Authors: Suzanne Brockmann
“I got away, but I was badly wounded. I knew I couldn’t make it off the island the conventional way because the police were looking for me. I didn’t know where else to turn, so I went to Marisala. She hid me.”
Lauren nodded. “Go on.”
“I was hurt pretty bad, and it was about six months before I could even walk again—before I was strong enough to survive the boat ride that would take me off San Salustiano.” Liam massaged his temples.
“What happened to Santiago?”
“He was in prison all that time. But we didn’t even know if he was still alive.”
“This wasn’t when your brother went down there looking for you, was it?”
Liam shook his head. “No. This was more than a year before that. The special police found out about the boat Marisala’s father had rented, and figured correctly that it was for me, since I was still at large. The government wanted to make damn sure that I didn’t get off the island. I knew too much. So they searched the entire village, and when they couldn’t find me, Tomás Vásquez, the captain of the special police, threatened to burn it. He threatened to kill all of the men and boys if I didn’t come forward.”
He tried to make his voice more matter-of-fact, tried to feel as detached as he sounded, tried to report only the facts. But the facts were brutal and his voice cracked. “So I turned myself in, but Vásquez burned the village and killed the men and boys anyway. Marisala’s father and brother were among the murdered.”
Lauren drew in a breath, and Liam tried to fight the memories. He’d been there. He’d watched as that monster had given the order to gun down those innocent people. Marisala had been there too. He couldn’t help but remember the sheer horror in her eyes. He couldn’t erase the image of her fighting to free herself from the other women who held her, fighting to run to her father and brother, even though they were already dead, even though she herself would then be in range of those deadly machine guns.
“That’s when Marisala joined the guerrilla forces. I went to prison,” he stated, “and Marisala took up her father’s gun and went to war.”
It was amazing. With a few sentences, Liam could simplify and describe eighteen months of sheer hell.
“Since Marisala was Santiago’s niece, it didn’t take her long to win the respect and following she needed to become a leader in the rebel movement. By the time she was seventeen, she was making command decisions and leading from the front lines.”
“Isn’t that unusual?” Lauren asked, uncrossing and recrossing her legs with another whisper of silk. “Aren’t women considered second-class citizens in that country?”
Liam nodded. “Yeah. It was unusual.
She’s
unusual.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Eventually, the rebel army attacked the prison where I was being held, and I was freed. Sort of. Everyone and their brother, including Tomás Vásquez himself, was after me. And after all those months in prison, I wasn’t in real good shape.”
Another massive understatement.
“That was when my brother and his wife came to the island,” Liam continued. “And with their help, Marisala got me to safety.”
Lauren took a delicate sip from her glass of water. “So now this Marisala is in Boston.”
“She’s a freshman at the university, but someone screwed up, and she doesn’t have a dorm room.”
“So she’s staying with you.”
“Only for a few nights.” Please God, let them find a safe, clean apartment first thing in the morning.
“Lee, I hate to suddenly turn editor on you, but do you think Marisala would consent to an interview for the paper? This story is incredible and—”
“No.” He glared at her. “Absolutely not. No way. Santiago made me her guardian, and
I
won’t consent. She doesn’t need to be reminded of that hell all over again. And God knows she doesn’t need the notoriety. Santiago wants her to have a normal, quiet,
civilized
life now.”
Lauren took another sip of her sparkling water, gazing at him over the top of the glass. “Maybe so. But what does
Marisala
want?”
Marisala wanted to go into Liam’s room.
She’d been standing in the doorway for several long minutes, trying to decide whether Liam’s casual “make yourself at home” included exploring his bedchamber.
Across the room, his bed was an unmade jumble of brightly patterned sheets and pillows. It was bigger than a normal double bed, perfect for two lovers to sleep comfortably—stretched out yet still touching, replete after making deliciously passionate, pulse-pounding love.
Against the other wall was a dresser, its wood stain a deep, rich brown. And several exercise machines were set up and ready for use in front of the windows.
The curtains were still closed, keeping all but a single red-orange ray from the setting sun out of the room.
