Forbidden Fruit (18 page)

“You
are
young, Glory St. Germaine.” He patted her cheek, wanting to be as condescending as possible. “Like I said, it's been fun. But it's time for you to run home to mommy and daddy.”

She shook her head again, this time emphatically. “You're running scared.”

“Listen, honey,” he drawled, wondering how the hell, in a matter of a couple hours, she had begun to see inside his head, “I am definitely not run—”

“You are.” She tipped up her chin. “A big man like you shouldn't be scared of being honest with a little bitty girl like me.”

He gritted his teeth, furious—at her, for pushing; at himself, for reacting to her. “Look, doll, you're a sixteen-year-old, C-cup, man-eating bundle of trouble. I have no plans to go to Angola for you or any other piece of ass. So if you're looking for an exciting back-seat fuck with an older guy, you're going to have to look elsewhere. Is that honest enough for you?”

Her eyes filled but to her credit, she held her ground. He admitted a kind of grudging respect, then cursed himself for it. She might be made of tougher stuff than the other girls of her type that he had known, but that didn't make her any different. It didn't make her any more honest.

“You prick.” She jutted up her chin, though he could see that it trembled slightly. “Feel better now? Feel in control, big man?”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned on her heels and marched off, heading toward the car. Santos hesitated a moment, then started after her.

He called her name, but she didn't stop or look back. Finally, he passed her, then swung around, blocking her way.

“Please move,” she said evenly, though he could see by her eyes that she had been crying.

Something turned over inside him. Something warm and foreign, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He cursed it even as he held it to him as if it were the most precious gift on earth.

“I'm sorry,” he said roughly. “I shouldn't have been—”

“So mean?” she supplied, angry color staining her cheeks. “Such a bastard?”

“Yes, to all of the above.” He looked her straight in the eyes. After a moment, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. But she didn't look away. Again he experienced that small, unwelcome quiver of respect for her.

He pushed it away. Respect ranked right up there with “too close, too real.” Those were the last things he wanted with any girl.

But especially this one. This one was trouble.

“You push too much,” he said softly. “Too hard. You didn't leave me much choice but to push back. A man like me doesn't play nice, Glory St. Germaine. You should run far and fast.”

“I don't want to run. And I'm not going to.” She squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “I want to see you again.”

“You're determined, I'll give you that.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But it takes two, Glory. I'm too old and too experienced for you.”

“How old are you?” she asked, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Forty?”

“Very cute. I'm nineteen.”

She mock-shuddered. “Ancient.”

He laughed and by unspoken agreement, they began walking. “Not ancient. But passed the age of consent. You're not. Besides, it's more than that. There's more than chronological years between us.”

She opened her mouth, he knew, to ask him what he meant. He didn't give her the chance. “Let me ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you want to see me again?”

“Why?” she echoed, obviously surprised by his question. “Because I do.”

“The old ‘go for it' thing again. Sorry, not good enough.”

She frowned, though he wasn't sure whether with annoyance or thought. After a moment, she said, “Well…you're really cute and…a great kisser.”

He laughed, more pleased than he should have been. “Cute and a great kisser. I'm overwhelmed.” They reached the end of the seawall, and he touched her elbow, steering her back toward her car.

They walked in silence a moment. He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. “What school?” he asked, referring to her uniform.

“Academy of the Immaculate Conception.”

He stopped. “You've got to be kidding.”

“I'm not.”

He tipped his head back and roared. “Are all the Immaculate Conception girls as immaculate as you are?”

“No.” Her lips lifted. “I pride myself on being the wildest A.I.C. girl, at least in the sophomore class. And I'm quite sure Sister Marguerite would agree with me.”

“The school principal?” When Glory nodded he made a sound of sympathy. “She sounds tough.”

“She is. And she hates my guts.” They reached the car and she held out the keys. “You want to drive?”

“Sure.” He took the keys, opened the passenger door for her, then went around to the other side and slid behind the wheel. He started the car and looked at her. “The hotel?”

“If that's good for you.”

He nodded and started off; they drove in silence, though Santos was aware of her gaze on him. He glanced at her several times, and regretted it. Her expression—at once resigned and hopeful and hungry—had him almost changing his mind.

The hotel in sight, she broke the silence. “Will I see you again?”

“No.”

“I can't change your mind?”

She could. Easily. And that scared him silly.
“Sorry.”

“I was afraid of that.” She sighed and looked away. “Stop right here.”

He did as she asked and slipped the stick into neutral. He climbed out and she slid across the seat and behind the wheel. He smiled down at her. “It's been fun, Glory.”

She looked so disappointed, he chuckled. “Am I the first fish that got away?”

She laughed up at him. “The first one I really wanted that got way.”

He rested his hands on the lowered window and bent his head toward hers. “If it's any consolation, you're a great kisser, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She covered one of his hands with one of her own and lifted her face to his. “Then why don't you kiss me again?”

