Sweet Promise Page 4

  Three

  * * *

  Erica hesitated on the edge of the hotel grounds. She wasn’t in the mood for sunbathing or swimming and she felt if she had to spend one more afternoon staring at the replica of Columbus’s ship, the Niña, that rested on the beach, she would scream.

  They had been in Acapulco a full week. Apart from the market place, the hotel, the cliff-divers and the beach, Erica had seen nothing. They could have easily been in Miami Beach instead of Mexico for all she had seen of the country.

  Her father had even claimed Lawrence, admonishing Erica to enjoy the sunshine. She tucked her book deeper under her arm. It was an interesting and informative book on the history of Mexico that her father had given her. When she had left her father and Lawrence clustered over some figures, she had intended to find a secluded nook in the hotel gardens and read. Now that thought didn’t appeal to her.

  Sighing dejectedly, Erica turned down one of the garden walks. Her heartbeat quickened as she recognised the figure walking towards her. As yet the dark stranger hadn’t seen her. Uncertain exactly why she wanted to avoid meeting him again, attracted and repelled at the same time, Erica tried to dodge behind a high bush and slip through the foliage to another walk that she knew was only a few feet away.

  In her haste, she forgot the book tucked beneath her arm and it tumbled to the ground, landing with a resounding thud. For a split second, she froze behind the concealing leaves, staring at the book now lying in the centre of the walk. That second’s hesitation deprived her of the chance to slip away unseen as the purposeful footsteps slowed as he neared the book.

  Silently cursing her ineptitude, Erica stepped into the walkway as he bent over to retrieve her book. ‘I’m afraid I dropped that,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Señorita,’ he nodded in recognition. There was speculation in the glance that darted from her to the bush.

  ‘I was taking a short cut to the other path.’ The defensive thrust of her chin dared him to ask why.

  But the glitter of amusement in his dark eyes said he had guessed. His gaze travelled down to the book in his hand before he held it out to her.

  ‘It is a pity to read about Mexico when you are here and can learn about it first-hand,’ he commented.

  His observation was an exact echo of her own sentiments. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the book.

  ‘The way things are going, I’m going to have to be satisfied with this.’ Anger and self-pity made her voice tremble as it was drawn through clenched teeth. ‘My father is much too busy for sightseeing.’ She darted him a sideways look that didn’t quite reach his face, although she was over-aware of the attractive contrast of his white polo shirt and the deeply blue trousers tautly moulding his thighs. ‘Thank you for giving me back my book, señor.’ She started to turn away.

  ‘Señorita.’ The authoritative ring of his voice halted her, only to become mellow when he spoke again. ‘I would be pleased to show you around this afternoon if you are free.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Her denial was vigorous, causing her sable brown hair to dance about her shoulders. Erica didn’t care to be exposed to the potent sexual attraction that threatened to captivate her whenever she saw him.

  ‘Why not?’ Again there was that impression of arrogance, of a man who was not accustomed to having his invitations refused.

  The amethyst pupils of her eyes darkened to plum by her scorn. ‘I wouldn’t like to make your — your lady-friend jealous and deprive you of what must be very hard-earned money,’ Erica stated.

  ‘My lady-friend?’ His lips thinned as her arrow found its target.

  ‘Yes.’ Her expression was smugly sarcastic. ‘The blonde. I’ve seen you with her several times, on the beach and other places.’

  ‘Ah, you mean Helen,’ he nodded, mocking amusement glittering in his eyes.

  ‘I really wouldn’t know what her name is,’ Erica shrugged. ‘I simply noticed that the tan she’s so keen to acquire only makes her look older.’

  ‘I would think someone as young and beautiful as you are could afford to be sympathetic to a woman who finds her beauty fading with each rising of the sun.’

  The gentle reproval made Erica avert her head. She did feel sorry for the woman, and at the same time contempt that the woman should attempt to capture her lost youth in this man’s arms.

  ‘Perhaps,’ was the only admission she made.

