Songs for Perri (12 page)

His room was similar to hers; furnished discreetly with a queen-sized bed, chair and desk. A large leather suitcase, well-worn, stood against one wall and a small cloth traveling bag sat on top of it. He looked like he was packed and ready to go at a moment's notice.

Acknowledging her hesitancy with a wry grin, Hugo pointed toward the glass doors, and she stepped that way, still cautious. The round metal table on the balcony had been covered with a starched white cloth. On it two places had been set, complete with candles. A large serving cart stood nearby, containing various covered dishes.

He had spoken truly: the table was set and dinner was waiting.

At once Perri's apprehensions fell away and she reached out to give Hugo's hand a quick squeeze of delight. "What a super idea."

"Thank you. Here's your chair," he said, seating her, "and the cold water madam requested." He placed a shallow basin under her feet, filling it from a pitcher.

He couldn't have planned a nicer treat if he had thought about it for a year. "That's marvelous!" she sighed and slumped back on the comfortable chair. Her muscles, still taunt from anxiety, relaxed all at once, leaving her body as limp as an old shoelace.

Luminous, glowing with pleasure at his kindness, Perri forgot for a brief moment why she was in Mexico. The anxiety that had begun to pinch her spirits disappeared, setting her free to shyly bloom under his evident admiration...an admiration undisguised now that the covering had been removed from those darkly eloquent eyes. He was in high spirits, obviously pleased by her pleasure, her unrestrained response.

"We aim to please." With a flourish, Hugo lifted the covers off the serving trays and the aroma of good food floated out to increase their hunger.

The salad and gulfstream shrimp was beautifully displayed. She hoped he wasn't spending all his wages on her, she wouldn't expect that of anyone. But tonight she would enjoy this lovely arrangement Hugo offered and be thankful.

It was one of the few things she had disliked about her buying trips: being forced to either eat alone in a public place or having to entertain a client in a public restaurant. Even buying a sandwich and taking it up to her room to eat wasn't relaxing, for she invariably ended up working on accounts while she munched away.

It was the first private meal Perri had had since she had arrived in Mexico, and she found herself completely at home with Hugo, at ease and in total harmony with him. She knew enough about his character by now to understand that if she dropped her fork or spilled the sauce or said something wrong, it wouldn't bother him. Hugo was like Owen, in that he was not a man who needed to feed his ego upon the misfortunes of another person.

As they ate, leisurely, feeling no rush in the privacy of the semi-walled balcony, they were treated to a spectacular sunset.

Everything was perfect.

Especially the man who sat across from her, enjoying his food and her company, the laughter coming and going across his face as they shared various travel experiences...missed flights, lost luggage, inept custom agents. He had traveled even more than she...and to some places she had never considered.

Did he travel for pleasure or for business reasons? Remembering how he had mentioned that his presence in Mexico was not for pleasure, Perri wondered just what his present job was. If only she knew more about him.

"Hugo?"

He had been looking out to sea, his eyes contemplating the last glorious colors of the sunset. At her question he turned to face her, his expression one of utter satisfaction. There had been a change in him, a peace that Perri had not noticed before, almost as if he had laid down a burden or had come off duty for awhile.

Perhaps he felt the same as she...that here was a person who did not have to be entertained. A person to relax with, not needing to fill every moment with endless comments or guarding what was said in case a word offended. Comfortable in silence.

"No business tonight?" she queried, remembering how he had had to leave early the other night.

"Yes, later." He smiled as he answered, a lovely flashing smile that lit his expressive eyes...and also flipped her heart right over and dropped it at his feet.

Had he noticed? Would she be able to pick it up again without his seeing?

Did she want to? Her heart said "no," but her mind told her her heart was rushing things. She didn't know anything about this man.

His voice broke into her turbulent thoughts. "But not for a couple of hours yet, sweetheart. Now is just for us."

The term of endearment lingered, the word made even more beautiful by that slow quiet drawl that so dominated his speech. There was a certainty behind his determined gaze and Perri decided he was remembering the moment when she had stepped into his room. It was true...she could be his sweetheart.

