Beautiful Mine (Beautiful Rivers #1) (4 page)

“How so?”

We have to pause as the waiter brings two glasses and a bottle of wine. He and Connor talk for a minute, and the waiter gracefully pops the cork and brings the end to each of us so we can smell the bouquet. They’re both talking so rapidly I can only catch a few words, but after our glasses are poured and the waiter leaves, Connor explains that he asked them to select the wine based on our entrees.

I take a sip, enjoying the full, robust taste. It’s amazing. Something I’ve learned about Spain is they definitely know their wine.

In spite of the interruption, our previous mood has been altered only slightly. “You were saying you feel unbalanced...” Connor prompts, leaning in again, and the intimacy of our conversation is restored.

“Yes. Sometimes. My life kind of revolves around my work. I don’t mind it, mostly.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a placement specialist for the Kendrick Refugee Outreach Center, there in San Francisco. We find homes for orphaned refugees.”

His eyebrows raise. “No kidding. That’s great.” 

I nod. “I really love it.” And I do. If only it weren’t so heartbreaking so often.

He’s watching me carefully. “But?”

I let out a small laugh. “Yeah. Okay. I do love it, but sometimes it’s really hard. It just... hurts to see those kids hurting. You know?”

He nods, listening.

“My boss keeps telling me that I get too attached to the kids we serve. She sees what it’s doing to me. I’ve tried, but man, some of these kids are so amazing. It’s hard not to care about what they’re going through.”

It weighs on me more than it should. It’s the reason there’s an old lady in me, to tell the truth. But what I do also makes me feel needed and I’m good at it.

“The work we do is rewarding, but… I wish it didn’t hurt,” I confess. “I know that sounds terrible.”

“It doesn’t sound terrible.”

“Plus, I’m kind of afraid to close my heart too much. I mean, what if I start putting up walls and can’t stop and then I become one of those people who doesn’t care about anything? There are people like that in the system. I see them, and I get it. If you care too much, it can really tear you up. They’re just trying to protect themselves. I don’t blame them. But I still don’t want to be that person, even though I’m getting all torn up. You know?” I didn’t mean to say all that. It just came out.

“You sound like my mom,” he says nodding, like he really does understand. “She has a big heart too.”

I smile. I like that that’s what he sees. It makes it sound nicer than it sometimes feels.

“She’s had that kind of struggle too. She says she tries to remember what she can control, and what she can’t. Instead of
not
caring about the stuff she can’t control, she tries to care
most
about the stuff she can.”

I like the feel of that, and it makes sense. The stuff I hurt about the most is the stuff I can’t control: the tragedies these kids have already seen, the fact that they have to start over in a strange new world and struggle with grief, and language barriers, and culture shock. I don’t want them to have to go through any of that, but I can’t change it. And, ultimately, it’s okay that I care. I’ve already decided that.

But if I try to focus my caring on what I
can
do—trying to place them with a good family, and directing that family toward resources that can help them with the other stuff... Well, that’s the part that always feels good. That’s the part I live for.

I smile at him and he smiles back. “That’s a nice perspective. I think your mom’s right.”

“She usually is. But don’t tell her I said that.”

I laugh. “Want to see some pictures of my kids?”

For a second he gets this stunned look on his face, then he says, “Oh! The kids you help.”

I nod, laughing. “Yeah, definitely no kids of my own yet. But these ones are good enough for now,” I say, pulling out my phone. I haven’t had service for most of the walk, but I’ve taken plenty of photos, and have checked in with my parents when I’ve been in the big cities, something I’ve yet to do here in Santiago.

I flip to the album I keep for work and start going through it, Connor and I leaning close together again so he can see. Mostly it’s pictures of me posing with kids, or with their newly-formed families. I’m sure it all looks the same to him and probably isn’t that interesting, but his willingness to look and listen is only adding to his attractiveness.

I tell him their names and ages, where they’re from and where they are now. Most of them are scattered all over central and northern California but I have a few living in Oregon too. I linger a little longer on the kids I really got attached to, the ones I still keep tabs on even though that’s “outside my job scope,” as my boss would say.

“Since these aren’t my real kids, I don’t feel guilty about admitting I have favorites,” I tell Connor, and he smiles broadly. If he’s bored, he’s hiding it well. “This one, Nadim, is my
very
favorite. I placed him with a childless couple down in Swan Pointe. They’re really neat people. I really like them, but Nadim I
love
.”

My heart squeezes at the sight of him. In the picture, his face is right next to mine because when I knelt down to take the picture with him, he threw his arms around my neck and hugged me so tight through the whole thing.

