Until There Was You (Coming Home, #2) (31 page)

“Well?” he prompted, pleased with his plans.

She frowned at him and he nearly laughed. She really was delightful. When a man went to bed at night, he never knew what might await him the next time he climbed out of it. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for her. When he’d first become aware of the stranger sneaking around in his rooms, he’d expected to spend the better part of his night
dealing with the watchmen. What a marvelous surprise she was turning out to be.

“I need a moment to think,” she snapped at him.

He raised his brows, a little surprised at her tone. “Well, that’s hardly flattering.”

In the weak moonlight he saw her delicate brows go up, mocking him. “Why? Did you expect me to joyously throw myself against your manly chest at the first opportunity? I am not that inexperienced, Mr. Sharp.”

Well, when she put it that way it was even less flattering, especially since that was exactly what he had been thinking. “I do not doubt your experience, my dear. I am simply offering to give you what you came here for.”

“I did not come here for
that
.”

The way she said “that” told Alasdair more than her words. Clearly she had never had a pleasant experience in a man’s bed. He didn’t doubt that she’d been in one before. But he was offering her so much more than one night. He wanted to pleasure her, to hear her cry his name in ecstasy.
Yes, he always liked that part
. He smiled at the thought.

She frowned harder when she saw his smile. “And if I … lay with you tonight, will you swear to give me the pearl in the morning?”

“If that is still what you want,” he answered, knowing full well she would have other things on her mind by morning. He’d spent the better part of his wayward youth learning to please a variety of lovers, and he knew this delightful little thief would get more than she was bargaining for.

She shook her head firmly. “No. I want your word. If I … stay here tonight, with you, I want your word that you will give me the pearl in the morning.”

He took a moment to study her. When he’d first heard her voice, he’d gotten the impression of delicacy—an impression that was strengthened when he stood over her, touching her. She seemed small, fragile, with big, luminous eyes, a small nose, and a wide, generous mouth just made for love. Surely a mouth like that couldn’t lie. But he’d
almost forgotten that she was a thief. She had broken into his home with the intention of stealing from him. No matter how guileless and innocent her face, she lacked moral character. For some perverse reason, that made him want her all the more.

“I have said I will if that is what you desire.” He could see that his answer didn’t satisfy her.

“Say it,” she demanded. “Say, ‘I will give you the pearl tomorrow morning after you have lain with me tonight.’ Give me your word of honor.”

Ah, so the immoral little cat hoped to tangle him in his own honor, did she? Well, he had no qualms about making promises to thieves in the night. “You have my word of honor, my dear. I will give you the pearl in the morning after you have lain with me tonight.” He knew the words were a lie even as he spoke them. But he also knew that the money and gifts he would give her in the morning would more than make up for it.

He took a step closer and saw her eyes widen. Her gaze seemed to be in constant motion, as if she was too nervous to let it alight on any one part of his exposed person. He found it charming regardless of whether it was true or a performance for his benefit.

“But you will do more than lie with me, my dear,” he whispered, noting with satisfaction the shiver along her shoulders. She licked her lips again, and Alasdair went from firm interest to hard desire as he followed the path of her tongue along the plump folds of her lips, now wet and glistening in the moonlight. “I will make you cry tonight, little thief. I will make you moan and beg and cry out with pleasure.” With each word her eyes grew larger and more alarmed. “Now, are you still willing to make this bargain?”

*   *    *

Julianna was terrified. Because some part of her, some clearly perverse and heretofore unknown part of her, desperately wanted this beautiful naked man to make her cry and beg. But it wasn’t about what Julianna wanted, was it? It was about what she needed. And she needed that pearl. She had no other options. It was too late to look for
funds elsewhere. And if she didn’t pay the solicitor within the week, the children would all be out on the street. She had worked so desperately to shield them from the harsh realities of their life, to provide a safe home and a happy future for them. All would be lost if she lacked the courage to accept this bargain. Truly, it would ruin her if she failed to produce the rent. Ruin her chance at independence, her chance to prove she was capable of taking care of herself and others. The failure would hang over her head, branding her incompetent and unworthy. And that would be the ultimate failure on her part. She would lose the children and so much more.

She nibbled on her fingertip as she debated with herself. Her virginity certainly hadn’t ever helped her up until now. After all, it wasn’t as if she was saving herself for someone. True, she was untouched, but that had been by choice. She had never wanted to give herself to any man before, either in bed or in matrimony. She very much doubted that would change after a night in bed with Mr. Sharp, who most certainly did not have matrimony on his mind. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit her attraction to him was part of the reason she’d decided on this mad scheme. Surely this weakness she harbored for him would pass if she surrendered to it for one night? Then she could move forward, take care of business, and forget Mr. Sharp entirely. It was a business proposition, nothing more. She had seen countless men and women, her father included, walk away from affairs such as this without a backward glance. She knew Mr. Sharp had done so in the past. She saw no reason why she couldn’t do the same.

But could she trust his word? That was the real question. Could she trust that he would live up to his side of the bargain? And could she live with herself after it was over, after she had sold her body for the price of a pearl? Well, an incredibly beautiful, valuable pearl, but still.

She could feel his eyes on her, measuring her, tempting her, seducing her. She bit her lip in panicked indecision and watched his eyes narrow just a bit more as the rise and fall of his chest lost a step in the cadence of his breathing.

With amazement she realized he really did want her. This might be a diversion for him, a meaningless encounter, but he really did want her. Why? He didn’t recognize her. For all he knew she was nothing but an immoral thief. And yet he wanted her. Did he even know what she looked like? It was dark enough in the room that she could make out only the basic outline of his features. If she hadn’t seen him countless times before, she wouldn’t know the blue of his eyes, the gleaming blond of his hair. So what did he see that intrigued him?

