The Love of a Latino (3 page)

He bent his head to steal one
more kiss before he said goodnight. She met him halfway pressing her lips to
his. His hand came up to cup her cheek as he suckled on her mouth. Her soft
lips were willing beneath his, encouraging Rafe to kiss her more intimately—to
bury himself in sweetness, but he was aware of where they were and of the
driver in the car. When he finally pulled away, it was difficult getting his
breathing under control. This woman was unintentionally driving him
loco.

“Good night,
Princesa.”

“Good night, Raphael.”

She turned away from him and
hurried through the gate. Rafe waited until she climbed the few stairs; when
she reached the porch, she turned to wave at him with a tantalizing smile on
her face. With one final backward glance she disappeared into the house.

****

In the car he rested his head
against the backrest of the seat as the car started on its way, the sound of
Calypso
music playing softly. Rafe closed his eyes, an image of Dahlia quickly formed
behind his lids. She was nothing like the women he was used to. The small
wooden house she lived in, though well maintained, indicated she was not
wealthy. Her earlier attire also proved that she was of lower class, but to him
none of it was a problem. Money was not an issue. He had enough for them both.

Astounded at the direction
his thoughts had taken, he shook his head hoping to regain his sanity.
There
can be nothing between the two of you, Rafe. You are cut from two different
cloths. You are a man of wealth and social standing. You are the heir to a
multibillion dollar company. You two come from different walks of life,
different cultures. No good can come from this.
In desperation, he tried to
reason with himself, but his devious heart would not allow it; his need to be
with her again prevailed over common sense. It was frustrating trying to wrap
his head around these new emotions. Rafe wasn’t sure why, for the first time,
there was a battle between his heart and his brain, but one thing he was
certain off, was that seeing Dahlia Moore again was necessary.

****

Dahlia lay awake on her bed
well into the early hours of the morning. Her impending adventure with the
handsome Raphael Lopéz Cavos was her only thought. She smiled when she thought
of her arrival home. Natasha had been waiting for her, accosting her as she
entered the door.

“Who is he?” Her sister
beamed excitement avid in her voice.

Dahlia had looked at her
feigning confusion. “Who?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Dahlia.
I saw you…kissing him outside. Tell me all about it. What’s his name? Where did
you meet him?” Dahlia’s older sister bombarded her with questions, and she
fought to hide her amusement.

She sat next to Natasha on
the couch, her heart fluttering wildly. “His name is Raphael Lopéz Cavos and
he’s on vacation. I met him today. He’s handsome and so romantic. Oh Natasha,
when he kissed me I felt as if I was floating.”

Her sister observed her, an
impish grin on her face. “When are you going to see him again?”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I
invited him with us tomorrow. Do you think Roger will mind?” She asked
nervously. She’d invited Raphael to join them, but she hadn’t considered that
her sister and her husband would not appreciate a stranger intruding on their
outing.

“Of course not, Dahlia, I
want to meet this man that can make you smile like this. You know this is the
first time since Mama that I’ve seen you so happy.” Natasha pointed out, a
ghost of a smile hung on her lips.

Dahlia had not thought about
it before, but her sister was right. Ever since her mother had succumbed to
ovarian cancer four months ago, Dahlia had been plagued by a cloud of sadness.
Her only escape from reality was her books.

“I feel happy, Natasha. Today
I didn’t feel like a young, inexperienced girl. I felt like a woman that was
desired. I never knew it was possible to feel like this after only a few
kisses. What is it? Why do I feel this way about a man I hardly know?” Dahlia
asked confused, eager for her sister to answer those questions.

Natasha didn’t disappoint
her. Gingerly taking her sister’s hand Natasha said in a comforting voice. “We
don’t always understand why things happen, but sometimes God takes charge of
our lives, bringing that one special person that you are meant to love forever.
I am not saying that this Raphael is your special person, but maybe he is. But
loving someone doesn’t guarantee that you will be together forever. Some people
come into your life only for a season, but some are here to stay. The only way
to know for sure is to love that person unconditionally. If God sees it fit,
then he will keep you together.” Her sister ended, placing a gentle kiss on
Dahlia’s cheeks.

“Eat something and then get
some rest. We have a busy day ahead.” With a mischievous wink, Natasha left
Dahlia to her thoughts.

Now, hours after their
discussion Dahlia thought how one person could cause so much hurt, but it also
took only one person to bring happiness back and to her that one person was
Raphael. She thought about their kiss at the hotel when he had spoken her name
in his thick Spanish accent. He had used Spanish phrases too; all unfamiliar to
her, but one in particular stood out,
Princesa
. What did it mean? It
sounded like princess, but she was no princess. And what about all the other
words he used? What did they mean? Annoyed at her inability to fully understand
the Spanish phrases, she made a mental note to get a Spanish dictionary first
thing tomorrow.

For now she just wanted to think
about Raphael and his kisses. She giggled girlishly as her toes curled when she
thought of his wet tongue teasing her hand. Would she be awarded more of those
tomorrow? Would he want to take her back to the hotel? Would he want to make
love to her?  Dahlia felt as if someone had uncapped a jar of butterflies in
her stomach. She closed her eyes, smiling wickedly as images of Raphael, naked
above her floated before her darkened lids. He was whispering sweet nothings
into her ear as his hands caressed her body.

Her eyes flew open as she
tried to abandon the images. Even if Raphael chose to make love to her, it
wouldn’t mean anything. He would go back home to wherever he came from and she
would be left alone. This was her home. She just needed
not
to fall in
love with him. She would take whatever he offered and when it was time for him
to leave, she would be an adult and let him go.

