Saint (33 page)

“Want to go outside and get some fresh air?”

“No thank you. The air in here is just
fine.” God, she would love it. Sitting out on the wide veranda porch, gliding
lazily in the swing, listening to night sounds. “Besides,” she added, “we
wouldn’t want anyone to see me.”

“Francis is right.” He leaned against the
doorframe. “We have to do something about this penchant of yours for lying. You
want to go out on the porch, you just don’t want to go out there with me.”

“So we can continue pondering the insanity
of my decision to take on a lost cause, no matter the risk to myself or others?
I’ll pass.”

“Actually, I thought we could just sit and
enjoy the weather. The rain cooled things off a bit. I even dried the swing
off.”

Amazing. He was actually trying to tempt
her into joining him. And she wanted to, so why pretend differently? “You’re
not going to dump me over the railing into the bushes at the first cracking
twig, are you?”

“Can’t promise, but it’s only a foot or two
drop if that makes you feel better.”

She lectured herself on the way down the
stairs. No prying into his personal business. No nagging him into any
confessions, no expecting him to open up closed doors. She would do what he
suggested and enjoy the cool evening air, a blessed break from the stifling
heat and humidity that had plagued this section of the state since their
arrival.

Seth settled himself on the swing, resting
one arm along the back. She sat next to him, taking care to leave some space
between them, and lifted her face to catch a light breeze that passed too soon.

“I slept the other night for the first time
in years,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Good for you.”

The silence stretched out again. She had
the feeling he wanted to say something, but hadn’t known him to have any
trouble saying his mind in the past, so he could keep whatever it was rolling
around in his mouth there until he had the balls to spit it out. “When I was a
little girl, we used to sit out on the porch and swing like this.” She smiled
wistfully at the memory. “My father would serenade us with a song on his guitar
while my mother sewed.”

“What were you doing?”

“I daydreamed, like every young girl.
Sometimes we played hide-and-seek or danced to one of my father’s more risqué
ditties. We had lemonade and cake and the neighbors would bring their chairs
and join in and before we knew it, bedtime.”

“And did you always know you wanted to be a
journalist?”

“I always knew I wanted to make a
difference. My father grew up very poor. When my grandfather was able to bring
the family here, he insisted everyone, even the children, strive to support
themselves and their families. He said we lived in the land of opportunity and
the Carvanias would never depend on charity. It was a matter of honor. It didn’t
matter how menial the job, a small paycheck was better than no paycheck. Two
jobs earning half the amount of one paid the bills just the same.”

“I get it now.” He nodded, but it was too
dark for to see his expression clearly.

“Get what?” She hadn’t said anything earth-shattering.

“You never felt you had a choice. Your
brother shamed the family and it fell to you to restore lost honor and pride.
It never occurred to you to do any differently.”

She stiffened, turning to stare out into
the darkness beyond the sagging porch railing. “Isn’t this where you add ‘but
it’s not worth your life’?”

“No.”

“It’s what you were thinking.”

“Wrong again. Decent woman that you are,
you’ll never be able to read my mind. That’s probably a good thing.” There was
silence again as they listened to the night crickets. “Stay with me tonight.”

The husky tension in his voice brought her
eyes back to him. The bending of his unbendable resolve shook the premise they
had existed on up to now. It was probably as close as he would come to asking.
Still, she needed to know if the request was fundamentally rooted in something
other than sexual relief.

“Why?”

“I’m not comfortable with you sleeping
alone in another room. I want it. I need it. And that’s as much of a confession
as you’re going to get out of me.” He wanted to sleep—a dreamless sleep. Wanted
to be able to protect her with his sheer presence, needed to immerse himself in
the intense sensuality of her, craved the all-too-precarious moments of peace
that unexpectedly pervaded his mind and soul during those hours. He wanted to
feel that way again.

Having known nothing but violence and
killing for so long, it was a wonder he could appreciate the innocence and
misplaced loyalty that drove her to risk everything. It had been an eternity
since he’d had a reason to care, to risk his own sanity. Ironically, it hit him
that he hadn’t been living a quiet, peaceful life up on his mountain all these
years. He’d merely entered into a dormant state, using bitterness to fuel the
anger that kept any who sought to breach his defenses at bay.

But Maria Carvania had breached those
walls. She’d bluffed her way past his anger, slipped under his tougher than
nails skin, pried her way into his closed mind. And as much as he hated to
admit it, he cared.

Shit.

Another Juarez. Another woman. Another
mistake that could cost him dearly.

The shadow of night hid the depth of
emotion in her eyes as she considered his proposal, but he could sense her
hesitation, her confusion, knew she was rationalizing over an acceptable solution
she could live with. But right now he didn’t give a good damn if sleeping with
her was right or wrong.

Give. Give something.

He didn’t know how to give what she needed.
Couldn’t give what she wanted. He’d exiled himself to a world only he was
capable of living in, to an island he didn’t know how to escape from. A place
that would squeeze the life force from someone like her.

Seth closed his eyes, willing himself not
to force the issue if the answer was no. But he knew he would. Then it occurred
to him she was waiting for him to say something, to give her a reason. For him
to want it bad enough to work his way past her defenses. She was waiting for
him to give a damn. About something, anything.

“It would only be sex,” she whispered
hoarsely, as though she were trying to convince herself of that fact as well as
letting him know she was through trying to drag from him what he maintained
didn’t exist.