Make yourself at home.
Marisala knew quite well that Liam hadn’t meant for her to go into his bedroom and lie down on his bed, but she didn’t care. She did it anyway. His sheets smelled like him and she lay back against his pillows, breathing in his masculine scent.
His bedroom looked even nicer from this angle.
There was a small clock radio sitting on an elegantly simple bedside table, and Marisala reached for it, switching it on.
She’d been looking for a radio for the entire hour that Liam had been gone.
His condo was much too quiet.
There was a complicated home electronics system down in Liam’s enormous living room, but the only thing she’d managed to turn on was the television. But TV bored her. She’d wanted music to help fill the empty rooms of this ridiculously huge condominium that Liam called home. How many rooms did one man need? Liam had eight, not counting the three bathrooms. Three! What a decadent, luxurious, incredible waste of space for a man living alone.
And he did live alone. There was nothing in any of the other rooms that even remotely suggested that another person—that a woman—lived with him.
As the sound of jazz filled the room Marisala turned the radio’s dial, searching for a Spanish station. She found a familiar merengue beat and lay back against the pillows.
Yes, she liked this room.
She would like it even better if Liam were here, in this bed with her.
He wanted her. He wanted
her
. The thought still made her want to laugh aloud. But she knew it was true. She’d seen it in his eyes.
She wasn’t in love with him. Not anymore. Too much had happened. Too many years had passed.
But wanting and loving weren’t even close to being the same thing. And love was far too complicated and binding, anyway. But the heat of desire was an entirely different matter.
Especially since Liam Bartlett was the sexiest man she’d ever known. He was quite possibly the sexiest man in the entire world.
And Marisala was here, living with him in his house until she found her own apartment.
With any luck, it wouldn’t be that easy to find an apartment. With any luck, she’d have to stay here for days. Weeks, even.
And sooner or later the fire she’d seen in Liam’s eyes would consume them both.
Sooner. She hoped it would be sooner.
Restlessly, she stood up and prowled around the room. The blue carpet under her bare feet was impossibly soft and thick. The dark-stained wood of his dresser was as smooth as satin beneath her fingers.
She gazed at the pictures scattered across the dressertop, picking up a wedding portrait. The groom was Liam’s brother, Cal. Half brother, she remembered. Cal was dark-haired, dark-complexioned, and intensely serious, as different from Liam as he could possibly be, with the exception of his rather startlingly blue eyes. In the picture, Cal gazed intently at his bride, his mouth curling in only the slightest of smiles.
As she set the photo back down a picture of Liam sitting astride a horse caught her eye. Mother of God, he couldn’t have been much more than seventeen years old when that photograph was taken. His face was impossibly young and intensely beautiful. He wore a cowboy hat pushed way back on his blond head, and he was laughing. In the background were the gorgeous mountains that surrounded his brother’s Montana ranch. Marisala recognized them, even though she’d never been to Montana. Liam had described their beauty to her countless times in both English and Spanish as they lay in the jungle, hiding from the soldiers who were searching for them both.
She opened the top drawer of his dresser, knowing that she shouldn’t, but unable to stop herself.
It was filled with a jumble of gleaming white briefs and socks of all colors. She’d found Liam’s underwear drawer.
Giggling, Marisala quickly shut it, chastising herself as she turned away.
Make yourself at home
definitely didn’t include poking through Liam’s underwear.
She moved quickly across the room to turn off the radio. She shouldn’t have come in here. Not uninvited. Of course, if she had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t be long before she
was
invited in.
As she switched off the music she saw the copy of Salinger’s short stories on Liam’s bedside table.
Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters
. Liam had told her he always went back to his favorite writer, J.D., and that story in particular, whenever he was feeling bad.
Something
was
bothering him. She’d known from the moment she’d seen him at the airport. He was hiding something from her. At first she’d thought that was only the result of time. The years they’d spent apart would naturally put some distance between them.
She picked up the book and there, inside, being used as a bookmark, was an envelope made of a fine off-white linen blend. The same kind of paper her uncle used.
