Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (39 page)

      
“Raise one leg and hold on to me,” he said hoarsely, turning her and draping one slim arm about his shoulder. He pulled her knee above the water and extended her leg. How perfectly flared the calf, how exquisite the ankle. She was a woman in miniature. Benjamin soaped down her leg, then reversed the process and did the other one.

      
Only one place remained to be washed. Taking a deep breath, he sudsed up his hand and slowly worked down her belly into the nest of ebony curls. Rani threw her head back and arched her pelvis instinctively as he gently massaged her nether lips.

      
Benjamin watched the pagan way her splendid little body moved, as if in a well-rehearsed dance. A grim smile touched his lips.
I am most certain no lover has ever bathed her before!
As she clung to him, swaying and arching in the lapping water, he gave in to the inevitable.

      
“Now it is your turn to wash me. I think I have taught you that bathing is not such a terrible thing,” he said with a teasing voice that belied the aching need in his loins. He placed the soap in her hand and began to rub it around his chest. She quickly caught on to the new game.

      
Gold eyes wide, Rani applied herself with great deliberation, sudsing and examining his splendid body. “Perhaps you are right.” Her clever little hands caressed the hard biceps of his arms and moved up his broad shoulders, then across his back and down to his taut buttocks. Like him, she saved the best for last. When she stroked his staff with her soap-slicked little hand, he muttered a guttural oath beneath his breath. Triumph surged through her when he took the soap from her, tossed it onto the bank and then scooped her into his arms and walked into the deeper water.

      
“Put your arms about my shoulders and hang on. I will rinse us off.”
And cool my lust lest I spill my seed before I even come into you.

      
Silently Rani obeyed, no longer afraid of water or drowning. She felt utterly safe in his arms.
I belong to you, Benjamin Torres. I no longer need the amulet
. Her heart sang as he carried her from the water and knelt on the woolen coverlet spread before the fire.

      
He lay her down and then looked at her. “You are beautiful,” he whispered as his fingers grazed the curve of her breast and trailed down her waist to the flair of her hip.

      
She raised her arms to him and he lowered himself onto her, covering her golden, glistening little body as his mouth sought hers. He rimmed her lips until she opened to him. When his tongue invaded, ravishing the soft interior, dueling with hers, she experimented boldly, loving the taste of him, eager for more.

      
“So much hair, so beautiful and curly,” he murmured against her throat as his hands tangled in the masses of ebony spread across the blanket.

      
Her hands ran up and down his back, feeling his muscles bunch and flex as he made love to her, lowering his head from her collarbone to the vale between her breasts, then lower yet to twirl it in her navel. She rotated her hips, much as she had been taught in
Romani
dances, and was rewarded with a groan of desire from him. But when he rose up to take one hardened little nipple into his mouth, it was her turn to moan. Rani had grown up watching
Romni
mothers nurse their babes, but never had she dreamed that first their lovers had suckled at their breasts. What pure bliss. She arched toward him and dug her fingers into his thick golden hair, pulling his head closer.

      
Benjamin could feel his aching staff brush between her slim thighs as she bucked and twined her legs with his. He glided one hand down her side, caressing the silky, damp flesh of her belly. “Hold still for me,” he commanded. His fingers searched through the black curls and found what they sought. She was wet, creamy with passion. A ragged little cry tore from her as he began to probe and stroke with surgeon's hands, skilled hands, practiced hands.

      
Rani felt the earth spin beneath her and the very sky itself begin to fall. She opened to him, letting his magic touch bring her to the brink of madness. “Please, please...” For what did she beg?

      
Benjamin heeded her cries and raised himself over her wet, eager flesh, his own aching to join with hers. As she dug her nails into his shoulders, he guided his staff to the entrance of paradise, working the smooth tip inside her. Her arched hips and gasp of pleasure pushed him over the edge. He could not go slowly. “Now, Rani, now.” He plunged in and felt the barrier being breached, felt her cry of ecstasy turn to a cry of pain. She stiffened beneath him, trying to push his far greater weight off. “No, no, little one. Only hold still. I will not hurt you any further, trust me,” he whispered, his lips nibbling her earlobe, his tongue tracing inside the tiny shell until she ceased struggling and lay quiescent in his arms.