Santos looked across the street, toward the hotel entrance. Both the doorman and valet stood at the curb glaring his way. He indicated them with a jerk of his head. “Here? Where the watchdogs can see?”

“Why not? Let's give them a show.”

“You really are a little firecracker,” he murmured, even as he lowered his head to hers.

He took her mouth in a quick, hard kiss. She made a sound, deep in her throat. It affected him like a swift punch to his gut.

He drew away, startled. That brief kiss had affected him more than the longer, more passionate one earlier.

She was a firecracker, all right. If he wasn't careful, this whole thing was going to blow up in his face.

He touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. “Thanks for the ride.” He straightened, turned and started toward the neutral ground and the streetcar stop.

“Santos!”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. She grinned. “See you around.”

For one long moment, he gazed at her. She made a fetching picture, on her knees, elbows resting on her seat back, her dark hair falling across her face. He felt a moment of regret, then lifted his hand in a final wave. “Goodbye, Glory.”

He turned and walked away, vowing to never see her again.

A
n entire day passed before Glory realized she knew nothing about Santos but his name. The realization surprised her only mildly: she had been so busy mooning over him, so busy wallowing in the memory of his mind-blowing kisses, that she had been unable to think of anything else.

She still couldn't. She had never met anyone like him; the other boys she had known and kissed seemed like babies to her now, boring, and shallow and immature.

Santos had stolen her heart already. She would die if she didn't see him again. Just die. She had to find a way.

The streetcar approached, the one Liz arrived on every morning, and Glory all but bounced up and down in excitement. She hadn't been able to call her friend the night before. She had arrived home and found her mother and father in an odd, elated mood. Her mother hadn't asked her more than where she had been; her answer of the library with Liz had satisfied her.

That in itself had been odd. Her answers never satisfied her mother; she never
just accepted
them. But she had last night. Thank goodness. If she had looked at or questioned Glory too closely, she would have known her daughter was up to something.

Glory had decided that it must have been fate. She and Santos were meant for each other.

Her mother had insisted they all go to the Renaissance Room for dinner, another odd occurrence. And all through the meal her mother had chattered, sounding more like a teenager than Glory.

Her father's behavior, too, had seemed out of character to Glory. He had drunk less and looked at her mother more—and with affection.

Glory didn't know what was going on between her parents. For a week they had barely spoken to each other. In her sixteen years, Glory had lived through their many fights, their many angry and punishing silences. But even during those times there had always been something between them, something hot and strong. She had always believed, for better or worse—for she did not think her father was happy—that her parents would be together forever.

But this time, this forbidding silence, had been different. It had been more than angry or hurt. It had been ugly and so very cold it had sometimes made her shudder to look at the two of them together. Glory had thought their marriage was over.

After talking to Liz, Glory had hoped it was over. Liz had assured her that, at sixteen, she would be allowed to choose which parent she wanted to live with. Glory had even begun to daydream about what it would be like, living only with her father, going day after day without her mother's constant suspicions and criticism.

Last night's dinner had put an end to those fantasies. Her parents had seemed happier than they had in a long time.

A part of her had been angry at her father; she couldn't understand what he saw in her mother or what her mother's hold on him was. Another part of her had been relieved. By focusing their attention on each other, they had left Glory to wonder about Santos.

The streetcar screeched to a halt; a moment later Liz hopped off. “Hey, Glo. What's up? You didn't call me last night.”

Glory grabbed Liz's arm and tugged her away from the group of A.I.C. girls who had alighted the vehicle with Liz. “I have to talk to you. Alone. It's really important.”

Liz glanced over her shoulder, then back at Glory. She lowered her voice. “What is it?” she asked. “Your parents?”

Glory shook her head, then leaned toward her friend, feeling about to burst with excitement. “Liz, you're not going to believe this. I met the most wonderful guy. I think I'm in love.”

Liz stopped and turned toward her friend, her eyes wide. “In love?” she repeated in a hushed whisper. “Who is he? Where did you meet him?” She caught Glory's hands. “Tell me everything!”

Glory did. She shared every detail of her encounter with Santos, the good and the bad, the way she had pushed, and the way he had pushed back, the things he had said to her in anger. She told her about the elevator, their ride to the lake, their walk. She described Santos—his face and coloring, what he wore, his build, the deep, rich sound of his voice, the way he tilted his head when he laughed and how the husky sound turned her on.

Finally, Glory told Liz about his kisses and about her overwhelming physical reaction to him. “I've kissed bunches of boys, Liz, but this, it was different. It was special.”

“But how can you be sure it's love? I mean, you don't really know anything about him.”

Traffic cleared and they crossed St. Charles Avenue from the neutral ground to the sidewalk. “I know, but I've never felt this way about anybody, Liz. It's weird, and we barely spent an hour together. There was just something about him…something that…”

Her words trailed off as she searched for a way to explain her feelings so her friend would understand. And she desperately wanted Liz to understand. She wanted her to approve. Liz was her best friend and her opinion meant more to her than anybody else's.

