Captive Heart (5 page)

JoNell felt a chilly draft in the air. An expression of hidden amusement in Del Toro's eyes told her there was something going on here that she did not understand. She felt uncomfortable, and he seemed to sense that and enjoy it.

No point in getting tangled in Del Toro's little web of a joke, JoNell told herself. Instead, she glanced in the direction of the other guests. She felt out of place here, but it was more than just being in a foreign country with strangers. JoNell didn't fit in; there was a kinship among these people that excluded her.

Her gaze fell on the huge diamond worn by the man seated next to her. Everywhere she looked, she saw elegant clothes, genuine diamonds and gold. Only she wore costume jewelry. Of course she felt like an outsider in this circle of the super rich.

Then the sumptuous Peruvian meal was served, and JoNell temporarily forgot about being self-conscious. First there was a fish appetizer,
escabeche
. Then a soup course,
chupe de camerones
, made of potatoes, milk, shrimp, hot chili peppers and eggs. The main course was duck served with steaming rice. And a second meat course were
anticuchos
, the shish kebab of South America which consisted of beef hearts served on a skewer and dipped in piquant sauce. For dessert, there was
arroz con leche
, more rice, which seemed so popular on Peruvian tables, cooked until soft, sweetened and then topped with raisins, orange rind and cinnamon. A large bowl of black-skinned fruit JoNell had never seen before was served with dessert. Several kinds of fine wine added their touch of elegance to the meal.

At one point, JoNell glanced up into a pair of glacial green eyes. "You're not eating," she said to Del Toro.

His full mouth twisted into a mocking grin. She saw that amused twinkle in his eyes again.

"What is so funny?" she demanded hotly.

"Your Spanish."

"And just what is wrong with my Spanish?" she demanded. "I speak quite fluently."

"Yes, that is true. But you talk like a Cuban. You swallow your s's. Do you know how amusing it is to encounter an American who talks Spanish like a Cuban?"

"Is that what everyone finds so amusing?"

"Yes, my little Cuban Flower," he said with that infuriatingly superior, mocking note in his voice.

"I am not your 'little Cuban Flower'!" JoNell felt an angry flush sting her cheeks. "I am not your little anything!"

"You're my little flight instructor," Del Toro corrected.

"Why can't you take me seriously?" Anger made a pulse in her temple throb.

"You want me to take you seriously? All right." With a silver spoon, he tapped a crystal goblet bearing the initials "JDT." A sudden hush fell over the room.

Del Toro pushed back his chair and arose. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began in Spanish, "I want to introduce to you my special guests for the evening." He repeated his remarks in English, obviously for the benefit of Uncle Edgar. At least he had a modicum of genuine courtesy, thought JoNell.

He introduced Uncle Edgar to the guests first. JoNell decided that his male macho background had taught him that men were more important than women. Then his gaze fell on JoNell. She felt a shiver from his penetrating stare. "And this is JoNell Carpenter, from the United States. She is going to give me flying lessons."

JoNell sensed the curiosity in the many eyes looking her over. Were they asking, "Is she, the young
Norte Americano
, to be Del Toro's new romantic conquest?" Why else would he bring a flying instructor, a girl, from the United States? She could imagine the gossip already beginning. She felt even more self-conscious and angry. She had come here on a simple business mission, to deliver the airplane, give the flying lessons and return home. Being put on display and made a subject of gossip for Jorge Del Toro's friends was not part of the deal.

As soon as the meal was over, JoNell fled from the room, through double doors to a veranda. Tears were stinging her eyes. She felt homesick, humiliated and angry. There had been a clash of personalities between her and Del Toro the first moment they met, and it was not getting any better. She found him insufferable. How was she going to give lessons to a man like that?

A large hand grasped her elbow. "What's the matter, Pet?" Uncle Edgar drawled.

She was so grateful for his presence, she almost melted into his arms and cried on his shoulder. But she stopped herself in time. It would never do to let Uncle Edgar know how miserable she felt. As protective as he was of her, he might insist that she forget this whole unpleasant business and return to the States with him at once. That she could not do. For one thing, she couldn't take the chance of failing to complete the sales agreement of delivering the airplane along with flight instructions. The sale was too important to her parents' business. And in addition, she had too much pride to let Del Toro's arrogant nature send her whimpering home. She had stood up to him in the beginning and she'd continue to do so in spite of how uncomfortable she might feel around his snooty friends, in spite of how they might gossip about her, and especially in spite of Del Toro's infuriating, mocking manner.

"I think I have a lash in my eye," JoNell explained to her uncle. "It really hurts. I'd better find a rest-room and see if I can get it out."

JoNell fled gratefully into the security of a bathroom off the main hallway. She was glad to see she had a vanity room to herself. A look into a mirror revealed moist, dark lashes, but fortunately, the brown mascara hadn't run. JoNell dabbed carefully at her eyes so as not to ruin her makeup.

