Chapter Seven
The sense of urgency gripping both of them was at breaking point. Diego wanted a repeat of last night. Celina did too, with an almost feverish desperation. He’d drawn to a halt outside the hay barn, and she knew very well what would come next.
“Let’s go tackle those clothes,” he growled.
Another chance to bind them closer, she persuaded herself as Diego opened the great wooden door on to fragrant darkness. They walked inside, and the door swung shut on well-oiled hinges. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her ears to the silence. All her senses sharpened when Diego took her by the hand. Gossip on the team said he was cold. There was nothing cold about him now. He gave her hand a quick squeeze as if to reassure her. He relished the inferno that blazed between them. There would be fire in his eyes and the warmth that came with familiarity. They were doing more than getting to know each other; they were starting to be close. She could never confuse Diego with those in her childhood who had left their invisible scars. He was anything but insensitive. Once he’d picked up the clues she’d left—and she had to believe he would—Diego would know that she would only return to the village, and the start of the horror, for the very best of reasons. He’d be angry, and he’d stop her if he could, but all she needed was his support in what she had to do.
“Do I have your full attention?” he inquired with amusement in his voice.
She’d stopped in the middle of the barn as she battled with her conscience and thought about the necessary deceit of pretending that she was here to stay with no imminent dangerous journeys planned.
“You certainly do,” she said truthfully. She could think of nothing but Diego, and how she would feel when she left him.
“I know when you’re upset,” he insisted. Cupping her chin, he raised her face to his. All she could see were his dark eyes, luminous with concern. His face was so deeply shadowed, she couldn’t read it. “What are you thinking about?” he pressed.
“You.”
Diego shrugged, and she knew that her trite answer had gone no way to answering his question. She had to be strong like her mother, who was not the slut they’d called her at the orphanage. Celina’s mother had done extraordinary things. Another victim of slavers, Celina had learned as an adult, her mother had given birth alone in the forest, but had come back into town to leave Celina on the steps of the orphanage, where she knew she would be found.
“So long I’m not keeping you from anything else?” he murmured dryly.
“I think you know that’s not the case.” Impulsively, she clung to him as tightly as if this was their last chance to be together.
“Do you need help taking your clothes off?”
“Was that a hint?”
He shrugged, and she could sense his smile. She’d forgotten the ugly clothes. Imagining them through Diego’s eyes was a welcome relief from the tension. “I haven’t worn anything so hideous since I volunteered to be the teacher most likely to fall into the dunk tank at our school’s annual fundraiser,” she admitted.
“You must miss your school,” Diego commented softly as he helped her out of the jacket.
“I miss the pupils. I miss my friends.”
“You must,” he agreed as he tossed the jacket aside. “Don’t worry, we’ll finish the job we started in Monte Carlo.”
The edge in his voice promised vengeance. Her heart lifted at the thought that she could help him in ways he couldn’t even guess yet.
“Celina?”
“Yes?”
Diego kissed her. It was a lingering, thoughtful kiss. “Remind me to buy you some more flattering clothes.”
She laughed with relief. For a moment, she thought he’d guessed what she planned to do. “I’ll buy my own.”
“Ms. Independence?”
“Yes,” she agreed, thinking about the journey ahead of her.
Laying her down on the hay, Diego continued to undress her. The sweet-scented bed was a marked contrast to the stink of the cellar in Monte Carlo, or the tang of disinfectant in the orphanage. She could never understand why visitors didn’t comment on the stench when they came to give gifts to the “poor children” at Christmastime, gifts that were no sooner given than they were taken away. The loss of the books had hurt most. She had never forgotten their shiny new covers or the smell of untouched pages. The library trolley at the orphanage was encouraged, but the books it carried were torn and dirty. It was just another form of cruelty, she thought now. If the matron had known Celina imagined the missing parts of the stories, supplying images in her mind to fill the blanks, she would have confiscated the library trolley too.
“Stop,” Diego warned, dropping a kiss on her naked shoulder. “Stop thinking back. Concentrate on the here and now.”
He was right, and that wasn’t difficult when he was stroking her back to soothe her. Moments of happiness should be treasured.
Tingles of expectation shot down her spine when Diego’s touches became more searching. Her buttocks lifted, seemingly of their own accord, and he stroked them too.
“Beautiful,” he breathed against her neck.
