Sacrifice of Passion (Deadly Legends) (20 page)

Anger washed over his face. He was up off the couch in a flash, his hands fisted, a vein in his temple pulsing. “The goddamned chupacabra took you away from me. Sheila took my son away from me. Trust me, losing something that matters to me is not happening again.”

She clenched the afghan, her heart racing. His anger and frustration filled the room, flowing straight into her. “You think I wanted any of this?” Choice and control had been ripped away from her, too.

He turned around and clutched the fireplace mantel, dropping his head between his outstretched arms. He stayed that way for a long minute.

“Sheila left San Julio,” he said at length, his voice low, the anger controlled. “I never heard from her again. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. At the time, I was thanking my lucky stars she’d taken off. Now—”

Her heart melted at the anguish he must have felt when he’d learned he’d had a son and had missed the first eleven years of his life. “And now you have a child who barely talks to you.”

She got up and walked up behind him, pushing aside the strength of her feelings. Nothing she could say would take away his pain or his regrets, or their past. But touching him, sharing her warmth with him, would let him know he wasn’t alone. She slid her arms gingerly around him, burying her face against the back of his neck.

“I wish it had turned out differently,” she said, her lips brushing his skin. “For all of us.”

…

Vic needed her. Wanted her. Would have her. In a quick, fluid movement, he turned and backed Delaney against the wall, extending one of his arms against the wood paneling, running the other down the length of her arm. “You’re here now,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers. “I swear, if you walk out on me this time—” He stopped, his heart heavy at the thought. He didn’t know what he’d do if she left.

He felt her shake her head, barely heard her whisper, “Last night I told you I’m not going anywhere. I meant it.”

True confession time. He’d thought he could erase the past. Purge her from his wounded heart. But he knew now it was impossible to forget about Delaney. He lifted her chin with the light touch of his fingers. “I love you.”

She caught her breath, her eyes glittering. “Oh, Vic, I—”

He covered her mouth with his, stopping the words on her lips. He knew exactly how she felt about him. Her feelings were hung on her sleeve. Were written on every expression on her face. He could wait to hear her say them again. For at least a minute.

Her breath grew ragged as he reached his arms around her, pulling her body close to his. He lowered his lips and kissed Delaney West.

And knew he’d come home at last.

Chapter Eighteen

Delaney pulled away from Vic’s kiss, slowly tugging his shirt up, running her hands over the contours of his chest as he reached behind his head and yanked it off. She thought for a moment that she was dreaming. She almost pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t asleep.

Vic had told her he loved her.

He lowered his head to kiss her again, but she stopped him, sliding her hands just inside the waistband of his jeans. A movement outside caught her attention. Beyond the window a branch bowed under the wind. “How long do we have before Zach’s bus gets here?” she asked, refocusing, and pressing a kiss against his chest, moving her lips over his nipple, trailing her tongue up to his neck.

“Two hours,” he said after a quick glance at his watch.

“Mmm. Two whole hours,” she purred, then unbuttoned his jeans and slipped her hand inside. He moaned, deep and throaty as he dipped his head to hers and devoured her mouth.

Too fast. She pushed him away again, wanting to savor the moment. Wanting to replay him saying he loved her. She tilted her head and smiled as she slowly slipped her shirt off one shoulder, then the other. His gaze lingered on her face, dropping only when she reached her hands to her back to unhook her bra. She inched it off and dropped it on the floor, a shiver winding its way through her body until her nipples contracted and hardened.

His hooded eyes took her in, his need written on his face. This wasn’t a dream. This was real. This was Vic.

Moving back, she let him watch her as she pulled off her boots, then undid her jeans, one torturous button at a time.

“Laney…” His voice was guttural. Strained. Just how she wanted it.

She wriggled out of her pants, her eyes never leaving his. She let her tongue peek out and moisten her lips, her anticipation growing with every one of her movements. With every speck of desire written on Vic’s face.

He strode to her in one swift step, backed her to the couch, then followed her down. She gasped softly, feathering one hand against her bruised ribs.

“Oh, God,” he said, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said, lacing her fingers behind his neck, tugging him to her. She could bear any pain if it meant being with him. She only wanted him inside her.

A sharp crack came from outside. Vic snapped his gaze to the window.

“It’s the wind,” she said, pulling him back down to her.

He hesitated, the fire in his eyes raging. “We shouldn’t—”

“Yes,” she breathed, “we should.” She cupped his face and brought him back down to hers, reveling in his kiss, so deep and thorough and loving. Her back arched as he released her lips and caressed his mouth across her neck, working his way down to her breasts.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, cupping her breast. Tasting her. Almost as if letting go meant giving her up completely.

All she could do was moan softly, her fingers weaving in and out of his hair, her hips slowly searching him out.

He stopped suddenly, slowly stood up, and she went cold inside. “Vic.”

