Enemy Sworn (11 page)

She shook her head and opened the jar she had brought in and dipped her fingers into it.

“No, just as I know you're not a man capable of true love.”

Mateo cooled at the truth. “Why do you say that?”

Shrugging, she swept her fingers, full of some floral-scented gel, gently across his wound. Instantly it soothed the hurt. “It's in your eyes. There's a part of you that's dead. No woman can reach that place.”

No woman had. Not even his ex-wife. Not before they lost their son and certainly not after. She held him responsible, and he shouldered that burden because it was solely his to bear.

He grabbed her hand, squeezing it harder than he intended. He didn't deserve to love or be loved. Not a man like him. Quickly he released her. “I'm sorry.”

“We're two kindred spirits in that regard. I will never trust a man enough to love.”

“Given who your father is, I'm not surprised.”

She bristled. “For all of his faults, he is a great man who I respect. As my husband, I expect you to respect my feelings on the matter.”

“Do you defend him because you feel you would be betraying him if you demanded he give you the same respect he demands from you?”

“I defend him because I am Dumas. And Dumas stands with Dumas.”

Mateo pressed his hand to her chest and felt the leap of her heart against his palm. “You're Juarez now. And unlike your father, I won't demand respect from you. I'll earn it. And in turn give you the respect you deserve simply by the fact you are my wife.”

“Don't make me choose between you and my father.”

“The choice was made when you said ‘I do,' Sophia. Accept it.” Her heart beat furiously against his palm. “If I choose to walk away from here, I'll take you with me.”

“He'll kill you.”

“Would that be a bad thing for you?”

Her lush lips twitched as her cheeks flushed. “It would if my next husband couldn't give me what you give me.”

His fingers splayed across her chest, brushing across a hard nipple. “Was that your first orgasm?”

The flush on her cheeks deepened. But her dark eyes held his. “Yes,” she exhaled.

“I want to give you more, angel.” He swept his thumb across her nipple, eliciting a moan from her. “I don't want you to be too shy to initiate sex. Never think I would turn you away.” Her lips parted as he stroked her nipple, to hard. “I want you to learn what turns me on.”

Her lips parted into a slow smile as her dark eyes flashed with mischief. “Does this”—she pressed her lips to his neck—“turn you on?” She kissed him, then slid her tongue down his neck.

Mateo hissed in a long breath, the touch going straight to his dick. “Jesus, Sophia, I—” She licked him again. But this time longer, and deeper along his clavicle.

“Fuck me,” he exhaled as his dick swelled. He'd always been able to go a few rounds a day, but a third time in the space of three hours? He felt like a sixteen-year-old again.

Lifting her eyes to his, she smiled, and for the first time he noticed she had dimples. “I've already fucked you,” she reminded him. She pressed her lips an inch away from his wound, and licked the tender area. It hurt so damn good he was about to come.

“Are all men as easily aroused as you?” she asked as she licked and kissed him again; this time her tongue caught the side of his rib cage. Another few inches and she would have laved his nipple. It hardened at the thought. Squirming, Mateo groaned.

“Believe me when I tell you in all the years I have been sexually active, I have never reacted as quickly or as urgently to another woman as I do you.”

She smiled again, her dimples deepening. “If I were your wife by choice, I would be glad to hear that.”

“Does it count that you were my choice?” he huskily asked.

Her tongue stopped midstroke and she looked up at him. Something moved in her espresso-colored eyes. He'd swear she was touched by his words. Then her eyes frosted, shielding her true feelings.

“No, it doesn't.”

“You're a lousy liar, Sophia.” He smiled and glanced down at the unignorable rise in the sheet. “But that mouth of yours is spectacular.”

Shaking her head, she sat back, some of her frostiness gone. “Why are you even here?”

“I told you. Why can't you get it through that crazy head of yours I came for you?” Though it was the truth, it wasn't the entire truth.

“Because I can't process what you say your motives are, because no man has ever wanted me for me. I have always been a means to an end.”

