Читать книгу The Spy Who Loved Him - Merline Lovelace, Merline Lovelace - Страница 8

“Why doesn’t he marry her! The way she drapes herself all over him, any fool can see Anna would love Carlos to wrap her in silver gauze and shield her from every cold breeze that blows her way.”

Muttering into her crystal champagne flute, Margarita Alfonsa de las Fuentes leaned silk-sheathed hips against a stone balustrade. Behind her, the city of San Rico, capital of Madrileño, spilled down steep, jungle-covered slopes to a sea awash in moonlight. In front of her, tall French doors thrown open to the balmy January night gave an unobstructed view of the glittering crowd gathered to welcome the new Austrian ambassador to Madrileño. Dancers in flowing gowns and elegant tuxedos swirled and dipped across the State Ballroom’s shining parquet floor to the lively strains of the “Blue Danube Waltz.”

One dancer in particular held Margarita’s attention. Her cousin, Anna. Tiny, beautiful Anna, with the melting brown eyes, thick black lashes and tumbling masses of the blue-black hair most Madrileñans were blessed with. Slender as the swaying sugarcane plants that formed the basis of their country’s economy, Anna moved with a feather-light grace that thoroughly annoyed her cousin. As Margarita knew all too well, delicate, seemingly fragile Anna possessed the face of an angel and the temper of a wasp. The twenty-year-old could make life miserable for everyone around her when things didn’t go her way.

Not that her dancing partner would care about her temper. Or even notice it. If Carlos married Anna, he’d spoil her outrageously…then leave her to sit docile and pampered at home while he went about the important business of men. He wouldn’t be around enough to notice her vile moods, which in any case Anna would hide from him like a proper little wife.

But Carlos didn’t want to marry Anna. He’d decided on Margarita as his bride-to-be. He’d even obtained her father’s consent to the match.

Gritting her teeth against an all too familiar frustration, she tossed her head and downed the last of her champagne. Even now, three years after returning from an extended stay in the States, she still battled the chauvinism that permeated every social stratum in her country. Each time she made a small dent in the masculine dominance—as when she’d landed her job at the Ministry of Economics over her father’s vehement objections—she’d stumble up against another obstacle.

Like Carlos.

Carlos Caballero. Madrileño’s Deputy Minister of Defense. Six feet plus of solid muscle, bronzed skin, glossy black hair and calm self-confidence. Margarita had known him most of her life and had adamantly refused to marry him for the past year…despite her mother’s fervent urging, her father’s blustery demands and the traitorous needles of desire that shot through her whenever Carlos turned his sexy onyx eyes in her direction.

The fact that he sprang from the same aristocratic roots she did, had racked up a chest full of medals during his military service and was considered the brightest mind in the Ministry of Defense didn’t overcome the man’s liabilities as a life partner in Margarita’s mind. He was everything she didn’t want in a husband. Conservative. Traditional. Overprotective.

It didn’t matter that he also possessed a smile that made girls sigh and grown women walk into walls. Or that he moved with a pantherlike grace under his elegantly tailored tuxedo. Or even that Margarita’s chest tightened whenever she imagined his lean, muscled body pinning her to the sheets.

What mattered was that he shared the oppressive, antiquated view of marriage of so many Madrileñan men. She’d broken with her family once over their clamoring desire that she marry someone of their choosing. Fled to the United States for six years of college and graduate school. Gotten involved with an organization that would shock her parents to their core if they knew about it.

She’d come back to Madrileño three years ago. She would always come back to Madrileño. Her country was in her blood, a part of her heritage.

Sighing, Margarita set aside the crystal flute and turned to lean her elbows on the stone balustrade. As it always did, the spectacular collage of dark, jungle-covered mountains, white-washed buildings topped with red tile roofs and shimmering sea grabbed at her heart. The city of San Rico combined everything she loved and hated about her country…breathtaking beauty surrounded by feral wilderness; fabulous wealth wrenched from abject poverty; a cosmopolitan elite leading a population still struggling with illiteracy and centuries of oppression.

She was determined to help her country rise to the promise of the new millennium. Determined as well to eradicate the drug trade that had crippled its economy for years. That’s why she’d fought for her job with the Ministry of Economics. Why she’d joined SPEAR when she was approached as a graduate student at the University of Pennsylvania. Why she…

“You look especially beautiful in moonlight.”

The deep, chocolate-smooth voice raised goose bumps on Margarita’s bare shoulders and arms. She turned, and the sight of Carlos in white tie and black tux raised goose bumps everywhere else.

