Hidden Agenda (13 page)

Matt watched Eve retreat as he slid down into the pool, seeing her eyes widen as he came closer. His toes touched the silt-covered bottom. “I waited as long as I could, Darling.” Her hands adjusted the top of her swimsuit and he smiled. “I heard you leave the house almost an hour ago, but when my stomach began growling I decided to come look for you.”

“You don’t need me to prepare your breakfast.”

He gave her a forlorn expression. “But I can’t cook, Darling.”

Eve retreated until she felt the rocks against her back. “I’ll teach you,” she gasped breathlessly, seconds before he reached for her.

Matt’s fingers curved around her narrow waist, the water adding to her buoyancy as he pressed her breasts to his bare chest. She felt his body’s heat through her swimsuit. His fingers became steel bands, holding her captive. The heat from their bodies was enough to make the frigid water boil.

The gold and green eyes seemed to strip away her suit to photograph what lay beneath the black spandex. What did he want? What was he waiting for?

Eve tried, but she couldn’t pull her gaze away from his mouth. The fire spreading from his massive body warmed her quivering flesh. How she wanted him. She wanted him to protect her, make her laugh and make her feel safe.

She needed him to give her the security her father had failed to give her, and she needed him to make her feel desirable again.

“I just might need some extra tutoring,” Matt teased, before he released her and floated on his back. Eve swam quickly to the edge and climbed out of the water. “Aren’t you going to share the pool with me, Eve?” he shouted.

I don’t want to share the pool with you
, screamed in her head.
I want to share your life with you
. A life away from the killings and secret missions; a life where she could feel like a woman loved by her child and desired by her husband.

Trembling hands reached for the towel atop her
discarded clothing. There was no way she was going to swim with him. Seeing him fully clothed was tempting; seeing him with nothing more than swim trunks was torture.

“I’m going back to the house to prepare
your
breakfast.”

“Forget about breakfast,” he ordered sharply.

Sitting down on the ground she slipped into her jeans. “You can’t ask me to prepare breakfast for you, then change your mind in the same breath. I’ve offered to do the cooking because I happen to like it. Not because you deem it my duty.”

“This has nothing to do with cooking. What the hell are you frightened of, Eve?” he taunted. “I told you before that I’m not going to touch you.” Frowning, he waded closer to the edge. “I’m not going to lie and say I don’t find you attractive, because I do. You’re a beautiful, sexy woman, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget you. But we happen to be actors in a play where we’ll have to give the performances of our lives, and when the curtain comes down it will be over. For both of us.”

Eve shoved her feet into her jogging shoes, stopping only to tie the laces. She had to get away from Matt. His words were branded into her brain. They were bound together, but were destined to live their separate lives.

And as much as she believed she was beginning to love him, she wanted it to be over. She didn’t want to spend another day living a lie. The pretense was beginning to wear on her nerves, and she doubted whether she would be able to pull it off.

And while under the guise of wearing haute
couture, attending high society parties, and living in luxurious surroundings, she had had feelings of guilt creep into her being. Matt claimed all of it was necessary to obtain information about her son, but there were times when she thought his stratagy too laid-back. She had been in Mexico more than a month, and she was no closer to regaining possession of her child than she had been when she first arrived.

Walking back to the house, she prayed for strength; she needed it if she wanted to reclaim her son.

E
ve raised questioning eyebrows as Matt sat down at the kitchen table. It looked as if he had waged a personal war with his razor, as evidenced by the many dots of drying blood on his cheeks and chin.

She removed a plate filled with warm rolls from the oven, leaning over his shoulder and placing them on the table. “I think you’d better
retire
that blade before it decides to slip from your chin to your throat,” she teased mercilessly close to his ear.

“That’s not funny,” he growled.

“I think it’s very funny.” She had recovered from their encounter at the pool, but apparently her refusal to swim with Matt had left him in a foul mood.

He’d returned to the house shortly after she did, and waited for her to shower before he stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door violently. He’d said over
and over that their marriage was legal publicly and a sham privately. However, his display of affection had shifted to their private world, and when she didn’t respond he was annoyed.

Sitting down, she flashed him an open smile. The short, wet, black hair clinging to his scalp resembled a seal’s coat with its weight and sleekness.

Reaching for a roll, Eve missed the tightening of Matt’s jaw and the imperceptible movement of his broad shoulders. She was barely given the opportunity to cry out before he sprang from his chair and brought her up hard against his body and tickled her. His hands swept up her rib cage as she collapsed, unable to catch her breath, in hysterical laughter.

“Apologize,” Matt demanded. He held her firmly, not hurting her but not permitting her to escape him.

“No-o-o,” Eve gasped. She wasn’t going to give in that easily. Besides, there was nothing for her to apologize for.

“Give in, Darling. You can’t win.”

“Never.” She wiggled sensually, her breasts brushing against his chest.

“Stop wiggling.”

Eve shifted, unintentionally pressing her pelvis to his groin. “Let me go.”

“I…I warned you,” Matt said between clenched teeth.

He was going to release her even if she didn’t apologize, but it was too late. The involuntary tremors of arousal began, bringing with it an explosive reaction in his loins.