Sure enough, as she turned it over, she saw it was addressed to Liam in Santiago’s familiar, spidery handwriting.
Make yourself at home
did
not
include reading Liam’s mail.
Except the letter
was
from her uncle and probably concerned her. And the temptation to find out exactly what her uncle had said to Liam was too powerful.
Marisala opened the letter and began to read.
THREE
L
IAM SAW HER
only by chance. Marisala was walking quickly down the street, nearly three blocks away from his condo. Her backpack was over her shoulders, her suitcase in her hand.
What the hell?…
He pulled his car in next to a fire hydrant, leaving his flashers on as he ran after her. “Marisala!”
She turned to see him chasing her, then turned away, never even breaking stride.
“Hey,” he said, finally catching up to her. “What’s the matter? Where are you going?”
She didn’t slow down as she glared at him and let loose a volley of Spanish.
His own Spanish had become quite good after two years in San Salustiano, but it had been a long time since he’d used it. He caught the gist of her words, though. Something about sewer rats, horse manure, and him. Something about a letter from Santiago that she’d found and read, something about deceitful, dung-eating former friends…
She knew. Somehow, she’d found Santiago’s letter, and she
knew
.
Liam swore sharply, running once again to catch up with her. “Marisala, I swear, I was going to tell you—”
She spun to face him then. “Yeah?” she said. “When? When were you going to tell me that Santiago has asked you to teach me how to dress, and how to stand, and how to be quiet when the men are talking? When were you going to mention that he has asked you to teach me how to walk and make small talk and even how I should wear my hair?”
She was furious. She was shaking with indignation, and Liam knew he’d made a mistake. “I’m sorry. I should have told you right away.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need a guardian. And I
certainly
don’t need your false hospitality.”
“Marisala—”
“How could you make such a stupid agreement? How could you even consider doing what Santiago asked?”
“It didn’t seem like such a big deal. All you need to do is learn how to come on a little less strong—”
“So I come on too strong?” She all but kicked him in the shins, and Liam knew that she would have liked to. “Thank you so much for informing me of that fact. I had no idea I was so utterly
repugnant
!”
“Marisala, your uncle is from another generation. It would be much easier for you to get along with him if you—”
“If I do
what?
If I sit quietly in the corner and not interrupt when he is speaking, even if I have something important to add? If I wear the dresses and skirts he wants me to wear? Or if I spend the rest of my life with Enrique Morales, a man he paid off to marry me?”
“Paid off? What are you talking a—”
“I was almost married a few years ago.”
Liam knew that. He’d been invited to the wedding, but he’d sent his regrets. He’d made up some excuse so he didn’t have to go and watch Marisala marry someone else. It hadn’t been until Santiago had written to him a few months ago that he’d found out the wedding plans had fallen through.
“A few days before the wedding, I found out Santiago had approached my lover, Enrique. Santiago had offered him a very large sum of money to marry me. I didn’t know this when he proposed. I thought—” Marisala raised her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I was foolish, but I found out in time and there was no wedding.”
Her lover. Enrique. Liam hated the man, deeply, perversely, not just because he had clearly hurt Marisala, but because he had touched her, loved her. And because she had loved
him
enough to want to marry him.
He forced himself to stop thinking about Enrique Morales, the bastard. He forced himself to banish the pictures that had sprung instantly to mind—pictures of Marisala, dark eyes heavy-lidded with passion, wrapped in another man’s arms….
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Mara, why don’t we go back inside and talk?”
“Because I have absolutely no desire to talk to you, that’s why not. Because it’s going to get dark soon, and I have to find a place to stay tonight.”
Liam felt a flash of frustration that was surely amplified by thoughts of Enrique, thoughts that wouldn’t be good and go away. He took a deep breath and worked to keep his voice even. “Okay, I know you’re mad. You have a right to be mad. I should have told you. I’m sorry. But just because I made a mistake doesn’t mean you’re not going to stay with me until we find an—”
She picked up her suitcase and started down the sidewalk. “I have nothing more to say to you. I’m twenty-two years old, I don’t need a guardian. I don’t need you. ‘We’ are not going to find
anything
together. Leave me alone.”