“He’s a pretty cute kid.”

“So danged cute. And he always has this big smile on his face. That actually made me worry about him at first. ” I lower the phone a bit and we look at one another, staying close. “I mean, he lost his whole family. I was concerned he was maybe blocking things and urged his adoptive parents to get him into counseling right away, which they did. He seems to be doing okay though. He has his moments and it’s been plenty hard for him too. But he’s really doing great, all things considered. He’s even on a Little League team and has picked it right up. He’s one of their top batters.”

I feel like I’m bragging about my own kid, which I know some people can find annoying, but Connor just grins at me.

“I know he’s going to carry what he’s been through for the rest of his life, and we can’t help that. But... I think he’s a success story too, and I don’t know that it’s because of anything we’ve done. I’ve thought about him a lot and I think he’s just a strong kid. He smiles so much in spite of everything because that’s how he copes and because...” I hesitate, not wanting to repeat the words Connor just said to me, but it’s true. “Because he just naturally has a big heart.”

“See?” Connor says, laying his hand on my wrist and giving it a squeeze. “A big heart’s not so bad after all.”

I want to lay my hand on his. In fact, I want to lean right in and give this man a kiss. But the waiter comes with our food, and we have to sit back again to give him room.

I smile, taking in the aroma of the dishes on the table. Steak medallions for Connor and what looks like salmon on a bed of black rice for me. “I’m glad Nadim didn’t lose that big heart,” I say. “After everything.”

“Me too.”

“So what is all this?”

“Seared salmon,” Connor says, gesturing to my plate.

“Mmm. Good choice.”

“And tenderloin cutlets with herbed potato slices,” he says, indicating his own plate.

“Wow. That sounds good, too.”

“That’s what I thought. I was hoping we could share a taste?”

“Great idea.”

We each start cutting a bite of our food and I glance up at him. “Thanks for indulging me. With the pictures, I mean.”

“Not at all.” He gives me an amused look, like he hadn’t done anything extraordinary to deserve thanks. And maybe he didn’t. But there’s too much bad in the world not to appreciate good things and good people when you come across them.

He finishes cutting and brings his fork across the table to me, offering me the first bite. I smile and take it, our eyes holding for a moment, the heat rising in me again, and the delicious flavor of the tender meat and its tangy sauce bursting on my tongue.

I close my eyes, sit back slightly, and moan. God, it’s incredible. “Mmm,” I say, opening my eyes after a moment.

“Good?” he asks, watching me. His fork is suspended in midair, apparently forgotten.

I smile and get a bite of my dish for him. He holds my eyes. As I feed him, watching his lips slowly slide over my fork, I decide it’s the most erotic thing I’ve seen him do yet.

I hope it’s not the last.

Whitney

After dinner, Connor comes back to the Santiago de Compostela with me for the second Botafumeiro ceremony, even though it wasn’t originally in his plans since he’d been at the pilgrim’s mass this afternoon as well. We hustle inside, running a bit late since we lingered too long at dinner.

Which was amazing.

Being with Connor is giving me such a high, even approaching this incredible cathedral feels better than it did earlier, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. As a bonus, during dinner he told me he’s continuing his Camino tomorrow just like I am. His boat is docked in Muxia, which is just a bit farther up the coast from Finisterre, where I’m heading.

We didn’t exactly make plans to walk together tomorrow, but when he found out I don’t fly home until Saturday, he gave me another slow, slow smile.

When we go through the broad entry and into the nave, it’s standing room only. The afternoon mass had been full, but this is bursting at the seams. The pews are packed, and the outer perimeter, which is meant to be a walkway, isn’t much better. The opening music has started and we’re hovering in place, glancing around for a place to land.

“Looks like we’ll have to stand,” I say quietly, leaning close to him so he can hear.

Connor puts his hand on the small of my back and whispers in my ear. “The view will be better around that side,” he says, pointing down the outer aisle to the right. “Let’s try to squeeze through.”

I nod in agreement, liking the feel of his touch and hoping he’ll stay close. He doesn’t have much choice. As we navigate behind the crowd of pilgrims standing along the outer aisle, he’s right behind me, though he did drop his hand. Dammit.

We work our way closer to the transept, where the Botafumeiro will be performing its act. “Right here,” he says quietly, pointing to a small space next to a woman in a blonde ponytail. She gives a welcoming smile when she sees us eyeing the space next to her.

