Enemy Sworn (8 page)

“Let me go, Tony,” she commanded.

“Marry me, Sophia. Marry me and I'll set you free.”

Grabbing Tony's forearm, digging her nails deeply into it, Sophia twisted just as he let her go. Pushing her behind him he hurled his blade at Mateo. It narrowly missed Mateo's shoulder, but it gave him the opening he needed. In a move so quick it was a blur, Mateo hurled a deadly stiletto at her cousin, the blade penetrating Tony's right eye, embedding itself to the hilt in his brain.

Tony's look of shock matched hers. He reached for her, then dropped to his knees, then fell face-first to the tile.

“No,” she cried. “Not Tony!” Emotion swelled like a storm in her chest. She raised shocked eyes to Mateo's, who stood staunchly unmoving.

He turned from her and addressed the stunned crowd that had not dispersed. “Let this serve as warning to any man or woman who would cause harm to Sophia. Touch her, I will kill you.”

He turned back to Sophia. “Never ask me again to spare a man who would jeopardize your safety.”

Sophia had no comeback. There was none. It was a nightmare. She glanced down at Tony, but turned away, unable to look at the broken body of yet another family member who had died by the blood-for-blood code. Would it ever stop?

“Clean this mess up,” her father directed the group of household staff that had gathered behind her. He grasped her hand, placed it in Mateo's, who now stood silent, agitated but watchful, and directed them to the padre, who stood in slack-jawed horror on the other side of the courtyard.

There was nothing any of them could do. It was the Dumas way.

For obvious reasons, Father Hernandez hastened to the vows. When Mateo was asked to put a ring on Sophia's finger, they looked blankly at each other. He let go of her hands, which he had been instructed to hold, and unclasped the gold chain and crucifix from around his neck and placed it around hers.

“I don't have a ring, but this was given to me by my mother and therefore is more precious to me.”

Emotion knotted hard in Sophia's belly. When it was her turn to exchange a ring, she unclasped the gold chain with the Blessed Mother pendant dangling from the end. It was a gift she had never intended to share, had never intended to remove from her neck. She cherished it above all her possessions, but despite the fact she did not love the man she was about to marry, it seemed appropriate at the moment. “My mother gave this to me right before she left me. She told me the Blessed Mother held all the answers.” She fastened it around his neck. “It's my most precious possession. Don't lose it or I will kill you.”

When the priest pronounced them man and wife, Sophia stiffened. While this stranger was not her choice of a husband, she could not ignore the bizarre circumstances that placed him before her. So she accepted him. However, though her father was a good Catholic only when it served him to be, for her, religion wasn't a part-time deal. It was important to her, and her father had given his word that when she married, she would have a full-blown Catholic ceremony and
not
the public humiliation of the proof of blood ceremony generations before her had had to endure. What just happened was the abbreviated version of a Catholic ceremony. She wanted it all.

Drawing from Mateo's confidence and the knowledge that he would defend her demand because she wanted it, she turned to her father. “You promised me a high mass on my wedding day.”

“I also promised you Javier as a husband.” His eyes darkened as he looked at Mateo. “You may accept him in the eyes of God,
mi hija
, but I will not accept him until the blood proof is presented. Only then, in the eyes of Dumas, will your union be official.”

Sophia gasped, the meaning of what he implied unconscionable to her. “You would not dare!”

His anger rose but so did hers. She would not be humiliated like that! She had embraced her father's archaic dogma. Not that she had a choice, but this was the twenty-first century not the dark ages. She would not allow him to subject her to the ridiculous ceremony that was meant to prove, first, that she was a virgin, and second, that her husband could get it up and ejaculate using no form of barrier birth control when he did so. She would not allow her father to humiliate her in front of his council of elders and Father Hernandez.

“What is the blood proof?” Mateo asked, looking to her for clarification.

“Proof of my virginity via public consummation,” she softly said.

Mateo looked at her father, incredulous. “You want me to fuck your daughter in front of everyone in this room?”

Dumas nodded. “It is our custom.”

“Not mine, Papa! We had a deal!” Sophia cried. She was not an animal. She would not do it!

When he raised his hand as if to strike her, Mateo snarled and shoved her father against the wall. “She's mine now, and I protect what's mine.”

Her father flung Mateo from him as if he were nothing but a gnat.

“She will not truly belong to you until the blood is let and the proof presented.” He turned his ferocious glare on her. “The longer you wait, Daughter, the longer we all wait.”

Sophia stood rooted to the floor. She would not do it.

“Sophia,” Mateo said, bending to whisper in her ear. “Trust me to make this as painless as possible for us both.”

“I won't be bullied by him any longer.”

“Once we . . . get past this, your father will have to kill me to bully you again.” His words shimmered through her and if she were not so upset she would have fallen in love with him on the spot for his sincerity. But she didn't trust him.

Exhaling loudly, she nodded. And only because she was Dumas did she capitulate. Sophia swallowed hard and nodded again. It was best to get it over with. Once done, she could move on.

“To the atrium, Daughter; there you will have some privacy,” her father said, his tone compassionate. Her head snapped back at his empathy. “To ease your embarrassment only Father Hernandez and two council members will observe from the other side of the glass.”