      
Trust me
. He had hurt her. Somehow, in spite of what she had overheard from the married women in camp, Rani had been so sure Benjamin, her magical golden love, would not cause her virgin's pain.

      
As if sensing her shock, he trailed gentle kisses across her eyes and cheeks, then concentrated once again on her mouth, brushing it, molding his lips firmly to it, teasing it with his tongue until she responded. As he kissed her he waited for her to signal that her body was ready to continue. She was so small; he prayed he had not hurt her beyond the inevitable tearing of her maidenhead.

      
Rani felt an incredible fullness. Her body blazed with heat as his large, rigid shaft impaled her. It was pain yet, oddly, it was pleasure at the same time. As he kissed and caressed her upper body, she grew aware of how carefully he held himself immobile deep inside her. The pleasure-ache grew and with it the irresistible urge to move her hips. As their tongues dueled, twining and plunging, she arched up, rotating her pelvis as she had seen in ancient
Romani
dances. Now she understood their meaning. This was the ultimate enticement, the ultimate dance of ecstasy.

      
Sweat beaded his face as he held his body under control by sheer force of will. When he felt her move her hips, he knew he must finish what he had begun. “Slowly, slowly, little one,” he crooned as he began to stroke. She was so tight yet so slick, so soft, so perfectly made for pleasure. Murmuring love words in Spanish, he kissed her and lost himself in the splendor of her small, passionate body.

      
Rani felt like a wild thing now. Perhaps this was why she had always possessed such an affinity for wolves and horses, even bears. Her instincts were as savage and hungry as theirs. She arched up to meet his thrusts, panting and crying, urging him on faster, deeper, more...more. When the blinding fury of her release came, it was as if she had been waiting for it all her life, waiting for Benjamin, her golden lover, to give it to her. She clawed at him, her legs locked behind his back, her head thrashing from side to side as wave after wave convulsed through her body, shattering her. Then she felt him stiffen and swell deep within her, pulsing his seed in long, hard thrusts as he gasped for air, breathless, spent. And she was whole.

      
Benjamin felt so utterly replete, yet so victorious, for he knew she had joined him in finishing the act of love. He carefully supported his weight on his elbows as he struggled to regain his breath, then gently pulled away from her, cradling her against his side as he fell on his back. Rani snuggled against him, her damp mane of hair flung over his chest. Now it was clean and fragrant. Indeed her whole body gave off a delicate, musky perfume that was as subtly enticing as it was purely female.

      
“Little siren, I did not intend to hurt you. I never imagined you had not lain with a man before.” He felt her stiffen and pull away from him.

      
Rani sat up, trying to escape from him, but he held her wrist and would not free her. She shook her damp tangled hair over her breasts, feeling painfully naked and humiliated, all the magic of a moment ago fled. “Because I am of the
Rom
that of course makes me a whore.” She willed herself not to cry, but tears burned behind her lashes.

      
Benjamin, too, sat up and took her small, lovely face between his hands, tilting it up so she had to meet his eyes. “I am sorry I misjudged you, Rani. Never for the world would I hurt you.” A small, wistful smile touched his lips. “But I am not sorry I was the first.”

      
She met his gaze and was unable to stop herself as she raised her hands and caressed his cheeks, now rough with golden whiskers. “You are the first...and the last,” she said simply, then waited for him to say more, to promise her marriage, to speak of love.

      
“I will always take care of you, Rani,” he vowed.

      
It was not the reply she wished, nor the one Agata had hinted at, but it would have to do for now.

