Bare In Bermuda (22 page)

“She takes after her aunt,” he said warmly. “Do me a favor?”

“Sit on these four and make sure they keep their collective yaps shut?”

“Exactly.”

“I'll do my best. You know Fatima is on the hunt for you?”

“I don't want to know this. I have to go. I'm at Cartier with Henna. Tell them I will not have the four of them making her angry with me because they know something she would rather not have made public just yet.”

“I'm on the case,” Midge said.

They ended their call, and he returned to the cool interior of the store. Henna sat where he'd left her. On the counter in front of her rested a selection of emerald pendants. A gold band as thick as his finger wrapped around her wrist.

“Give us a minute.” He dismissed the salesman with a nod. “So…how grateful will you be if I get you these?” He touched the square stone in one of her ears. “This?” He wrapped his hand around the bracelet around her wrist. “And this?” He picked up a generous-sized square emerald pendant that just needed a chain.

“I…” She looked at him. “Honestly, I'd probably be a little uncomfortable. I'm not used to getting gifts like this.”

“What was the last gift you received from a man who wasn't a family member, a professional acquaintance, or your friend, Simon?”

“You mean like a boyfriend?”

“Exactly.”

“I need to think.”

He waited as she thought.

“That long?” he asked after a minute.

“It's been a while. Give me a moment.”

He waited as he wondered how it could be possible Henna didn't have a string of men trying to get her to be theirs exclusively. It confounded him.

“Okay,” she said at last. “But you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I am not going to make that promise.”

“Fine,” she said. “My last real boyfriend gave me a blender for my birthday.”

“A blender?” He laughed. “You're making a joke. What kind of man would give a woman a blender for her birthday? I wouldn't even give my mother or my daughter a blender for their birthdays. That's not a gift, that's an appliance.”

“He wasn't very imaginative.”

“It doesn't take much imagination to walk into a jewelry store and buy a bracelet.”

“I should have made you promise not to laugh.”

“Henna.” He bent in and kissed her. “Let me tell you what I want.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to be the kind of woman who not only loves to get beautiful gifts, but also the kind of woman that expects to get beautiful gifts. You are so much more valuable than you realize, and I want to be able to treat you as well as you deserve to be treated without making you uncomfortable. I am glad you have chosen the wrong men in the past. Now I can treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“I just don't want to seem greedy.”

“How is it being greedy when I am willingly giving you what I want to give you?” He lifted her hands in his and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I wish I could make you see how I see you. So I'm just going to show you. Don't be uncomfortable. Just accept that you are worthy of being treated better than you have been in the past.”

“Isn't it a bit soon for jewelry?”

“No. I've given you my body already. I'd like to think that's more valuable than earrings.”

“No more blenders?”

“No more blenders. Now tell me truthfully, how grateful will you be?”

“Very, very grateful. Probably best we finish up here so I can show you in our room how grateful I would be.”

“Would your gratitude include putting on that little black thing you bought at the lingerie store?”

“It might.” Her arms wrapped around his neck as her mouth met his.

He lifted a hand and waved over the salesman. Henna peppered his cheek with kisses as he gave the pendant he liked a poke then gestured to the earrings and the bracelet. “I'll take these. Put a chain on the pendant. She'll wear it all out.”

The salesman took the credit card he handed over and disappeared.

“Thank you,” Henna said, her arms wrapped around his neck. “You realize I could easily get used to expecting this sort of treatment.”

“That is my plan.”

In the hotel room, behind the door with the security lock flipped into place, Eduardo walked around the room closing curtains and adjusting the air-conditioning. He turned off his phone and set it to the side. The world could wait for an hour or two. He considered undressing, then decided he'd rather be undressed. So he lay on the bed and waited.

He was a patient man who had just spent a fair amount of money on dresses, shoes, underwear, and jewelry. He hadn't done this for the promise of sex. He would have done it for any number of reasons. But on that afternoon, at that moment, he knew his generosity would equal an experience with Henna that would be as memorable and worthy of repeating as any they'd previously had.