Mateo made a nasty sound but held out his hand to her. Swallowing hard, Sophia took it and proceeded to the large circular atrium on the other side of the courtyard. Tucked into a corner was a wide chaise her mother had always enjoyed lying on as she read. Two-story-tall bougainvillea grew along the glass walls. Angel's trumpets and orchids mingled with ferns and sago palms, filling the room with lovely fragrances and lush views.

As they entered, one of the maids ran ahead and spread a large white sheet on the chaise, then scurried out of the room, closing the glass door behind her.

“I don't have a condom,” Mateo said.

Sophia wanted to laugh, but the urge to cry was too overwhelming. “Even if you did, you would be forbidden to use it.”

“Why?”

She tossed her hair over her shoulders and began to unbutton her shirt. “Because after I prove I'm a virgin, it's your job to impregnate me as soon as possible. You can't do that with a condom.”

“Whoa, wait a minute, I didn't—”

“Sign up for that?” She shot him a glare. “How did you think you were going to walk in here and take your place at the top of the food chain, then? Kill Javier, fuck me for fun, all the while getting the nod from my father?”

“I'm here because of you.”

“Well, buddy,” she said as she slapped him on the back, “you got me. Now get to it or my father will kill you.”

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. Her eyes raked his muscled physique. The sight of his wide shoulders and defined chest that tapered down to a narrow, muscled waist warmed her blood. His forearms were tatted with intricate designs and subtly colored, as was his right pectoral. Short, dark hair started at his belly button and trailed down to the top button of his jeans. Aside from a long, thick scar that ran from the top of his right oblique down into his jeans, his tan skin was smooth and, she knew, warm.

“I'm clean.”

Her eyes rose to his and she smiled a half smile. “Thank god for small favors. So am I.”

He reached a hand to caress her cheek, but she flinched.

“I won't hurt you.”

“You can't hurt me. I have nothing left to hurt.”

Before she proceeded to undress, Sophia picked up his T-shirt, thinking how warm it was from his body heat. It was also damp with his blood. Giving the garment no consideration, she tore it in strips then tied them snugly around the deep cut along her husband's upper arm.

“When we're done here, you need to have that tended before it gets infected.”

“I've had worse,” he said roughly, his eyes never once leaving her as she ministered to him.

Catching his hot gaze, she smiled, feeling shy yet oddly in control. His desire for her she could not question, it was written over every inch of him. Knowing that gave her a sense of power. And with that, her back to the glass wall that physically separated her from the witnesses, Sophia let the shirt slip off her shoulders. Her bra followed.

Her husband's sharp intake of breath stirred her passion.

chapter eight

J
esus, she was beautiful, Mateo thought, unable to take his eyes off her. Creamy, caramel-colored skin, full breasts with succulent nipples just begging to be sucked—his dick thickened as every ounce of blood in his body drained to it. He watched her slowly slide her skirt down her lush thighs, her hand modestly covering her soft mound. Her heady essence swirled around him, and he could guess the witnesses were stirred too.

He bit off a curse, wanting to smash the glass and every one of them with it. But for her, he would make this obscene show-and-tell as quick and easy as possible.

When she shook her long blond hair from her bare shoulders and stood tall and proud before him, with her chin high, her eyes moist with frustrated tears, he lost a piece of his hard heart to her. She was beautiful. Breathtaking and proud. She deserved so much more than him.

And yet—Jesus Christ, his dick hurt it was so swollen. He reached out to her and pulled her into the circle of his arms. He fought a colossal battle. His body ached for her. But going through with this was just wrong.

“Sophia,” he whispered against her bruised cheek, “I will challenge your father on this.”

She made a funny noise—half sob, half laugh. “Do it, Crazy, and you die.” She inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “Let it be done so that I can wash the stench of Javier's blood from between us.”

Something ugly and possessive reared its head at the mention of her fiancé's name. “Don't speak his name again,” Mateo growled. His fingers dug into her arm, then softened when he realized what he was doing. Jesus, what was wrong with him? He was not rough with women. Why was he with Sophia?

“You promised not to hurt me.”

His dick swelled painfully. “I know.”

There was only one recourse for relief. But if he took it, his marriage would be consummated and there would be no going back. He didn't want to hurt her but hurt feelings were collateral damage in this deadly game of cat and mouse he played.

His lips swooped down on hers, forcing them open, plundering their silky softness. She bit him. A last act of defiance before the inevitable. But instead of pulling out of her bite, he licked her, eliciting a sharp moan of desire from her. When he pulled away, he licked his bloody lip and smiled. He could play rough too. Her smoky eyes glittered as if she knew his thoughts and liked them.

“I made no such promise.” She nipped at his chin. “You make me crazy. I want to hurt you as much as I want to kiss you.”

Mateo growled and pushed her down onto the sheet-draped chaise, oblivious to the voyeurs on the opposite side of the glass wall. He yanked off his boots and then shucked his jeans and boxer briefs. As he moved over her, the heavy weight of his straining cock dragged along her thigh causing them both to start.

