Under the Wire (6 page)

No. His face would not break plates, Lily thought, grinning over his refreshing lack of modesty. Hearts, yes. But not plates.

Even in sleep, everything about him was dazzling. She resisted the urge to run her fingers through his glossy black hair, full-bodied and lush; she loved touching it, playing with it. Although he kept it short—not military short but neat and well groomed—she suspected it would curl or at the very least wave if he let it grow. His skin was an amazing butter caramel color, as if he had a perpetual tan. Against her pale, prone-to-sunburn coloring, his skin tone was exotic and dark.

And it didn't end there. She was fascinated by every physical aspect of her lover—maybe more so because she wouldn't allow herself to become emotionally attached. Something she'd promised herself she would not do that very first night they'd spent together.

Beside her his body was hard and hot. He had the conditioning of an athlete, all taut muscle and sinewy lines beneath the skin that she so loved to touch. His chest was satin smooth, free of hair; his shoulders were broad, his waist and hips narrow, and the arms that held her in the night muscular and strong. Here and there were the marks of a soldier ... narrow scars, thick scars that said he was all man. All warrior.

He was both a demanding and inventive lover and yet so sensitive to her needs ... and to her pain. Earlier tonight, when she'd returned to the apartment from a memorial service for Kara, he'd taken one look at Lily's face and then he'd taken care of her.

He'd drawn her a bath, undressed her, and settled her into a warm tub of bubbles. After she'd soaked and cried, then cried some more, he'd wrapped her in a towel, dried her tenderly, brushed her hair, and taken her to bed.

Where he'd held her while she told him about Kara. Would have done nothing
but
hold her if she hadn't turned to him in the night and begged him to make love to her.

In his arms, she'd found everything. Everything she needed. For how long, she didn't know. She only knew that right now, what she had was enough.

CHAPTER 4

Sunlight filtered in through a long window as Lily sat at the table in Manny's sister's small kitchen the next morning, sipping strong, rich coffee and enjoying the sight of a naked and semi-aroused man cooking her breakfast.

"How did you get like this?"

Unabashedly free of inhibitions, he glanced over a broad shoulder and grinned at her. "How did I get naked? I believe that was your doing, Liliana."

So it was. After all they had done together, she still blushed.

"Evolved," she said, picking up a slice of mango that he'd set out for them. "How did you get so evolved? I mean, in your culture ... men are very macho, right?"

He laughed and expanded his chest. "Muy macho, si."

She laughed, too, glad she hadn't offended him. "What I mean is, a man here takes care of his woman, but not in the kitchen."

"Yes,
chica bonita,
we take care of our women. My mother and my sister, they love me. They fuss over me. But they cannot cook. So in self-defense, I learn. From my father," he added with a wink.

He hadn't talked much about his family. Lily found herself asking him now. "What does your father do?"

"He is an engineer."

"Really? What does he engineer?"

Manny set a plate heaped with fried plantains and eggs dripping with cheese in front of her. "Bridges. Commissioned by the Sandinista pigs. Bridges which I make certain are blown to bits."

He sat down across from her as if he hadn't just dropped a grenade big enough to blow her out of the kitchen.

"Excuse me?"

He glanced up at her, then away. "You should eat, Liliana. Before it goes cold."

"
Sandinista pigs
?"
she repeated his words with building dread. "Manny?
You're
Sandinista. You wear the uniform."

It was an issue she had tried not to let bother her. He was just a man trying to make a living, and here, in Nicaragua, the army was often the best way to do that. For some, it was the only way. She understood. It was a means to an end. But she also understood that the Sandinista government was often cruel and oppressive to the general populace.

"Manny?" she pressed when he remained silent.

Finally, he relented. He leaned back, propped the heels of his palms on the table, and met her eyes. "Things are not always as they seem,
mi amor
."

She sat back in her chair as the implication of what he
hadn't
said took root. Her pulse rate ratcheted up several beats. "You're not really Sandinista?" She held her breath.

He shrugged, forked a mouthful of eggs into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and seemed to come to a decision.

"No, Lily. I am not one of them—even though I share the same last name with President Ortega, I do not claim him as a relative."

Whatever relief Lily felt over knowing that Manny wasn't committed to Ortega and Poveda and his army of thugs was outweighed by concern. Nicaragua was a place of danger, intrigue, and civil war. And the man sitting before her, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world, was caught up in the middle of it.

"If you're not Sandinista... that leaves only one thing."

When he didn't dispute her, she felt her entire body go stiff with alarm. He was a freedom fighter. And that meant he was a spy against the government.

