Flirting with Disaster (18 page)

“No one,” Dave said quickly. “Thanks for the hospitality, Manuel. But it’s time we went to bed.”

“Americans,” he said, with a sad shake of his head. “They have no understanding. Death is only a transition into the next life, where your loved ones are. Dia de los Muertos is the day they come to see us again.”

The thought of that sent something dark filtering through Dave’s mind, something that had eaten away at him for four long years.

No. You have to stop thinking about her. You’ll go crazy if
you don’t.

He turned back. “Do you actually believe that? That the dead come back?”

“Why should I not?” Manuel said. “Should not people who have crossed over want to visit their loved ones left behind?”

If that was true, then Carla had been watching. She’d been watching him with Lisa, sitting with her, laughing with her, kissing her, seeing him succumb one more time to the woman he never should have touched, never should have looked at, never should have dreamed about in the dark of night for the past eleven years. The woman he’d never forgotten, even when he’d been married to Carla.

“To tell you the truth, Manuel,” Dave said, “it sounds like a whole lot of silly superstition to me. But if you want to believe it, more power to you.”

With that, he turned and strode away.

A few minutes later, Lisa stood in the hall outside the door of their room, her back to the wall, her eyes closed, cursing herself for opening her big mouth. The moment she’d spoken Carla’s name, everything had changed. Why had she done it?

Because she could see so clearly that Dave had to be thinking about her even though he wasn’t saying her name, and the silence had demanded to be filled. But if she’d had any idea that after all this time he’d still feel Carla’s death so intensely, that he’d turn and hurry up the stairs, leaving her standing in that parlor as if nothing at all had happened between them, she would have kept her mouth shut.

She closed her eyes and ran her tongue over her lips. She could still taste his kiss. It had been the most incredible sensation—the fiery taste of the tequila mingling with his warm lips moving over hers in a shockingly sensual way. That he’d done it in the midst of a crowd had stunned her even more. He wanted her tonight. She was sure of it. Or, at least, he had, right up to the moment Carla had gotten in the way, coming back to haunt them like a ghost rising from the grave.

Lisa went inside the darkened room and clicked the door closed. The only illumination came from the streetlights shining through the open patio door. Dave sat on the balcony on the rattan sofa, his back to her.

She didn’t know what to expect. She only knew what she wanted. With that in mind, she slipped over to the closet, opened the door, and reached into her backpack. From a zippered pocket she pulled out one of the plastic packets it held and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. Carrying condoms wherever she went was a habit she’d held over from high school, because safe was always better than sorry.

She walked across the room and leaned against the patio door frame. Swirls of the night wind of November coming down from the Sierra Madres skated across her skin, raising goose bumps on her arms and ruffling her hair.

“My, you left the party quickly,” she said.

“You need sleep,” Dave said, not even bothering to turn around. “You should go to bed.”

Lisa felt a stab of disappointment. “Nah. I’m not really sleepy after all. And it was hot at the party. I could use a little air myself.”

She moved out onto the balcony, circled the sofa, and sat down beside him. When she saw what he was holding, her heart slipped a notch or two.

His wallet, open to a photograph of Carla.

Lisa hadn’t seen her since high school and light was minimal on the balcony, but still there was no mistaking the face. She was a few years older in this photo, but she looked essentially the same—blond hair, green eyes, with a soft, sensitive expression. Lisa willed him to put the photograph away, but still he stared at it. She knew any questions she asked might only inflame an already combustible situation, but not asking meant he would turn away from her completely, and that was the last thing she wanted tonight.

“How long has she been gone?” Lisa asked.

“Four years.”

“I read about it afterward. Icy roads. She lost control of the car on that bridge. Wasn’t that what happened?”

“Yeah. That was what happened.”

“Why didn’t you give her photo to Manuel?”

“I don’t even know those people. Carla is none of their business.”

His defensiveness sent a twinge of desperation fluttering through Lisa’s stomach.
Tell me, Dave. Tell me why you can’t
forget her.

Correction. Tell me how I can
make
you forget her.

To her relief, he flipped past Carla’s picture, only to settle on one of a little girl about four or five years old. Lisa leaned over to get a better look. She was a pretty child, with warm blond hair and green eyes.

“Ashley?”

Dave nodded.

“She’s beautiful,” Lisa said.

“She’s Carla. In every way.”

Lisa imagined that Dave was remembering what a shining couple he and Carla had been, the very picture of perfection, blessed with a child who was a daily reinforcement of just that. In her youthful anger and jealousy, Lisa had convinced herself that Carla was nothing more than a spoiled little rich girl who was going to make his life miserable. But now she knew how wrong she’d been and just how traumatic Carla’s death must have been for Dave.

She closed her eyes, cursing silently. How was it that after all this time the thought of the two of them together still sent waves of jealousy rolling through her?

Because you were in love with him. Maybe you still are.
Maybe you always will be.

For the past eleven years, Dave had stayed in the back of her mind, hovering in that corner reserved for hopeless dreams that refuse to go away. And she knew if she walked away from him tonight, tomorrow she’d go back to San Antonio and spend the next eleven years wondering what might have been. She tightened her jaw subtly but resolutely.

“Downstairs,” she said. “Why did you kiss me?”

He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t look at her. “Peer pressure?”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

He was silent.

“Kissing me tonight doesn’t mean you loved Carla any less.”

He turned to look at her. “Is that what you think? That I feel guilty about it?”