Somewhere deep inside of her,
she knew that being with Raphael was the right thing; otherwise she would not
feel this way. The butterflies would be gone and the wobbly knees would not
have existed. She had been kissed many times before, but nothing had prepared
her for Raphael’s kisses. His masculine scent still clung to her hours after,
and once again excitement claimed her at the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She
wondered if God had orchestrated their meeting or if it was pure coincidence.
In her heart, Dahlia didn’t believe that something that felt so right could be
a coincidence.

****

The delicious aroma of fried fish
interrupted Dahlia from the most pleasant dream.

She and Raphael were
sitting on the beach, the sun hidden behind the white fluffy clouds. A little
distance away on the water’s edge, a little girl ran barefooted. The pea-green
dress she wore was a stark contrast to her long, black hair. She was about
three or four, and her chubby little feet were covered up to her ankle in the
sea water. The little girl turned to them and her dimpled cheeks lit up when
she smiled. She took off in an awkward run, her little feet carrying her as
fast as they could. Raphael leaned forward in his sitting position and the
little girl flung herself into his open arms.

“¡Papá! Water nice…” She
cooed, her gray eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Yes it is, Arabella, but
it is time to go. Your mamá is tired.” He turned to look at Dahlia, his eyes
misted.  He smiled at her and Dahlia reached out to touch his hand, but came up
empty.

Instead, Dahlia encountered
the soft sheets on her bed. “Ugh!” She groaned flopping over onto her belly.
Pulling the pillow over her head, she squeezed her eyes tight willing herself
back to sleep wishing her dream to continue. She wanted to know what would
happen once she touched Raphael. However, sleep refused to return. She muttered,
“Blasted fish.” She was delighted in the savory aroma, as her stomach gave a
tug of hunger.

Turning over onto her back
she admired the little room that belonged to her since birth. Natasha had kept
it the same, and even after Dahlia had been away for almost fourteen years, she
still felt like a little girl in here. She recently replaced the twin sized bed
with a larger full sized one. Other than that the room remained the same. Pink
and purple decorated the small windows; a shaggy pink carpet covered the floor.
Both had seen better days. It was time to grow up. As soon as she saved up
enough money, she would give this entire room an overhaul. Mama would like
that.

For the first time since her
mother passed away Dahlia allowed herself to think about the woman she loved
dearly. Naima Moore had been a very delicate woman in size and she had passed
that on to her two girls. Her hair fell all the way to her ankle and that was
one of the things Dahlia loved most about her. When they were small, Natasha
seven and Dahlia only three, they would spend hours playing with their mother’s
hair.

Her mother was East Indian
and her father African. Together their off springs had been blessed with the
gift of lovely, long, curly hair. Naima had made them both promise never to cut
theirs and it was a promise they had kept, even now after her death. Unconsciously,
she put a hand to her curls and a brief image of Raphael’s hands in it made her
smile. She pushed the thought away. This special time was reserved only for the
memory of her mother.

Their father Samuel Moore
passed when she was only five, but she remembered him well. He had been good to
them, but when he died her mother didn’t have enough to take care of both her
and Natasha. When Samuel’s sister, Barbara had offered to take Natasha to live
with her in Boston it was an opportunity they could not re-fuse. But Natasha
did not want to go; instead she had allowed Dahlia the blessing. It had torn
her little heart into pieces leaving her mother and sister, but even at that
age she knew it was best for all of them. Her aunt had been good to her;
however, Dahlia missed her family too much to make the most of what had been
given to her.

Dahlia would look forward to
her visits every two years after that, relishing the chance to see her mother
and sister. Boston was full of opportunities for a young woman, yet Dahlia
longed for the simplicity of home. She was tired of the fast paced life, waking
up before the sun came up, working ten hours, then going to night school. Home
was where she longed to be.

Three years ago, on one of
her visits, she had learned of her mother’s illness. Dahlia had been
heartbroken, crying herself to sleep night after night. Her decision not to
return to Boston was met with firm disapproval from her mother. She was to go
back to Boston and finish her school—then, and only then, could she return home
to stay.

Nothing was the same after
that. Dahlia had sunk in to a pit of depression. Knowing that her mother was
going to die, she cherished every moment they spent together. She visited twice
a year after that and when she returned five months ago she was devastated to
see what her mother had become. The spirited woman that had played with them in
the yard, took them fishing in the ponds, and spanked them silly- when they
were bad- had withered into nothing. Her bones were more prominent than Dahlia
had remembered and pain etched her frail features. Dahlia and Natasha stayed at
their mother’s side until she breathed her last breath one month later. Roger,
Natasha’s husband, had been the pillar both girls had leaned on.

Now, four months after,
Dahlia could finally think about her mother and though she was still sad, the
pain had lessened. She wished her parents were still here to meet Raphael. She
was sure her mother would like him; her father on the other hand would think he
was only after ‘one thing.’ She chuckled lightly at an image of her father’s
frowning face.

“Daddy, I miss you too.” She
whispered into the baron air.

“Dahlia, it’s after eight,
time to get up.” Her sister’s voice interjected into her thoughts.

“I’m up already. Be out in a
couple of minutes.” She called through the closed door.

Hurrying to make the bed, she
grabbed her towel and rushed off to the outdoor bathroom, the aroma of fried
fish and freshly brewed soursop tea following her.

****

He swore the hand on his
watch hadn’t moved an inch since he last looked at it—what seemed like an
eternity ago. Rafe wished he had taken Dahlia’s phone number yesterday. Instead
he had no choice, but to sit in this blasted hotel room and wait for her to
arrive.

He contemplated several times
whether to get in a taxi and go to her, but he decided against it. After all,
he was a grown man not some lovesick teenager. But he itched to see her again,
to hear that sweet seductive voice—to kiss those soft, pliable lips.
Dios,
five o’clock was taking forever to come.