Private Acts (13 page)

“Hey, what are you doing in here?”

Smiling, he slid open the door. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t need any help.” He rested his shoulder against the enclosure, admiring the way the tiny streams of water raced down her back and over the curve of her pert bottom.

“You,
señor
, are not here to help, and if I needed any help, I would have called you.”

He could take her right now, he was so hard. Despite the amount of time they spent together, it never seemed to be enough. She came over every weekend, and after she went to the market for the Hills on Tuesdays and Thursdays, she spent time with him in the afternoon until she had to go back to the house to fix dinner.

Watching her leave every Sunday evening grew harder with each passing week. He wanted to demand that she remain with him. She was entrenched in his home, and that wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be having a good time, enjoying each other for the short period she was in the country. But now he had a hard time imagining his life without her in it.

The intense nature of his thoughts shocked him. So much so he didn’t realize Samirah had turned off the shower and was drying off with a towel until she spoke.

“Hey, did I lose you?” She wrapped the towel around her body and hung the shower cap inside the stall. Walking right up to him with a grin on her face, she whispered, “Earth to Miguel.”

His heart pounded a fierce beat in his chest. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. “I’m fine. My mind wandered for a minute.” He kissed her upturned lips.

“Want to talk about it?”

The concern in her voice twisted through him. He wanted to reassure her, yet at the same time, he had to admit the problem that needed to be sorted out lay with him. Samirah was not the kind of woman he saw himself in a long term relationship with. Aside from the fact she would be leaving in a few weeks, he recognized that she could never truly be happy here.

How long would it be before she got bored and moved on? The memory of her words mocked him.

…a citizen of the world. Why would you want to stay in the same place when you can go anywhere you want?

His throat tightened to repress the emotion churning inside him. This casual affair suddenly didn’t seem so casual. “Everything’s fine.”

Skepticism filled her eyes. “If you want to talk, I’m all ears.” She moved into the bedroom. He watched her pick up a jar of lotion and dip in her fingers.

Talk. Right.

Talking solved nothing.

He first learned that lesson at the age of fifteen when his mother had decided to move to
Colombia
with her first “sponsor.” He had talked to her, told her he didn’t want to go. Her response had been to tell him he could come with her or stay there. He’d stayed behind. Fortunately, he was big for his age, and he found construction work to earn money. He’d slept on couches of friends and family before he finally earned enough to get a small place of his own.

His second lesson on talking came at the age of twenty when he fell in love with a senior at the university. He had met her through Esteban, and they’d been living together for a year when she told him she wanted to move to
New York
where she had family and hoped to find success with her art. By then, his sculptures were garnering national attention. He asked her to stay, promised to take care of her. She agreed and stayed for awhile, but eventually, she, too, left—seeking excitement elsewhere.

Samirah smoothed scented cream onto her arms. The towel dropped and she filled her hands with more lotion and rubbed it down over her full breasts, stroking over her stomach, firm butt, and then down to her thighs. She bent over in front of him to get her ankles and feet.

He walked up behind her in slow motion. Her provocative movements sent a charge through him. He’d never met a woman like her before, so confident in her sexuality, and yet with such a sweet disposition that people flocked to her in droves. Everyone in the neighborhood knew her. Her mastery of the Spanish language endeared her all the more to what he could only call her legion of fans. Whenever she walked down the street, they waved and called out her name. He’d lived here for years and only knew a handful of his neighbors. If they knew he was a famous sculptor, they didn’t show it.

Her easy assimilation into the day-to-day of Ecuadorian life showed her respect for the culture and made it seem as if she belonged here.
But she doesn’t
, he thought. No matter how much it seemed she fit in, when her job was over, she would leave.

Samirah reached behind her with the container. “Would you do my back?”

He brushed her long hair over her shoulder out of the way and then took the jar. He smeared the fragrant substance between his palms and began to smooth it over her skin. The room became charged from the innocent but erotic motions.

“I want to take you somewhere before your contract is up,” he said, his voice already getting tight.

“Where?” she breathed.

“The
Galapagos Islands
.”

“I would love to go.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “When?”

“In a couple of weeks. How many days can you get off?”

“I don’t know. A few days, maybe.”

“You smell so good,” he muttered, temporarily distracted. “Your skin is so soft.” He lowered his lips to the back of her neck.

“This is what you really came up here for, isn’t it?” she whispered breathlessly.

His hand drifted across her stomach and pulled her closer. “
Soy culpable
,” he said, admitting his guilt.

She tipped her head back for his kiss. “I have an idea for how we can convince the Hills to give me the time off.”

“Tell me later,” Miguel said, turning her in his arms so she faced him. He cupped her face in his hands. “But I don’t want you to worry about a thing regarding the trip. This will be my gift to you.”

