A Candle in the Dark (41 page)

No. Not the same way
. The niggling thought pierced her, and Ana sliced her knife into her meat as if the action would exorcise the thought from her mind. She didn’t have to look at Cain to know his feelings for her had grown far past easy friendliness or concern. He wanted her. She’d seen the look on the faces of too many men to be deceived. She knew it intimately, knew the passion-dark eyes and the broken voice. He wanted her, and she knew that inevitably, he would push her far more than he had today.

But what she would do about that, she didn’t know.

The buzz of conversation heightened, and Ana gratefully allowed it to break into her thoughts.
Doña
Melia said something, and they all laughed. Ana forced herself to smile politely.

“She says she is not a child. If Serafina wants to cut someone’s meat, she should cut Enzo’s.” Cain leaned close, his whispered words like heat against her ear.

Jiméne chattered.

“He says Enzo can cut his own meat now.” Cain’s shoulder brushed hers, sending a tingle down her spine. “
Doña
Melia says Enzo is just a child.” Pause. “And Jiméne tells her she is only an old woman.”

There was laughter in the room. Ana dug her knife into her meat again, took a bite and chewed. The savory roast was like dirt on her tongue, her throat was too dry to swallow. She gulped her water, forced the bite down, and tried the fried plantain. It was impossible. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t talk, she could barely breathe. Her throat felt closed, her stomach cramped.

Ana took a deep breath. She was being an idiot. He was just a man, he probably hadn’t thought beyond getting her into bed. Once he slept with her, she knew he would soon get over his desire. They all did. In the brothel, she’d had only a few regular customers. For the rest, she had merely been a challenge. “
Ten dollars says you can’t make the Duchess feel a thing.” “Go on, Johnny, see if you can’t bring a moan from her
!”

She’d heard the talk often enough. Rosalie had certainly taken advantage of it. “
The Duchess is my special girl, gents. She’ll cost ye extra
—
she’s a choosy lady. Very choosy
.” Ana had been the elite girl, the one they all wanted.

What else they wanted from her, she wasn’t sure. A moan? Or more than that? Had they wanted her to wriggle and gasp, to pretend she felt the same desire they did? She hadn’t been able to do it. It was only a job, and a boring one at that, one client like every other. Each wanting the same thing. The second was like the twenty-second, and in the morning she’d been unchanged. Still the Duchess. Still the woman who walked down the hallway to the privy, smelling the morning-after odors of tobacco smoke, powder and perfume, the heavy, musky woman scent mixing with that of liquor.

“What makes you look so sad,
querida
?” Cain’s voice was so sudden in her ear, Ana jumped.

She looked at him guiltily, for the first time since this afternoon. What she saw in his eyes made her pause. Dark, knowing secrets. As if he saw clear into her soul and understood. She caught her breath. “I—I’m tired, I guess.”

“You guess?” A soft half smile curved his mouth.

“I
am
tired.”

“I see.” His smile widened. “I guess making bread pudding takes a lot out of a person.”

She looked away, unable to face the promise in his gaze. “Yes, I suppose that’s it.” It would be easy, she thought suddenly. So easy to give to this man what she’d sold to so many others. She took a deep breath. “Dolores said we should have a real party to thank you now that
Doña
Melia can be part of it.”

His glance was bemused. “Dolores ‘said’?”

Ana laughed slightly. “Well, that’s what I think she said.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need a party.”

“Maybe not. But you deserve one after curing Jiméne and
Doña
Melia and me.”

He smiled then. “Yeah, I guess maybe I did do that.”

She saw the soft edge of confidence in his face, and it filled Ana with quiet pride. Yes, she would give herself to him if he wanted her. She would do it because there was nothing else she could give him, and he deserved something for the hell he had gone through. Even if it was only sex.

“
Esta aqui
!” Dolores came to the table bearing the frying pan that held the disastrous bread pudding. She smiled brightly at Ana and set it on the table with a flourish. Amado followed with a stack of clay bowls, his own smile wide and white as he waited for Dolores to cut the pudding.

There was respectful silence. Dolores dipped the spoon into the pudding and lifted it out.

