Captive Heart (7 page)

The plane was ready to taxi to the runway. JoNell sat unnervingly close to Jorge Del Toro in the tight quarters of the small airplane's cockpit. Not since she was a teenager on her first solo flight had she been so nervous in an airplane. Was it because she was in a strange country on a mission she disliked—or because she suddenly felt unsure of herself in the presence of so handsome a man?

This morning when she had assured Uncle Edgar that she was immune to the charm of jet set playboys, she had forgotten how overwhelming was the presence of this particular playboy. The cockpit fairly sizzled with an electric charge surrounding him.

Slender white fingers gripped the stick. "Like this," a thin voice instructed.

Powerful fingers of burnished bronze imitated the delicate fingers on the twin yolk collar. But the bronze knuckles turned almost white.

"Don't grip it so tightly," the thin voice admonished. "Try to be more relaxed."
Lower and fuller
, she ordered her voice.
You sound like a frightened high school girl on her first date
.

Slit green eyes searched large brown eyes, and JoNell felt a quiver in her throat. A shadow of a frown crossed Del Toro's handsome features, his nostrils flared perceptively, and his dark hair looked almost blue-black against his face which had paled a couple of shades lighter. He moistened his lips which had become dry.

He's as nervous as I am
, JoNell suddenly realized, and the realization gave her courage. Even though his nervousness was of a different cause—the tenseness of a student on his first flight—it put them on somewhat the same level.

"Here are the brakes," JoNell explained, managing a businesslike voice. She pushed the balls of her feet on the tops of the rudder pedals. "Do everything I do. At first I'll actually fly the plane on my controls. You'll follow through on your controls. That way you'll get the feel of flying. Almost anyone can learn the mechanical motions of flying, but it takes a real feel for flying to make you a good pilot."

Del Toro took a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbed his brow and wiped the palms of his hands.

The poor guy is really petrified, she thought. Most students were nervous at first, but he was in a dreadful state. "I'm not going to do any acrobatics today," she reassured him.

He gave her a weak smile.

He'll be okay once we get in the air, she thought.

JoNell brushed back wisps of her bangs that had tumbled to her eyebrows. She hoped she looked professional enough for Del Toro to keep his mind on flying. It had been a struggle, deciding how to dress for this first flight. She feared her usual garb made her look too girlish. On the other hand, she didn't want to encourage Del Toro's predatory inclinations by appearing too desirably feminine. So, she had worn her customary jump suit to remind him that this was not a social outing. But she had compromised on the matter of her braids. Pinning her long hair atop her head and brushing on a few dabs of mascara certainly made her look older. She was aiming for a combination of clothes, hair style and makeup so she would appear older, sure of herself, but not seductive. While she had never fancied herself a beauty, she knew that her golden hair made her stand out here in Peru where blondes were highly sought after. If nothing else, her hair would make men notice her.

"I'll operate the throttle," she explained. "You concentrate on getting a feel for the stick and the rudders. Notice how light the plane feels just before it's ready to take off. You won't have to decide when you're ready to become airborn. The plane will signal you that it's ready. If you just go with the plane, relax, give yourself over to its movements, you'll get the feel of it sooner."

JoNell kept her gaze straight ahead, talking impersonally as if she were vocalizing instructions on a tape recorder.

She called the tower, taxied, took her aim down the runway, and off they went.

In spite of the tight rein JoNell had on her emotions, she couldn't help experiencing that fantastic, giddy feeling she loved when the plane actually deserted the runway. She loved practicing "touch-and-go's" just for the thrill of takeoff. That would be one bright spot in this series of lessons she would be giving Del Toro that she could look forward to.

"First, you need to learn to hold the plane in level flight," JoNell said. "Put your feet on the rudders, hand on the stick. I'll still operate the throttle."

JoNell showed him all the proper motions, then relaxed her grip. She was impressed by his keen perceptions, though not altogether surprised. Men like Del Toro, successful, incisive, supremely confident, usually grasped instruction quickly. The plane flew smoothly, even though she had, for the most part, turned the controls over to him.