He caught the glisten of tears at the corners of her eyes. Reaching out, he gathered her long hair in his hands and spread it over her breasts so that at least that part of her was shielded from the stares of the witnesses.

“Take her before I give her to another!” Dumas roared from the doorway.

Mateo glared at the angry man and clamped his mouth shut. It was futile to continue the pissing match with the bastard until his daughter was completely his, and when she was . . . he would kill the prick. And with Dumas gone, his mission would be a piece of cake.

He hissed in a short breath when Sophia slid her hand along his forearm.

“I'm afraid,” she whispered.

“Don't be afraid, angel.” He kissed her nose. “Remember how good it was between us?” His lips brushed across hers. “How much you enjoyed what I did to you?”

He felt the warm rush of her breath against his cheek. “How wet you were for me?”

“Yes,” she said.

He sank his fingers into her hair. “Close your eyes and think of how you felt then, and I promise you it will feel as good now.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

“Spread your legs.”

When she did, he settled between her knees. “A little more. Good girl, now wrap your arms around me and take a deep breath.”

When he nudged his impatient cock against her opening, he found her wet and warm. “Ah, I see you remember quite well how you lit up for me.” His body shuddered with excitement. He had wanted to do this the moment he laid eyes on her in the club. Not in a million lifetimes had he expected he would be doing it like this.

Hesitantly, she tipped her hips to him.

“Jesus,” he breathed as he nudged the wide head of his cock into her, trying to keep himself from thrusting balls deep into her. He was big and granite hard. She was virgin tight. He wanted to get her out of there as soon as possible but he didn't want to hurt her just to expedite things.

“Exhale, angel, and relax.”

Air rushed from her lungs. When he moved deeper into her, she made a soft moaning sound that trailed off into a choked sob.

“I'm sorry, baby,” he whispered, barely able to contain the need to thrust deeply into her. Clasping her head he brought her lips to his and kissed her, his tongue slowly thrusting as his hips moved reverently against hers. He closed his eyes, reveling in the sublimity of the feel of her. Hot, tight and wet.

Sophia's hips finally loosened and nature took over. As her arms tightened around his shoulders, she returned his kiss with surprising fervor. With each slow push he moved deeper into her. It took everything he had not to indulge himself at her expense.

“Jesus, Sophia . . .” He exhaled when he was buried to the hilt inside of her. The hot, tight sheath of her velvety lining hugged him. He was so close to losing it all and he had yet to thrust once into her.

He didn't want to move, afraid that if he did the spell would be broken and he'd unload into her.

Mateo growled, wanting to take her away from the prying eyes to a private place where, despite his duplicity, he could make love to her properly, as a bridegroom should. He felt her body tremble beneath his and knew she was doing all she could to keep her composure. This was wrong, his taking her this way. She was his wife, and she deserved the respect of privacy. As he smoothed her hair from her damp cheeks he slowly withdrew then slid back into her and watched as her eyes opened in wonder, and gathered her tightly to him.

“Tell me what to do, little one, and I will do it.”

“Just get it over with.”

He grit his teeth and closed his eyes. “How”—he groaned as he thrust into her—“do I show blood proof?”

He couldn't help himself; his hips moved slowly and rhythmically against her. He couldn't stop now. Not even if that bastard Dumas commanded it. “Please, Sophia,” he groaned, “tell me what to do.”

“Don't stop,” she breathed. “Don't stop.”

On the verge of coming, his body tightened. His teeth sank into the tender spot on her neck. Her nails dug into his back as her hips met his, thrust for thrust.

His vision clouded as her exotic essence engulfed him.

Ravenous for more of her, he thrust deeper. Her whimpers of need as she dug her nails deeper into his back spurred him forward.

Their bodies strained furiously. He could hold back no longer. He arched, thrusting so deeply into her he lost himself. He groaned loudly as hot streams of semen exploded in long thick bursts inside of her. Somewhere in a deep, dark recess of Mateo's tormented mind a tiny part of him hoped his seed struck home.

The orgasm shattered him and his resolve to quietly and gently deflower her. He could no more have politely fucked his wife than he could have kept himself from coming.

Breathless and hungry for more of her, Mateo held Sophia's trembling body in his arms for only a moment before he slid from her, pulled up his pants, then grabbed a hank of the sheet and carefully wiped it between her thighs.

He held up the blood-smeared sheet to his father-in-law, who stood scowling behind the glass wall. “Is this what you wanted?”

Dumas nodded. Mateo threw it from him in disgust. Wrapping her shirt around her shoulders and gathering a stunned Sophia into his arms, Mateo strode to the door and kicked it open, then asked her father, “Where is her room?”

When he did not immediately answer, Mateo repeated his question.

“Up the stairs to the right, last door at the end of the hall,” the old man answered.

Mateo took a few steps in that direction, then stopped and faced Dumas squarely. A powerful sense of possession and protection overcame him. The hows and whys of it were irrelevant. Mission or not, Sophia Dumas and everything that came with her belonged to him now. “She's mine. In her world, in your world and in my world. Interfere on any level and I will kill you.”

Dumas's face clouded angrily. “Do not threaten me.”

“It wasn't a threat.”