“Condoms.” He shot up from the bed after checking the nightstand. It was just as empty as it had been after they'd used the last condom that morning. “Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered. “If my afternoon is ruined because I forgot to buy condoms, I am going to be very angry with myself.”

He went to the desk. Henna's giant bag of condoms might still be around. Or it might not. She may have handed it over to Leo. In a way, he hoped she had. Considering the number of his female friends and relatives Leo had fornicated with in one form or another, giving him a large bag of condoms seemed like an excellent idea. The bag was in the desk. Along with a photograph of a man on a postcard. On one side was a headshot. On the other, the man's vital statistics and the instructions to “call me” along with a phone number and a name.

He picked up the desk phone and dialed the number. A man answered. He hung up. “This annoys me,” he grumbled. “This annoys me far more than it should.” He stared at the picture. He knew the man from somewhere and somehow. But what was the connection?

Henna's mobile phone rang. Simon. He answered the phone. “Simon?”

“Uh, yeah.” Simon said. “Eduardo?”

“
Si.
Henna is in the bathroom. Does she have any friends named Antonio or Anton?” He tapped the postcard against his palm.

“Uh, well, yeah. My cousin Meadow's boyfriend is named Antonio. She and Henna are pretty tight. So I guess you could say that Tony is a friend of Henna's. Any particular reason you're asking me this? You know, I can just call back.”

He looked at the card. “What is his family name?”

“Last name? Uh, Martinez. Yes, Martinez. I'm sure of it. Antonio Martinez. But everyone calls him Tony. At least, I think everyone calls him Tony. We call him Tony. He might actually hate that. Do people call you, Ed? Eddie? Or is it always Eduardo?”

“Eduardo. Do not ever call me Eddie. Would you describe Antonio Martinez for me, please?” He looked at the picture of Antonio Martinez. He needed no additional confirmation to know there were men other than himself interested in Henna. Young men. Men who were no older than his son. Men who had pictures of themselves printed on postcards. What kind of a man would do such a thing?

“Uh, sure. Let's see. Tony. Brown hair. He's my height so about six-two, maybe one-eighty, works out a lot, took me running. He called it jogging, but I know that was not jogging. I can tell you for sure, the next time I go running it's only going to be because someone with a gun is chasing me. Nearly puked up a lung.”

Eduardo pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the picture of Simon that appeared on Henna's phone when the call came through. The smile and the mirth in the eyes came through in his voice. He shook his head a little then put the phone back to his ear. “Would you say he is an attractive man?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Okay. In a wholly heterosexual way, I can say he's pretty hot. Put a gun to my head, I could probably go gay for that. But I'd probably want to lose a few pounds first. He's pretty ripped, and I'm sort of getting a gut. Not bad, being unable to keep food down for the past three days has helped a lot, but some sit-ups wouldn't kill me. Can I be honest? This conversation is getting a little weird for me. Is there any particular reason you want to know about Tony?”

“Is he a model or actor?” He studied the picture once again.

“Not that I know of,” Simon said. “But he could be. As far as I know, he's just a secretary.”

“He's a man who’s a secretary?” That was just the sort of old-fashioned thinking that would annoy Pilar and would probably be just as annoying to Henna. He needed to keep that particular thought to himself.

“Technically, I think he's a paralegal. But, before he was nailing my cousin across her desk, he was getting her dry-cleaning and answering her phone.” On the plus side, he was not a secretary. He might not be twenty-four anymore, but he had something Antonio Martinez probably didn't have. A lot of money. The great equalizer.

“Does he live in San Francisco?”

“Yeah, over in the Mission District. Why?”

“What is the area code in San Francisco?”

“415.”

“I will tell Henna you called.”

“I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I could talk to her. You know. Make sure you don't have her tied up in a closet or something. Please tell me I didn't call in the middle of some kind of twisted sexual forty questions. Because I am going to be really offended if I just participated in some freaky sex game.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Henna exited in the black slip he favored.

“Just a moment.” He held out the phone to Henna. “Simon.”

Henna went from feeling ready to toss Eduardo on to the bed to slightly confused. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Simon said. “Are you okay? If you're not okay and you need me to call security, or better yet call Mel, just say bananas.”