Eve raised her chin and saw the unbridled passion in Matt’s eyes before he lowered his head. His mouth
took hers, the heat rising so quickly she weakened immediately.

She was only aware of his tongue forcing her lips apart and the solid hardness in his groin searching through the layers of fabric concealing their nakedness.

His tongue made a sweeping motion over her mouth, plunging in and out frantically and devouring the honeyed sweetness making him drunk with passion.

Matt’s motions were jerky as he pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. “Touch me,” he demanded, his fiery breath on her face. Eve collapsed in his embrace and he supported her limp body with one arm. His right hand was busy guiding her left under his shirt to his fevered flesh.

“Matt,” she groaned, her own breath coming in a staccato hiccuping. She couldn’t think with his tongue exploring the moistness of her mouth, then moving to the runaway throbbing pulse in her throat.

“Yes, darling. Yes-s,” he urged, his voice heavy and quivering with the passion Eve elicited as her fingers swept over his belly and chest.

Eve needed no further urging. Her fingers charted a course along the long scar on his back and traveled around to the thick, coarse hair on his chest. She pressed her face to a muscled shoulder, inhaling the scent of his skin. She’d become a sculptor, tracing the planes of his beautifully symmetrical male body: the broad shoulders she was unable to put her arms around, the thick, deep chest and the hard, flat belly.

Matt’s hands were as busy as Eve’s. His fingers swept over her velvet-smooth flesh, leaving her gasping and trembling. High, full breasts swelled against his palms, and he buried his face against her neck.

“No more—please,” she pleaded. Matt’s harsh, uneven breathing echoed in her ears while her own blood coursed through her body like a heated, rushing stream.

As quickly as it had begun, it ended. Matt released her, turned on his heel, walked out of the kitchen and up the staircase.

What was happening to him? He had initiated an act which could prove costly to both of them because he had come close, much too close, to making love to Eve right on the kitchen table.

Making his way down the hallway and into the bedroom he’d selected, he lay across the bed, his mind a torment of jumbled thoughts. He could rationalize and blame his behavior on Eve’s acid tongue. He’d told her over and over that he wouldn’t make love to her, yet he’d come within seconds of doing just that. He’d spent the past month lying to Eve and lying to himself. Mateo Arroyo needed Eve Blackwell-Arroyo. He needed the peace only she could give him, her warmth and passion, her pure light that eradicated the darker side of Mateo Arroyo, and he needed her to love him.

“I love her,” he whispered to the silent room. Having said it aloud filled him with a sense of fulfillment, and the confidence he sought to see his mission to a successful conclusion.

He would give Eve back her son, give Joshua Kirkland his mole, and he would win the love of a woman he’d claimed as his wife.

Eve put away the remains of breakfast once she realized Matt was not going to return. She swept the
floor, wiped the table, and adjusted the chairs’ seat cushions, until she realized that she was about to plump up and straighten the same cushion for the third time.

She’d tried banishing the memory of what had occurred between her and Matt by keeping busy, but failed.

Walking out of the house and into the sultry morning, she recalled the erotic scene, frame by frame. Closing her eyes, she relived the taste and feel of Matt’s mouth on hers, the warmth and strength of his hands on her bare breasts, and the clean, masculine scent of him in her nostrils and on her skin. Pleasure, pure and explosive, ripped through her body, resulting in a startling wetness between her thighs.

Breathing in deep, soul-drenching drafts, Eve savored the aftermath of her traitorous body. A smile softened her full lips. She’d enjoyed her husband’s seduction; she wanted him to love her, and she wanted their marriage to last—forever.

Opening her eyes, Eve inched her way down the hill and headed through the thick underbrush until she came to the clearing with the waterfall. She sat on a half-rotting tree trunk, staring at the gentle rush of water flowing over pale rocks, trying to recall her mother’s face. The shadowy image was replaced with that of her son.

Christopher Blackwell Delgado. Eve smiled, remembering the child who had inherited the best of his parents’ genes and personalities. He was her love child who never complained when he was put to bed and always woke up smiling, and, like Alex, he adored the opposite sex. If she wore a new dress or gown or
changed her hairstyle, Chris always responded effusively with compliments, and she’d prayed that he would not adopt his father’s proclivity for infidelity. Chris sometimes displayed a quick temper and a streak of stubbornness she recognized as a characteristic of her own personality.

A shower of water rained down on Eve’s head and shoulders, and she quickly vacated the downed limb. Shading her eyes with a hand, she peered upward, hoping to see what had startled the tree dwellers. The treetop activity increased, and seconds later large, fat drops splattered the leaves of massive trees before finding their way to the dark, heavy earth of the jungle floor.

A rumble of thunder reverberated over the mountains, followed by a crash and flash of lightning, chilling Eve before the rain soaked her skin.

Fear closed around her like a shroud, and she took a deep breath.
Don’t panic; don’t panic;
the refrain played over and over in her head; if she didn’t panic, she would be able to make it back to the house, and safety.

The rain-soaked earth under her feet became a quagmire. Her shoes were sucked deeper into the morass with her every step.

