She had still not won the battle.
But she had won enough for now. She leaned forward and gently kissed his lips. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to push you into saying you care about me.” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the palm lingeringly. “But can’t you at least tell me you like making love to me?” She put his hand on her breast. “Just to give a woman a little encouragement?”
He stared at her, a multitude of emotions conflicting on his face. His hand reached up to cup her cheek with a touch so gentle, it was a tender blessing. “Oh, yes.” He suddenly jerked her down, flipped her over, and plunged deep within her. An expression of almost painful pleasure appeared on his face. “There’s no question. I definitely love this.”
“Lara.”
Lara opened her eyes to see Paco’s face above her. This was getting to be a habit, she thought drowsily. But it wasn’t dark, as it had been in her bedroom in Barbados. The strong morning sunlight poured through the French window across the room. Ricardo’s room. Paco shouldn’t be in Ricardo’s bedroom, she realized vaguely.
“Lara, wake up.”
Lara glanced at the pillow next to her own. Empty. The pillow showed the indentation of Ricardo’s head, but Ricardo was gone. The knowledge shocked her awake and she sat upright in bed. “Where is he?”
“Gone.” Paco reached down and quickly pulled up the silken coverlet to cover her bare breasts. She absently grasped it, her gaze searching Paco’s expression as he continued, “He came to my quarters at dawn and left the palacio shortly afterward.”
“Left for where?”
“I’ve had your bags packed. Ricardo wants you off Saint Pierre by the time he returns.”
The battle had resumed with a vengeance.
“Then he’d better be prepared to be gone for a hell of a long time because he’s going to have to run the blasted country from exile. I’m not leaving.” She ran her fingers through her hair, struggling against tears. “I should have talked sense into him when I had him, dammit. How was I supposed to know he’d run out on me when—” She swung her feet to the floor, winding the spread around her like an Indian blanket. “Where’s my robe? I’ve got to get out of here.” She saw the robe on the floor, snatched it up, and headed for the bathroom. “Send to my room for my clothes, will you, Paco?”
“Ricardo doesn’t want anyone to know you’re here in his suite.”
“Then please get them yourself, while I shower. I have to go after him.”
Paco shook his head. “He’s my commander in chief and the president of my country. I’m under orders to escort you to the United States.”
“He’s also your friend, dammit.” Lara glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t let him go now. You know how strong he is. I can’t give him the chance to rebuild the barriers I tore down last night.” She whispered, “Please don’t make me go, Paco.”
He hesitated and then sighed resignedly. “He’ll probably court-martial me for disobeying orders.”
“No, he won’t. The grounds for prosecution would bring me into the public eye and that’s what he’s trying to avoid.”
He smiled faintly. “True.”
She turned at the door of the bathroom. “Where is he?”
“He went home.”
“Home? I thought the palacio was home now.”
Paco shook his head. “Home has always been the rancho to Ricardo. The government officially returned the property to him after the junta was defeated.”
“Where is it?”
“About seventy-five miles south of the city.”
“Will you take me there?”
“Why not? I can’t get into any more trouble than I’m in already.”
“Thanks, Paco.”
“De nada.” Paco paused. “It’s your last chance, Lara. I can’t disobey Ricardo again. Are you sure you want to try this? I’ve never seen him more determined.”
“He’s crumbling.” She worriedly bit her lower lip. “Lord, I hope he’s crumbling. That damn control … Why does he have to be so strong?”
“That strength is the only quality that kept him alive for the last ten years.”
“I know. I know. I know it all.” She turned and flung open the door of the bathroom. “The Pied Piper, El Grande Libertador, the legend.”
TEN
BRIGHT-RED TILES roofed the large white stucco casa and wrought-iron ornamental bars protected the windows on the upper level.
“Don’t you recognize the ornamental bars your father placed on the windows to keep out suitors?”
Ricardo had given her his own home, drawn from his memories, to comfort her that night in the cell.
“It’s exactly the same,” she whispered.
“What?” Paco bypassed the casa and stables and parked the Jeep outside the white stucco walls beside a Mercedes flying the national flag of Saint Pierre.
“Never mind.”
Paco glanced at the shuttered casa. “The house looks as if it’s deserted.”
