Seduction (11 page)

Craig and I walk arm in arm down the cobbled path that borders the San Antonio River. Nothing is more beautiful at sunset than the River Walk. I adore the colorful lanterns hanging from storefronts, the Spanish architecture and mosaics, patios filled with happy patrons, and the flower beds—even some Japanese tea gardens with fountains. I walk slowly, admiring the roses. Suddenly, Craig pulls me inside a jewelry store in the Rivercenter Mall. I’m nearly tapped after my shopping spree at Macy’s. And I’m not the best window-shopper; I don’t enjoy looking at things I can’t afford.

He leads me to a display case. I stare at the silver and turquoise. I’ve always admired Southwest jewelry. This particular collection is from New Mexico and very expensive.

“See something you like?” he asks.

I hide my shock. I don’t want him to buy me anything. “All of it,” I laugh.

“Can I show you anything, sir?” the salesclerk asks politely.

Craig nods, then points at something. My heart rate spikes. The clerk slides the glass cabinet door open and picks up a bracelet. He hands it to Craig. “A wonderful piece.” It’s an inlaid royal-purple sugilite and silver cuff bracelet.

He examines it closely, then turns to me. “Come here, darlin’.” I stand next to him. “Give me that pretty wrist.” He smiles. I offer my hand and Craig kisses it before he slides the bracelet on.

I admire the craftsmanship, but I can’t let him buy it.

“We’ll take it.” Craig pulls out his wallet.

“Twelve hundred dollars,” the clerk says. “Would you like a box?”

“No.” Craig gazes at me. “She’ll wear it home.”

I swallow. It costs nearly as much as I make in a week. I can’t help staring at it. Purple is my favorite color. How did he know that? I’m suddenly self-conscious and feel a major blush creeping up my cheeks. I can’t forget Craig’s confession after we made love this morning.

What are you doing to me?
…
There’s nothing ordinary about this relationship.

He’s right, I think despairingly. Surrendering to feelings I don’t understand doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Craig is slowly thawing my heart, even though I know his past.

When he’s done paying for the bracelet, we hold hands and leave the store. I stop and gaze up at him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” It’s the first time a man, other than my father, has bought me jewelry. My stomach is in knots.

He takes his sweet time answering me. “
You’re
beautiful.”

I’m wearing the black cocktail dress Macey picked out for me in Corpus. It’s the sexiest thing I own. The fitted bustier-style top is fringed with black Austrian crystals. The short skirt is all lace, with a small slit in the front. My hair is swept into an elegant updo. His thumb brushes my cheek. I inhale, my body tingling all over.

We walk a few blocks, cross one of the stone arch bridges that allow access to the other side of the River Walk, then stop outside the restaurant. Golden sunlight reflects off the river as the sun sets. I peer through the restaurant windows. It’s charming. We go inside. We’re greeted by a hostess at a podium. She checks the reservations list, then takes us upstairs. Craig reserved a private dining room. Our table is arranged in front of a small stone fireplace with a pleasant fire. Handblown glass pendant lights provide a sophisticated atmosphere. The bay window overlooking the river is the best surprise. There’s an open bottle of Champagne waiting for us.

Craig pulls my chair out and I sit down. He speaks with the hostess for a minute, then she disappears. He joins me at the table. Once again he’s astonished me. Such thoughtfulness and attention to detail—his generosity—I’m amazed. He cradles my hand is his. “Does this qualify as a formal date?” he asks.

I open and then close my mouth. Is he serious? He kisses my hands. This is a little too close to heaven for me. “Why?” I ask. I don’t mean it the way it sounds.

He chuckles. “Making up for lost time,” he answers softly. “I want you to know how much you mean to me, Marisela.” A server arrives with warm spinach salad and caviar. She pours the Champagne, then leaves. “Isn’t she going to check my ID?” I ask.

“I took care of that,” he says dismissively.

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’.” He hands me the blue flute, then raises his own glass. “To everything I’ve missed before you came along.” We tap glasses and both take a sip.

What’s come over my boyfriend? I gaze at him, unblinking. He’s wearing a black evening jacket with a white button-down shirt, no tie, and black jeans. I love his boots. Who opened up
Cosmo
magazine and conjured this perfect man? “You’re scaring me.”

His hands fasten possessively on mine. “Don’t be scared. Enjoy it, Marisela.”