Liam knew he had to stay calm. Sooner or later Marisala’s hot temper would cool, and she would once again see reason. He followed her. “Look, I’ve got a pizza in the car and I’m parked in front of a hydrant. Let’s just—”
“No. It’s obvious your loyalties lie with Santiago.”
They were creating a scene, right there, as he chased her down the sidewalk. Some of the people passing by were giving them a wide berth, others were lingering, watching their exchange with great interest. Liam blocked Marisala’s path, feeling his own temper rising dangerously high despite his best intentions. “Forgive me for wanting to help an old friend.”
Lightning blazed from her stormy eyes. “Oh, so what am I? A plate of refried beans? How could you side with him like this?”
He threw up his hands in exasperation. “I was unaware that a new war had started in San Salustiano with you and Santiago on opposite sides!”
Marisala turned away from him to smile sweetly at a young man walking past them on the sidewalk. “Excuse me. I need a place to stay tonight. I was wondering if you could be so kind as to let me stay with y—”
Liam grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the man. “Marisala! Dammit!”
The man hesitated, glancing warily from Marisala to Liam before walking swiftly on.
“
That’s
what you have to learn to stop doing!” His voice was dangerously close to a shout. “That’s the kind of behavior that drives Santiago crazy!”
“So
I
have to change,” she countered hotly. “But when his behavior drives
me
crazy, that’s okay, right?
He
doesn’t have to change?”
She sat down suddenly on the front steps of one of the buildings that lined the street. Liam could see the fatigue in her shoulders and back. And he could see that although she tried to hide it, she was more than angry. She was hurt.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I thought I’d be glad when the war ended. But now that it has, I don’t fit in. I want to help make things better in San Salustiano, but I’m not a politician. I wasn’t even any good at organizing the students, the way Enrique was.”
Enrique again. Liam didn’t want to hear that name ever again. Yet at the same time he wanted to know everything about the man.
Marisala shook her head. “And even if I had been good at politics, there’d be no room for me. A woman running for a position in the government? Yeah, sure. Who’d vote for me? Not even the other women. Most men on the island don’t allow their wives to vote.”
Liam sat down next to her, his own anger instantly evaporated. He took her hand, linking their fingers together, knowing that the last thing he should do was touch her, but unable to resist.
She glanced over at him, and her eyes were so sad. “I don’t fit in,” she said again.
“You know, that’s what going to college is about,” he told her. “Finding out where you fit in, deciding what it is you want to do with your life.”
“I already know what I want to do with my life. I want to dress in comfortable clothes and loudly speak my opinion to whomever,
when
ever I want. I want to get Santiago off my back.”
“All you need to do to make Santiago happy is learn how to make him see what he wants to see. You need to learn when to keep the conversation only to small talk, when to let other people take the lead, and when to make a point to fix your hair and change into something other than jeans and a T-shirt. You don’t have to change. You just have to
seem
to change.”
“That’s what you do, isn’t it? You hide the way you really feel behind your smile.” She held tightly to his hand as she looked searchingly into his eyes. “Doesn’t it eat you up inside? Doesn’t it make you feel like a liar?”
Liam was surprised at her words. A liar? “No,” he said. Actually, he’d never thought about it that way before. Hiding the way he really felt…“No,” he repeated, trying to sound more convincing. “There are times to speak out, and times to…just let things go. That’s not hiding.”
“So that’s what you’re going to try to teach me, huh?” she asked, looking down at their hands, still clasped together. “How to let things go?”
“The last time we spoke, Santiago told me he’s planning to come to Boston in about eight weeks,” Liam told her quietly. “If you let me, I can help you learn to show him what he wants to see. I can teach you how to present yourself to him the way he wants to see you. And then you’ll have what you want, because he’ll get off your back.”
“It sounds like surrendering.”
“No, it’s just winning in a different way.”