How did he do it? she wondered irritably. How could he look so devilishly handsome and so maddeningly complacent at the same time? And how did he manage to set her back up with a mere compliment? She wasn’t idiotic enough to wish he admired her for her mind instead of her looks, but an occasional acknowledgment of her intellect might have elevated his standing in her eyes considerably.

“Thank you.”

Her terse response lifted one of his brows. Strolling across the balcony, he joined her at the railing. At five-seven, Margarita was considered tall for a Madrileñan. Even so, she had to tilt her head to look into Carlos’s chiseled features.

“I like you in red,” he murmured. His gaze drifted down her throat to the swell of her breasts. “What there is of it.”

“I’m so glad.” Oozing syrupy sweetness, she smoothed her palms over the flame-colored sheath that plunged to a deep V in both front and back. “I thought of you when I chose this gown.”

A corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m sure you did. You take particular delight in taunting me, do you not, querida?”

The lazy half smile caused a distinct flutter in Margarita’s chest. As much as she’d like to, she couldn’t deny the man’s impact on her central nervous system. Carlos radiated masculinity. Smooth, controlled, extremely potent masculinity. Ignoring the treacherous skip in her pulse, she took issue with his casual endearment.

“I don’t suppose it would do any good to remind you that I am not now, nor will I ever be, your ‘darling’?”

“No good at all,” he replied easily. “Any more than it would do for me to remind you that ‘ever’ is a long time. I’m a patient man. Very patient.”

“Yes, I know.”

For some reason, the patience he took such pride in irritated Margarita more than anything else. If ever a man didn’t fit the English translation of his last name…

Steady, sober Carlos Caballero was as far from a cowboy as she’d come across in her thirty years. She’d never seen him lose his temper. Never witnessed a single crack in his iron discipline. She wanted passion from the man she married. Mindless, senseless, damn-the-consequences passion.

“You’re wasting your time, Carlos. I’ve told you repeatedly, I won’t marry someone who intends to shield his wife from everything nasty life has to offer.”

“It’s a man’s nature to want to protect his woman.”

Before she could take umbrage with that Neanderthal bit of philosophy, his wide shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“I can’t change who I am, Rita, any more than you can change who you are.”

“You don’t have the faintest idea of who I am,” she countered flatly.

None of them did. Her parents. Her friends. Her waspish little cousin Anna. Not one of them even faintly suspected that Margarita had been recruited by SPEAR while attending school in the States.

SPEAR—the acronym succinctly summed up its mission: Stealth, Perseverance, Endeavor, Attack and Rescue. The Washington, D.C. based organization was so secret that few members of the U.S. government and even fewer in the international community knew of its existence. Yet its tentacles reached deeply into domestic and foreign affairs, as well as into the business sector.

Although Margarita had undergone the same brutal training as SPEAR’s other agents, she’d been recruited for a specific mission and sent home right after her training. For three years, she’d quietly fed information on the Latin American drug trade to SPEAR. She took fierce pride in the fact that her efforts cut deeply into the illegal traffic that had almost destroyed her country’s economy.

“I know all I need to know about you, querida,” Carlos said quietly, pulling her attention to the discussion at hand. “We’d make a good match.”

“Why?” Her chin came up. “Because my uncle is the President of Madrileño and he wants you to run for the senate seat that’s just come open?”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she caught a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. She felt a dart of triumph at having pierced his impenetrable calm, even for a second. The feeling evaporated when he moved closer. Only a step or two, just enough to crowd Margarita against the stone railing behind her.

“If I sought a wife for merely political purposes, I’d choose someone far more malleable.”

“Like Anna?” she inquired sweetly, all too aware of the heady combination of starched shirt and tangy aftershave she drew in with every breath.

“Like Anna,” he agreed. “But it’s you I want, Margarita.”

“Why?” she demanded again, annoyed anew by his stubborn refusal to accept defeat. “Why do you insist on pursuing a woman who doesn’t want you?”

The smile came back into his eyes. “Maybe because she’s yet to make me believe she doesn’t.”

“Madre di Dios!” Thoroughly exasperated, she shook her head. “Just what does it take to convince you?”

“I don’t know. Shall we put it to the test?”

Planting his hands on the railing on either side of her, Carlos leaned forward. Margarita understood his intent well before his mouth brushed hers. She could have stopped him with an icy command. Could have jerked her head away, or even taken him down with one of the many maneuvers she’d learned during SPEAR’s rigorous defensive countermeasures training. Instead, she kept her face impassive and her mouth tilted to his. What better way to demonstrate how unsuited they were than to let him see how little his kisses affected her?