Suddenly, the door opened. JoNell turned and recognized Consuelo Garcia, the quiet, beautiful, extremely shy girl who had been seated on the other side of Del Toro at the dinner table. JoNell tried a friendly smile. "Hello, Consuelo."

The lovely young Peruvian woman did not smile back. Instead her black eyes narrowed coldly and her lips pursed. "Leave Jorge alone!" she snapped.

JoNell was momentarily speechless. What a remarkable change had come over the pale-skinned, dark-haired girl! At the dinner table, she had been utterly demure, hardly saying a word, and apparently painfully shy. There was nothing shy or reticent about her now. Her eyes were blazing with a primitive challenge. There was metal in her voice.

"I saw the look on your face when your eyes turned to Jorge," Consuelo continued. "You might as well get those thoughts out of your head, because he's mine!"

JoNell recovered from her initial surprise. "Well that's fine with me!" she exploded. "I certainly don't want him, and I can't imagine why you think I would."

Consuelo tossed her head back, her chin raised haughtily. "I've seen that look before—that look on your face. Many times. With many women who have gazed at Jorge Del Toro that way. You think Jorge is a big challenge. You want to prove to yourself that you are woman enough to ensnare him. That's what all the women think. And he loves it. Latin men judge their masculinity by the number of women they can make fall in love with them. But it means nothing to them. It's just an ego trip to see if they can woo you and win you. And when they have you, they don't want you. They want somebody new who has yet to fall under the spell of their charm."

"I'm sure you know Latin men better than I," sighed JoNell. "But I can assure you that I have absolutely no interest in your seňor Del Toro, other than giving him flying lessons."

"Maybe you
think
you don't, but I repeat—I know that look. You tell yourself you're different from other women, that you won't fall for him. But I've seen it happen over and over again. Jorge and I grew up together. In that time I can't count the number of his conquests. No woman is immune to his charms. Not even you, though you may tell yourself you are."

The conversation was becoming tedious. "Look, you're wasting your breath and your time—" JoNell began.

But Consuelo interrupted, "I'm warning you. Jorge has romanced many rich and famous women. He's bored with them. But you—you're something new. You're from the common class."

JoNell felt her anger rising.

Consuelo continued, "That makes you enticing to a man like Jorge. You're a new challenge, a new type of plaything for him to have his fun with."

Consuelo's words carried an open insult. Back home, such a verbal attack would have meant nothing since the United States was a classless society. But in Peru, class distinction separated the wheat from the chaff. By referring to her as from the "common class" Consuelo implied that JoNell was far beneath Del Toro and his friends on the scale of humanity, that JoNell was mere scum from the streets. JoNell felt a mixture of anger and humiliation.

"Jorge and I are of the same breeding," Consuelo went on. "We are both from rich, established families. When we marry, our combined fortunes will start an empire in this country. You can't really think he would take a common, poor girl like you seriously?"

"Oh, you think not?" JoNell retorted. "You could be wrong—"

"Everyone's laughing at you," Consuelo smirked. "You couldn't possibly fit in with real aristocrats. You don't have the class, the polish."

JoNell thought that any moment Consuelo's pupils would lengthen into thin slits. "I may not have your money seňorita," JoNell exclaimed. "But I have something you don't have. I have independence. I'm not afraid of Del Toro's charms. I have my own life to live. I'm not dependent on Del Toro to make my life complete. But you obviously are. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, I'm still me!"

Consuelo's pale cheeks were now aflame. "You think you're so smart—so independent! Just you wait. You will be alone in that airplane with Jorge. You think you can have a casual flirtation with him and go home unscathed. But he'll break your heart, just the way he's done with all the others. And you'll regret it later, when it's too late, because you'll find that no man will ever measure up. No man will ever again be able to make you happy. I'm warning you. He'll make you fall in love with him. But he will marry me!"

JoNell awoke with a start. Where was she? The bright red hue of the canopy over her bed danced dizzily before her eyes. She felt groggy and strangely disoriented. A curious sense of panic began tightening her stomach. Brown eyes darted quickly around the room. When they saw a denim travel bag with a pale blue jump suit draped over the top, JoNell's momentary fright gave way to relief. Of course, now she remembered. She was in Peru.

No wonder she had reacted so intensely. In two day's time she had been transported from the United States to a foreign country, from a modest middle-class existence to the bosom of opulence. On top of that, she had had to convince the arrogant Jorge Del Toro that she was a qualified flight instructor, only to find that her utterly practical motives were being misconstrued as romantic designs on the man. It was almost enough to make her give up and return home. But not quite.

JoNell had a certain determination of heart that was not easily budged. "Stubborn," her father often called her. "Persistent," she had labeled herself, believing there was a difference. Stubbornness refused to yield to reason. But persistence—ah, that was stubbornness based on reason. In the present instance, she assured herself, she was merely being persistent. She certainly had every practical reason to stay in Peru and conclude the sales contract for her father. Even her father would have to agree that this time she was being persistent!