It is what he thinks me to be
. He thought her a thief, a trickster, a criminal. It was why he’d proposed the bargain. He thought she was experienced, he’d said as much. He thought she was a woman of the streets. She almost laughed aloud. She knew her way around a lock, it was true, but she hadn’t learned that on the streets. Oh, no. She’d learned that in the drawing rooms and country houses of the glittering society in which he moved so effortlessly. He had no idea who she was, none at all. And that was a good thing. She worked very hard to blend into the background, disguising the real Julianna behind a bland facade. That way no one would take an interest in her. It was a habit she’d learned as a child, so as not to interfere with her father’s thieving or romancing. She’d grown to like the anonymity of it. Now her disguise gave her the freedom to do as she chose while society promenaded past her, uncaring about who she was or what she did. Clearly Mr. Sharp had walked past as uncaring as everyone else.

But tonight he cared. Tonight she would drop all disguises and, for the first time in her life, she would be herself and take what she wanted, as well as get what she needed.

“I accept,” she whispered the words as she closed her eyes tightly, her stomach flipping, though not unpleasantly, at the risk she was taking.

Read on for an excerpt from Donna Kauffman’s

Santerra’s Sin

ONE

Diego Santerra made a killer salsa.

He also made a pretty damn good killer.

This was the first time he could recall getting paid to do both.

He pulled the dusty green Jeep around the side of the small stucco building and parked next to the shiny black Harley Fat Boy he knew belonged to the cantina’s owner. Blue Delgado.

He knew everything about Blue a person could learn from constant observation. The briefing he’d received in Miami three weeks before heading here to New Mexico had filled in the rest. Yes, he knew more about Blue Delgado than the Villa Roja residents who’d known her all her life.

Except for one thing. When would Jacounda strike? That was why he had agreed to abandon his anonymous surveillance and step inside the dimly lit little bar in search of a job. As a cook, of all things.

Diego hadn’t counted on the job being the one, and probably only, thing he did for himself, for whatever little pleasure there was in it. But he’d kept silent, agreed to the cover. He made it a rule to give away only what was absolutely necessary. And he had damn little to start with. So cook he would. Along with anything else that became necessary to get the job done. It was that unshakable personal code that had made him first choice for Seve “Del” Delgado’s elite tactical squad, known since shortly after its formation as Delgado’s Dirty Dozen.

No one had to remind Diego that, almost ten years later, less than half the original team remained alive. And if Diego didn’t complete this mission successfully, the next to fall would be Del himself.

He pulled his black Resistol down over his forehead a bit farther and pushed open the door to the bar. Even though it was barely ten o’clock in the morning, there were two men occupying barstools, sipping beer. Three more were playing pool on one of the two worn tables wedged into the space between the door and the bar. Several small vinyl-covered tables lined the wall by the front window, but they were empty.

Diego glanced once at the men, then dismissed them. He strode over to the end of the bar, propped his foot on the rail, and pressed his hands on the teak surface.

The bartender was an older Latino gentleman. Diego knew him to be Blue’s uncle, Tejo Delgado.

The older man continued to wipe down a glass with the corner of his apron as he moved toward Diego.

“
Cervesa
, señor?” he asked, his accent noticeable, but not overwhelming. “Coffee?”

Diego shook his head. “I’m here about the job.” He nodded to the hand-lettered sign taped to the front window. It had been put up only two hours earlier. “You need a cook.”

Of course, the old man didn’t have to know that Diego had known about the job opening yesterday. Del, or more likely another member of the Dirty Dozen, had seen to that little detail.

“
Sí
, that is true,” Tejo said, “Señor …?”

“Santerra.” Diego straightened and offered his hand. “Diego.”

Tejo smiled, revealing one gold-plated incisor amid a host of gleaming white teeth. “Ah,
Don
Diego. Just like in
Zorro
.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d been reminded of his fictional namesake, and would likely not be the last. He hated being back in the Southwest. “Something like that, yes,” he muttered.

If the old man was aware he hadn’t exactly flattered Diego with the comparison, he didn’t show it. “Tejo Delgado.” He extended his hand. “My niece Blue, she’s the one you need to see,
amigo
.”

Diego gave his hand a brief shake. He knew the man to be in his late sixties, a good ten years Del’s senior, but there was plenty of steel in his grip. Diego wasn’t surprised. Just as he wasn’t surprised by the intensity of the quick yet thorough once-over Tejo
gave him before releasing his hand. Diego expected nothing less from Del’s brother.

“She have an office?” Diego knew the layout of the cantina as well, if not better, than the owners did, but he waited patiently for Tejo to answer.

He nodded to the side. “Past the end of the bar, third door to the left.”

Diego nodded and pushed away from the bar.

“Knock first,” the old man added.

Diego paused at the sudden edge in the otherwise friendly tone. He respected that. He also knew that there were few women on earth who needed that protective instinct less than Blue Delgado.

Until now, anyway.

He looked over his shoulder, dipped his chin once, then headed to the back of the building.

The door to the small office was old, scarred, warped from the heat … and standing open at least a foot. The room beyond was one large mass of clutter, in which the desk in the center seemed to serve as nothing more than an oversized paperweight. Keeping his word, he rapped the door once with his knuckles.

The woman seated behind the desk, nose buried in a stack of what looked like old-fashioned record books, didn’t so much as flinch. He wasn’t surprised. As far as he could tell, nothing fazed Blue Delgado.