  ‘Helen is visiting friends this afternoon, so you need not think that you are stealing me away from her by accepting my invitation,’ he mocked.

  ‘It never occurred to me to try to steal you away.’ Her eyes widened with genuine innocence.

  ‘Then if you are not burdened by guilt feelings of trespassing and you truly would like to see the city, there is no reason for you to refuse my offer.’

  His logical statement figuratively removed the ground beneath her feet. ‘I suppose not,’ she faltered.

  ‘Then you do accept?’ There was a patronizingly inquiring tilt of his head.

  ‘I . . . I suppose so,’ she stammered uncertainly, trying to shake off the feeling that she had fallen into some trap he had set for her.

  ‘If we are going to spend the afternoon together, I cannot keep calling you “señorita”.’ A faint smile edged the corners of his mouth. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Erica — ’ Then she stopped. Even in Acapulco, she had discovered that the name of Wakefield was known. This man already saw her as a rich tourist and she would rather he didn’t know how rich. ‘My name is Erica.’

  ‘Erica.’ His pronunciation lightly rolled the ‘r’, the foreign inflection giving her name a very caressive sound. ‘My name is Rafael.’

  Like Erica he added no more than that. Unlike him, she didn’t test the sound of it on her lips. The unusual name was too much like its owner, smooth and commanding like satin covering steel, and arrogant.

  ’do you wish to notify your father where you are going?’ Rafael inquired.

  ‘As long as I am back by five, he won’t care where I am,’ Erica sighed.

  Vance Wakefield was too involved in some pending crisis and was too confident of her ability to take care of herself, his trust a compliment if Erica had chosen to look at it that way.

  Rafael didn’t seem surprised by her remark as he stepped to the side, his hand extended for Erica to precede him in the direction from which he had just come.

  ‘My car is parked over here,’ he told her.

  The car was a very expensive European sports car, its colour a highly polished silver-grey, the luxurious interior upholstery a blend of black and silver.

  ‘Is this your car or . . . Helen’s?’ Erica questioned when Rafael slid into the driver’s seat beside her.

  The sleek elegance matched the driver, who glanced at her casually before turning the ignition key that sprang the powerful engine to life.

  ’do you think I could afford such a model?’ answering her question with a question.

  ‘No, I guess not,’ she agreed with a rueful shake of her head.

  The beginning of their drive took them along the familiar bay front as Rafael identified the small rocky island as La Roqueta, suggesting that Erica take the glass-bottom boat to see the submerged shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe near the island. When she expressed curiosity about some of the yachts sailing in the harbour, he took her to the docks where many were moored.

  He pointed out a mammoth vessel and said, ‘That is — where I am staying.’

  Erica glanced at him in surprise. ‘I thought you stayed at the hotel.’

  ‘No, it is only a popular place,’ Rafael shrugged.

  She looked back at the yacht, its name indecipherable at this distance. ‘Helen must be very rich,’ she mused.

  ‘I believe she is.’ He changed gears and turned the car away from the water.

  From the yacht club, they went to the San Diego Fort overlooking the bay. Rafael took her through the museum housed in the reconstructed star-shaped fort, the orig
inal buildings destroyed by an earthquake. Erica was surprised to discover that Rafael was quite knowledgeable about the history of the area and knew that on her own she wouldn’t have found the tour as enjoyable or interesting.

  Their next stop was the Plaza de Toros. Erica needed no one to translate the sign. This was the place of the bullfights. She glanced sharply at Rafael.

  ‘I really don’t care to go here,’ she said firmly.

  ‘You don’t like bullfights?’ The question was asked with the certain knowledge that her answer would be negative.

  Erica didn’t disappoint him. ‘No, I don’t like bullfights.’

  ‘They are only held on Sundays and holidays, and today is neither.’ A whisper of amusement was in his expression. ‘I thought you might like to see the inside of a bullring, however empty it might be. Wait here while I get permission to take you in,’ he instructed.

