Surrender to Love (16 page)

Her fingernails dug tiny grooves into her palm as she waited.  Then, when no footsteps or shouts answered the animal’s call, Sabine raced across the open spaces between the buildings and plunged into the wildness of the Cuban underbrush.  Twigs and palmetto branches tore relentlessly at her arms and legs as they grabbed at her skirt, insisting she not pursue the freedom she held so dear.  Faster…faster.  She must press on, get as far as possible; somewhere ahead was safety
– and she would reach it before Manuel Colón reached her.

She ran and ran until breathlessness finally brought sharp pangs to her side.  Collapsing in a weary heap under the thick fronds of a palmetto tree, Sabine massaged her side as she cursed herself for going no further.  How far had she run in her mad dash from Colón’s plantation?  Three miles?  Four?  And there was yet to be any sign of civilization.

Well, it was no matter.  She would come upon someone – or something – soon.  But now…now she needed some rest.  Only a few moments.  That’s all she needed before continuing. 

Hungrily she bit into the hunk of bread she clutched desperately in her hands, its sweetness filling the empty pit of her stomach.  The she snuggled under the lush vegetation that surrounded her, the pungent odor of crushed leaves filling her nostrils, soothing her soul.  Only a few minutes, she told herself as her eyelids drooped sleepily; then she would move on.

XXX

The heavy smoke of cigars hung darkly in the back room of the
León de Oro
casino.  Michael leaned back in his seat and inspected the pile of winnings that lay spread on the table before him.

“One more hand,” Manuel
Colón spat out.

Michael signed resignedly and stifled a yawn.  Hadn’t he had enough already? 
Everyone else had folded for the night.  It was late.  He was tired.  And  he’d had enough of Colón’s increasing demands.

But another round was dealt and Michael fanned out the cards in his hand.  Incredible.  He could hardly believe his luck tonight.  Three aces, a king and a jack.  If providence was on his side, he could leave for the United States by next fall and get himself out of the mess he was in.  And then, maybe, he could pay
Luís back the money he had spent to set Sabine free.

“Well?”

He looked into Colón’s hard, pig eyes.  The son of a bitch.  How much provocation would it take to put a bullet between them?  Not much, Michael decided darkly.  Not after what he’d seen today.

His free hand curled into an angry fist, clutching, clenching, flexing.  Just once.  Just once he’d like to slam his fist into that smug, neat face and feel the flesh give way under his hand.  He’d love to make Col
ón feel the same pain Sabine felt.

Sabine.

He could still see the steadfast look on her face.  Chin high.  Shoulders squared.  Emerald eyes glinting with determination…and hatred?  Distrust?  Hell, he didn’t blame her.  He probably would’ve acted the same way.

But now the contempt he harbored for Colón burned more hotly than it ever had.  Look what he had done to her, his conscience prodded, marred those honey-gold features with cuts and bruises a woman should never have; replaced the sweetness of her character with bitternes
s and cynicism.  Colón had managed to destroy the beautiful person she must have been once.

Was that all, though?  Had he stepped any further out of bounds?  Had he tried to touch her, force her against her will?  What else had he done to her since his return?

Damn.  Luís better have succeeded in securing her release.

Impatiently Michael drummed his fingertips against the tabletop.  Tomorrow was too far away.  He couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning for answers.  God, he thought restlessly as he shifted in his chair, couldn’t Colón give him some sort of indication
now?

“You seem to be displeased,” Col
ón inquired nonchalantly, and a mocking smile crossed his features.  “Is there something wrong with the bet I have placed?”

Scowling, Michael shook the disturbing thoughts from his head.  Glancing down at the pile in the center of the table, he motioned for additional cards.  Then, checking his hand, he slid a pair of earbobs to join it.

“Impressive,” came Colón’s reply.

The blond looked up at him passively and maintained his silence as he rubbed a hand against his jaw.

“Ii have nothing else to offer you tonight,
Señor
Pierson…except for maybe that girl you wanted so badly here in Havana.”

Sabine?

Michael’s heart stopped as a surge of unexpected anticipation raced through him.  Luís’s proposition must not have made an impression on Colón, but here he was, laying before him the ends for which he was looking. He could have her, free her, and not be required to produce a single penny.  Yes, tonight was definitely too good to be true.

“You know how I feel about owning slaves, Colón,” he bluffed as an expressionless veil draped over his excitement.  “I don’t agree with the practice.”

“Ah, yes, but you
were
there.  Why did you place a bid on her then, eh?”

He ignored the comment. 
He had spent too many nights over the last few weeks wrestling with the same question, and he knew why without even thinking.  It was everything he had seen about her – her beauty, her strength; she drew him like a moth to a flame.

“Besides, I have no use for her.”

Michael leaned back and considered the proposition carefully.  He had the opportunity to get Sabine out of there…maybe find out what she was doing here in Cuba…and maybe even lose himself in those beautiful green eyes for a while before sending her back to wherever it was she came from.

He closed his eyes tightly and scowled.  Why the hell did these thoughts keep coming to him?  He didn’t
want
her; he never had.  But he wanted to help her; and if this happened to be the only way…

Michael nodded in consent and Manuel
Colón slid the promissory note to the center of the table.  He had better be making the right decision.

Colón laid his cards out on the table and passed a smug smile.
Two pair, jacks high.

No hint of emotion passed over Michael’s countenance as his final hand spread out before him:  aces, four of a kind.  Lady Luck had certainly sat by his side this evening.

“It’s been enjoyable, gentlemen,” he stated coolly as he collected his booty.  “Let’s do it again sometime, Colón,” he added with forced casualness.  “I’ll be by later this week.”