Using a prolific, yielding banana tree as her landmark, Eve headed in the direction of the house situated at the top of the steep hill. She took a few steps, then fell forward, trying desperately to reach for something to break her headlong fall. Her right hand caught a thick, trailing vine as her heart pounded loudly in her ears. A shield of rain and a rising fog distorted her vision, making it difficult to see more than a half foot in front of her face. She couldn’t believe
how quickly many pools of water formed around her feet as she groped through the forested area.

A curtain of rain fell in a vertical pattern and Eve stopped, holding on to a branch. A shriek of pure panic escaped her lips when she felt movement under her hand. Her fingers were locked around a slithering reptile which had wrapped its length around the branch under an umbrella-like leaf. She pulled her hand away, bringing it close to her face and counting quickly to see if she had all of her fingers.

She moved on, fan-like wet leaves slapping at her face with each step. The effort to lift her legs as she struggled with the thick mud became a tortuous exercise, and she failed to notice the large, jutting root as she fell a second time on the forest floor.

The violent rumble of thunder and the pelting sound of rain against the bedroom windows propelled Matt from the bed in a smooth motion. Making his way to the windows, he peered out. The downpour obliterated the outside.

Remembering Eve’s reaction to the storm the day they’d shopped in the
Zona Rosa
, he waited for her to come to him.

He waited.

She did not come.

Quickly, silently, Matt searched every room, unable to believe that Eve would be out in the storm.

He slowed his breathing as he inhaled deeply with the realization that Eve was not in the house. There was only one place he knew she would go, and he headed in that direction.

He half-ran and half-slipped down the hill, golden
eyes searching through the thick screen of rain and fog. Mateo Arroyo had become the hunter. He searched the wet ground for Eve’s footprints. He became the big cat, seeking his prey, moving silently and swiftly. His stealth, coupled with a total absence of fear, made him a natural hunter.

As an adolescent he’d hunted snakes and cougars with his friends on a dare. Whatever they dared—he did. Whether it was catching a rattler with his bare hands before the fangs sank deep into his exposed flesh or facing a large cat armed only with a knife, he had lived on the edge.

He’d always won the wagers which prepared him for the rescue missions he led many times for the United States military.

There were times when he’d been close enough to his “target” for him to smell the perspiration clinging to their flesh, and still he had gone undetected. He’d stood motionless, slowing down his heart rate until a pulse was almost nonexistent.

He had become a weapons expert, knives his specialty. He found them silent and as lethal as a handgun. Many times his hands were his only weapons, causing unconsciousness within seconds with a blow to a vital area.

His work frightened Eve; his work and the dark world he occasionally ventured into. Harry Blackwell had told her about him, and her knowledge of his double life would keep her from trusting or loving him.

And Eve was the first woman Matt cared enough about to make her reaction to him matter.

Matt found Eve. She was motionless, facedown on
the ground. Her clothes and hair were stained with mud and leaves. Turning her over, he cradled her to his chest, using his T-shirt to clear her nose and mouth of mud. His pulse quickened as he spied a thin ribbon of red along her hairline, over her left ear. His fingers grazed her scalp quickly and he discovered a small lump above the ear.

The driving rain washed away the traces of blood and dirt on her face as Eve’s head fell back over his arm. Matt picked her up and rose to his feet in one continuous motion. She groaned once, not opening her eyes.

“Matt?” Her voice was weak and trembling.

“It’s me,
Preciosa
. You hit your head, but you’re going to be all right.”

She mumbled as Matt cradled her protectively to his wet body. She counted silently with every step back to the house, temporarily forgetting about the band of pain enveloping her temples.

Matt expected resistance as he began stripping the muddied clothing from Eve’s body. However, she lay rigid on her bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.

He removed her blouse, then raised her hips and pulled off her soggy slacks. A delicate scrap of silk and lace concealed her most private part from him, and that was also removed, leaving him to admire the perfection of her slim body.

His gaze lingered on her narrow waist and rounded hips. They shifted upward to her firm, dark-brown crested breasts, then moved downward again.

Sweet heaven! She is beautiful
, Matt mused, transfixed by the flawlessness of Eve’s body. His own body reacted with a rush of heaviness in his groin. This
woman was his wife! He could claim her as his own! Pride and possession filled him as he leaned over and gathered her from the bed.

Whenever he went undercover in the past, he’d been grateful that he hadn’t married. He hadn’t wanted a woman to worry about him whenever he disappeared for months, or if he returned with a serious wound or new scar. He also hadn’t wanted to have to explain where he’d been, or what he’d been doing, during his absence.

Only when he thought about relocating to New Mexico to breed horses did he think about a wife and children, and with his own family, he would be able to lead a normal life wherein he’d look forward to coming home each night. He also wanted to father his own children—he wanted Eve to have his children.

Eve pushed weakly against his chest. “Don’t shake me, please. My head feels as if it’s going to fall off.”

Matt slowed his step, seemingly floating toward the bathroom. “I have to give you a bath, Eve. I want to make certain a parasite hasn’t decided to use your body as a host for procreation.” He lowered her to the bathtub he had filled with warm water.