A chill shook Matt’s body, numbing his brain.
Fear
. An emotion he had not felt in years made the blood run cold in his veins.

It had been a rescue mission in the jungles of El Salvador. The fear had been like a breath of air—he imagined it, felt it, but he couldn’t see it until he lay close to death. It had swallowed him whole like the blackness of the jungle night.

A gasping, choking sound shook Matt from his reverie and brought him to his feet. Tears flooded Eve’s eyes as she held a hand over her mouth.

He was beside her in seconds, pressing his napkin to her mouth. The heel of one hand thumped her back. She clung to him, and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t supported her sagging body.

“What—what did you put in that drink?” she gasped breathlessly.

If he hadn’t been so turned on by the soft body molded to his, he would’ve burst into laughter. His fingers cradled the curve of her waist as the heat and feminine sweetness of her hair and skin created a quiet storm in his loins. Releasing her and stepping back, he watched Eve blot the moisture staining her cheeks.

“Tequila.” He flashed her an irresistibly devastating grin. “Welcome to Mexico.”

She sniffled loudly, her eyes crinkling in a smile. “I can do without the welcoming committee.”

Matt held out her chair, seating her again, and for the second time that evening he lingered over her head. No wonder Harry had threatened him. Eve Blackwell was sexy, and he suspected she didn’t know just how sexy she was.

She touched the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. “Tequila and chili definitely top my list of do not sample.”

He smiled at her, taking his seat. “I must admit they take some getting used to.”

“Count me out,” she countered with a grimace.

Eve examined the contents of her plate, and only after recognizing most of the vegetables and different varieties of fish did she begin to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she had been until she ate most of what was on her plate.

It had been a long time, too long, since she was able to eat without food sticking in her constricted throat. Most times she could only swallow a few forkfuls before feeling full. Falling asleep and sleeping undisturbed
throughout the night were as foreign to her as nuclear physics, too.

The insomnia and her lack of appetite had begun with the realization that Alejandro Delgado was not going to return the little boy she had dropped off to spend two days with him. What was to have been a festive Halloween weekend celebration became a living nightmare when she waited Sunday evening for Chris’s return.

The calls to her ex-husband’s residence, the Mexican consulate, the Washington, D.C., police, then finally the FBI, manifested the fear she’d carried from the moment the divorce court judge granted her sole custody of Christopher Delgado, while permitting Alejandro Delgado liberal visitation privileges.

Her vocal protests and those of her attorney had prompted a stern warning from the judge that they could be held in contempt. He then rendered his decision to permit Alejandro Delgado the right to visit with his two-year-old son two weekends each month, and a full month during the summer school recess.

The feral look in Alex’s eyes should’ve warned Eve that she would pay for initiating the divorce proceedings. She had been aware of her ex-husband’s vindictiveness, but she never thought he would kidnap his own child just to get back at her.

She glanced across the table at Matthew Sterling. His impassive expression revealed nothing. It was as if his offer to marry was something he did often, even though he confessed that he had never married.

She wondered just what it was he owed her uncle. She shrugged a slender shoulder. Whatever it was it no longer mattered, because she was willing to enter into a pact with anyone if it meant getting her son back.

“When do you want to marry?” she asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

He put down his fork. “We’ll marry the end of next month.”

“Next month!” The two words exploded from her. “I can’t afford to wait a month.”

Matt pressed his large, well-groomed hands together, bringing them to his chin. Only the flickering of the gold glints in his eyes revealed the foreign emotions attacking him. Eve Blackwell was the first woman in a very long time who elicited a rush of desire in him, because she was so female. She was the most sensual female he had ever encountered.

“You don’t have a choice, Eve,” he replied in a soft, even tone. “If we’re to pull this off it must look good. We’ll announce our engagement, accept whatever social invitations are extended to us, and then we’ll marry.”

She couldn’t wait another month. As it was, her life was in limbo. It was now the last week in March, and each time a page on the calendar revealed a new month she weakened a little more. The hope which had burned so brightly within her diminished with each day she was separated from her child.

There were times when she wondered if Chris remembered her. Would he recognize her face, the nursery rhymes she used to sing to him, and their quiet times together when she read him his favorite books?

Eve captured Matt’s golden gaze, unshed moisture glistening in her eyes. “I can’t wait a month, Matt. I don’t know if I can survive waiting—”

“You can, and you will,” he countered firmly, interrupting her. “I will get your son back. I give you my word on that.”

His mouth tightened as he berated himself. He didn’t know what made him promise Eve that he would return her son to her. His usual statement was that he would
look
for the missing person.

“What if we say that we met in the States some time ago, and I came to Mexico City to marry you?” she said, hoping to get him to change his mind about waiting a month.

Matt shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry. Either you agree to do it my way or you can go back to the States and continue to give your money away to people who don’t have the remotest idea how to find your child. And even if they do manage to locate him, how do you think they’ll get him away from Delgado? I’m certain I don’t have to tell you of the man’s clout here in Mexico.”

She covered her face with her hands. She was so close, yet so far; she was certain Chris was hidden away somewhere in Mexico, and she still couldn’t claim him.