“I don’t think he’ll be in the house.” She jumped out of the Jeep. “Where’s the lake?”
“About a quarter of a mile over that hill.” He gestured to a rise to the south. “Do you want me to drive you?”
She shook her head. “I need time to think.”
He got out of the car and leaned on the front bumper. “Then I’ll wait here for you.”
He didn’t think she would be able to persuade Ricardo and was prepared to wait to pick up the pieces. Dear heaven, she hoped he was wrong.
She nodded in acknowledgment and set off quickly up the hill. She was shaking, she realized without surprise. She felt more nervous now than that first day Jurado had dragged her across the courtyard of the Abbey to the cell block where Ricardo Lázaro had been imprisoned.
Ricardo’s rancho was as beautiful as the word picture he had drawn for her in the cell. Her gaze wandered over lush green foliage, wide pampas-like pastures, rolling hills, and bright-petaled wild-flowers. Peace.
She crested the hill, and the small lake lay in the valley before her—a small gem of a lake surrounded by tall grass and cypress trees.
Ricardo stood on the bank, gazing unseeingly down at the white water lilies floating on the water.
“There are water lilies floating on the lake and my Labrador is racing along the bank chasing a squirrel.”
Ricardo wore dark trousers and a white linen shirt, and Lara felt a curious sense of shock as she looked at him. It was the first time she had seen him in anything but a military uniform. He somehow appeared less stern, more vulnerable in the civilian apparel. Vulnerable … and lonely.
She started down the hill.
He must have sensed her presence, for his head swiftly lifted and he glanced over his shoulder. She saw him stiffen as he saw her approaching only a few hundred yards away. She murmured a prayer under her breath.
“It’s just the same,” she called. “Just the way I pictured it. The casa, the ornamental bars, the lake. Only your big Labrador is missing.”
“Jaime is dead. They’re all dead.”
Lord, she had blundered already. The last thing she had wanted was to remind him of all he had lost.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“Paco brought me. He thinks you’re going to murder him.” She stopped before him. “I told him I’d protect him from you.”
Every muscle in his body looked as rigid as if it had turned to stone; his face was expressionless. “And who’s going to protect you from me? I would have thought you’d be able to take a hint. It’s over, Lara.”
“You know me. I’m as stubborn as they come. I don’t take hints.”
“How can I make it any plainer? I don’t want you; I don’t want your child; I don’t want—”
“Oh, shut up.” Her hands closed into fists at her sides as the tears rose helplessly to her eyes. “I’m tired of hearing you give me that bull. You love me. I know it, dammit.” Oh, Lor
d, she hoped she was right. “You love me and you want me.”
He was silent—as strong and guarded as an impregnable fortress.
Crumble. Please crumble.
Lara took a step closer “You’re so damn stupid. Don’t you know what we could have together? We love each other and we’re going to have a child. You wanted to have someone to belong to you and now you have the whole shooting match.” She closed her eyes. “Wrong phrase. Oh, dear, I can’t say anything right. I wasn’t going to remind you of guns and shooting. I know that’s what set you off the day the sniper shot you.”
“He almost killed you,” Ricardo said hoarsely.
Her eyes flicked open as hope stirred. Ricardo’s face was still expressionless, but there had been a note of raw pain in his voice.
“He was aiming at you. You’re the one who got the bullet through the shoulder. Have you noticed me shoving you away because that might happen again? I’m more selfish than that. I’m going to grab whatever happiness I can and stick close to you and make sure I keep anything away that can hurt you or—”
“Sometimes you can’t keep harm away. Sometimes, no matter how many precautions you take, it happens anyway.”
“Then we’ll have to face it.”
He shook his head.
She felt a wild burst of panic, and the tears that had been brimming overflowed and ran down her cheeks. “Don’t shake your head at me. You love me. Say it.” She took a step forward and grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “I’m hurting, dammit. Tell me.”
His fingers reached out to touch the dampness of her cheeks. “Oh, Lord,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t you see? I can’t say it. I can’t let anything happen to you.”
“I don’t see anything. I’m not your mother or your father; I’m not all the friends you’ve lost over the years; I’m not your dog, Jaime. I’m me! This is my choice.” She shook him again. “You say everyone has the right to choose, but you’re taking away the most important choice in my life. I won’t let you do that.”
