Midnight Rainbow (24 page)

           
 
"You're drooling," Grant teased,
giving the boy a generous tip, but he was just as ravenous, and between them
they destroyed the array of food. Every crumb was gone and the pot of coffee
was empty before they looked at each other and smiled.

           
 
"I feel almost human again," Jane
sighed.
"Now for a hot shower!"
She began
unlacing her boots, pulling them off and sighing in relief as she wiggled her
toes. Glancing at him, she saw that he was watching her with that lopsided
smile that she loved so much. Her heart kicked into time and a half rhythm.
"Aren't you going to shower with me?" she asked innocently,
sauntering into the bathroom.

           
 
She was already under the deliciously warm
spray of water, her head tilted up so it hit her directly in the face, when the
shower door slid open and he joined her. She turned, wiping the moisture from
her eyes, a smile ready on her lips, but the smile faded when she saw the
mottled bruises on his ribcage and abdomen. "Oh, Grant," she
whispered, reaching out to run her fingers lightly over the dark, ugly
splotches. "I'm so sorry."

           
 
He gave her a quizzical look. He was sore and
stiff, but nothing was broken and the bruises would fade. He'd suffered much
worse than this, many times. Of course, if
Turego
had
been able to carry the beating as far as he'd wanted, Grant knew that he
probably would have died of internal injuries. But it hadn't happened, so he
didn't worry about it. He caught her chin, turning her face up to him.
"We're both covered with bruises, honey, in case you haven't noticed. I'm
okay." He covered her mouth with his, tasting her sweetness with his
tongue, easing her against him.

           
 
Their wet, naked bodies created a marvelous
friction against each other, heating them, tightening the coil of desire. The
rather boring process of soaping and rinsing became a lingering series of
strokes, her hands slipping over the muscles and intriguing hardness of his
body, his finding the soft curves and slopes of hers, the enticing depths. He
lifted her off her feet and bent her back over his arm, kissing her breasts and
sucking at her nipples until they were hard and reddened, tasting the freshness
of newly soaped skin and the sweetness of her flesh that no soap could ever
disguise. Jane writhed against him, her legs twining with his, and heat fogged
his mind as he thrust himself against the juncture of her thighs. She wanted
him, wanted him,
wanted
him. Her body ached and
burned. The bed was suddenly too far away. Her legs parted, lifting to wrap
around his waist, and with a hoarse cry he pinned her to the wall. She
shuddered as he drove into her, going as deep as he could with a single,
powerful thrust, as if any distance at all between them was far too much.
Digging his fingers into her hair, he pulled her head back and kissed her, his
mouth wild and rough, the kiss deep, his tongue twining with hers, the water
beating down on them. The power of his thrusts made her consciousness dim, but
she clung to him, whimpering, begging him not to stop. He couldn't have
stopped, couldn't even have slowed, his body demanding release inside her. The
red mists that clouded his mind blocked out everything but the hot ecstasy of
the way her body sheathed him, so softly, so tightly.

           
 
She cried out again and again as the almost
unbearable waves of pleasure crashed over her. She clung tightly to his
shoulders, trembling and shivering, the velvet clasp of her body driving him to
the edge. He poured himself into her, heaving against her, feeling that he was
dying a little, and yet so intensely alive that he almost screamed from the
conflict.

           
 
They barely made it to the bed. Drying off had
taken all their energy, and Jane was so weak she could barely walk. Grant was
shaking in every muscle of his big body. They rumbled onto the bed, not caring
that their wet hair soaked the pillows.

           
 
Grant reached out for her. "Crawl up
here," he rumbled, hauling her on top of him. Blissfully, her eyes
closing, she made herself comfortable on the hard expanse of his chest. He
adjusted her legs, parting them, and her lashes fluttered open as he eased into
her. A purr of pleasure escaped her lips, but she was so sleepy, so tired…
"Now we can sleep," he said, his lips moving on her hair. The room
was hot when they awoke, the Mexican sun broiling through the closed curtains.
Their skin was stuck together with perspiration and made a wet, sucking noise
as Grant lifted her off him. He got up and turned the air-conditioning on full
blast, and stood for a moment with the cold air hitting his naked body. Then he
came back to the bed and turned her onto her back.

           
 
They scarcely left the bed that day. They made
love, napped and woke to make love again. She couldn't get enough of him, nor
he, it seemed, of her. There was no sense of urgency now to their lovemaking,
only a deep reluctance to be parted from each other. He taught her the
unlimited reaches of her own sensuality, tasting her all over, making love to
her with his mouth until she was shivering and shuddering with pleasure,
mindless, helpless. She told him that she loved him. She couldn't keep the
words unsaid, not now, when she'd already told him anyway and soon the world
would intrude on them again. Night came, and finally they left the room.
Walking hand in hand in the warm Mexican night, they sought out some shops that
were open late. Jane bought a pink sundress that made her tanned skin look like
honey, a pair of sandals and new underwear. Grant wasn't much on shopping, so
she blithely picked out jeans, loafers and a white polo shirt for him.
"You might as well change," she instructed, pushing him toward the
dressing room. "We're going out to eat tonight." There wasn't any
talking her out of it, either. It wasn't until he was seated across from her in
a dimly lit restaurant with a bottle of wine between them that he realized this
was the first time in years that he'd been with a woman in a strictly social
setting. They had nothing to do but eat and talk, sip the wine, and think about
what they were going to do when they got back to the hotel. Even after he'd
retired, he'd kept to himself on the farm, sometimes going for weeks without
seeing another human being. When the need for supplies had forced him to go
into town, he'd gone straight there and back, a lot of times without speaking
to anyone. He hadn't been able to stand anyone else around him. But now he was
relaxed, not even thinking about the strangers surrounding him, accepting their
presence but not noticing them, because his mind and his senses were on Jane.