“I'm not like any man you've met. I didn't know you existed until after I killed Bertram. And once I set eyes on you, I knew I had to have you. I followed you here.” He slid his knuckles along the smooth rise of her cheek. “So your only motive to heal me was because you felt like you owed me?”

“Right now your continued good health serves my purposes.”

“And when it no longer does?”

She shrugged but smiled; those dimples he was quickly falling in love with popped up. “Then, Señor Loco, I will find a way to get rid of you.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Mateo looked deeply into her eyes. Despite her proclamation, he wanted nothing more than to slide his lips across her lush, pouty ones. “Kiss me,” he huskily said.

Shaking her head, she moved back to the edge of the bed and then stood. “No.”

He grinned. “Afraid you'll like it?”

“I know I will.” She strode over to the tray Alma had brought in and removed the lids. Spicy aromas wafted up to her nose. It was midafternoon, and right about this time the hacienda would be quiet. Though they were very much American and Terra Oro on American soil, Dumas stuck very close to their European heritage and took siesta a few hours each day.

“There are
chilaquiles
here as well as a meat omelet, hash browns, fruit and several types of fresh-baked muffins and tortillas.”

Throwing the covers aside, Mateo stood, and when his wife's eyes dropped to his semi-erection, he did the gentlemanly thing and wrapped the sheet around his waist. The next round of sex was on her.

A half hour later, their bellies full, Mateo suddenly felt drained. The emotional and physical strain of the last few days had caught up with him. He needed a few hours of shut-eye to recover. Although it was only midafternoon, the day had been long. He slid into the comfortable bed and closed his eyes as Sophia tidied up the room.

“Good night, wife,” he said, smiling.

“Good night, husband,” she softly said.

•   •   •

Several hours later, Mateo woke with a raging hard-on to a dark, silent room. He groaned, wishing his wife was not such a distraction. All he wanted to do was touch her and be touched by her. The constant craving was getting between his big head and the mission he needed to focus on.

For long minutes Mateo lay quietly in the bed listening to Sophia's low, soft breaths beside him. His hard-on throbbed; he ignored it.

Stealthily he slipped from the bed, amazed at how good he felt. His shoulder hurt, but not like it had earlier. The antibiotics and that salve Sophia had spread on it took the sting out of it.

Moonlight streamed through the French doors that he assumed led to a balcony. He made a trip to the bathroom, then quickly dressed. Deftly he made his way through the bedroom and the sitting room to the main hallway outside of Sophia's suite of rooms. As he closed the door behind him, he flattened against the wall and listened.

The hacienda was tomb silent, but his instincts told him there was more to the silence than met the ear. He moved quickly down the long hall and as he approached the double staircase leading down to the main floor, angry voices drifted to his ears.

Standing at the head of the staircase, he closed his eyes and listened. The voices were coming from the atrium area. Keeping to the shadows, he glided down the staircase to the main foyer area. All traces of that morning's violence were gone.

Moving soundlessly down the smooth tile hallway, Mateo honed in on the voices, but as he surveyed his surroundings he found it highly suspect that there was no sign of any security. Were the grounds surrounding the house so tightly guarded not even a bug could slip in undetected? And if that were the case, he'd bet his right arm that not only was Sophia's suite of rooms bugged, but the entire hacienda was as well.

The voices lowered as Mateo moved deeper into the voluminous door-lined hallway. Twenty doors in all. All thick carved wood with wrought-iron adornments like the huge double doors that opened to the courtyard. As he continued silently toward the voices, Mateo made mental notes of his surroundings. When he came upon a large carved wooden door at the very end of the long hallway just past the atrium, the scent of fine cigar smoke wafted to Mateo. He moved in closer to stand just outside the door.

“It has never been done before, Patrón,” a man's voice said.

“It has never been done because until now there has never been an enticing enough carrot to draw them from their lairs,” Dumas said.

“What if they refuse to come?”