She might have convinced both him and herself if he’d stopped after the first soft brush of his lips on hers. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, he didn’t. With a smooth coordination, he slid an arm around her waist and drew her close. She felt him against every inch of her body, as hard as tempered steel. His mouth came down on hers, more firmly this time, with a sensual deliberation that infuriated Margarita even as it set off tiny detonations under her skin.

Warmth flowed into her veins. Desire fisted in her belly. She could feel the studs in his shirt through the thin silk of her gown. Feel, too, the ripple of muscle in the arm locked around her waist. For an insane moment, she reveled in his strength and in the heat shooting through her. Only the fact that he’d stoked the fire so deliberately kept her from flinging her arms around his neck and consigning herself to the flames.

To her profound disgust, her whole body trembled when at last he raised his head. She drew in a shaky breath and was just preparing to let loose with both barrels when another sensation penetrated her whirling senses.

A slow vibration against her bare skin.

Just above her breasts.

Her hand flew to the wafer-thin locket she wore on a gold chain around her neck. The modest piece of jewelry didn’t go with her designer gown, which called for diamonds or flashy rubies, but Margarita never went anywhere without the small, oblong gold disk. When she flattened a palm over the locket and felt its barely discernible signal, excitement shoved everything but one thought from her mind.

SPEAR. She had to find a private corner, and fast! Someplace she could use the tiny transceiver tucked in her beaded handbag. With a toss of her head, she cut Carlos off at the knees.

“That was…enjoyable. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better return to the ball.”

Enjoyable!

Carlos waited until she’d swept through the open French doors to unclench the fists he’d dug into his pockets.

There was nothing the least enjoyable about that kiss! Every nerve in his body snapped with desire. His groin ached so fiercely, he could barely stand upright. Another moment or two with Margarita’s mouth under his and he would have dragged her down on the damned balcony, ripped off that handkerchief she called a gown and blown his chances with her forever.

He knew her so well. He’d watched her mature from a bright, eager girl into a stubborn, determined woman. Had wanted her for as long as he could remember. He’d been biding his time since she returned from the States, waiting for her to find a middle ground between the liberal concepts she’d absorbed during her years abroad and the more traditional ways of Madrileño. He’d declared himself a year ago and waited patiently for her to recognize how well matched they were. At this moment, he wasn’t sure he was going to survive the wait!

Intellectually, Carlos accepted that Margarita had to find her own way to him. That he couldn’t force her into his bed…as much as he’d like to. Nor could he force her to admit she wasn’t any more immune to the electricity that crackled between them than he was. All he could do was keep applying pressure. And keep in rigid check his growing urge to claim her in the most elemental way a man can claim his woman.

Holding back got more and more difficult every day. At the thought of her thick, silky black hair tumbling over naked shoulders and her slender body hot and urgent beneath his, the ache in his groin doubled.

Shaking his head at the follies of men, Carlos reached into his tuxedo pocket for a cigar. From past encounters with the stubborn woman he was determined to make his own, he knew it would take some time before the clamor in his body subsided and he could rejoin the others in the ballroom.

A wry smile twisting his lips, he bit off the end of the cigar. Margarita had no idea the knots she tied in his gut with a single flash of her magnificent violet eyes. If he was to retain any semblance of his masculinity, Carlos had better make sure she never did.

The way he felt right now, that might be far easier said than done.

Impatience beat at Margarita like the wings of the millions of monarch butterflies that made Madrileño their summer home. Dodging guests with a smile and the excuse that she was looking for her father, she slipped down one brilliantly lit corridor after another. It was almost impossible to find a private niche in the Presidential Palace that served double duty as the seat of government as well as her aunt and uncle’s home. Ball guests mingled in the anterooms and hallways, exchanging news about the latest diplomatic crises. Uniformed aides hurried to and fro. Servants jumped to open doors.

Finally she found a deserted chamber. The small room with its deep crimson walls and gilt-edged portraits of past presidents was used to receive lesser diplomats. Its single door and heavy velvet drapes that would absorb sound suited her needs perfectly.

Closing the door behind her, she fumbled in her beaded bag for a small, flat instrument closely resembling an ordinary cellular phone. Only she and the other SPEAR operatives knew the powerful capabilities packed into its innocuous plastic case. She punched in her code, spoke a few casual words and waited for the voice-activated sensors at the other end to verify her identity.

