Stranger Danger (5 page)

“Let me buy you a cup
of coffee or a soda pop,” the man said. “I should do something to make-up for
knocking you down and skinnin’ your knee.”

If she was someone
else, if she didn’t love Santiago so much, Sara realized she might’ve found him
attractive although she usually didn’t go for blondes.
 
His accent intrigued her, though, so
different from the light Spanish lilt in Santiago’s voice.
 
“Thanks but I’m on my way somewhere,” she
told him. Then she stuck out her hand. “But maybe we’ll meet again. I’m Sara
Straughn and I’m a student.
 
I’m taking a
couple of summer courses now, but I’ll start full-time in the fall.”

He shook her hand with
a tight, brisk grip. “I’m Erik English, art history professor,” he replied.
“I’m out here for a year on an exchange with a professor at this school.
 
I normally teach at the University of Arkansas
at Fayetteville.”

The way he pronounced
the name of the town, it sounded like he said “fate-
ville
”.
 
Intrigued, a little, Sara smiled. “Maybe I’ll
take one of your courses,” she said although she didn’t think she really would.

She’d been delayed long
enough that traffic had picked up, and she knew she’d never make it to General
Mills in time.
 
At home, she showered and
cleaned her knee, then put on jeans and a tank top.
 
Sara reached for the phone,
then
changed her mind.
 
Forget being shy.
 
She had every
right to go to Santiago’s apartment so she would.
 
She savored the way she’d surprise him and
when she arrived, she parked.
 
Her heart
danced with anticipation, but her nerves kicked up a fuss so she waited.
 
As she tried to calm down, she brushed her
hair smooth and put on fresh lipstick.
 

Her ears recognized
the low purr of his beat-up old Camaro, rough on the outside with an engine
he’d honed to near perfection.
 
Happiness
surged through her, and she reached for the door handle to step out and greet
him.
 
Santiago whipped into a parking
space four down, beyond a pickup truck and a Cadillac.
 
Sara exited the car but before she could call
his name or wave, she realized he wasn’t alone.

His companion wore her
luxuriant black hair pulled back with part of it teased into a little pompadour
on the crown of her head.
 
The rest
cascaded in a rich midnight spill down her back.
 
Her lips were bright red and pursed into a
kissable pout.
 
Sara inhaled her rich,
powerful perfume and heard her soft giggle as the woman gazed up at Santiago
like he was God and she offered worship.
 
Then she rattled off something so low and rapid in Spanish, Sara
couldn’t follow it or understand, but she heard Santiago’s familiar voice
respond, soft and gentle.

When he put his hand
on the small of the woman’s back, she turned away.
 
Tears blinded her vision and rained down her
face as she ducked into the car, then sprawled across the seat so he wouldn’t
see her.
 
Pain blossomed in her chest and
spread, the heartache leading to an instant stomachache.
 
She lay across the seat for what seemed like
a long time, crying, before she dared raise her head.
 
When she did, they were gone, presumably into
his apartment.

For a moment Sara
considered confrontation.
 
She imagined
marching up to the door, knocking, and asking him what she’d observed.
 
Maybe he’d have some explanation, but she
couldn’t fathom any she’d accept.
 
He had
lied, said he loved her, said there was no one else he wanted, but her eyes saw
evidence it wasn’t so.
 
If it had been,
he wouldn’t be slipping a woman – because she appeared older, early twenties at
least – into his place.
 
Whoever she was,
she possessed everything Sara lacked or so it seemed.

She had style, Mexican
hair, pouty lips, and she was petite, so small she barely came up as high as
Santiago’ shoulder.

Hurt, angry, and more
upset than she’d ever been in her life, Sara went to the beach alone, something
she’d never done.
 
She stayed there until
late and when she came
home,
her mom told her Santiago
had called four times.

But she never called
him back and before the fall semester began, Sara adjusted her schedule to
include Art History 101, taught by Professor English.

At the time, she
thought she’d done the right thing, but it would prove to be her biggest
mistake ever.

Now, she stared at Santiago, emotions in an uproar,
and responded to his question. “No,” she said. “Everything changed because I
saw you with a woman outside your apartment. I came over that Friday night
thinking we’d go to the beach, but when you got home, you weren’t alone.
 
I crawled back into my car and cried for a
long time.
 
You broke my heart.
 
That’s why I wouldn’t return your calls and
why I followed Erik back to Arkansas.
 
I
guess I wanted to hurt you the way I hurt. I suppose I should’ve talked to you,
at least asked you who she was, but I didn’t.”

Santiago came to his feet and glared at her.
“
Tu eres está loco
!”

Sara hadn’t expected so much anger. “I’m not crazy,”
she protested. “Maybe you don’t remember.”

He moved until he stood in front of her chair.
“There was no one else but you for me,
la
muñequita
!
 
Not then, not now.
 
I never understood why one day we were good,
together, and then you wanted nothing to do with me. You should’ve trusted me,
chica
.
 
And you could’ve asked me, then.”

Deep beyond all the layers she’d added to cover her
emotions, she wanted to believe him, but if she did, then she’d made the
biggest mistake of her life almost fifteen years ago.
 
“I saw a woman with you, Santiago,” she said
and described her. “Who was she, then, if you weren’t cheating?”

His eyes darkened and his lips twisted into a harsh
line.
 
Santiago whirled around, dug into
a pocket of his duffle bag and pulled out a worn wallet.
 
He unfolded a plastic sleeve of pictures and
as he fumbled one free, Sara saw her senior portrait among the other
photos.
 