But her worry vanished as he grinned and pushed off his pants, stepped out of his boxers, pulled a condom from his wallet. “Laney,” he echoed. He knelt before her and took hold of her panties, slipping them off.

This time it was about both of them wanting each other in the same way, at the same time. She was ready to open herself up to him. To live completely in the now.

He slipped his fingers between her legs, discovering the depths of her body, rubbing her until the pain in her ribs was eclipsed by pleasure.

The orgasm slammed her with the force of a tsunami, crashing through her body in one long, continuous roll. He’d done this to her. Made her come alive after so many years of feeling dead inside. Vicente Vargas. The man she’d always loved. And she knew he’d make her feel this joyous tumult over and over and over again.

Before the last shudder of the climax ended, he pulled her to the floor. He was on his back on the soft rug and she straddled him. For a moment she was overcome with a sense of vulnerability. She felt exposed. Not just because they were naked, in full view in the den, but because he was under her, looking up at her so intently. So very aware of her.

She started to lift herself off of him, but he grabbed hold of her hips and pulled her back down, fitting them together until she was snug around him.

“I want to watch you as you make love to me, Laney.”

Her insides clenched, a mixture of pleasure, shyness, and love. “Yeah?”

“I never stopped loving you.” His voice was low, seductive. “I’ve dreamed of this since I was a horny teenager.”

That surprised a smile from her lips. “You wouldn’t believe the fantasies I had about you.”

Outside, the wind snapped another branch, but her attention was fully on Vic.

The corner of his lip curled. “I’ll be sure to fulfill every one of them.” He moved his hips under her, gently thrusting, using his hands to propel her body up and down.

“You already are,” she whispered just before he pulled her down, his tongue flicking against her nipples.

She moaned, low and tortured in response to his slow, rhythmic thrusts.

Her breath turned ragged and she gasped as he lifted her off him, like he was unsheathing a sword. Then he scooted his body down until his mouth found the warmth between her legs. “Do you want this?” he asked, but from somewhere in the distance, Mojo barked, pulling her away from the magic of his tongue.

In an instant, she came back to the moment. Tried to say “yes.” To nod. To hold herself steady above him. His tongue worked her into a frenzy until finally she buckled, collapsing forward. She was on her knees, leaning against the couch, the warmth of his mouth between her legs gone, replaced by his hand cupping her, his stomach and chest tight against her backside.

With her fingers pressed on top of his, forcing them to circle the nerves that were ready to burst, his body curved against her back, his touch torturing her, her release just out of reach. His lips were warm against her skin. She bucked, let out a raspy, “Now.”

He plunged his erection into her and began to thrust in a rhythmic pattern, his arm wrapped around her body, his fingers zeroing in on her like a missile. She rocked with him, took the fingers of his other hand into her mouth and latched onto them.

“Laney…” He brought her higher and higher, closer and closer, until her body shook, her nerves erupted, and the inside of her clenched, claiming him.

She loved him. She always had. This is what she’d needed to return to San Julio to face. Not just the rape, but the fact that she’d run from love. From Vic.

And as her body let go of control, her mind finally let go of the past.

…

Nearly two hours of bliss had passed, and now Vic’s body curved around Laney’s, molded together like two parts of a whole. In bed. On the floor. It didn’t matter where they were, as long as they were together. The intensity of their lovemaking had taken him by surprise, his confession of love even more so. He felt content and…happy…down to his core.

He replayed the encounter over and over while she slept. The feel of her body, the softness of her skin, the waves of her hair, the way her orgasms incapacitated her, rolling through her body until she was spent. He could make love to her a million times in his life, and he still wouldn’t tire of it. Of her.

Holding her wrist in his hand, he ran his finger along the warm silver of her bracelet. She’d kept it. That meant the world to him. The love they’d felt in the past still lived in her. Had never died.

Mojo scratched at the back door. Damn. Vic had forgotten to let him out, but he didn’t want to untangle himself from Laney.

But the dog whined, scratching the door again. With a sigh, Vic carefully extracted himself from Laney’s arms and pulled his clothes back on. He had a few minutes until Zach’s bus came. He’d saddle El Rei and Bluebell—Zach sometimes broke into a reluctant smile when Vic showed up at the bus stop on horseback.

Laney stirred and mumbled something, but settled into peaceful slumber a moment later. He covered her with a blanket, let the dog out, then headed to the barn and saddled the horses.

Once in the corral, an unfamiliar sound caught his attention. He listened intently, sweeping his gaze over his domain. His land stretched out behind the house, the barn off to the right. Nothing moved except the meadow grass.

Mojo let out a low growl in the yard and took off at a full run, rounding toward the front of the house.