“Have you lost your mind? I'm perfectly fine. What is going on with you?”

“Nothing. I called you to get an update, and now I'm wondering if your new friend isn't loco. Wanted to know all about Tony.”

“Meadow's Tony?”

“Yes. Very weird.”

“That's weird.”

“No shit,” Simon said. “So? Bananas?”

“No bananas. You're bananas. I'll call you back when I've sorted this one out.”

“If I don't hear from you in an hour, I'm calling Mel.”

“Do not call my father. He doesn't know about this yet, and I'm planning on telling him myself.”

“You really think Mel hasn't figured out you're nailing Eden's father-in-law? Have you met your father?”

“We're being really discreet.”

“Sure you are. Call me later.”

She ended the call then set her phone on the desk. “So?”

“Who is Antonio Martinez?” Eduardo held out the postcard from the bartender that he had to have found in her bag. “Why do you have a picture of him? Why does he want you to call him? If he is in a relationship with your friend, Meadow, then why is he encouraging your attention?”

“Three things,” she said. “One. Where did you find that? Two. Why are you quizzing Simon about me? Three. Where do you get off acting like I'm somehow accountable to you? Four. Why do you want to know about Tony Martinez?”

“You said three things,” he said.

“Don't.” She raised a finger and took a lungful of air through her nose. Then she remembered something. The bartender was named Anton Martinez. “How many Antonio Martinez's do you think there might be in the world?”

“A few,” he conceded.

She picked up her phone and flipped through the pictures until she found the one she wanted. Tony and Meadow sitting across from her at a mutual friend’s wedding. “That is Tony Martinez.” She shoved the phone at Eduardo. “You annoy me. You have no right to be jealous. You especially have no right to drag Simon into your neurosis. You want to know something about me? Ask me!” She snatched the postcard from Eduardo. “This is not Tony Martinez. Okay, well, it is Tony Martinez, but not my Tony Martinez. Meadow's Tony Martinez. You know what I mean.”

She tossed the picture on the desk and walked away. Eduardo picked up the postcard and studied it. “Who is he? I'm asking you, not Simon.”

Henna looked over her shoulder at him, her body sparking with irritation. Eduardo was a beautiful specimen of a man. He had reached his meridian. Everything about him, from his smoldering eyes and full lips to his broad well-muscled shoulders and chest down to his thick cock and legs with thighs like twisted rope, was pure masculine perfection. He had the build of a man who used his body for more than moving from place to place. A rare find in the modern world. “That's for me to know and you to find out.”

Mature. Really mature. At least she didn't stick her tongue out at him.

With his cat like quickness, Eduardo was behind her. He grabbed her roughly, and his hands probed her body with the casual arrogance of ownership. “Who is he?” he asked, nipping at her ear. Every moment with him, she learned something new. Depending on his mood, Eduardo ranged from being the gentlest of lovers to the roughest. Henna had enjoyed the pleasures associated with the full spectrum of his desires while exploring her own.

“Don't you recognize him?” she asked. “You should.”

He turned her around in his arms. He looked at the card, then at her. “Who is he? I recognize him.”

“He's the bartender from the Miami airport,” she told him. “The one who offered me money to blow him.”

He looked at the card a final time, then tossed it to the side. Eduardo was not shy about the fact that he wanted her. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, licking and twirling. His fingers grasped the fabric of the silky slip she wore. In a single practiced move, he slipped the garment over her head and tossed it to the side. The mixture of fabric covering his hard body added to the sensation of smooth hands brushing over her bare skin.

A low moan rumbled from Eduardo's throat as she ripped open the buttons on his trousers and freed his full thick cock from its confines. His erection throbbed, and he shifted slightly to encourage her touch. Hard and long, it jerked slightly. His shaft pulsed against her abdomen as he pulled her tightly to him.

Henna pushed back slightly, her palms against the cotton of his shirt. She looked him up and down once again. Eduardo was a perfect specimen of masculine sexuality, and he was hers to do with as she wanted. A thrilling sense of feminine power shot through her at the thought of being in control of all that masculine energy. It made her horny to think of all that power between her legs and the command she had over it.