Matt moved fluidly from his chair and pulled Eve up and into the circle of his embrace. He registered the fragility of her slender body and the slight trembling she was unable to control. She floated against him, her curves molded to the solid hardness of his larger body.

“It’s going to be all right,” he stated quietly, confidently. “A month is nothing compared to the length of time you’ll have with your child once you get him back.”

Eve melted into Matthew Sterling’s massive bulk, her fingers gripping the rock-hard biceps straining against the delicate fabric of his silk jacket. “It’s been so long,” she breathed into his chest, “that I’m afraid I won’t ever see Chris again.”

He curved a forefinger under her chin, raising her face to his, inhaling sharply. His gaze moved slowly
over her features. Eve’s black velvet eyes were filled with tears and fears, while her full, lush lips were compressed with anxiety.

“I need you to trust me,” he said, exhaling and relieving the tightness in his chest. “And that means you can’t question what I do or say.”

Closing her eyes, she nodded, unaware of the vulnerability softening her delicate features. “I’ll trust you, Matt.”

She opened her eyes and he smiled. A lone tear flowed down her satiny, dark brown cheek. Lowering his head, Matt pressed his lips to her jaw, catching the salty moisture on his tongue.

“It’s going to be all right, Eve.”

She heard the deep, crooning voice, inhaled his masculine aftershave and the lingering aroma of tobacco and registered the unyielding power in Matthew Sterling’s body, feeling her despair easing. Something strange and unknown communicated itself, telling her that she would get her child back.

“I believe you,” she whispered against his hot throat.

She was tired, too numbed to argue and fight with him. She felt as if she’d been arguing for years. A whirlwind courtship and marriage to a stranger had taken its toll, and had drained her of her rebellious spirit.

After Alex abducted Chris, Eve had almost lost the will to survive. But survive she did, because the drive to survive was as strong as the love for the child she longed to hold to her breast. She could not and would not give up.

Matt’s left hand dropped while his right rested against the small of her back, his fingers caressing the
curves along her rib cage and spine. “It’s time I got you settled in.”

She tilted her chin. “Where are we going?”

“
You
are going to stay with a cousin of mine. You’ll live with her family until we marry. After that we’ll travel south.”

Applying the slightest pressure to her back, he steered Eve toward the elevator, the strength and warmth of his hand searing her through the fragile fabric of her dress. He did not remove his hand once they stepped into the elevator, and the brass doors closed behind them. His long fingers lingered loosely around her waist but she pulled away, moving out of his reach. The muted overhead light shadowed his eyes, but not the tensing of his jaw.

“We’ll only have a month to get used to each other,” he stated in a low, ominous tone. Shifting, he stood behind Eve, and his moist breath feathered over the back of her neck while his fingers curved over her shoulders. “It will be for real,” he whispered in her ear. “And that means we’ll have to look like the loving couple. I expect you to respond to my kisses and caresses when we’re in public, and not cringe like a frightened virgin every time I touch you. And when we visit relatives, be prepared to share a bed with me.” Reaching over, he pushed a button on the panel and the elevator began its descent.

Eve turned and stared up at him. Heat suffused her high cheekbones and darkened her eyes. “You forget why I’m here. I
want
my son. You won’t have to worry about me playing the part of the adoring wife. I’ve had more than my share of experience.”

Matt slapped a button on the panel, stopping the
elevator. “If that’s the case, then kiss me,” he challenged in a hoarse whisper.

Her breath faltered before rushing through her parted lips. She watched Matt lounge lazily against a wall. Why was it she felt degraded having to please him because he had paid her? And he
had
paid her, once he agreed to look for Christopher. She was expected to perform sexual favors in return, only he sought to legitimize everything by marrying her.

“Please don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned in a soft, no-nonsense voice.

Eve struggled to contain her temper. She hated herself for the position she had been forced into. Matt didn’t believe she could play out her role as the loving wife.

Her life had become a rerun. She could not count the times she and Alex appeared in public as the genteel couple after they’d traded vicious, scathing barbs only hours before.

Moving closer to Matt, she felt the searing heat from his large body as his fingers brushed over her shoulders, then slid slowly down over her breasts. Everywhere they touched they burned her flesh, and she closed her eyes rather than allow him to see her reaction. His thumbs swept over her breasts, and the nipples strained and swelled against the lace of a matching black silk slip. She missed his smug grin. He knew she was not wearing a bra.

His mustached mouth pressed against the sensitive flesh of her exposed neck, leaving a trail of moisture as his tongue tasted her ear before moving on to the hollow of her throat.

“Good,” he moaned, his hands slipping down to
her hips and bringing her thighs to his. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”

Eve thought she was prepared. Matt’s eyes blazed with liquid fire seconds before his mouth claimed hers. His left hand held her hips prisoner while the right moved up, searching for the pulse along the column of her neck which began to flutter erratically under his callused fingertips. Her lips parted and she permitted him to inhale the moistness of her breath with his own. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest and she pressed closer, molding every curve of her body to his. His searching tongue extinguished the very last fragile thread of resistance, and her dormant fire raged out of control when her arms swept from his shoulders to wind around his neck.