“I’m a big boy. I think I can handle it.”
Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer to his side, nuzzling
the exposed curve of her neck. He felt her shudder and heard the soft intake of
breath. Felt his body respond to hers.

The rush of anticipation came too quickly
making him feel alive, dangerously alive, as he traced the curve of her throat,
inhaled her scent and became entangled in the web that was Maria Carvania.
Sultry, exotic, forbidden.

Seth knew he was exhibiting all the signs
of male domination. But that’s what he was, a male animal. She had awakened the
sleeping tiger within and prodded recklessly at the thorns piercing his soul,
forcing open doors that were better left closed.

God help him.

* * * * *

God help her.

Maybe he hadn’t heard.
I love you.

Maybe he’d been so into the capitulation of
her body, the seducing of her senses, that the words she’d murmured in the heat
of passion hadn’t penetrated through the fog.

Or had she said it while making her way
down his hard length, fascinated by the feel and taste of him, the taut skin
over sinew and muscle?

When she opened her eyes Seth was propped
against the headboard, watching her. She studied his expression, deciding he
was right, she would never be able to truly fathom the depths of his mind.

“I heard.”

Groaning, she rolled to her back. “I didn’t
mean it. Heat of the moment…that sort of thing.”

“That’s supposed to be my line.” His hand
tunneled through her tousled curls absently.

Deciding that having her back to him was
the better move, she shifted to face the wall. “You misinterpreted then.”

He leaned over to murmur in her ear, “Lying
little bitch.”

Maria squirmed at the riot of sensation his
teeth evoked on the sensitive nerve of her neck. He knew how to use every
pressure point to his advantage. Just thinking of the things he’d done to her
last night… She had no idea the breadth and scope lovemaking encompassed with a
man who held nothing sacred.

He left no place untouched, urging her to
touch and taste, to take him as he had taken her. And she, like some ancient
pagan goddess for sacrifice, had reveled in the complete wondrous mastery of
it. It wasn’t just sex. She’d been sucked down into the dark swirling whirlpool
that was Seth Harris’ soul.

“You wanted in,” he reminded her
cautiously, stroking the curve of her hip. “I told you before I’m not the kind
of man you need in your life. I don’t do flowers and candy. I’m not sensitive
or understanding, and I don’t have a feminine side to get in touch with. You
already regret those rashly spoken words.”

How true. After lecturing him on what a
totally mature, sexually savvy woman she was, she’d stumbled headlong into the
age-old trap of caring for a man who would never return her feelings.

“It doesn’t change anything,” she
maintained, hoping her voice sounded level.

“Yes it does.” He fitted himself against
her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Because every time I touch you, I’ll
hate myself for it.”

“Then don’t touch me.”

“We both know I will.”

“What happened to ‘I don’t want this,’ and—”

This being what he considered her displaced
spiritual bonding. Her love. He rolled on top of her, planting himself between
her thighs. “I don’t want it. Are you finished with me,” he asked candidly, “now
that you’ve glimpsed my darker side? Or were you hoping I was finished with
you?”

“I never expected you to say it back, so
stop acting like I’ve chained you to the wall with an insignificant slip of the
tongue. You can walk away anytime you want, I won’t stop you. And please don’t
think I’ll crumple up and die, either.”

He shook his head, exasperated. “You never
back down, do you?”

“If I backed down every time a challenge
presented itself, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

“That should tell you something,” he
muttered, burying his face in the hollow of her stomach.

“Professionally speaking.” She cuffed his
shoulder. “You think editors from five major papers would be willing to run my
piece on Juarez’s illegal activities if I hadn’t first earned their respect? Just
forget it. And before you ask, no, I didn’t sleep with any of them.”

“Who said I was going to ask?” He rubbed
his chest against her mound. “It’s not your professional instincts that worry
me. You have a blind spot, Ria.”

“And you don’t?” She tried to ignore the wild
sensations storming within her but it was damn hard with the wetness pooling between
her thighs.

“Now I have two.” He pressed his face into
the damp vee, swirling his tongue to catch every drop.

Another veiled admission, but an admission
just the same.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said
against the side of her thigh.

Her thoughts were already zooming in an
entirely different direction. “W-what question?”

“Are you finished with me? Do we go back to
separate beds?”

“Does it look like I’m finished with you?”
she groaned irritably.

He cared. She knew he did, on some level,
he just couldn’t say it. He wanted her to understand without having to actually
say the words. It was in his possessive gaze every time he watched her enter
and leave a room over the next two days. Every time he kissed her. The danger
surrounding the situation intensified every moment, every touch, every
sensation. He was thorough and ruthless in bed, hard and stubborn outside it.
And somehow she’d become addicted to having him. Being taken by him. Because it
helped her forget about the panic and the fear. He was the rock she could cling
to, rest upon.

And she had to tell him about Bethy. Soon. He’d
be pissed, but he would understand. The Inquisition was due back any day. She’d
much rather it came from her than them.

* * * * *

Seth padded quietly to the bedroom window
the next morning, Joan’s usual bird call having rousted him from what was fast
becoming a favorite pastime, watching Maria sleep.

To say he didn’t like what he saw was an
understatement. The knife twisted in his gut, making him want to vomit.

Damn her to everlasting hell! He could have
forgiven her almost any lie but this one.

The cauldron inside boiled over.

“Seth?” she called softly as the first rays
of morning slanted across the bed.

“You lying little bitch!” He whirled from
the window to face her, letting the fury show in his eyes.