Marisala sighed. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Liam caught her chin with his free hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Yes, you do,” he said. “With me, you have a choice. Because despite everything you said, we
are
still friends. We’ll always be friends. And you know damn well if it ever
did
come to choosing sides between you and Santiago, I’d be the one standing right next to
you
.”
Marisala pressed her cheek against the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry I called you a sewer rat who lives in a nest of horse manure.”
He pulled his hand away from the silken softness of her face, hiding his sudden rush of emotion and need with a snort of laughter as he stood up. “No, you’re not.”
But she stood up, too, catching his hand in hers, bringing it up to the softness of her lips. She kissed his knuckles and the featherlight sensation was totally unnerving.
But this time he couldn’t move away from her. Her lips felt too damn good.
“Yes, I am,” she whispered. “I
am
sorry.”
When she released his hand, he tried to convince himself that his sudden disappointment was in fact relief. But when she stepped even closer and reached up to touch the side of his face, he knew the truth. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to kiss Marisala.
“We
are
friends,” she said again. “When I’m with you, I can say what I want. And you—you can do the same, you know.”
“I will,” he whispered, and he knew right then that she was right. He
was
a liar. He wanted to kiss her, but he’d never tell her that. He couldn’t.
She pulled him close, not for a kiss, but to embrace him in a friendly hug.
He buried his face in the sweet-smelling mass of her beautiful hair. He could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest, feel her fingers lacing through his own hair, feel her thighs pressed against his as she stood on tiptoe.
And he was lost.
He must’ve lifted her chin, but he didn’t remember doing it. He didn’t remember leaning closer so that his lips could cover hers, either.
All he knew was that suddenly he was kissing her.
Her lips were so soft, her mouth so deliciously sweet. All of his longing and need exploded with a savage desperation, and he claimed her mouth, sweeping his tongue past her parted lips, angling his head to kiss her harder, deeper. He wanted to consume her completely, to inhale her, to drink her in.
It was heaven.
His blood surged through his veins as his heart pounded the rhythm of her name and his stomach did crazy, giddy somersaults.
She held him tightly, pressing herself even closer to him as she kissed him just as hungrily, as if she were as starved for his touch as he was for hers.
God help him, he wanted nothing more than to stand there, kissing her, kissing Marisala, lost in her perfect sweetness for the entire rest of his life.
Kissing Marisala…
Kissing…
Dear God, what was he doing?
Liam took hold of Marisala’s narrow shoulders and pushed her to an arm’s length. Her eyes were wide and her full lips were swollen from his kisses. She was breathing hard, the white cotton of her shirt moving rapidly up and down with each breath she took.
“That was wrong,” he said. He, too, was so out of breath he could barely speak. “That was very wrong. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Wrong?” She laughed aloud. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m your guardian, you’re my ward. It was
wrong
.”
“It was
right
. You’re a man, I’m a woman,” she countered. “I think you should kiss me again.”
“We’re friends.” Liam’s voice sounded desperate to his own ears, and he tried instead to be rational and calm. “Friends who become lovers don’t usually stay friends.”
“But—”
He cupped her face with his hands, stopping her words by lightly pressing his thumbs against her lips, afraid he might immediately crumble against any arguments she could make.
“I don’t want to use you that way, Mara. You deserve better than me, better than this. You deserve love,
real
love, not this…insanity. Please, we have to pretend this didn’t happen.”
She pulled away from him. “But it
did
happen.”
“Please,” he said again. “Let’s just get into my car and go home and have pizza.”
“Pizza.”
“Yeah.”
“You’d rather have
pizza
.”
“Yes,” he lied. “Definitely.”
She laughed. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have pizza. For now.”
As he carried her suitcase to his car, as she waited for him to unlock the door, Liam cursed himself for being so damn weak. He’d
kissed
her. He’d sworn it wouldn’t happen, yet it had.
And Marisala…She was much too quiet.
As Liam put his car into gear and drove home, he had no doubt that she had her own opinions to share on the subject of that kiss. And sooner or later—and probably sooner, knowing Marisala—he was going to hear them.