I plan on it, believe me. We’re sitting across from each other, but the table is narrow and intimate. There’s a small bouquet of blue and purple irises in a vase and three tapers between us. As if he knows what I’m thinking, he slides them away. He picks up one of the mother-of-pearl spoons offered with the caviar and gives me a taste. It’s so salty, but delicious. He eats some, too.

Twenty minutes later the main course arrives, an eleven-spiced Texas axis venison with grilled quail and asparagus, followed by pear-raspberry crumble for dessert. We linger at the table for an hour and finish off the Champagne.

Craig looks at his watch. “It’s nine, baby. I have another surprise for you.”

I look over my shoulder. Where’s my fairy godmother? “What is it?” I ask joyfully, feeling warm and tingly from the Champagne.

“We’re headed to the I-37 Raceway in Pleasanton on Sunday. There’s a party for all the racers at Howl at the Moon tonight. We’re invited.”

I swallow. How did he know about my love for motorcycle racing? I have some nationally ranked AMA friends who travel the circuit regularly. My ex among them. “That’s incredible.” I clasp my hands together. “Should we go back to the hotel and change?”

He stands and looks down at me. “Nope. I want to keep you in that dress for as long as I can.” We leave the restaurant.

Howl at the Moon isn’t that far from our hotel. I’ve heard great things—it’s popular for its dueling piano shows and wild parties. I smile the minute we get inside. I look around. There are high wood-beam ceilings with huge ceiling fans, a raised stage with two baby grand pianos, tables all over the place, and a long, wide bar. The dance floor is jammed and the musicians are playing “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” by Journey. Half the crowd is singing along. Craig takes me by the hand and leads me toward the back.

I see several tables pushed together occupied by guys wearing racing leathers. As soon as we approach, three men stand up and shake hands with Craig. He wasn’t joking. He’s friends with racers. It’s almost too loud to think straight. Craig positions me in front of him and makes introductions.

“Marisela, this is my cousin, Lucas Lafontaine, and our friends Mason Percy and Arturo Romero.” We shake hands.

Lucas is nearly as tall and handsome as Craig. I shake my head—Viking genes. There are at least thirty people here. Over the next half hour we meet everyone. There are a couple of girls from Austin, Sarah and Jenna, both racers. And they know my old circle of acquaintances through Estevan. Some of them are here, which makes me extremely nervous. I don’t say anything to Craig.

We sit next to Lucas and order one of the house specialties called Buckets of Booze. I nearly fall out of my seat when it arrives: an 86-ounce Adios Mofo (Long Island tea mix, Blue Curaçao, lemon-lime soda, and sweet and sour). There are half a dozen neon-colored straws in the bucket. I’m starting to think Craig wants to get me wasted so he can take advantage of me. I laugh and take a long drink from a blue straw.

The band starts playing a Bob Marley tune and I want to dance.

Craig adamantly refuses to join me. “Only when I’m buzzed, baby.” He smiles. “Go ahead—I’ll watch you from here.”

I’m pleased he’s confident enough to let me dance alone. Another thing I’m unaccustomed to. Jenna offers to go with me. We hold hands and merge with couples on the dance floor. Eventually we end up near the front of the stage. Two songs later, I’m paired with a guy named Dominic. He’s nice. We finish our third dance and he leaves.

Then I see a face that sends shivers up my spine. I freeze.
Oh. My. God.

I knew it, felt something the minute I met those girls from Austin. Texas might be big in every sense of the word, but when it comes to the racing circuit, it’s small.

Estevan is dancing with a girl near the bar. I need to get out of here. I’m not thinking right. The Champagne—that Adios Mofo concoction. I eyeball the front door. Craig is too far away; I can’t see him through the crowd. I race for the entrance. There’s a bouncer. He’ll protect me until someone can alert Craig. I fight against the crowd to reach the doorman, but the surge of new patrons headed inside forces me back. I feel like a salmon fighting to get upstream. I look frantically at the bar. Estevan is gone.
Shit.
Someone grabs my arm. I whip around.

“Marisela.” It’s Estevan—he’s drunk—and I’m alone. He snaps me close. “Let me go!” I fight to get away, but he’s so strong and determined. We’re almost at the door. I tug with all my strength. He flashes the blade in his left hand. “If you start anything,” he growls in my ear, “I’ll cut your face.”

