RoxannesPirate Page 8

  She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his. His lips were firm and warm, the moustache tickled her sensitive skin.

  “That was your one kiss,” she said. She could hardly breathe.

  “Maybe you could make it just one more,” he said. He pulled her close.

  She could smell his intoxicating scent, could feel the warmth of his body, the muscle and bone beneath his clothes. He bent his head and kissed her again, his lips parted and she tasted his tongue, and was instantly zinged by a current of electric energy. She was plugged in, charged up, alive with need. She let out a soft sound. He pressed her against the wall. He tugged the zipper on her jacket down past her breasts. He ran his finger along her skin where her zipper had been.

  He whispered in her ear, “I want you.”

  The words triggered a hot rush of blood.

  His hand moved inside her jacket and curved around her breast. “Do you want me?”

  Lie to him! Tell him no! But her body begged, Tell him yes!

  He gently rubbed his thumb across her puckered nipple. Her mind reeled. Her body won.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He pressed his mouth hard on hers, his tongue searching as though he could get to her center. A sharp spasm of desire flooded her pelvis.

  There were footsteps in the hall. “Hey, hombre!” a man said. “This is a hotel. If you want her so much, take her upstairs!” There was laughter.

  Carlos pulled away. “You’ve earned your bag back.” He held it out to Roxanne.

  She took it and slipped it over her arm. She reached out and took his hand in hers. She felt the strength of his fingers, the warmth of this skin. She ran her fingers over the cushion below his thumb and then along the center of his palm. She felt him shiver.

  “It’s not a question of want,” she said. “It’s a question of trust.”

  A slight smile widened his lips, but there was hunger in his narrowed eyes.

  “You’re right. I’ll take a chance and trust you.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “And you’ll take a chance and trust me.”

  Would she? She would.

  She took his hand and led him to the elevator. She pressed the button. They stood side by side, holding hands. They did not speak until Roxanne had opened the door to her hotel room. Carlos followed her in and shut the door. She stood with her back to him and unzipped her jacket and dropped it on the floor. She untied the string of her pants and let them fall to her ankles. She stepped out of them, her back still to him.

  “Wait,” he said softly. “Stay there.”

  She heard the sound of his undressing. She stared out the window and caught a white blur as a bird flew by, but her mind did not absorb details. She was alert only to his movements. At last, he stood behind her. He traced her spine and the path of his touch became the only thing that mattered—down her spine, along the curve of her buttocks, up her spine to her shoulders and down her arms. Her skin tingled at his touch.

  “I wanted you before, Roxanne, but not the way I want you now.” He pulled her back against his body.

  She felt his heat and his solidity. Her breath caught in her throat.

  His hard cock pressed against her lower back. His hands reached up to skim over and around her nipples, a teasing touch that added to her hunger. He brushed her hair aside and kissed from ear to shoulder, igniting sparks on her skin. “I want to know every inch of you. I want every inch of you to want me.”

  She reached behind and found the steel rod of his cock encased in tender skin. She fluttered her fingers along it. His sigh raised the simmer of lust in her body to a boil. She turned and pressed her breasts against his chest, her mouth sought his in deep, penetrating kisses that made her dizzy.

  “Lie down with me,” she said. She didn’t trust her legs to hold her up anymore. The gatekeeper in her head flashed a weak caution light. “Condom?”

  “Here.” He reached for his pants pocket.

  “You planned?”

  He shook his head. “I hoped.”

  She pulled the covers back from the bed and lay back on the cool sheets. He lay down beside her. This time the trail of his touch led from her breasts down her belly and between her legs.

  She turned her head to breathe in his scent. His fingers opened her, played her. He spread her moisture around her labia and swollen clit. She was drunk on the sensations he raised in her. She held his cock as pleasure radiated through every molecule in her body and pulsed her to climax. She gasped and sought his mouth.

  “Do you want me?” he asked.

  “Every inch of me wants you.”

  He settled between her legs and rested his weight on his arms. He kissed her, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. Then he thrust his hips and entered her.

  She gave a soft moan at the sweet sensation and the sure knowledge that this, this was what she wanted. He moved slowly against her.

  “Do you like it like this?” he asked, and nibbled her neck.

  She pressed her fingers on his back to encourage him. “Not so gentle.”

  “You want it harder? Deeper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like this?”

  She moaned at the wonderful friction he made moving inside her.

  “Oh yes, like that!”

  He plowed her deeply, again and again and again. He shifted his weight and suddenly her clit was pressed against his pelvis and a new sensation gripped her, raised her. He thrust harder, faster. She arched her back, wanting this never to end, needing to reach her peak.

  “Oh God, Carlos!” She dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her legs twitched in the air as her pelvic muscles convulsed and spread a sensation of euphoria up her spine and out to the tips of her fingers.

  He held still, and when her breathing had slowed, he kissed her. Then he wrapped his arms around her and rolled her over so she was on top of him. “Ride me,” he said. “Like you did the first time.”

  She thrust her hips back and forth, giddy with the desire to bring to him the elation she felt. He grabbed hold of her thighs and squeezed her. “Roxanne!” he cried, and his body trembled as he emptied into her.