Only, the timing was wrong. All wrong. She couldn't involve this man in her affairs. They were too dangerous.

The remembrance of Owen immediately froze her. She shook her head over Hugo's statement, denying its veracity. "But it can't be...just for us. Not now."

"No?" he said quietly, not at all upset.

"No. Later. Perhaps."

"You're probably right. Later would be better."

Staring up at the darkening sky, her mind wandered around in circles. Hugo had a strong personality, with an unexpected touch of kindness that made her want to respond to him, to reach out to meet him. It was like being in a dream dance, two people spinning together on an invisible floor, around and around, caught up in the spell of the music and each other, dreaming, daring, sharing.

The song came back to her, the one Donegal had sung. She and Hugo...they were on a voyage of discovery of their own.

A voyage of danger, if she let him into Owen's trouble. She sighed in tired frustration, depressed by the futility of her search for Walt. "It would be so much easier if I knew..."

A frown of wary speculation descended upon Hugo's face and wrinkled its way across his broad forehead. "Knew what? About me?" He paused to study her reaction. When she said nothing, but continued to stare at his rugged features, he added as if in self-defense, "I've taken off my glasses. And my coat."

Perri grinned at this ridiculous statement. "That wasn't what I meant." She didn't want him to offer to take off anything else. "I'd like to know...I need to know...more about you," she finished lamely.

Suddenly she felt like crying. She felt so alone. What she really wanted to know was: What was he doing in Mexico? Was he a threat to Owen?

"More? Isn't it enough...the fact that I'm tall, dark and handsome?"

Perri let her grin have its way, then straightened it out. Hugo was that, all right. And his sense of humor was able to pull her out of her self pity. "No. That's not enough. Tell me...if there's anything you think I should know; something of importance to me."

He rested his chin on his fist, frowning in serious concentration at the whiteness of the tablecloth. His voice was low, melodic...a voice to woo a lover with. If he used it on her, Perri realized, she'd be hard pressed to resist him.

"My deepest secret?" he inquired. He sounded reluctant, yet almost as if he wanted to share it with her...to include her into the hidden things of his life.

"Yes." Would he tell her now? Yet, why should he? She held her breath as he took a moment longer to decide. Whatever it was, it must be very important to him...he was taking a long time making up his mind.

"You don't want much, darling." He sighed. "Like I said, I feel almost compelled to tell you. Strange." Pausing, he studied her in puzzled wonder. "Few people know. And then only because they needed to."

He stood up and walked behind her to the balcony rail, putting his hands on it and leaning forward, his foot idly kicking at the solid concrete base. "If I tell you, you must promise me; never, ever, to tell anyone."

She half-turned in her chair so she could see his back. Hugo had a proud, upright carriage; one she had come to realize was simply self-confidence, not massive arrogance. Even at rest he didn't slump, just leaned, his back and neck still unbending. He stood, overly stiff now, as if on trial.

"I promise," she agreed solemnly. "I won't tell anyone."

"You won't laugh?"

Perri frowned at the comment. What kind of statement was that? Yet, he wasn't joking, he was very serious about this. "Why should I?"

"I don't know." He turned and stared down at her with a quizzical expression on his face. "But somehow...well, I get the feeling we're talking about two different things. What are you talking about?"

"What I'm talking about," Perri said slowly, choosing her words with care, "involves other people. I thought you might even know what it was. I guess I was wrong." She paused for a second, then added flatly, "It's not my secret to tell."

"Mine is. I can tell whoever I wish. But if I tell you, you hold my happiness in your hand. You could do me great harm if you told anyone else. Anyone."

"Then perhaps you had better not tell me," Perri hedged, alarmed. "I don't want to know your secret if it's that dangerous." Was he in fact a killer? What had she talked this man into revealing?

CHAPTER EIGHT

"It's not dangerous," he grumbled, with an angry swipe of his hand as if to clear the air. "It's...burdensome. And I can see...I'm going to be on hooks till I tell you. I might as well get it over with. I'm Donegal."

