Like drinking and whoring at Conchita’s Cantina, she thought, almost wishing she had eaten in her room after all.There was something about Angelo de la Guerra, something she couldn’t quite pin down, yet it bothered her just the same.
She forced herself to smile. “Will… will you join me?”
“I am afraid I have already eaten. And there is a matter of some importance I must see to.” He rose from his chair, took her hand and brought it to his lips. They felt cool and dry, not the least bit pleasant. “It has been a pleasure meeting you…?”
“Caralee,” she supplied, oddly wishing she didn’t have to tell him her name at all. But the man was her husband’s cousin. She really had no choice.
“It has been a pleasure, Cousin Caralee. Be sure to give Ramon my regards.”
Carly only nodded. She watched him leave, his gait more a swagger than a walk. When the plump Mexican woman brought the meal, Carly discovered she was no longer hungry.
Instead she picked at the food, forcing herself to eat at least a portion of it, then returned upstairs to read. Several times her mind strayed to Angel de la Guerra and the uncomfortable feeling she had experienced in his presence. Eventually, the pages in the book began to blur and she set the text on the bedside table. Wearily she blew out the lamp and slid more deeply between the covers. Surprisingly it didn’t take long to fall asleep.
She dreamed of Ramon, a pleasant dream, filled with warmth and love and hope for the future. She wondered if Ramon dreamed of her.
***
Angel de la Guerra slipped silently down the hallway, moving with the stealth of a man who knew how to handle himself. It was a confidence he had lacked until his years in prison… perhaps until he had killed his first man.
In the lobby below, a grandfather clock ticked softly, breaking into the quiet. It was well past midnight. No light filtered beneath the closed doors; the hotel guests were sleeping. Listening for the sound of footfalls but hearing none, he pulled a long, thin piece of wire from the waistband of his buckskin breeches, eased it into the lock on the door, flicked it one way and then the other, and heard the satisfying sound of the lock beginning to turn.
Removing the wire, he quietly turned the knob and shoved open the door, then stepped soundlessly into the room.
He stopped at the foot of the bed. Caralee de la Guerra lay sleeping, her long dark copper hair fanned out across her pillow. She wore a beautifully embroidered white silk nightgown so sheer he could see the rose aureoles at the crest of her high full breasts. The sheet and blanket had been shoved down haphazardly past her waist. He noticed how tiny it was above the gentle flaring of her hips.
He was hard already just knowing what he intended, had been since before he had opened the door. Now his shaft was stiff and pulsing, his palms beginning to sweat as he imagined himself pumping into her ripe little body, the taking even sweeter for the fact she belonged to Ramon.
She was sleeping soundly. He quietly stripped off his clothes then eased back the covers and climbed into the bed beside her. She had only stirred once. Now she rolled toward him, resting a small hand on his chest, and in her sleep she smiled.
Angel smiled, too. Easing the nightgown off her shoulder, he bared a pale upturned breast, cupped it with his hand and began to tease the nipple. Just as it puckered into hardness, her eyes snapped open and she came up off the bed. He caught her scream in his mouth, slanting his lips over hers as he gripped her wrists and forced her back down on the mattress. Only the sixthsense he had developed in prison enabled him to hear the door as it swung wide.
He turned in time to see his cousin silhouetted in the frame, his face a black mask of rage. Angel steeled himself. He wouldn’t be bested again.
“Ramon… what are you doing here?”
The bigger man did not move, just stood riveted in the doorway. “I think the question is better asked of you.”
“Ramon…” Carly whispered.
Angel just looked down at her. He released his bruising grip on her wrists. “I am sorry, cousin. I did not know the little whore belonged to you.”
A muscle bunched in Ramon’s hard jaw. “Thelittle whoreis my wife.”
Angel swore softly, fluently. “Dios mio,I did not know.” He swung his legs to the side of the bed. “I saw her in the dining room. We spoke briefly and she invited me here. If I had known who she was…por Dios,Ramon—”
“Get out,” he said.
“What… what is he saying?” Carly stared from Ramon to Angel, her body still trembling with anger and fear. “That—that isn’t what happened.”
“I am sorry, cousin.” Angel grabbed his breeches, slid them on, then grabbed his shirt and boots, and started for the door.
“You don’t believe him?” Carly said, finally gathering her wits enough to speak. “He came in here and tried to… tried to… and you’re just going to let him leave?”
Angel closed the door, and Ramon’s dark eyes swung to her face. Fury hardened his features, made him look like the ruthless, brutal man she knew he could be. “Perhaps you would prefer I leave instead, since you and my cousin seemed to be so thoroughly enjoying each other.”
“What!”
“At least have the decency to cover yourself. You may be certain that I am no longer interested in your somewhat tarnished charms—no matter how appealing they might be.”