"Hey, that's quite good," she remarked with genuine admiration. "Most people don't realize that flying a plane level is actually one of the hardest maneuvers. You're doing very well."

"Thank you, seňorita," Del Toro replied, looking directly at her for a moment, a smile curling the tips of his black mustache.

The impact of his gaze brought a momentary quiver to the pit of her stomach, but she quickly recovered. In an impersonal manner, she asked, "Are you learning to fly for business purposes, seňor Del Toro?"

"No," he replied. "For personal reasons—for pleasure—"

He appeared to have somewhat recovered from his obvious fright before takeoff, although he still seemed tense.

"Why don't we fly along the coastline?" he suggested. "The scenery there is impressive. While you're teaching me to fly, I can show you some of the sights of my beautiful country."

It seemed a reasonable request. "Okay," she agreed. "But keep the plane level. You're climbing."

"Yes, seňorita," he said with a hint of mocking deference.

They flew in silence for a while. Del Toro seemed lost in thought and JoNell was occupied with checking on the plane's flight and occasionally glancing down at the scenery which was indeed impressive. The mountains and tangled jungle terrain had given way to coastal desert plains and sparkling white beaches. From the air, the Pacific was a deep emerald.

Suddenly Del Toro said quietly, "You are a most competent flying instructor, seňorita. You inspire confidence. Again I must apologize for my rude behavior yesterday. I am glad you persuaded me to allow you to give me the flying lessons."

He caught her completely off guard. Had he made some kind of crude pass, tried to put his hand on her knee, or made a remark filled with sexual implications, she would have immediately known how to respond. She was prepared for
that
. But his apologetic, friendly manner left her speechless.

"Are you no longer angry with me for my rudeness when you first arrived?" he asked in English.

"N—no," she stammered, not knowing in her confusion what she felt at the moment.

Then he said, switching to Spanish, "I must tell you, seňorita, that you took my breath away when you appeared at my humble dinner last night. I had trouble believing the little girl with the braids and tennis shoes was the same stunning sophisticated woman who graced my dinner table. Now I can hold back my thoughts no longer. I must tell you how beautiful you are."

With that, JoNell's thoughts were jolted back to reality. The confused warmth she had momentarily felt at his distractingly sincere apology was dispelled by a flow of ice water through her veins. She almost felt relief that he was back in character, the compulsive Latin wolf. As she had expected, the inevitable had happened. Alone with a young woman in this isolated situation, he just couldn't resist making an obligatory pass at her. And how typical to do it in Spanish, a more romantic and flowery language!

Now her defenses were in place. "Yes, I know," she said coldly, and in English. "Everyone tells me so. So I'm afraid it really doesn't flatter me to hear you say it as much as you might hope."

"You are still angry. And you mock me unmercifully to show it."

"Unmercifully, seňor? Not nearly so unmercifully as you mock a trail of women that you left with broken hearts. I'm quite afraid I know all about you and your reputation with women. Unfortunately for you, I am impervious to your charms."

He chuckled softly, joining her in speaking in English now. "Surely you do not believe all the romantic gossip you hear about a rich man? I am single, JoNell. Yes, I have known some women—but not nearly so many as the gossips would like to believe or the scandal magazines invent to sell their papers. But you must believe I am sincere when I say that none of the women I have known was like you. You were like a breath of fresh air coming into my life when you stepped out of this plane yesterday."

Again she was confused, her thoughts scattered. Her breath had caught in her throat when he used her first name.

For a reason she couldn't define, her relationship with Del Toro took on a subtle new dimension. What the use of her first name had to do with it, she didn't know, except that he was less formal with her now. It had put them on a different footing, an intimacy that she did not wish to develop between her and the notorious Jorge Del Toro, and she didn't know how to put her feelings in reverse to back out of the situation.