He scowled defensively at her, trying to gage her reaction; a reaction which took longer than normal as it took Perri a few moments for the import of his strange confession to hit home. At first she didn't realize he had told her anything and continued to stare at him in blank expectation. She had been expecting him to say he was a secret agent or worse, a hit man. Not Donegal.

Who was Donegal? The rock singer? "You?"

She knew her jaw had dropped, for she had to consciously shut it again. This man and...and Donegal? Was he teasing her?

"You doubt me?"

"I don't see how...." She had to visibly shake herself and start again. This was preposterous! Hugo...Donegal? "He has blue eyes," she stated, appealing to logic. "And long, scraggly hair."

"A wig, my love. A long scraggly wig. And colored contact lenses. Light makeup to make me look paler."

"But, why....?"

"I don't want anyone to spot me off stage. There's no privacy left once that happens." His voice was serious. He was serious. No wonder he hadn't wanted to tell her.

Perri hid her face in her hands, covering the grin that suddenly and uncontrollably swept over her. The image of the macho Hugo Brandt hiding under a dark curly wig and light makeup was too much, and a giggle slipped out as he ducked down to peer into her face.

He sighed loudly. "Laughing at me, eh? I was afraid of that. You think I should sing to those crazy people looking like this? They would tear the clothes off my back. Almost do anyway," he muttered, looking poorly used.

Oh, Hugo!" Perri doubled over, laughing harder; once started, finding it impossible to stop. She almost fell off her chair. "You're Donegal? You?"

"Most women would be impressed," he grumbled. He waited until she had her fit of laughter more under control, then confessed, embarrassed, "Awful, isn't it? And if you ever tell anyone, I'm dead meat, understand? Those reporters, they'd make hamburger out of me and feed me to the starving mob. If it gets out, I'll come looking for you." he added, mock-threateningly.

She wiped away a tear generated from laughing so hard. "I won't tell, Hugo. I promise."

He looked relieved as he saw her acceptance of his other self. Dropping to one knee in front of her, he said firmly, "You’d better not." With an almost quiet shyness, he added, "Did you like the song I wrote for you?"

"Voyage of Discovery?" Open mouthed, she stared at him. "Surely you didn't write it...? For me?" He nodded. "In that short of time?"

He shrugged; evidently he whipped out songs as easily as he sung them. "I had the tune earlier, it just needed words. You supplied them. In fact...I hear music whenever you're around."

She gazed steadily at him, her eyes locking with his—so dark and probing—remembering now the feeling she'd had that Donegal's eyes had the same dynamic intensity as Hugo's.

His voice, with its carrying quality that had amazed her, should have given him away. Of course, up on the stage most of the talking he had done was through a microphone—and most was done at a shout, so there was little chance to compare.

Still, Donegal could sing without a microphone...he could project clear across the room with no trouble at all.

It was the trained voice of a singer. "Yes...I did like it. Very much." She shook her head to clear it. This was going to take some getting used to. "Why don't you write more songs like that one?"

Gently but firmly he captured her left hand, stroking her slender fingers individually as if to braille each one, sending tiny sensations of delight coursing through her body. "I do. I compose soft ballads, but I sell those to singers who sing that kind of stuff."

"But, don't you like what you write?"

"Very much so; but it's not Donegal's forte."

"Then, what got you started singing rock?"

"Ha...would you believe...a bet. Now I'm a star, I have to give them what they've come to expect. I sing a few songs just for me, now and then. Like your song." He bent and kissed her fingertips, sending a wave of emotion cascading up her spine, at the same time creating a tiny tinge of embarrassment. “A song just for Perri.”

Since his confession, she had become a little hesitant, almost awestruck. This man was famous...yet here he was, kneeling before her, telling her he had written a song for her. For her!

Written it when he had barely known her. What was happening? Donegal had looked like such an obnoxious creep; and here she was, liking him. Or at least liking Hugo, which had to be almost the same thing.

Donegal's fame was something she’d have to accept if she wished to remain friends with Hugo, but he was going to take some getting used to.

She pulled her fingers away, denying the arousing quality of his touch. "I liked the song; but I didn't like the way you singled me out."