He’ll do it. I have a small scar on my inner left thigh covered by my tat where he stabbed me before. I don’t care; if he gets me outside alone…I yell. But no one pays attention—they think I’m partying. He drags me outside. I stumble. He doesn’t care.

We’re through the doors. I open my mouth to scream, but Estevan rams his tongue in my mouth to silence me. He jams the blade against my stomach, then breaks the kiss. “You taste like a whore,” he whispers, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist. “You’re gonna walk with me to my hotel.” I feel the steely tip of the knife through my dress. “Understand?”

I nod.

“Good.” He releases me and grabs my left hand. He squeezes hard. I yelp, but start walking. I trip on purpose. He lets go and waits for me to stand up again. We’re only a couple of blocks from the club. I stare in the general direction, praying Craig will show up.

“Get up, bitch.” Estevan hovers over me.

“I can’t,” I lie, “I twisted my ankle.”

“Fuck!” he hollers. He kneels and examines me. “It looks fine. Get up.”

“Please,” I beg. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

He grabs a fistful of my hair and forces my head back. “If you don’t walk, I’ll drag you the rest of the way.”

Tears blur my vision. There’s so much hatred and violence in his voice.

I hear a bloodcurdling scream. I look up in time to see Craig’s foot connect with Estevan’s head. The knife flies out of his hand before he hits the pavement. Lucas and a couple of other guys from the party are here, too.

“Baby.” Craig lifts me to my feet. He’s all over me, gripping my arms, hugging me, then holding me away so he can check me for injuries. “Are you all right?”

Bitter tears stream down my face. I’m breathless and scared. “How…how…did…you…”

He presses me to his chest. “Jenna saw Estevan drag you outside.
Goddamnit.
I’m an idiot. I should have never let you out of my sight.” His body goes rigid.

“No,” I say. “It’s not your fault.”

He lifts my chin and kisses me. “If anything happens to you…” His expression goes dark, then he lets go of me. “Stay here.”

He stalks to where Estevan is out cold on the ground. A small crowd is gathering nearby. Lucas and one of his buddies lift Estevan.

“I’ll take care of him,” Craig says, staring at my ex with hatred.

“No,” Lucas says. “Stay with Marisela—she shouldn’t be alone.”

Craig inhales, his hands shaking. “All right.”

Lucas and his buddy carry Estevan away. I take a deep breath. “What are they going to do with him? Shouldn’t we call the police?”

Craig returns to my side. “Let’s go back to the hotel, baby. Can you walk? Want me to carry you?”

I laugh dazedly. If I were any other girl I’d let him, but I can’t. It’s a matter of pride, even though I’m so weak-kneed I don’t think I can walk two steps.

Without waiting for an answer, he scoops me up. I don’t resist and snuggle against his hard chest. I feel safe wrapped in his arms, shielded from the rest of this godforsaken world.

We’re back in our room by midnight. I convince Marisela to sit on the couch while I fix her a drink. A shot of Crown will settle her nerves. I join her—my mind whirling. I want that son of a bitch dead.

“Drink, baby.” I hand her the shot glass.

She coughs after downing it. I smile. She doesn’t usually drink liquor. She hands me the empty glass and I set it on the end table. My hands are shaking I’m so pissed. “I think it’s time for full disclosure, baby.”

No more secrets. I can’t protect her if she won’t confide in me. I have connections in several police departments between Austin and San Antonio. Enough to help her. Her demeanor changes. My face burns because I know what she’s afraid of.

“You can tell me anything—it won’t change how I feel about you, Marisela.” I hold her hand. It’s clammy. I didn’t realize how hard it would be for her to relive her abuse. I
have
to know. My stomach tightens at the desolate look in her eyes.

“What good will it do?”

“I need to get inside this guy’s head—understand how far he’s willing to go.”

She frowns. “My ex doesn’t have boundaries, especially where I’m concerned. It’s a matter of pride for him. His family emigrated from Mexico fifteen years ago. Women are systematically discriminated against in his family.”

My email alert goes off on my cell. I pick it up.
Holy shit.
If a photograph is worth a thousand words, this one qualifies. Lucas sent the pic. Estevan stripped down to his briefs with
rapist
scrolled across his chest. I try to control myself. I can’t.

“What is it?” Marisela looks concerned.

“Nothing.”

“You expect me to answer your questions, but won’t address mine?” She crosses her arms over her chest. My defiant little Texas beauty.