Oh God. While many in the world felt the Contra effort was the work of terrorists, her time in Nicaragua had shown her otherwise. The Contras were more than guerrillas attempting to overthrow a harsh and cruel regime. They truly were freedom fighters and they had the heart and the backing of not only the United States, who helped finance their fight, but also the silent majority of the people they were fighting to free.

And Manny was one of them.

Which meant he put his life on the line every hour of every day.

"Do not look so worried," he said, working on his breakfast as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Lily pushed out a humorless laugh. He'd infiltrated the communist army to obtain intelligence. That placed him in grave danger if anyone in the Sandinista camp were to find out.

"Worried? Why would I be worried? It's not like what you're doing is dangerous or foolhardy or—"

He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. Only then did she realize she was shaking.

So much for not getting emotionally involved.

"Not foolhardy, Lily. Necessary. You see the way our people are treated by the government? You of all people see the poverty and sickness and despair, yes? A fool would let it continue. I cannot."

She turned her palm up and linked her fingers tightly with his. "But Poveda... he's ruthless with those he considers traitors."

"Poveda is ruthless with all." Manny squeezed her hand, then resumed eating. "Now eat. You will need your strength for what I have in mind for you today, woman."

He was smiling, teasing, trying to steer her away from the truth of his perilous existence. But she had to know.

"How long? How long have you been ..." She let the thought dangle, afraid to say it out loud.

"A spy?" He shrugged. "I joined the army at sixteen."

Lily lowered her head to her palm. "You were just a boy." A boy who had gone to war and become a man under fire. It was a way of life here. One she would never understand.

"Lily," he said gently. "It is the way. It is not—how do you say it? A big deal."

"The local newspapers are filled with notices every day about the fate of Contra rebels who dared fight the regime. They're tortured, hung, beheaded—all without trial. Sometimes people just... disappear and are never heard from again."

She pleaded with her eyes. "You can't minimize this. It is a
very
big deal."

He expelled a deep breath, sat back from the table, and evidently felt the need to explain. "It is not like in America here. Here, we grow up as all boys do, yes. With a need to fight. But here, boys do not fight for sport. Not for fun or to show who is the most macho. We fight to protect. We fight to get back what the Sandinistas have taken from us. My father—he is a principled man. He made certain I saw the way of things."

"He encouraged you to fight?"

"With the Sandinistas in control you either become ... how do you say it... immune? Yes. You become immune and ignore the suffering or you become a man. You turn your head when your family is robbed of their dignity and possessions or you fight."

He lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. "I choose to fight. It is still my choice."

"But that choice stole your childhood."

His eyes grew dark. "Poveda and his kind took care of that."

She looked away.

"I was a Boy Scout. Does that help?"

She pushed out a humorless laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Something tells me that for you, Scouts wasn't a club where you got to go on weekend campouts."

Again he shrugged, as if it were of no consequence. "Yes, that is true. The Scouts were a means to an end. I learn survival there. I learn to make the knots that my life would someday depend on, to forage for food and water in the jungle that would one day keep me alive.

"And I learn that I like to meet the challenge of the jungle and know I can survive nights in the rain, days in the heat, even a fall from a cliff because my knot held."

She dragged the hair back from her face, expelled a heavy breath. "And did you learn how to be a spy there, too?"

Regardless that she was being sarcastic, a certain pride tinged his smile. "Yes,
mi amor.
I learned cunning and skill. When I joined the Sandinista army I was ready to do what was asked of me. If it means intercepting tactical information and feeding it to guerrillas, then that is what I do. I fight them by becoming one of them."

And he could die, she thought as a heavy sadness weighed on her heart. This beautiful young man whom she did not dare fall in love with could die tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year.

Her team would leave Nicaragua in less than a month and she would never see him again. Never know what happened to him. Never know so many things about him.

She could not fall in love.

And yet her heart melted every time she looked at him.

She was in so much trouble here.

"Come, Liliana. No more talk of fighting."

He held out his hand. She rose and rounded the table. With his dark eyes watchful, he opened her robe, pushed it off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. As naked as he, she straddled his lap. Offered him her breast, let her head fall back as he took her in his mouth with a swift and greedy possession.

Then she gave. Everything he'd given her, she gave back.

And knew it would never be enough.

"I've never met anyone like you," Lily whispered into the dark later that night.

Naked as the day she was born, she lay stretched out over the length of an equally naked Manny.

"That is a good thing, yes?" His voice was heavy with sleep, and yet that smug satisfaction she'd grown to love colored his words.

"Yes, Manolo." Grinning, she lifted her head, crossed her hands on his chest, and rested her chin there. "That is a very good thing."