He turned and exited through the curtained doorway.
  Elation spilled over and a grin of triumph spread across his features.  Not later this week, he promised Sabine silently as he looked out over the smoky front room.  He would be there tomorrow.

She was finally out of Colón’s hands, he marveled, shaking his head as he reread Colón
’s note several times.  Incredible.  He had  been the one to accomplish it – with a simple hand of cards.

So he had her.  But what had he managed to get himself into, exactly?  He fell like a millionaire with that few hundred
pesos
of gold and jewelry in his pocket, but he also had this woman to care for.  Damn, he had wanted to get her out of there, but…

Was he having second thoughts?  Maybe.  She certainly wasn’t going to welcome him with open arms.  And he couldn’t possible scrape together the funds to send her back to wherever it was she had come from in the first place.
  The house and land had to be paid off before he even considered anything else.  Why did everything have to be so damned difficult all the time?

Ah, hell, he wasn’t going to let it bother him.  Not tonight.  He had managed to get everything he had come for and more, and now all he wanted was a good stiff drink…or three.

Michael slipped the earbobs to a well-endowed, raven-haired barmaid and ordered her to bring a bottle of the best whiskey in the house.  Tonight he would celebrate; tomorrow he would figure out what in the world he was going to do with Sabine.

“I was hoping you would be here this evening.”

The sound of the syrupy feminine voice that spoke up from behind him twisted his gut, and the sweet taste of his victory quickly dissipated as a set of finely manicured fingernails trailed languidly down the back of his neck.  He didn’t bother to turn to confront the woman who attempted to gain his attentions.

“Slumming tonight, Gisela?”

Michael’s words were cutting, vicious, but instead of deterring her advances, the slender fingers wound themselves seductively in his blond curls until he pulled away.

“That is not a very nice thing to say to an old friend,” she said, gathering her full red lips into a pout as she moved to face him, deliberately brushing her ample breasts against his forearm.

“If we were friends, I wouldn’t have had to say it,” he replied as his gaze settled indifferently on the black catlike eyes that stared possessively into his.  “And, besides,
Señorita
Rivera,” Michael said as he motioned to the smoky fog of the casino’s main room, “I’m sure your blue-blooded father would approve of your choice of entertainment.”

“I have no intention of gambling away my family fortune,” she said huskily
as she reached up and tasted the skin of Michael’s neck with the flick of her tongue.  “Tonight my choice of entertainment is you.”

Sour bile wrenched in his stomach as he thrust her from him.

“Then it’s going to be one hell of a long, boring night for you, Gisela,” he replied curtly as he turned and left, not once stopping to offer a second glance at the Hispanic woman who he knew fumed silently in his wake.

He swore silently to himself as he burst out the door and into the comfortable warmth of
the Cuban night.  So much for celebration.  His victory had promptly turned sour while Gisela’s appearance.

The conniving wench never missed a trick, did she?  Without fail, she managed to make herself, and her intentions, known
wherever and whenever possible.  For the past six months she had made attempts – much to her repeated disappointment – to lure him into her bed, just as she had done with half the population of Havana, Michael had surmised on many an occasion.

Yes, Gisela Rivera de Cuellar was attractive, he admitted – and she had the type of body a man would die to lose himself in for a few short hours of pleasure.  But Michael wasn’t a fool, and he could damn well smell the type of trouble she was a mile away.  He wasn’t going to get involved. 
Let some other man get tangled up in that web of hers; he had more important things to worry about.  Like paying off his debts.  Like watching his back every so often just to make sure there wasn’t anyone sticking a rifle into it.

Like Sabine.

Damn, he cursed as he mounted his chestnut gelding and wheeled around in preparation to leave the city.  Sabine.  He had almost forgotten about her.  Now, what the hell was he going to do with her anyway?

XXX

As Sabine opened her eyes to heather and orange streaks of dawn, terror gripped her insides.  Too late!  She had slept too late, and they were bound to be searching for her.  She could never escape them, not now.  Never in a million years would she be able to outrun their horses or dogs.

She scrambled to her feet, not stopping to pull the leaves and twigs from her sleep-tousled hair.  As she dashed through the thick underbrush, the stones and razor grass cut sharply into her feet and legs, but she ignored the pain.  There was no time.  No time at all!

The sounds of crashing brush and baying hounds sounded in the distance.  They had discovered her, and were sure to be upon her in minutes.  She groped blindly, heedless of the thick vegetation that surrounded her and the twigs that slapped ruthlessly at her face and arms.  There was a clearing up ahead.  She had to make it across without being seen.  She had to –

Sabine let out a yelp as her foot hooked an exposed root, and she was violently propelled headfirst
into the thorny brush, pain enveloping her as sharp thorns dug into her skin.  She continued to scramble through, heedless of the smarting stings that tore through her.  She would not stop.  Nothing would deter her from reaching the freedom she so desperately needed.

Voiced continued louder and closer in Spanish as the thudding sounds of footsteps gained on her position.  Awkwardly she clambered amid the thick vegetation, slapping her way frantically
through the palmetto fronds and underbrush.

But the noises only increased in intensity.  Her heart pounded, and anticipation flooded every corner of her being as the brush hinted promisingly at a clearing that lay ahead.  If she could break into the open, she could successfully get away!  And somewhere, just past that field was a safe haven for her – a place where she could be safe and whole; a place where she needed no one but herself.

The shouts and crashing loomed closer behind her.  Sabine burst into the open field, ignoring the pain that screamed through her injured ankle.  It refused to hold her weight, and she sprawled headfirst into the tall, coarse grass, the breath in her body escaping in a terrible rush.