Chapter Twenty

Española, April 1525

      
Magdalena and Miriam sat on the wide stone porch of their house looking out on the Torres kingdom. That was truly what it appeared to be, a self-sufficient piece of paradise. Well, almost paradise, Miriam thought sadly as she watched her husband cavorting with little Violante, tossing the giggling child in the air and catching her while Cristobal vied for his adored eldest brother's attention.

      
They played beneath the shade of a stand of silk cottons at the edge of the big house's grounds. How quickly Rigo's younger siblings had taken to him. Twenty-year-old Bartolome and fourteen-year-old Cristobal wanted nothing more than to grow up to be like the Spaniard. Even Serafina, herself wed and the mother of three babes, was genuinely impressed with Rigo. Lani had been the easiest conquest of all.

      
At first Miriam had been surprised and pleased with how well the hardened loner had responded to the children. She began to fantasize that he would love their babe so much he could never be parted from it and would abandon any idea of going to Mexico. But the shuttered, aloof way he treated her had not changed. The passions of the night always faded with the breaking of the dawn.

      
Now that her time drew near and her body grew heavier with each passing day, Miriam feared it was only a matter of time until he would leave.
Perhaps he will stay to see the babe born.
He might love it, but he would never forgive her or himself for Benjamin's betrayal. His brother would ever stand between them.

      
Rigo would never forgive Aaron either, although he had worked out a distantly polite arrangement with his father in the months since they had arrived at the
hato
. If only the family were not in such a coil, this would be a good life for him. His skills as a soldier were natural assets in running a large plantation. Rigo was a born stockman and leader of men. Aaron was delighted with the way he had adapted to
hato
life.

      
Magdalena, however, was less than enthusiastic about the stepson who had usurped Benjamin's place in their home and taken his bride. From the corner of her eye Miriam observed as Magdalena watched Rigo playing with her children. “You wish it was Benjamin out there instead of Rigo, do you not?” Why had she asked such a blunt question? “Forgive me. I have no right. Tis just the heat and my aching back.” She rubbed her spine and then picked up a glass of cool lemonade and sipped from it. They had just returned from a tiring day visiting elderly patients in the Taino village at the edge of the compound.

      
Magdalena's keen green eyes assessed the tall, elegant woman sitting next to her. “I wondered how long we would fence about the matter. Many times since you arrived in February I have wished we could speak plainly, but I was...” She hesitated. “I was afraid of saying the wrong thing and causing a rift in the family. Aaron has waited so long for this reunion and I would never spoil it for him.”

      
“And you have also waited a long time for the return of your firstborn son. Rigo and I have spoiled that for you.”

      
“Benjamin always wrote that you were outspoken. He told the truth,” Magdalena said with a wistful smile, adding, “Yes, I miss Benjamin, but his last letter sounded as if his heart is on the mend. I do not blame you for what happened, Miriam. When love calls, we must answer. There is no choosing. I loved Aaron Torres since I was a girl scarce older than Violante.”

      
“And now Rigo causes Aaron pain,” Miriam said softly. “He is a hard man, filled with a lifetime of hurts. He does not find love or trust easy things to give.”

      
“How well I have observed that.” Magdalena's tone grew hard. “But tis not for Aaron that I fear. Slowly but certainly he will win Rigo over. Tis the way Rigo treats his wife, not his father, that distresses me.”

      
Miriam nearly choked on the cool drink. She looked at Magdalena's expression. “He is guilty about the way he betrayed his brother, as am I.”

      
Magdalena shook her head dismissively. “Benjamin, as his father has repeatedly told me, is a man grown. He will find his own way. You obviously adore that stubborn fool you married and he treats you as coolly as if you were a stranger.”

      
Miriam's cheeks blazed. If only Magdalena knew how different his actions were in bed! “In many ways we are strangers. He is Spanish, a Christian, a man raised in the streets who has fought bitterly for what little he owns. I am a Jewess, beloved of my father, who lavished everything on me.”

      
“And yet you gave all that up to wed this Christian—and he left behind the life he knew and came to meet his father, a task I know he did not relish,” Magdalena said wryly.