  A few minutes later he returned and guided Erica into the Plaza de Toros, admitted by an elderly Mexican who nodded deferentially to both of them. Erica listened with half an ear while Rafael explained the ritual of the contest, the parts played by the mounted picadors, the banderillos who enabled the matador to observe the fighting characteristics of the bull, and the matador himself who is obligated to execute difficult passes to prove his skill to the crowd.

  Mostly Erica was caught up in the eerie atmosphere of the empty stadium, the blood red colour of the wooden barrier that separated the crowd from the ring, the sawdust and sand arena. She had only to close her eyes to hear the cries of the crowd and visualise the black bull charging the magenta cape of a gold-bedecked matador. In spite of herself she shuddered.

  ‘You find the thought of the contest revolting?’ Rafael’s quiet voice asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I would be rooting for the bull,’ Erica stated. He was standing beside her, a complacently amused smile on his face. ‘Have you ever fought a bull?’

  ‘I would guess that all of my countrymen have, if not in reality then in their mind,’ he replied smoothly, turning his blandly dark gaze on her.

  ‘But you actually did, didn’t you?’ she guessed correctly. ‘Why? To prove that man is superior to beast? Or did you simply want to find out how you would react at — what do they call that? — the moment of truth?’

  ‘Some consider it a test of manhood,’ Rafael said sardonically. An enigmatic light in the depths of his eyes held her captive. ‘But I have found there are much more difficult moments of truth to be faced in a man’s life than the one containing a fighting bull. Ones in which a man’s future and his happiness hang in the balance.’

  A spell seemed to be cast on her and it was she who was dangling in the air while Rafael controlled the strings. His words held some portent for her that Erica couldn’t understand. Then there was a glimmer of white as he smiled and took her arm.

  ‘Have you seen enough? Shall we go back to the car to continue your tour?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Erica replied, fighting the odd breathlessness that paralysed her lungs.

  The silver car climbed the mountains guarding the city, hugging the switchback curves as it climbed higher and higher. Erica was still inwardly analysing that moment in the Plaza de Toros while absently responding to Rafael’s questions.

  Not until they were nearly to the top did she realise that her answers had dealt mainly with her childhood and her relationship with her father. Some defence mechanism in her mind had prevented her from answering in specifics, but thinking back she realised her replies had given him a very accurate picture of her life. She was not normally so open with strangers and she resented his ability to penetrate her reserve.

  ‘And you are twenty years old, you said.’ His gaze left the road long enough to see her affirmative nod.

  ‘How old are you?’ Erica asked quickly.

  ‘Almost twelve years older than you are,’ Rafael replied, switching down to a lower gear as he braked and eased the car into a wide turn-out. ‘This is what I wanted to show you.’

  As the car rolled slowly to a stop, Erica stared at the panoramic view before her, barely conscious of the brakes being set and the motor switched off. When Rafael opened her car door, she stepped eagerly on to the gravel.

  The vividly blue water of the bay below them was ringed by the golden beach. The many-storied hotels looked more like miniature blocks while the boats on the water resembled grey-white dots. Beyond the city were mountains and beyond the mountains was another range of mountains. The sky was as blue as the sea, its brilliant colour only disrupted by thin tails of high filmy clouds.

  ‘At night the view is equally beautiful,’ he told her.

  ‘I can believe it,’ Erica breathed, walking forward to expand her nearly limitless view.

  ‘Careful!’ His voice rang out sharply at the same instant his fingers closed over her arm, drawing her away from the edge.

  The suddenness with which he drew her back made her lose her balance so that she fell heavily against him and his other hand gripped her waist to steady her. Her palms felt the burning warmth of the hard chest beneath his shirt.

  ‘The edge is sometimes undermined,’ he explained.

  Erica’s heart was racing, the closeness of his lithe, muscular body erasing any other thought. She tilted her head back to gaze into his face so tantalizingly near her own. His dark eyes were focused on her parted lips, the sensual line of his mouth only inches away.