Ana’s heart sank. Egg ran in watery, curdled clumps over the sides of the spoon, plopping back into the pudding. Drenched tortilla pieces clung to it like limp paper. She saw Dolores falter, but then Jiméne’s sister gained control, her smile never wavering as she spooned the pudding into bowls and passed them around.

“Oh, God,” Ana said in a low voice. “Tell them they don’t have to eat it, Cain. Tell them.”

Dutifully he translated. There was a chorus of “nos” and jabbering, and then, like clockwork, each member of Jiméne’s family dipped into a bowl and took a bite.

Ana’s spoon hovered over her own bowl. She stole a glance at Cain, who was studying a spoonful with amusing consternation.

“Don’t eat it,” she suggested.

He shook his head. Then he took a bite. She saw his eyes widen, his throat constrict. He swallowed quickly.

“Well?” Ana asked.

“It was… good. Very good.”

Ana looked around the table. They were all having the same reaction. Widening eyes, quick swallows. Their smiles looked pasted on, but dutifully, they each took another bite.

This time, so did she. It was on her tongue for less than a second before Ana gagged. She wasn’t aware of flavors so much as textures. Limp tortillas, sweet, watery eggs, slimy bananas covered with clumps of curdle. She choked and put her spoon down, her eyes watering.

Then she looked at Cain, who was valiantly trying another bite. His jaw worked convulsively, she saw his quick shudder, the rigid swallowing—

She started laughing. “Please, stop,” she said with a gasp, pushing her bowl aside. “It’s—it’s terrible!”

Cain nearly threw down his spoon. He took a huge gulp of water and translated quickly. The relief that broke out on the faces of Jiméne’s family was comical.

“I do not think cooking is one of your talents,
cariña
,” Jiméne informed her somberly.

They all laughed, and Juan went to get his guitar.

It was later, much later, that Ana sat alone in the darkness. The evening had been over for some time, and while she had enjoyed Juan’s sensitive playing and the songs they’d all sung, Ana was grateful to be alone. The day had been tiring, but though her body was tired, her mind was reeling. She had gone to bed only to stare at the shadowed ceiling, listening to Cain’s soft snores on the other side of the room and feeling an uncomfortable, unfamiliar warmth in her belly.

Suddenly she had been unable to spend another moment in that room. She felt as if she were on the edge of something both frightening and compelling. For once in her life, she had no idea what to do about it.

“Ana? Ana, is that you? Are you all right?”

Cain’s voice ran over her, deep and dark, shivering along her spine and up the back of her neck, and Ana wondered if he’d somehow heard her thoughts here in the darkness. It didn’t seem silly, really. No, much more than that, it seemed entirely reasonable. He had always seen too much, felt too much, known too much. “I’m all right,” she said softly.

He came closer. She felt his presence in the darkness, the familiar awareness of him that made the hair on her arms stand on end.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I couldn’t sleep, that’s all. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t wake me.” He was suddenly so close she felt his heat. “That is, I didn’t hear a noise.” He laughed wonderingly. “I didn’t hear your breathing. I think that was what woke me up. I didn’t feel you there anymore.”

The words swept over her, sank into her. She heard the care in them, and the warmth, and she felt shaky inside. “I was coming back,” she said softly.

“Were you?” His hands were on her arms. Warm and strong, gripping her shoulders with a desperation she recognized from his delirium and her fever.

His palms opened, slid down to her elbows, over her bare arms. The touch sent shivers through her body, sent longing stabbing into her heart. But it wasn’t as simple as that. Yes, he wanted her, but he wanted her with the innocence of a man who didn’t know her past, a man who wanted to make love to a woman he cared for. He wanted a lover, not a whore.

She didn’t know if she could be that.

Ana closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” he asked. His hands moved up and down her arms, he spread his fingers over her skin, lingeringly, cherishing. “Ah, I wish it were that easy,
querida
.” His voice was a hoarse, raw whisper. “But I can’t stop. I’ve tried and I can’t. Today—today I thought I could control it. I was wrong. I can’t. I want you so much. Christ, too much. Don’t you think I would stop it if I could?”

“You only think you want me.” She shook her head. “I—I’m not who you think I am.”

“You aren’t?” His voice was light, amused. “Who are you then?”