When she was patched into Central Control, she recognized the agent who responded immediately. Rangy, blue-eyed Marcus Waters had shared weeks of brutal survival training with Margarita—and let her know in his grinning, cocky way that he wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with her as well. She’d laughed off his offer at the time, but she wasn’t laughing as she listened to the astounding information Marcus relayed.

“We just got word your Madrileñan police bagged a very interesting fish in that big drug bust yesterday.”

“Who?” she demanded, too keyed up after her session with Carlos for word games.

“Brace yourself, babe. From the physical description flashed over the Net, we think he may be Simon.”

Margarita’s jaw dropped. “The man we’ve been hunting the past six months? The same man we suspect of executing a personal vendetta against SPEAR?”

“That’s the one,” Marcus said cheerfully. “Jonah’s in the air as we speak, on his way to San Rico.”

Jonah! The shadowy head of SPEAR. He was legend in the agency. A voice on the phone. A cryptic telegram. A cassette tape hand-delivered in a bouquet of flowers. The fact that he was now enroute to San Rico set her pulse jumping.

“He wants you to hightail it over to the Bastille where your guys are holding Simon,” Marcus instructed. “Just to make sure the bastard doesn’t bribe his way out of custody.”

In the midst of her clamoring excitement, Margarita could still feel a twinge of pique on behalf of her countrymen. “Not every Latin American official takes bribes.”

“Of course not. Only the ones who’ve gone bad. And unfortunately, they aren’t restricted to Latin American. Let me know as soon as you get Simon in your gun sights.”

“Will do.”

Her momentary irritation forgotten, Margarita jammed the transmitter into her purse and willed herself to walk sedately through the crowded corridors. At last she reached the tall, arched doors that led to the plaza outside. Weaving her way through the limos lining the square, she quickly plotted her course of action.

Her condo was less than a block away, one of a cluster of new buildings that clung to a steep hillside. She’d purchased the airy little one-bedroom over her father’s strenuous objections and her mother’s very vocal fears for a young girl living alone. It hadn’t done the least good for Margarita to remind her mother she’d left girlhood behind her years ago.

She could change and arrive at the grim fortress that served as Madrileño’s central prison in less than ten minutes. Fifteen at most. From past visits to the dark, dank prison, she knew the rats that scurried along its narrow passages were the size of small dogs. She wasn’t going inside its walls until she donned a long-sleeved blouse, sturdy jeans and boots.

She wouldn’t need to invent an excuse to see the prisoner. As the niece of the President, she could pretty well go where she wished. Just in case anyone asked, though, she’d fabricate a cover story about needing to interview the prisoner to gather information for her job as an analyst at the Ministry of Economics.

In her simmering excitement, Margarita didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder at the ornate facade of the Presidential Palace…or spare a thought for the man she’d left cooling his heels on its balcony.

A relic of the days of Spanish rule, the Castillo San Giorgo sat like a stone monolith on a spit of land jutting into the sea. Almost five feet thick at the base, its walls had been constructed of a local stone the conquistadores had labeled coquina. The Spanish had used the same material to construct their fort at Saint Augustine, Florida, which Margarita had visited during her years in the States.

In English, coquina meant little shells, which was precisely what the stone consisted of—millions of tiny shellfish that had died eons ago. Their shells had bonded over time to form an almost indestructible stone embedded with tiny, razorlike bits of shell.

After checking her purse with its little radio and her snub-nosed .38 at the entry to avoid setting off the metal detectors, Margarita was careful not to brush against the walls as she followed the captain of the prison through dank, dark corridors. Not long ago, political prisoners had been crammed into the subterranean rooms the Spanish had once used for storing powder and supplies. Thanks to her uncle’s enlightened presidency, only a fraction of the cells were now inhabited. Even so, the stench of centuries of misery clung to the dim interior.

“This man you wish to speak to shares a cell with the other scum who use our people as mules to ferry their drugs,” the captain told her. “I sent a guard to bring him to an interrogation room.”

“Good.”

She’d come up with some reason to get rid of both the captain and the guard. She wanted time alone with the prisoner to verify if he was, indeed, the man SPEAR had been seeking.

Flinging open a narrow door, her escort warned her to watch her head and stood to one side. Margarita ducked under the low lintel, took one step into the stark room and froze.

A red-faced guard stared at her through eyes bugged almost out of their sockets with terror. An arm was wrapped iron-tight around his throat. His gun holster flapped empty, and the barrel of his semiautomatic dug into his temple. Behind him, a horribly scarred figure smiled a malevolent welcome.

“Come in, Señorita de las Fuentes. I’ve been waiting for you.”