Santiago thrust a picture in her
face. “Is this her?” he asked, his voice as rough as gravel. “Is it?”

She took the photograph and nodded.
 
Sara would never forget the hairstyle, the
perky bow, the crimson lips.
 
“Yes.”

Santiago snatched it back. “She was my sister.”

A cold dread gripped her throat. “That’s not Gabriela!”

“No, it isn’t Gabi,” he said. “It’s my half-sister,
Areli. You’d never met her, Sara.”

Sara reviewed what she recalled about his family, his
parents, Gabi, and his older brother Luis.
 
They’d always been tight knit. Last she’d known, Luis wrote for the
LA Times
and Gabi was a stay-at-home
mom.

“You didn’t have an older sister….”she said, then
hesitated.
 
A conversation dredged from
the dim past floated into her mind.
 
“I have a half-sister, too.”
She recalled
Santiago telling her this on a rainy afternoon.
“My father, his first wife died and his daughter went to live with her Abuela.
 
I’ve never met her – she lives in Mexico.”

His eyes glittered like black ice. “
Si
, I did. She’s dead, now, but I did
and if you’d asked me, you would’ve known.”

Before she could open her mouth or make amends, he
turned on his heel and picked up his duffle bag.
 
He thrust his pistol into the rear of his
jeans and started for the door.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “Santiago?”

He whirled around to face her, his face a hard mask.
“We’re strangers, now. I’m leaving.”

She didn’t think when she spoke from the heart.
“Don’t. I want you to stay,” she said. “If you’re in as much danger as I think,
I want you to stay.
 
If anything happened
to you, I’d…”

“You’d what?”

Anguish filled her soul. “I’d die.” She sobbed the
words as she broke down. “Don’t leave, Santiago.
Por favor, mi corazon
!”

The Spanish he’d once taught her, the old endearment
flew from her mouth.
 
He put his hand on
the doorknob,
then
removed it.
 
When he turned around, the naked pain in his
face smote her hard.
 
Sara moaned.

“I’ll stay under one condition,” he said, his voice
as shattered as broken glass.

“Anything.”

He crossed the room and kissed her, his mouth urgent
and ungentle on hers, harsh and demanding and possessive.
 
Sara’s hungry need answered his and her
fingers clutched his t-shirt tight to hold him, to keep him where he
belonged…with her.

Chapter
Four

His mouth ravaged hers, claimed and marked it.
 
Santiago held her fast with one arm, his
muscles powerful as a python.
 
Sara
couldn’t escape, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
 
He worked his tongue into her mouth and she
tasted the lingering flavor of beer on his lips, all her senses on high
alert.
 
Although he’d kissed her when she
let him in, it’d been intense but brief.
 
This time, his lightning struck hard and fast.
 
Sara burned, his passion consuming her.
 
Desire poured from him into her, as potent as
tequila, and she abandoned any pretense that she didn’t care.
 
Oh, sweet loving Jesus, his insistent, once
familiar lips evoked things she hadn’t felt in years.
 
One minute, fever raged through her body, the
next, she shivered with erotic chills.
 

Santiago did the impossible, stopped time with his
kiss and wiped everything else from her mind.
  
Her existence shrank to the small space they shared.
 
His lips strayed from her mouth and nibbled
below her ear, first left, then right. With nimble fingers, he unbuttoned her
blouse and pulled it away, leaving her black lace bra. He kissed the hollow at
the base of her throat and then used his teeth to make a love bite on the top
edge of her breast.
 

Sara’s fingers ran with abandon through his hair, so
different than the way he once wore it short-cropped.
 
She rested her other hand on his shoulder as
his tongue darted over her nipples, licking and laving until they bloomed.
 

Incredibly sweet shivers rocked her body as
Santiago’s hands caressed her, sometimes as light as the brush of a soft
breeze, often with eager intent.
 
He was
never clumsy and despite his urgency, Santiago never grew so rough he hurt
her.
 
He kissed her again,
then
suckled one nipple in his mouth until she almost
came.
 
He crooned sweet names in Spanish
whispers, but carried away, Sara couldn’t stop to translate.
 
“
Te
deseo, la muñequita
,” he said, his eyes gazing into hers.

Although he spoke of want, of desire, but not love,
she nodded. “
Si, mi corazon
,” she
said, giving him back his first language and with it, her heart.

He grasped her hand and led her to the bedroom. En
route, Sara jerked his t-shirt off and unzipped his jeans.
 
Under them, he wore nothing and she couldn’t
hide her grin as he pulled them down,
then
kicked them
off.
 
She removed her pants too and
skinned out of her undergarments with haste.
 
Her unmade bed, forgotten in the morning’s
unexpected turn, invited them to collapse among the tangled covers.

Santiago put her down on her back, her head resting
on the bank of pillows and gazed down at her.
 
His cock stood up, proud and erect, and as she gazed at him, she decided
he had to be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
 
His lean, bronzed body had matured from her
memory, grown harder and more muscular.
 
He moved with a dancer’s grace, she thought, and with purpose.
 
She touched him, marveling at his solid
flesh.
 
She wrapped her hand around his
cock and gave it a squeeze.
 

He groaned.
 
“Go easy,
querida
, or I’ll
explode.”

Laughing, she moved her fingers up and down his
shaft, teasing and tantalizing.
 
Sara
adored the sounds he made, pleasure noises and grunts of near pain.
 
She played with him until his dick hardened
more in her grasp.