  Erica was consumed by an overwhelming desire for Rafael to kiss her and for a split second she was positive that he would. Then his gaze flicked to the ardent glow in her eyes and he firmly set her apart from him.

  She stared at him for a long moment. ‘Why didn’t you kiss me?’ she asked, fighting the pangs of rejection.

  An expression of amazed amusement lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘The women of your country are always this forthright, aren’t they? They boldly seek out the answers.’

  The hint of criticism brought a faint tinge of pink to her cheekbones, but Erica wasn’t deterred. ‘If you don’t ask, you don’t learn,’ she answered calmly.

  ‘Since you wish to speak candidly, Erica, why did you want to kiss me?’ Aloofly he studied her sudden increase of colour. ’did you wish to discover if this mystique about Latin lovers was true? A little experiment to brighten your holiday, perhaps?’

  Erica averted her head, nervously brushing her hair away from her face. ‘Frankly, I didn’t give your nationality a thought at the time,’ she answered truthfully.

  It was his overpowering maleness that seemed to make her gravitate towards him. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes and saw the faint glitter of doubt.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ she asserted curtly, ‘although I wouldn’t be surprised if your experience puts you in the class of a Don Juan.’

  ’do you believe the mark of a great lover is the number of women he possesses?’ he asked, watching her reaction intently.

  ’don’t you?’ Erica snapped.

  ‘I think the test of a lover is keeping one woman happy for her entire life,’ Rafael stated, his seductively quiet voice vibrating with firm conviction.

  ‘That — ’ Shivers raced down her spine at his words. She paused to swallow the sudden catch in her voice before answering boldly. ‘ — That still doesn’t answer why you didn’t kiss me. You said before that I was beautiful.’

  ‘A man does not seek outward beauty. That can be found in abundance. It is inner beauty that is rare.’

  ‘What about me?’ The question was reluctantly asked as she proudly lifted her chin.

  ‘I think,’ Rafael answered slowly, ‘that inside you are a bit selfish.’ He ignored her gasp of anger. ‘You claim to have deep affection for your father, yet you try to separate him from his work, which gives him great pride and pleasure. If you truly love someone, you want their happiness above yours.’

  ‘That’s a terrible thing to say!’ There was a betraying quiver of her chin. Her hand raised to wipe the vaguely superior expression
from his face, but his own lightning movement stopped her, her wrist held in a vice grip.

  ‘I was about to add,’ Rafael continued calmly, a wicked glitter of laughter in his eyes, ‘that you are very sensitive and would not knowingly hurt anyone.’

  ‘Let me go!’ Erica tried to twist her wrist free without succeeding. ‘I don’t want you to touch me!’

  ‘A moment ago you wanted me to kiss you.’ His other hand slipped beneath her hair to cup the back of her head. ‘Or are you trying to prove you aren’t hurt by pretending that you don’t care?’

  ‘It’s called pride,’ she said, breathing heavily with anger and frustration. ‘You should know what that is. You seem to have an over-abundance of it.’

  ‘I did not kiss you because I don’t like being used. And I could not be certain that you regarded me as a man or as a Mexican,’ he stated.

  Erica blinked in disbelief. ‘How could any woman not be aware of you as a man?’ It was a thought she hadn’t realised she had spoken until she saw the arrogant satisfaction in his eyes.

  There was a fleeting sensation of danger, of being drawn to the edge of a deep abyss and catapulted into its dark depths. The sensual expertise of the mouth that covered hers banished her hold on reality. She should protest, struggle free from his kiss, her mind told her, but with a shuddering sigh she clung to him. Some latent instinct arched her body closer to his, a gesture of surrender.

  Immediately his hold on her tightened with crushing suffocation, choking off her breath and strength. And his kiss hardened into possession, ruthlessly staking an ownership that Erica couldn’t deny and didn’t want to deny.

  Then Rafael was firmly untangling the hands she had wound around his neck and placing them at her side. Erica still trembled from her total, elemental awareness of him. The purplescent roundness of her eyes gazed into the impersonal mask, her skin tingling with the electric shock of his possession.