“Not only will they come running the moment they are summoned, but they would not dare disrespect my invitation,” Dumas said arrogantly. “
Amigo
, we are on the precipice of a greatness our illustrious ancestor Bonaparte only dreamed of. It is the second coming and this time we will not fail. In less than a week, the heads of the most powerful cartels in the world
will be here, a guest in my home, and when they leave they will either be in my pocket, or their head will be rolling on this floor.”

What was the carrot? A piece of the O action? It had to be. The O was worth billions to traffickers. If Dumas pulled it off, the heads of the most powerful drug cartels in the world would be assembled in the same room. The thrill it generated within him nearly matched the thrill of sinking into Sophia. The cartel heads would be easy pickings. And it would go down as the biggest bust in DEA history. He needed to get this info to Command ASAP.

Mateo stepped back and bumped into a warm body.

•   •   •

“What are you doing here?” Sophia hissed. She'd woken to find him gone. And just as she'd suspected, he was snooping around. Her instincts were right on the money. He
was
here for something other than her. And though she was loath to admit it, her ego took a hit with the confirmation.

“Mi hija?”
her father called as the door to his study swung open.

Her belly buzzed nervously. She could out her husband here and now and be done with this charade. But if she did, she would have to suffer marriage to a Vargas. She shivered. No way. She gave Mateo a quick glance. At least with this one, for now, she had the upper hand. Sort of.

“Papa,” she called, her gaze holding Mateo's. “I was just showing my hungry husband to the kitchen.”

As her gaze shifted to her father, he smiled even as he bit down on a fat, hand-rolled
cubano
. His incisors glittered white and the dark eyes she had inherited from him shone with confidence only his kind could convey. He looked every bit the king of the realm. She looked past him to see Pablo Sandoval, her father's cousin and the mayor of Mexicali, standing quietly while staring at something on the ceiling. Following his gaze, Sophia saw only the oak-beamed ceiling. Putting two and two together, she realized he was avoiding her.

“Mayor Sandoval?” she said, stepping past her father. “It's been a long time, how are you?” she pleasantly asked, extending her hand.

The mayor quickly shifted gears and smiled as if he had no idea she was there and just realized it.

Sophia wrinkled her brow at his actions. Why would he ignore her?

“My dear, you look as beautiful as ever.” He kissed her extended hand.

They were all actors tonight, weren't they? “Thank you. May I introduce my husband, Mateo?”

The mayor smiled nervously and looked at her father, who nodded. “Of course, it would be my honor.”

Sophia made the introductions. As Mateo and the mayor shook hands, she said, “Mayor Sandoval is my father's cousin. He introduced my parents.”

“I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” Mateo respectfully said.

“I am glad everyone is happy. Now, please,” her father said, “Paul and I were just concluding our business.”

That was her cue to exit. And in light of recent events, her father was the last person she wanted to be around. Her hurt spurred her anger. And with each minute that she thought of their history together, the angrier she became. She realized that she was not going to remain here. That somehow, she would escape this jail, this life, this hell. And her ballsy husband was going to help her.

Sophia grabbed Mateo by the hand and dragged him from the study, closing the door behind them. “I'll show you the kitchen now. There's all kinds of food. Mexican, American, French, you name it, the cooks do it all. We even have a pizza oven,” Sophia chirped, knowing her father listened. His hearing was as honed as a bat's. Sometimes she thought he could read her mind.

“How did you know I was hungry?” he asked.

She turned a jaundiced eye at him. “A wild guess? I mean, what
other
reason could there possibly be for you to be wandering the hacienda in the middle of the night?”

Her sarcasm wasn't lost on Mateo, but he acted as if he didn't get it. He grinned. “Married less than a day and we're already reading each other's minds.” Abruptly he stopped and she bumped into his hard chest. Still smiling, he slid his arms around her waist and said, “I think you should accept the fact that we are meant to be and allow me to make mad, passionate love to you tonight.”

She elbowed him in the side, pushed out of his arms and continued down the hall until they entered the kitchen. Flipping on the light switch, she quickly turned to Mateo with the sole purpose of rerouting his desire for her body to his desire to fill his belly. She asked, “What did you have in mind? A sandwich? Enchiladas? A pepperoni pizza?”