“No, really, I—” Ana twisted around, pushing away his hands. “You don’t know me, you don’t understand.”

The moonlight lit his face, gilded his hair. He looked puzzled. “What don’t I understand?”

“Those years at Rosalie’s—they changed me. I can’t explain, but—but they did. You want someone who can want you back. Someone who thinks this means something. You don’t want me.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Ana,” he said gently. “You’re right about one thing, I don’t want the Duchess. But I do want you.”

She looked down miserably. “We’re the same person.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” The admission was so quiet she could barely hear it herself, a whisper in the darkness.

“No.” He didn’t move, just stood there, watching her.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she snapped bitterly. His steady watching angered her. Damn him, he was deliberately being obtuse. She was trying to
save
him, and he was standing there, pretending her words meant nothing. “They used to bet on me, did I tell you that? Probably not, I’d nearly forgotten it myself. I was Rosalie’s prize. ‘Melt the Duchess,’ she used to say. ‘She’s cold as ice, boys—see if you can melt her.’ “

“Did they?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No one.”

“Does that make you afraid? Are you afraid that if I touch you, make love to you, you won’t melt? Or that you will?”

She looked away from him, toward the cane-slatted door. “You don’t understand.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t understand. I care about you, you’re the only friend I’ve ever had. And I—” She swallowed painfully. “You expect too much. I don’t want to disappoint you. Cain, don’t you see? Don’t you understand? I’m a whore. I can’t give you what you want. It isn’t—it isn’t in me.”

There was silence. Silence so big it seemed to fill the room and her heart. Silence so painful Ana wished she hadn’t said anything at all, wished he hadn’t awakened and found her in the vulnerable hours of night. Tomorrow, she knew, she would have been fine. Tomorrow, she would have been able to go ahead, to let him have her without feeling regret for the disappointment she would cause.

Tomorrow, none of this would have mattered.

She looked up at him, wishing she could see his expression in the darkness, her stomach sinking when she realized he was standing there, unmoving. She could only imagine what he must be thinking—

He took a deep breath suddenly. It cut the darkness like a shout. Then he turned and went to the door, throwing it open so the slats of moonlight became a flood. He stood there, silhouetted against the light. Then, very slowly, he beckoned to her.

“Ana, come here.”

It was a compelling voice, one she wouldn’t have been able to resist even if she wasn’t feeling so lost and lonely. Ana got to her feet and went to him, pausing just before she reached the door. “What?” she asked.

He leaned against the door frame, his dark hair shadow on his shoulders, his face chisled by the light, and motioned for her to come closer. “Look out there.”

She peered over his shoulder, staring out into the night. Moonlight pooled on the dirt ground, making shadows out of clay pots and stones, flickering through the long, fringed fronds of the banana trees with a whisper. She heard the jungle sounds, familiar now and not frightening. Soothing even. She smelled the breeze and the orchids and the sweet, lush scent of growth.

“I look out there, and I’m not myself anymore.” His voice was quiet. “It’s hard to believe I’ve ever been anyplace but here.”

“I know,” Ana said breathlessly. She felt suddenly as if they were one mind, one emotion, joined together. That no matter what she said, he knew she was going to say it, that no matter what she thought, he thought it with her. She leaned back against the open door, bracing her palms against the cane and staring out at the jungle. “I know.”

“Do you think we can pretend, Ana?” he asked, the longing so strong in his voice it tugged painfully at her heart. “Do you think, just for a little while, we can pretend there’s no past—nothing but us right now?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“No?” He turned to face her, his eyes glittering in the darkness.

Ana felt her heart fill her throat as he moved closer, closer. He was in front of her then, filling the darkness so she could see nothing but the hint of moonlight around him, could feel nothing but his presence.

“I want to make love to you, Ana,” he said in a voice so deep it made her shake, and Ana felt the last of her reserve fading away, melting under the dark temptation of his voice, his heat. “Let me make love to you.”

She didn’t say no, and Cain didn’t know what he would have done if she had. God knew, he couldn’t walk away, was physically incapable of walking away from her at this moment. Christ, she was so beautiful, all moonlit hair and eyes, with a soft wariness in her face he found infinitely precious. She was breathless and startled, and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone—anything—in his life.