"Of course your women were not like me," she retorted. "They were all rich. I am middle class." Consuelo had pronounced her of the common class. It was a term JoNell could not bring herself to use. Maybe to Jorge Del Toro she was of the common class. But she had a fierce pride that refused to accept Consuelo's definition.

"That's part of your attraction," said Del Toro.

JoNell bristled. Perhaps Consuelo was right! Del Toro's interest in her could be because of her background. She was a challenge to him, a new type of woman he had not toyed with before. Maybe he would find it amusing to sample a woman far beneath his station just for curiosity's sake.

"There is something different about you that is very appealing," he continued.

"It's called poverty!" she said tartly.

"Now I've offended you again. I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean it the way you took it."

"I understand what you meant, all right," JoNell said hotly. "You Latin men are all alike. Don't think because I'm from the United States, I'm ignorant of your ways. I grew up around Cubans. I know how Latin men flatter women. But it means nothing. Now, let's change the topic, shall we? I'm supposed to be giving you flying lessons, not listening to you tell me how gorgeous I am."

A black mustache twitched above a lip drawn tight between upper and lower teeth. But he did not pursue the matter any further.

JoNell had mixed feelings. True, Del Toro was a philanderer, but it was flattering nevertheless to have one of the richest, most powerful and handsome men in Peru tell her she was beautiful. A woman would have to be dead not to enjoy hearing it, even when she knew it was a pack of lies. Still, it was a dangerous game to play, enjoying that kind of flattery even for a moment, so she swept the temptation from her mind and concentrated on flying the airplane.

"Could we land on the beach below?" Del Toro suddenly asked.

"I don't know. Why would you want to do that?"

"I have something I wish to show you."

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

He smiled mysteriously. "Please. It is something I would like very much to show you. But would it be safe to land here?"

"It might be. Some beaches are smooth and hard packed, just like a runway. Let's take a closer look."

She took the controls from him. The plane banked and made a low, swooping pass over the beach. JoNell gauged the surface of the beach with a critical eye, and noticed the direction the wind was blowing the tree leaves. She bit her lip. "It looks safe enough. No driftwood or gulleys that I can see."

Del Toro nodded. "I am sure it is a good beach for landing. I have friends who fly here often to fish. They have never had any difficulty landing their planes."

"Then I guess it's okay."

She banked the plane and approached the beach again. "The wind is coming off the water. Normally, if at all possible, you land a plane into the wind. But here the wind is coming from the side, so we'll come in at an angle, sort of sideways. We call it 'crabbing' into the wind."

She spoke in as impersonal a tone as she could manage as the sparkling beach loomed before them. "You land with the power off and then use it only to control the plane." Slender fingers gripped the throttle tightly and eased it back with a control born of long experience. Had JoNell not been so expert at her maneuvers, she surely would have given Del Toro a rough landing. That was how unsettling his presence was.

"The key to a successful landing is feeling when the plane is ready to settle to the ground," JoNell explained in concise tones.

The plane descended in a smooth, controlled glide. The roar of the engine subsided as the power waned.

JoNell kept her eyes straight ahead as she explained each succeeding move. "You must line yourself up with the runway—in this case, that hard packed stretch of beach. Now put your hands on your set of controls and follow through. As we near the landing surface, pull back on the stick, like this. Watch out your side window. Keep looking at the ground. Feet on the rudders. Keep pulling back on the stick. Think of trying to hold the plane off the ground as long as possible. It will actually land itself."

For the moment, JoNell became so embroiled in her instructions that Del Toro became simply another student.

"When the wheels touch the ground, be prepared to put your feet up on the brakes and pump gently back and forth. You must keep the plane rolling in a straight line. You have to stop it, but slowly."

She felt the rumble of the landing gear. "Perfect!" she cried enthusiastically as the wheels stopped rolling and the plane came to a stop. "You're really learning fast. I'm so proud of you. You followed through like a pro."

Del Toro was again patting his forehead with his handkerchief. His hand was trembling slightly. He gave her a weak smile.

"You seem very nervous—more than most students. Do you still distrust my flying ability in spite of what you said?"