“Please stop crying. It … hurts me.”
“Do you think I’m not hurting? I’m bleeding inside.” She looked up at him. “I’ve tried persistence, seduction, and reason, and none of it is getting through to you. And I know I shouldn’t be getting this upset right now. Our baby will probably be born with a hideously bad temper and be—”
“As stubborn as his mother,” Ricardo said huskily.
“I have to be stubborn. You won’t listen to me. Well, I’m not going away. Do you hear me? You’ll have to put me in the Abbey again to keep me away from you.”
“I burned the Abbey to the ground.”
“I forgot. Well, I’ll follow you around barefoot and pregnant and ruin your image.”
“I don’t give a damn about my image.”
“You care about Saint Pierre. That’s all you do care about.” She shook him again. “No, you care about me too. I know you do. Crumble, dammit.”
“Crumble?”
“Like the walls of Jericho. Be strong with someone else. Fight with someone else. I’m on your side.”
“If you’d stop shaking me and let me say something, you’d see that I’ve already crumbled.”
She froze. “You have?” Her gaze searched his face. He was smiling, his face illuminated with the tenderness she knew so well. “You have!”
He took her in his arms and held her with exquisite gentleness. “How can I help it? I can’t have you running around the streets barefoot and pregnant. It would offend both Manuel and Paco’s sense of proper behavior worthy of a first lady.”
“Don’t joke.” She wound her arms around him, and her words were muffled by his shirt. “I’m feeling very insecure. I need cosseting and reassurance.”
“I love you, Lara.” His voice broke on her name and his arms tightened about her. “Too much.”
“There’s no such thing as too much.”
“I should let you go.”
“Let? I thought I’d made it clear you’d have to hog-tie me, take away my passport, and close the borders to make me go.” Happiness ran through her in an exultant stream. She felt drunk with relief and joy. “I’m here for the long haul.”
“Lord, you’re stubborn.”
“I hate to lose. I would have been lost myself if I’d let you win this one.”
“I’m not so sure. You won’t be able to have what you want out of life.” He pushed her away from him. “No small town, no lake, no—”
“I can have a dog,” she said lightly. “I’ll get myself a mutt as big as an Irish wolfhound, buy him a jeweled collar, and flaunt him among the rich and famous.”
“I’m serious. I can’t even give you this right now.” He gestured to the lake. “My place is at the palacio and you’d have to live there too. If we lived apart, I couldn’t provide you and the child with the security measures I’d feel comfortable with.”
She made a face. “Why do I feel we’re going to be tripping over bodyguards even in the bedroom?”
He suddenly smiled. “Perhaps not in the bedroom but everywhere else.” His smile faded. “I’m terrified of you dying. I won’t lose you.”
“No, you won’t lose me and I damn well won’t lose you. And, as for the cottage …” She shrugged. “It can wait.”
He kissed her. “Yes, it can wait.”
“And when I feel I need to get away from the palacio, I can come to you as I did in the cell and you can tell me about the rancho and we can pretend…. Maybe imagination is better than reality anyway.”
“Not for us,” Ricardo said. “Not from now on.” His index finger gently touched one tear-wet lash. “‘Bramble dew.’”
“That poem you quoted me,” she identified. “My eyes are swollen and I’m sniffing like a baby. I can’t imagine anyone comparing me to the heroine in a poem at the moment.”
He nodded. “There’s one more verse to it, you know.”
She tilted her head and gazed at him curiously. “Why didn’t you recite it before?”
“You wouldn’t even say you loved me at the time and I was afraid I’d scare you away.”
She chuckled as she remembered her impassioned pursuit of Ricardo for the past two days. “That seems like a very long time ago. Everything has turned around. My, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Crumbled,” Ricardo corrected, his dark eyes twinkling.
She nodded. “Crumbled. What’s the last verse?”
He smiled, his expression loving as he quoted softly,
“Teacher, tender comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul-free,
The August Father gave to me.”
Tender Savage is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
2010 Bantam Books Mass Market Edition
Copyright © 1990 by Iris Johansen
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Originally published in paperback in the United States by Bantam, an imprint of Random House, Inc., in 1990.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90774-2
www.bantamdell.com
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Iris Johansen, Tender Savage
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