           
 
She was radiant, incandescent with energy. Her
dark eyes shone; her tanned skin glowed; her laughter sparkled. Her breasts
thrust against the bodice of the sundress, her nipples puckered by the coolness
of the restaurant, and desire began to stir inside him again. They didn't have
much more time together; soon they would be back in the States, and his job
would be finished. It was too soon, far too soon. He hadn't had his fill yet of
the taste of her, the wild sweetness of her body beneath him, or the way her
laughter somehow eased all the knots of tension inside him.

           
 
They went back to the hotel, and back to bed.
He made love to her furiously, trying to sate himself, trying to hoard enough
memories to hold him during the long, empty years ahead. Being alone was a
habit deeply ingrained in him; he wanted her, but couldn't see taking her back
to the farm with him, and there was no way he could fit into her world. She
liked having people around her, while he was more comfortable with a wall at
his back. She was outgoing, while he was controlled, secretive. She knew, too,
that it was almost over. Lying on his chest, with the darkness wrapped around
them like a blanket, she talked. It was a gift that she gave him, the tales of
her childhood, where she'd gone to school, her food and music preferences, what
she liked to read. Because she talked, he found it easier to return the favor,
his voice low and rusty as he told her about the white-haired young boy he'd
been, his skin burned dark by the hot,
south
Georgia
summers, running wild in the swamp. He'd learned to hunt and fish almost as
soon as he'd learned how to walk. He told her about playing football during
high school, chasing after the cheerleaders, getting drunk and raising hell,
then trying to sneak into the house so his mother wouldn't catch him.

           
 
Her fingers played in the hair on his chest,
aware that silence had fallen because he'd reached the point in his story where
his life had changed. There were no more easy tales of growing up.

           
 
"Then what happened?" she whispered.

           
 
His chest rose and fell. "
Vietnam
happened. I was drafted when I was
eighteen. I was too damned good at sneaking through jungles, so that's where
they put me. I went home, once, for R & R, but the folks were just the same
as always, while I was nothing like what I had been. We couldn't even talk to
each other. So I went back."

           
 
"And stayed?"

           
 
"Yeah.
I
stayed." His voice was flat.

           
 
"How did you get into the secret agent
business, or whatever you call it?"

           
 
"Covert activities.
High risk missions.
The war ended, and I came home,
but there was nothing for me to do. What was I going to do, work in a grocery
store, when I'd been trained to such an edge that people would be taking their
lives in their hands to walk up to me and ask the price of eggs? I guess I'd
have settled down eventually, but I didn't want to hang around to find out. I
was embarrassing the folks, and I was a stranger to them anyway. When an old
colleague contacted me, I took him up on his offer."

           
 
"But you're retired now. Did you go back
to
Georgia
?"

           
 
"Just for a few days,
to let them know where I'd be.
I couldn't settle there; too many people
knew me, and I wanted to be left alone. So I bought a farm close to the
mountains in
Tennessee
, and I've been hibernating there ever since.
Until
your dad hired me to fetch you home."

           
 
"Have you ever married? Been
engaged?"

           
 
"No," he said, and kissed her.
"That's enough questions. Go to sleep."

           
 
"Grant?"

           
 
"Hmmm?"

           
 
"Do you think he's really given up?"

           
 
"Who?"

           
 
"
Turego
."

           
 
Amusement laced his voice. "Honey, I
promise you, he'll be taken care of. Don't worry about it. Now that you're safe
and sound, steps can be taken to neutralize him."

           
 
"You're using some ominous sounding
phrases. What
do'taken
care of' and 'neutralize' mean?"

           
 
"That he's going to be spending some time
in those gracious Central American jails that everyone hears so much about. Go
to sleep."

           
 
She obeyed, her lips curved in a contented
smile, his arms securely around her.

           
 
* * * * *

           
 
Someone had pulled strings again. It could
have been her father, or the mysterious "friend" of Grant's who kept
arranging things, or possibly Grant had intimidated someone at the embassy.
However it happened, the next afternoon they had passports. They could have
taken the next flight to
Dallas
, but instead they spent another night together, making love in that
king-size bed, the door securely bolted. She didn't want to leave. As long as
they were still in
Mexico City
, she could pretend that it wasn't over, that the job wasn't finished.
But her parents were waiting for her, and Grant had his own life to go back to.
She had to find another job, as well as take care of the little chore that had
gotten her into so much trouble to begin with. There was no way they could stay
in
Mexico
.

           
 
Still, tears burned the back of her eyes when
they boarded the jet that would take them to
Dallas
. She knew that Grant had booked separate
flights for them from
Dallas
; she was going on to
New York
, and he was flying to
Knoxville
. Their goodbyes would be said in the vast,
busy Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, and she couldn't stand it. If she didn't get a
tight hold on herself she'd be squalling like a baby, and he wouldn't want
that. If he wanted more of her than what he'd already had, he'd have asked her,
because she'd made it more than obvious that she was willing to give him
whatever he wanted. But he hadn't asked, so he didn't want her. She'd known
that this time would come, and she'd accepted it, taken the risk, grabbed for
what happiness she could get. Pay up time had come. She controlled her tears.
She read the airline magazine; and was even able to comprehend what she was
reading. For a while she held his hand, but she released it when the in-flight
meal was served. She ordered a gin and tonic, gulped it down,
then
ordered another.