  She fell against his chest. They were both covered with a sheen of sweat. He pulled her close.

  “So, I’m forgiven?”

  She pressed her face to his neck and inhaled him. “For now.”

  Chapter Nine

  Roxanne rested her head on Carlos’ chest. She felt the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. Carlos stroked along her spine as if he were strumming the strings on a fragile instrument.

  The loud ringing of the room telephone startled her. She sat up. It took her a few seconds to gather her thoughts. On the fourth ring, she stood and answered the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “Cecily Bigelow here.” Mrs. Bigelow’s voice was unmistakable. “I wanted to make certain we were all set for the morning. My driver will pick you up at half past eight. That will give us sufficient time to talk before the meeting begins. I trust the hotel is satisfactory?”

  “Quite. And the massage was wonderful. Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet for dinner.”

  “That’s all right.” Roxanne watched Carlos stretch his arms over his head. Her eyes focused on the smooth muscles of his belly and the fine black hairs on his sculpted chest. “I’ve made my own plans.” Roxanne could not keep a note of smug satisfaction from her voice.

  “I won’t keep you. Have a wonderful time!” Mrs. Bigelow gave the distinct impression that she knew Roxanne’s plans were rated triple X.

  Roxanne put the receiver back in its cradle.

  Carlos adjusted the pillows behind his back. “Who was it?”

  “My client. We have a meeting tomorrow.” It came to her in a flash that he probably knew most of her clients from his search through her hard drive. She took a deep breath and reached for her jacket and pants.

  “Come back to bed, Roxanne.”

  “We have to talk. The
re are things we need to settle. Like how we handle your lawsuit.”

  He held his hand out to her. “We can talk in bed.”

  She put on her jacket and sat down on a chair to pull on her pants.

  He made a noise of disappointment. “Did you get this sense of responsibility from your father, the honorable judge?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed and got out of bed and gathered up his clothes. “If we must have a discussion, we’ll have to have it over dinner.”

  “I should shower first and change.”

  “Don’t bother. The place I have in mind is very informal. Besides, after dinner,” he looked at her and grinned, “you’ll be getting sweaty again.”

  * * * * *

  Dinner was served from a trailer in the rear of a liquor store parking lot. All the cooks and most of the customers were men. They gathered around the trailer, beers in hand, or held fishing poles and dropped lines in the waterway that ran behind the parking lot. The conversations were all in Spanish. Roxanne could not follow any of what was said. She and Carlos sat at a picnic table eating sandwiches made from shredded roasted vegetables and cheese between slices of fried plantains dripping in a pink sauce. Carlos told her these were a Venezuelan specialty called patacón.

  “You like it?” Carlos asked.

  Roxanne nodded, her mouth full. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Muy bueno.”

  “Habla español?”

  She shook her head. “No. Yo no habla español. That pretty much exhausts my Spanish vocabulary.” She took a swig from her beer bottle. “One of my regrets is that I never learned to speak another language. I lack the discipline.”

  “I don’t think it’s a question of discipline. For me, it was natural. Both my parents spoke multiple languages. At various times we had Brazilian maids and nannies from Haiti and Martinique. Once we had an Italian painter live with us. I was expected to keep up.”

  “It sounds like you had a lively childhood.”

  “I was a spoiled only child. It was very painful for me to lose my parents when I did. They died in an accident shortly after my college graduation. I had to take over my father’s business. I lost touch with most of my friends except for Spencer Marshall.”

  Roxanne’s throat tightened. “He was your partner in the Dover Key Development.”

  “Yes. We went to boarding school together.”

  Roxanne wiped the moisture from her beer bottle. She could not look at him as she spoke. “I met Hector Rivera on Saturday. He was with Ines Da Silva.”

  “Not for much longer. She’ll be moving on soon. Hector isn’t rich enough for her.”

  Roxanne glanced at his face, afraid of what she might see. “She told me that Rivera stole her away from you.”

  Carlos laughed. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Hardly. I’d already given her a shove out the door when she took up with Rivera. I’d been going through a tough time in my life when I met Ines. I thought she’d be amusing to be with.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “She is. She might have been better off being a little less beautiful. She might have developed some depth of character, something beyond greed. She’s very dull. A few days in her company were more than enough.” He crumpled the foil from his sandwich.

  Roxanne took another sip of beer. She hoped her relief wasn’t too obvious. “So you don’t hate Rivera because of her?”

  “Not at all. He’s given me other reasons to hate him.”

  Roxanne exhaled slowly. They were stepping out onto the thinnest of ice. “I could be called as a witness in your lawsuit. If that were to happen, I might have to report the details of this conversation.”

  “I appreciate the warning.”

  She had to tell him. “When I was in your room, I saw a flow chart with names on it, and dollar signs flowing from Spencer Marshall to Hector Rivera to John Murkley, and a hypodermic needle going from this man Murkley to Marshall.”

  His eyes widened. He did not look angry, only alert.

  “I didn’t look through your papers, Carlos, the chart fell on the floor. I told Rivera about the chart. I can’t tell you what Rivera said in response. I’d be violating the attorney-client privilege.”