As I settle next to the woman, I wish Connor and I were still touching. Soon enough, I get my wish. As the mass continues, more pilgrims enter late and a few end up squeezing in next to us. We shuffle a few inches to make room, and ultimately Connor and I end up pressed close to each other, his hand on my back again. My left arm and hip are connected to his right shoulder, chest, and thigh. We settle in this way, and linger.

Just so you know. I. Am going. To hell. Because I’m officially feeling zingy in places that
prolly
shouldn’t be zinging when you’re in church.

Maybe if I were Catholic I would at least try to focus on the mass, but no. Apparently I am a weak and lustful woman. The longer the mass goes on and the longer I’m standing right up next to him, the weaker my resolve and the worse things get. My mind’s really running away from me now. I’m back to envisioning Connor naked, but there’s no tub in my imaginings this time. It’s just him and me and those hands of his all over my body. Did I mention that in this fantasy I’m naked too? Way naked, people.

Even when the priests lower the massive silver incense burner, I’m completely distracted. The priests add the incense on top of the burning coals in the Botafumeiro, but I’m the one burning. I wonder if Connor can feel the heat coming off my body. Or am I feeling the heat coming from him? My entire left side is hot and humming where we touch.

The priest gives the giant censer a push and steps out of the way as it starts to swing. The priests with the rope give it a tug so it bounces higher. Its swing widens on the rope. We do have a good view, Connor and I, and I have to turn my head to the right to follow its path as it swings past. When it comes back I turn my head to the left, toward Connor.

My eyes leave the Botafumeiro, and land on him. He’s not looking at it either. He’s looking directly at me. In my peripheral vision, the censer swings back down and out of sight behind me. His eyes are holding mine. He glances at my lips for a brief moment. There’s that subtle gasp from the congregation that I know means the Botafumeiro is reaching new heights. My heart is pounding.

Again the giant censer comes into my peripheral vision, swinging up high behind Connor. I don’t look at it. I can’t take my eyes away from him. I really, really want him to kiss me, and he looks like he’s about to. Right here in church!

The smoking censer swoops back down and out of my vision. His eyes drop to my shoulder and he leans close. For a split second, my heart leaps in anticipation of a kiss. As soon as I realize he’s not going for my lips, but rather getting next to my ear so he can whisper something, disappointment drops through me.

“I shouldn’t be having thoughts like this in the middle of a mass,” he whispers. His breath tickles my ear and sends shivers over my skin.

He pulls back only the tiniest bit, staying close, following the curve of my jaw. His mouth comes near and I turn my head just a bit, to bring my mouth closer to his. The massive censer speeds past. He presses his lips to mine. Everything else falls away. I hear nothing. My breath catches. My heart flutters against my chest.

I kiss him back, exhaling slowly, pressing my lips against his. My left arm curls around him, my fingertips brushing his shoulder blades.

It’s a brief kiss, a stolen moment, and it leaves me smoldering. He ends it gently, but stays close, holding my eyes. My awareness expands again, and all these people around feel like an intrusion. I want to be alone with him.

He gets next to my ear again, his soft scruff rubbing gently against my jaw. “Want to get out of here?” he whispers.

I nod. I’m going to hell anyway. Ditching out of church isn’t going to change anything.

There are people everywhere. In the hall. In the courtyard. On the street. In the hotel lobby. We’re walking close, my hand in his. The memory of our kiss is lingering on my lips like a physical presence. I just want to be alone with him. I want him to kiss me again, longer this time. Deeper.

As we wait for the elevator in the hotel lobby, two other people are waiting as well. Connor and I look at one another. No longer a
wondering
look, this is a look of desire.

The doors open and we all file in. Connor hits the number 7 as we enter, then pulls us into the back corner. We let go of hands and slide arms around waists instead. One of the men hits the number 3 and the other says, “Quattro, por favor.”

It takes forever. Connor looks at me, his thumb subtly rubbing along my side, making my nerves dance. I’m taking in those blue eyes—god, they’re so intense—and running my hand slowly up his back... then slowly down to his waist.

Second floor.

He leans in close to my ear, to whisper something I thought. Instead he plants a soft, hot kiss just under my earlobe. I want to close my eyes and lean my head back, but the people. I hold my breath, scoot closer, tighten my hold on his body.

Third floor.

The car stops. The bell dings. Connor and I look at the doors expectantly. It is an eternity before they finally bloody open and the first man steps out.

We’re faced forward now, as the car finally starts to move again. We’re both keeping a sharp eye on the digital number above the door, watching as the three changes to a four, eager for the last occupant to leave the car so we can finally, finally be alone.