She met Liz's gaze. “When I was with him I forgot everything, where I was, who I was. It was like my entire being was focused only on the touch of his lips on mine, his hands on my body. In a way, it was like I had been waiting my whole life for him, for his kiss. It sounds stupid, like a kid's fairy tale or something, but that's the way I felt.”

Glory fell silent a moment, gathering her thoughts, not quite believing what she was about to say. She met her friend's gaze once more, feeling her cheeks heat. “You're going to think I'm crazy, but I had this overwhelming feeling, this certainty that he…that he was the one.”

Liz swallowed audibly, her eyes wide. “The one?”

“Yeah.” Glory hugged her books tighter. “
The One.
The guy…the man…for me. My destiny or something.”

“You mean, like your soul mate?”

They passed under the academy's wrought-iron archway. Glory nodded and drew a deep breath. “At that moment, I would have done anything for him.”

“That's so cool. And it sounds so romantic.” Liz shivered. “But it scares me, too, Glory.”

“It doesn't scare me.” She twirled around, laughing. “I feel like I could walk on air!”

“While you're up there,” Liz said dryly, “tread lightly. Sister Marguerite has her eyes on you right now.”

Sure enough, Sister Marguerite stood just outside the front doors, her eyes on Glory. Glory stopped and turned toward her friend, wanting to talk more without being overheard by the principal. “I have to see him again, Liz. I just have to.”

Liz clutched her books closer to her chest. “But how? I mean, how are you going to find him?”

“I figured I'd ask around the hotel, see if anybody knows why he was there. He was delivering something to the third floor and that's where the executive offices are. He might even have delivered something to Daddy. I'll talk to his secretary.”

The warning bell rang and several clusters of girls hurried past them, many of whom called out a greeting or waved. Glory started forward, but Liz caught her hand, stopping her.

“Be careful, Glory. Santos doesn't sound like the type of guy your mother would approve of. If she gets wind of this—”

Glory looked into her friend's concerned gaze, and a chill crawled up her spine. “She won't. I'll be really careful.”

“Promise? Because I've got a bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah, I promise.” Glory shook her head against the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach, and smiled. “You worry too much, Liz. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

After three days of disappointments, Glory began to lose hope of ever seeing Santos again. She had asked everyone who had been on duty at the hotel that day; the few who remembered having seen him had no idea who he was or why he had been in the hotel. When she had questioned her father's secretary, the woman had looked at Glory as if she were crazy.

Glory sagged against the locker next to the one she and Liz shared. She sighed. “I'm out of ideas, Liz. I've talked to everybody.”

“Don't be bummed, Glo. You might find him yet.” Liz shut the locker door, then snapped the padlock tight. “After all, if he's really your soul mate, you have to see him again.”

The final bell had rung several minutes ago, and she and Liz started down the hall, heading toward the main entrance. Glory made a sound of frustration. “Yeah? And why's that?”

“Because, if he's your soul mate, fate wouldn't give you only one chance to be together. That would be too cruel.”

“You really think so?” They moved around a cluster of girls blocking the center of the hall.

“Definitely.”

Glory laughed, her spirits lifting. “But, what if he's my destiny, but I'm not his?”

Liz laughed, too, shaking her head. “I don't think it works that way.”

They stepped through the front doors and out into the bright, cool afternoon. Glory blinked against the sudden, brilliant light.

When her vision cleared, she saw Santos. He stood just beyond the school's gate, his head averted as he watched each girl pass, as if looking for one certain girl.
He had come for her. He felt the same as she did. He must.

Glory's heart burst into dizzying flight, and for a moment she couldn't find her breath. When she did, she grabbed Liz's arm. “That's him, Liz. It's Santos.”

Liz stopped. “Where?”

“There. Standing beyond the gates to the right. In the black T-shirt and sunglasses.”

“Are you sure? I can't see his face.”

“It's him. I'd know him anywhere. Oh, God, what do I do now?” Still clutching her friend's arm, she dragged her back into the school. “I can't breathe. I feel like I'm going to faint.”

“Calm down. You don't want anyone to hear you.” Liz glanced quickly around them, then back at Glory. “If you don't feel good about this, don't go out there. If you're scared—”

“It's not that. It's—” Glory sucked in a deep breath, light-headed with happiness. “He's here, so maybe he…maybe he feels the same way I do. Just like you said, fate's given me another chance.”

“Then get your butt out there.”

“Come meet him.” Glory laughed again and caught Liz's hands. “I want you to meet him.”

“I don't think so.” Liz shook her head, and freed her hands from Glory's. “Unlike you, boys really do terrify me. I never know what to say, and I hate feeling so awkward and ugly.”

“You're not ugly, you're—”

“Go.” Liz nudged her. “You don't want him to get away.”

“Thanks, Liz. You're the best.” Glory smiled at her friend, then turned and raced outside to meet her destiny.

She was too late.

He was gone.