  “Thank you for telling me, but it doesn’t make a difference to my lawsuit. That chart arrived in the mail a week after Spencer Marshall’s death. I don’t know who sent it.”

  He drank his beer. Roxanne flattened her sandwich foil and smoothed it with the bottom of her beer bottle. She had spent years avoiding John Murkley, only to stumble on him. In her mind she saw again the hypodermic needle pointing from his name to Spencer Marshall.

  She picked her words with care. “The person who drew that flow chart thought the money from Dover Key passed from Spencer Marshall to Rivera to this John Murkley,” she said. “And Murkley gave Spencer drugs in return. Is that what you think happened?”

  He studied her face. Was he deciding how honest he could be with her?

  “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “I can only guess. Spencer wanted to develop a first class resort on Dover Key. Along with his money, he’d inherited a family weakness for alcohol and drugs, but when he asked me to invest in the project he’d been straight and sober for a few years. I agreed to be a silent partner. It was Spencer’s show. He brought in Rivera because Rivera was supposed to have contacts that could move the project forward. Rivera convinced Spencer to try and bring in gambling to the planned resort.”

  “And John Murkley?” Did she really want to know? What difference did it make to her how he had been involved?

  Carlos shrugged. “I don’t know much about Murkley. My guess is Rivera promised Spencer that for a large sum of money Murkley could get gambling approved for the resort on Dover Key. Other obstacles to the project developed from zoning boards and environmental groups. And Spencer started using drugs again.”

  Roxanne remembered the news reports she’d read about the opposition to the resort. “Maybe Murkley helped create the opposition so he could get more money from Spencer,” Roxanne said. That was the kind of dirty double-dealing that suited Murkley. “Murkley promised Spencer he’d take care of each of these new obstacles for additional payments and kept Spencer tethered to him with a supply of drugs.”

  “You lawyers are always ready to believe the worst of people. I have no proof of Murkley’s wrongdoing other than the flow chart. Spencer’s records were destroyed in the fire.”

  “You could hire forensic experts to sift through the electronic data. You could find out who sent you the flow chart. You could depose Rivera. You could go after Murkley.”

  Carlos laughed. “Aren’t you forgetting your client’s interests?”

  Roxanne’s face burned. He was right. Rivera was her firm’s client. But she could not let this rest. “You thought someone sent me to spy on you. You must have thought it was Bardon Collins doing it for Rivera or Rivera himself or this guy Murkley. And you were angry enough to keep me tied up and search through all my belongings.”

  “I was angry,” Carlos said. “I really liked you. So, I was extremely annoyed when I thought you’d set me up. I suppose I could have gone about my research into your involvement in a more subtle way, but I couldn’t stand the fact someone had played me for a fool.”

  “Isn’t that what you think Rivera and Murkley did with Dover Key?”

  He sighed. “A lawsuit to recover money from Rivera and Murkley would be a huge expense. What good would it do me? Would it resurrect Dover Key? Would it bring back Spencer?” Carlos shook his head. He gathered the sandwich foil and used napkins from the table. “I’m a businessman. Revenge costs a lot and the return is minimal.”

  He was right, Roxanne thought. He’d just said what she’d thought for years—revenge was a task for fools. So why did his saying it bother her so much?

  He stood. “I’m prepared to write off my loss on Dover Key and move on. Rivera has made me a settlement offer. I’m inclined to take it. A settlement wo
uld let me put this unfortunate affair behind me, and make it easier for you and me to be together.”

  There were shouts from fishermen.

  “Someone has caught me a fish,” Carlos said. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

  She followed him. The fishermen were slapping the backs of a man who held a long, gleaming fish that glowed almost neon pink under the parking lot lights. The fish wriggled and flopped and struggled for a breath that would not come.

  Roxanne watched Carlos make his way through the group of men. She could tell by the victorious fisherman’s gestures that he was telling Carlos the story of how he had hooked his fish, played him, almost lost him then finally reeled him in. Carlos slapped the man on his back and looked nearly as pleased as the fisherman.

  She knew so little about him. She could be certain only that there was a magnetic sexual attraction between them. All her life she had relied on her common sense. Now, when her common sense told her to run from a man who had grievously wronged her, she had embraced him instead. What if she told him that Murkley was a man devoid of scruples, a man motivated by malice and greed, who would relish destroying Dover Key and Spencer Marshall, just as he had relished destroying her father? Could she trust Carlos with her secret—a secret she had kept from her friends, her family, her fiancé? Could she trust him with a secret that would ruin her father’s hallowed reputation and crush her mother and her brothers just as it had crushed her?

  Carlos glanced at her and flashed her a beautiful smile. He walked back to her.

  She wanted to trust him, but she had to wait. She would not be a total fool when it came to this man.

  “It’s a beauty!” he said. “The man who caught him was very pleased. Ever go fishing?”

  She shook her head. “My father and older brothers fished. I watched. There were some things my father did not want to teach a girl.”

  They walked away from the crowd to the spot where Carlos had parked his little black convertible. Someone was broadcasting music. A song with a strong Latin beat filled the air.

  “Did he try to keep you locked away from boys?”

  “That was my mother’s job. I have the feeling your parents didn’t keep you away from girls.”