Fourth floor. Connor’s hand spreads on the side of my waist, pressing firmly, holding me to him. The bell dings and I’m hardly breathing. The doors slide open and there is a quiet moment of panic as we see there’s a woman and her child on the other side, waiting to get on.

The man leaves, the two start to get in before realizing this car is going up when she wants to go down, and they mercifully step back to wait for another car.

As the doors begin to close, seconds away from giving us our privacy, our hold on one another tightens. As soon as the gap in the doors disappears, he angles me back against the wall, his body in front of me, pressing against me. He cups my jaw with one hand, my lips part slightly, and he pauses.

Only for a moment.

Just long enough to hold my eyes and make me see him before his lips are on me and my arms are around him and his body is against me hard. Good lord. Our kiss deepens and the warm taste of him heightens every nerve in my body. I put my hand to his cheek, caressing the soft whiskers.

It seems mere seconds pass when already the bell is dinging and the doors are opening to the seventh floor.

He backs away, eyes on me, and I take a shaky breath. He takes my hand again and leads me out of the elevator on weak legs. We take quick steps down a long hall, my hand in his and my heart pounding the entire way. As before, when we were walking to the restaurant, our eyes are on each other more than on the floor in front of us.

We stop in front of a door at last, but he brings me in for a kiss. Our lips are soft. They open slightly so our tongues can briefly brush against the other. And again.

He breaks our kiss and gives me another intense look before turning his attention to the door and the keycard. When we go into the darkened room, he brings me toward the lamp and nightstand next to the queen-sized bed. As the door quietly closes behind us, the light from the hall steadily narrows, then disappears. As he leans down toward the lamp, there is a moment when it is all shadowy silhouettes and a sliver of midnight blue through the tiny crack in the drawn curtains. His body is close to mine and I would contentedly keep us wrapped up in the dark like this if he wanted to.

A metallic click precedes the soft bloom of light from the lamp. This is good too, because now I can see his handsome face and the shape of his broad chest underneath his tee.

He pulls me in and kisses me, bringing his hand into my hair at the base of my neck. Now that there’s nothing to hold us back, I take him in deeply. Our tongues play together. Our grip on each other tightens. His hand slides down my back and to the curve of my ass.

Every passing second, every movement, increases the heat in my core. My entire body is buzzing so hard, it’s all I can do not to attack him like a crazed lunatic. I don’t know if it’s him or the fact that it’s been so long since I’ve been with a man like this or both, but I’m already so wet and aching, I’m afraid just one touch in the right place will push me over.

He brings his hands to my face, cupping it as he kisses me. “We stop when you say stop,” he says breathlessly. “We don’t have to do any more than you want to.” My face is in his hands and he’s again kissing me fervently.

I nod, barely hearing him. “Okay,” I say, kissing him back, arms firm around him, hands roaming.

“I mean it,” he says, stopping and pulling back just enough to look me directly in the eyes. He’s smoldering, but he’s serious.

I nod again. “I know. It’s okay. Don’t hold back.”

At that, he doesn’t. He backs me against the wall until I’m pinned, my heart pounding in my throat and his hard rod pressing into my upper thigh.

God, just a few inches over and you’ve got me.

Practically squirming, I kiss him hard, gathering up the material of his tee to lift the hem. He backs up and removes his shirt in one smooth movement, muscles flexing. Oh yeah, I’m definitely grateful for the light now. I put my hands on his pecs, exhaling in appreciation and taking him in.

His movements halt for a moment. I glance up at him, blood coursing through me and hands still caressing his chest. Except for his slight panting, he’s perfectly still, watching me. I return to his chest, rubbing my hands up to his firm shoulders.

He exhales and cups my face again, kissing me intently. I bring my arms around his neck and press against him, feeling his torso against mine. There’s too much between us. I want my bare skin on his.

Hurriedly, we both reach for my shirt at once. He gently pushes my hands away and lifts my shirt off himself. I start to go for my bra, but he pulls my hand down to my side, firmly
holding it in place as he undoes the hook with his other hand. I let out a tight exhale.

Releasing my hand, he slides the straps down my arms, and his eyes fall to my breasts. My bra drops to the floor and he cups the underside of both breasts in his hands. I exhale shakily. I feel like a teen again, trembling at every touch.

His thumbs rub gently over my nipples. Then he brings his eyes to mine and does it again. My mouth is slightly open and he puts his mouth over me, tongue tasting me eagerly. I grip his firm biceps and moan lightly.