Vic quickly wrapped the reins around the horn of each horse’s saddle, then ran back into the barn and grabbed his rifle, digging a handful of ammunition from the strongbox by the door. Loading bullets as he ran, he charged after the dog, stopping short as Mojo sped through a gap in the fence. He looked around, silently listening, taking a mental inventory. Nothing moved. He saw the shape of his small herd of Texas Longhorns milling in the distance; the sheep were in the far pasture, grazing.

Mojo barked from the other side of the low fence, then suddenly crouched and let out a continual growl.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Vic said softly, taking in every inch of the property that he could see. He thought he heard the distant sound of a motor, and then nothing.

He climbed over the fence in a single quick, precise move. Tree leaves rustled, the wind whistled menacingly. The weather had turned again, the blue sky graying before his eyes.

He saw a dark shadow stretch across the ground. Slowing, he rounded the house. Looked down the barrel of his rifle. He cursed under his breath at his trembling hand. This same scenario had played itself out two nights ago, only it had been Delaney he’d encountered and nearly clobbered.

“Hey!” he yelled.

A flurry of Spanish came at him. He lowered his rifle, stunned. Esperanza. What the hell was she doing here? The curandera hobbled toward the open front door, climbing the steps one by one.

Uneasiness swept over him as a low rumble in the distance filtered into his brain. The school bus. He had to pick up Zach.

Esperanza’s weak voice broke through his thoughts.
“¿Vithente?
Donde estath thu mujer?”

“Inside,” he said. He jerked his chin to the house, but alarm tore through him as he registered the door, open and swinging in the breeze.

Laney
.

He raced up the steps, shoving through the entry, pushing past Esperanza. Mojo was beside him, the growling deep in his throat getting less intense.

As he rounded the couch, Vic muttered a lightning-quick prayer that Laney was still sound asleep where he’d left her. When he saw her, his pulse eased.

The peace on her sleeping face was enough to make him doubt that anything bad had been going on outside the walls of his house, but when Esperanza knocked her cane lightly against the floor, he came back to reality. He wanted to send her on her way. But he knew that was impossible.

“No more time,” she said. “Chupacabra move now.”

Wait—what? Was she saying the chupacabra was on his property? Christ. His pulse rate picked up again. He had to get Zach from the bus stop. Trying to figure out what had disturbed Mojo had already made him late, and if Esperanza was right and chupacabra was on the prowl, he couldn’t leave his son out there for another second. Forget the horses—he’d untack them when they got back. “Wake her up and stay here,” he said as he grabbed the truck keys. “Please.”

The old woman nodded her head and sank into the couch, her eyes unblinking as they stared at Delaney. She was blind as a bat and Vic didn’t know what help she’d be, but as long as the two women were together, he prayed they’d be safe.

…

Vic took the turn too fast, truck tires squealing and skidding across the asphalt as he barreled toward the elementary school. He kept his eyes straight ahead, trying to control the panic that surged through him.

Zach hadn’t been at the bus stop and there was no sign of him anywhere.

Vic had almost doubled back home, in case Zach had gotten a ride home from someone else, but he changed his mind at the last second, sticking to his course. He couldn’t take a chance and waste precious time. Esperanza and Delaney were at his house. They’d call him if Zach showed up there.

He drove recklessly, dialing his cell phone as he struggled to keep the truck on the road. The school secretary hadn’t seen Zach, she told him when he got through. She promised to contact the bus driver to see if the boy had been on the bus at all, and would get back to him shortly.

Shortly was too long.

Vic got through to Ray on his cell as he skidded to a stop in front of the office of San Julio Elementary School. “Have you seen Zach?” he demanded.

Ray’s voice was immediately alert and focused. “No. Is he gone? What’s going on?”

“I’m at the school. I’ll call you back.” He hung up and raced to the office. The secretary, Mrs. Marsh, looked efficient with her conservative blue blouse and the tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose. “Did you get hold of the bus driver?” he asked.

Her demeanor changed when she saw his agitation. “Your boy was on the bus, Mr. Vargas. Got off at the usual spot.”

Fear knifed through him. “Was anybody there? Did anybody see him?”

“The bus driver said someone was there, but the boy seemed to know him—”

“Get the driver on the phone!” His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burst out.

Five seconds later, Mrs. March handed him the phone. He barely controlled the anger and panic in his voice. “Who was at the bus stop?” he demanded.

“I didn’t get a good look at the guy,” the nervous voice on the other end of the line said. “Just saw him wave to the boy. He had a little black cat or something in his arms.”

Oh, Christ. Not a cat. Sheila. Vic dropped the phone and ran to his truck, leaping onto the seat just as his cell phone bleated. “Talk to me,” he snapped out.

Ray’s controlled voice came back at him. “Eva hasn’t seen him.”

“Somebody met him at the bus stop. A man. I think he’s got Zach’s pig. Call Derek Braido.” He snapped the cell phone shut, fear seeping into the very marrow of his bones.