He lowered his head to indulge in an earth-shattering kiss before they fell onto the bed. With gentle kisses, he worked his way down her body. Her fingers encouraged him, tangling in the silken threads of his hair.

The muscles of her abdomen tensed, quivered, waited for the brush of his lips. He didn’t disappoint. When his mouth touched the sensitive skin between her legs, she let out a wail of pleasure. She spread her legs to take what he offered, fisting her hands in his hair and tossing her head from side to side. He didn’t stop until spasms rocked her body.

* * * *

After they made love, Samirah nestled in his arms, and her eyes drifted closed. He cared deeply for her. She practically floated when she realized it would only be a matter of time before he asked her to stay.

Her impulsive behavior wasn’t a mistake this time.

Chapter Twelve

The trip to the
Galapagos Islands
excited Samirah. Visiting them had not been part of her original plan, but she was glad to have the opportunity, and even more so to share it with Miguel.

 
Part of
Ecuador
, they were a chain of volcanic islands situated over five hundred miles off the coast. In the early 1800s, Charles Darwin had stayed there, and his observations contributed to his theory of evolution and natural selection. Because they were a strictly protected national park, the islands maintained their natural ecosystem. Animals there evolved without natural predators, so they weren’t afraid of humans.

At Samirah’s suggestion, Miguel offered the Hills the bribe of a small Delgado original sculpture, and they agreed to allow Samirah five days off. Two weeks later, when they got ready to leave for their trip, Geneva was getting around better anyway, using a cane instead of a walker, so Samirah didn’t feel any guilt about leaving.

She and Miguel flew from
Cuenca
to
Guayaquil
and landed on
Baltra
Island
where they then took a ferry to the first stop,
Santa Cruz Island
. After half a day of traveling, they took an open-air bus to their seaside lodging. Their small, secluded hotel contained less than fifteen rooms. It was steps away from the beach and within walking distance of the main town.

In the lobby, they met a couple from
France
celebrating their tenth anniversary with a return to the place where they’d spent their honeymoon.

“How romantic,” Samirah said.

“Yes, sometimes he is,” the woman, Jeanne, said dryly.

Her husband, Luc, seemed oblivious to her tart reply. “How long will you be on the island?” he asked.

“Three nights,” Miguel replied. “On Monday we leave for Isabela. We’ll stay there two nights and then we head back to the mainland.”

“Oh, but you need at least a week,” Jeanne said sorrowfully.

“I have to work, but we plan to make the most of it,” Samirah said.

“Come join us on the rooftop terrace later. We’re going to have a few drinks before we walk into town for dinner. There is a very good restaurant we remember from our last trip that happens to still be there.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Samirah looked at Miguel. “What do you think?”

“Fine with me. We’ll meet you later after we spend some time at the beach.” They agreed on the time and went their separate ways.

In their room, Samirah and Miguel changed clothes, grabbed their snorkeling gear, and left for
Tortuga
Bay
. They swam and snorkeled the rest of the afternoon on the small beach before making a reluctant return to the hotel.

* * * *

Lying on his back on the bed, Miguel watched Samirah fix her hair in the mirror. “What do you call that in English?” he asked. “What you’re doing to your hair.”

“Cornrows.” Her fingers moved quickly as she finished the last of six plaits. She planned to leave her hair in this style for the rest of the trip. He repeated the word to familiarize himself with it. “Not corn-rrrows,” she teased. “Cornrows.”

He hopped from the bed and grabbed her around the waist. “Are you making fun of my accent?”

She giggled. “Yes.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Mmmm. I have to punish you, then.”

“
No
. We’re already running late for drinks with Jeanne and Luc.” Samirah slipped silver hoops into her earlobes.

“How about a…how do you say…quickie?”

She twisted in the circle of his arms and shook her head. Placing her palms against his chest, she said, “Behave yourself,” although she could feel the stirrings of her own desire.

He reached under her white tank top at the same time his other hand stroked down the back of her bare leg in a pair of cut off denim shorts. “
Cinco minutos
,” he coaxed.

“You always say five minutes, but you always take way longer. Come on.” She pushed away his hands. Miguel grumbled in Spanish behind her, but she ignored him and led the way out the door.

They found the French couple seated at a round table on the roof. From the rooftop location, they had a good view of the beach and the road leading into town. The soothing sound of the water and the songs of nature’s nocturnal insects blanketed the air.

“There they are!” Luc said. “We thought you had forgotten us.”

Samirah smiled. “We spent most of the afternoon snorkeling and enjoyed ourselves so much we lost track of the time.”

“I can see you both spent a lot of time in the sun. I am jealous of you. I burn easily.”