“You don’t?”

“Spare me the psychobabble. If I want analysis, I’ll hire a shrink.”

“Why? So you can wallow in it from now on?”

Dave’s gaze turned positively glacial. “You haven’t got any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me? If you’re going to kiss me like that in front of a roomful of people, I think I’ve got a right to know what you were thinking when you did it.”

“I wasn’t thinking a damned thing, or I never would have done it.”

“Right.”

“I’d had a few beers—”

“Oh, come on.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, Lisa.”

“A peck on the lips wouldn’t have been a big deal. What you did—believe me. That was a big deal.”

He didn’t respond. He just shut his wallet and returned it to his pocket.

“You wanted to come back upstairs,” she said softly. “And you know I did, too. So what happened to change all that?”

“I told you I’d get you out of Mexico. That’s as far as anything between us is going to go.”

“Why? Did you suddenly decide that I don’t appeal to you after all? Now, that’s a reason I’ll go along with, because, you know, chemistry is just one of those things.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Did it suddenly dawn on you that after tomorrow we’ll probably never see each other again, so you figure what’s the point of anything happening between us tonight? If so, that’s fine, too.”

“Lisa—”

“But, Dave,” she said, dropping her voice, “if you wanted me before and you don’t now because I spoke your dead wife’s name, then you’ve got a problem that an entire army of shrinks couldn’t possibly hope to deal with.”

She held her ground, giving him a defiant stare, standing behind every word she’d said. She knew she was treading on thin ice, but maybe it was just what he needed to hear. And maybe he’d hate her forever for saying it. Either way, she had nothing to lose.

“Like I said,” he told her. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I’m closer than you want to admit.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Maybe you need to.”

“Cut it out, Lisa.”

“But—”

“Will you just shut the hell up and leave me alone?”

She recoiled, feeling the jolt of his angry words lodging directly in her heart. Yes, she’d pushed him. Hard. But she wanted to know—
needed
to know—why Carla’s death still had a stranglehold on him four years later. But it looked as if she was never going to find out.

“Sure, Dave,” she said, rising from the sofa. “Whatever you say. And don’t worry. After tomorrow, I won’t be around to bother you anymore.”

She brushed past him, heading for the patio door. As she came around the arm of the sofa, to her surprise, he clamped his hand around her wrist and pulled her to a halt.

“Lisa. Don’t go.”

It wasn’t a command. Instead his voice held a hushed, pleading tone, and like some kind of invisible cord, it kept her from walking away more effectively than his grasp on her wrist ever could have. Then his grip relaxed, becoming more like a caress. He let out a long, tortured breath, then slowly, slowly pulled her back around until she was standing in front of him. The silence on the patio was broken only by the rustle of the night wind through the trees. He took her other wrist and ran both of his hands down to grasp hers, then looked up at her, his gaze solemn.

“Here’s the truth. I kissed you because I wanted to. Because you looked so beautiful and we’d been sitting together all night and it seemed . . . God, Lisa.” He exhaled. “Just looking at you has always done something to me I don’t understand and I probably never will.”

She held her breath, afraid to break whatever spell it was that kept the longing in his voice and the desire in his eyes. “And then you wanted more than a kiss.”

His gaze played over her body, easing down over her breasts to her waist, then back up to her face again. His hands tightened against hers. “I still do.”

The coarse hunger she heard in his voice gave Lisa the same feeling she got in her stomach every time her plane hit a pocket of turbulence—an intense, breathless, swooping sensation that was almost painfully exhilarating. And now, when Dave pulled her between his thighs, taking her hips in his hands and burying his face against her, the feeling only intensified. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, his warm breath soaking through her shirt and burning her skin like a brand.

She heard the muffled sounds of traffic in the distance, tires rushing against asphalt, horns honking. The night air swirled through the trees, creating a whisper of leaf against leaf. Lisa sensed everything around her, but she remained strangely disconnected from all of it. All she knew, all she felt, all she wanted right now was Dave.

He tugged on her hips, easing her down until she was straddling his legs, her knees tucked beside his thighs, resting on the padded cushion of the rattan sofa. She steadied herself by placing her hands against his shoulders, and when she dared to meet his eyes again they were smoldering with want, with need. When men looked at her like that, when she could see that craving in their eyes, the subsequent rush was like a drug she needed desperately. It was a feeling like no other, that unparalleled sensation of being beautiful and desirable, of being the number one thing on a man’s mind.

She knew the power of sex. She always had.

He curled his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to his mouth, plunging his tongue inside in a deep, blistering kiss that made the one he’d given her downstairs pale in comparison. He shoved his other hand beneath her shirt and circled it around to the small of her back, his rough fingertips rasping against her skin as he pulled her closer still, his mouth burning against hers.

God,
this man could kiss.

Then a sense of desperation crept in. She had no delusions that he’d suddenly fallen madly in love with her. There was a big difference between love and lust, and Dave DeMarco was experiencing a major case of lust.

He saved love for women like Carla.

No.
Maybe it wouldn’t be that way. Not if she made it so good for him that he forgot all about his dead wife. Made it the best sex he’d ever had in his life, so he would want to come back again and again and Carla would slip further and further from his mind. She wanted him to feel every sexual tremor like an earthquake inside him, to associate the sight of her, the feel of her, the very
smell
of her with the most incredible sensations of his life. She wanted to make sure that from this moment forward, every time he thought about sex, hers would be the face he would see.