Chapter Sixteen

She was running down a long, dark tunnel deep in the bowels of the earth. She struggled and pushed, twisted and turned, desperate to get away. But they followed her, filthy and bloated with sharp, yellow teeth. Their scurrying bodies made hideous scratching sounds. The rats swarmed and swelled, scratching and scratching, running over her feet, trying to climb her ankles. Scratching, scratching, scratching…

Angelina lurched up in bed, staring wide-eyed into the dark, realizing she’d been dreaming. She clutched the bedclothes as perspiration poured off her. Her heart pounded in her ears. But not loudly enough to blot out the awful scratching noise.

Lightning bathed the room in a burst of silver-gray light, and she glimpsed a tree limb scraping at the window. That was what had made the scratching noise, and her nightmare must have incorporated the sound, reminding her of the rats in the hold of the ship returning her to Cuba.

She relaxed against her pillows and loosened her tight hold on the bedcovers.

Thunder rumbled a deep throbbing bass that shook the tiny house. Rain thrummed on the tin roof overhead. She could hear the wind moaning. The storm must have broken. It had rained all day, and there had been whitecaps on the ocean when she’d walked home from the factory.

She settled herself in bed and pulled the comforter to her chin, hoping the storm would abate by morning. Assembling and rolling cigars under humid conditions wasn’t ideal.

Lightning flashed ghostly white. Thunder boomed. A crash sounded. Glass flew from the window. Wind whipped through the room.

Bolting upright again, she lit the bedside lamp to find the tree limb had broken through the window. A piece of it lay incongruously on the braided throw rug, a wet, forsaken log.

Malvado shrieked and beat his wings against the bars of his cage.

Throwing back the covers, she ran to the window. The driving rain pelted her face, stinging her skin and obscuring her vision. The wind snatched at her hair, blowing it in frenzied ribbons about her head. She scraped her hands across her eyes and looked out into the night. Illuminated by brief bursts of lightning, each tree and bush danced wildly. Tall palm trees, silhouetted against the stormy sky, appeared to bend double, ready to snap. Rubbish, twigs, and leaves whipped through the air.

A hurricane was coming!

It was autumn, and she’d been born and raised in the Caribbean. There could be no doubt about the force of the wind. This was no mere storm. But there’d been no warning, either. No reports of heavy weather from sailors.

She returned to her bed and pulled the comforter off, wadding it into a flat rectangle of cloth. Using her shoe, she broke out the remainder of the windowpane, careful not to cut herself. When she had the pane free of glass, she stuffed the wadded comforter in the opening. It wasn’t the best solution, but it kept most of the rain and wind out.

She didn’t care what happened to the rented house. Her factory was the important thing. She had to go there before the full force of the hurricane struck and save what she could. There was no time to dress properly, but she couldn’t go in only her nightshift.

Pulling her loose hair back, she tied it tightly with a ribbon. Then she put on her heaviest boots and laced them up. She covered her nightshift with an old blouse and skirt and pulled on an oilskin slicker, completing the ensemble with one of Alejandro’s discarded Panama hats. She even had the presence of mind to tie the hat to her head with another ribbon.

She ran to Malvado’s cage and lifted the cover, peeking inside. Seeing her, he stopped shrieking and regarded her solemnly. She tried to reassure him in a low, calm voice, but he flapped his wings and hopped from perch to perch in obvious agitation. Realizing there was little she could do to allay his fears, she covered his cage again and placed it on the floor behind the bed.

She opened her bedroom door and wondered where Alejandro was. Surely he wasn’t sleeping through this. She collided with him on the threshold. He was fully dressed with an oilskin slicker thrown over his arm. His face looked grim in the half light.

“I was coming for you,” he said.

“It’s a hurricane, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You were coming for me?” She glanced at the oilskin on his arm.

“I knew you would want to go to the factory.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d hoped he would understand and be willing to help her. Most men would have told her to stay in the house while they took care of it.

He took her elbow. “Véngase. There’s no time to waste.”

The wind was blowing from the northeast, and their front door faced north. When Alejandro tried to open the door, it was as if stuck, the force of the wind keeping it tightly shut. She watched helplessly as he struggled, leaning his shoulder against the wooden panel and straining. Finally, his efforts won out, and he managed to push it open a few centimeters. As soon as he’d opened it, the wind snatched the door from his hands, slamming it against the front wall with a loud bang.

Alejandro had to fight to close the door behind them. Grasping the door’s edge with both hands, he tugged and pulled against the wind until the wind caught it again and pushed the door shut.

Watching his struggles, she was exhausted before they started. And she was keyed up and desperate to reach the factory. The deep porch had sheltered them from the worst of the storm’s fury, but when they descended the front steps together, she felt the full force of the howling wind.

Their small yard and street were already littered with debris. Everything that wasn’t firmly rooted to the earth or nailed down was hurtling through the air. And the very air boiled and foamed, like the sea during a storm. She saw her neighbors scurrying about their homes, preparing for the worst.

Alejandro took hold of her arm and laced it through his. “Hold on to me tightly. No matter what, don’t let go. ¿Entiendes?”

She had to strain to hear him; the wind snatched the words from his mouth and carried them away. Nodding, she clutched his arm. But when they reached the front gate, she found herself floundering. The force of the wind was like a giant fist, pushing her backward, propelling her back toward the house.

By brute force, Alejandro dragged her forward. Their painful progress reminded her of swimming in the ocean against a very strong current. She learned that she must keep her head down and tucked into her chest, using the old Panama hat as a kind of shield against flying objects. And even though the factory was only a few blocks away, their struggles made the minutes feel like hours. Several people yelled at them and gestured, obviously urging them to take cover. But Alejandro doggedly plowed ahead and she followed, fighting the wind to lift one foot in front of the other.

When they finally reached the factory, she saw what the coming destruction would bring. Part of the thatched roof had already blown off. Workbenches and tables, cutting boards and gauges lay overturned and scattered like so many fallen leaves.

Putting his mouth close to her ear, Alejandro asked, “Where are the tobaccos and wrappers?”

“Locked in the brick storeroom.”

“We’ll put everything else in there, too. It’s the safest place.”

“And there’s room in the office.” She hadn’t had the time or money to furnish the brick office. The brick portions were the most likely to withstand the hurricane.

Nodding, he pulled her forward. Once under the thatched roof, they worked feverishly to gather the furniture and equipment and stow them in the storeroom or office. Several times, the wind knocked her down, but with Alejandro’s help, she regained her feet, and they continued to empty the structure. Within half an hour, they’d finished. The factory’s planked floor stood bare.

Returning home wasn’t as difficult. This time, the wind was at their backs, sweeping them along like an invisible broom. When they reached their rented house, none of their neighbors were out, a sure sign the hurricane was almost upon them.

They unlocked the front door, and it blew outward again. They dashed inside, water streaming off their oilskins and puddling on the floor. Alejandro grasped the edge of the door with both hands and leaned his shoulder into it again, fighting to close it. The muscles in his face and neck stood out like thick cords with his effort.

Watching him, she was grateful for his strength and quiet competence. Without him, she wouldn’t have been able to reach the factory to save its contents. Sometimes, it was comforting to rely upon a man. If he respected you as a person. Only one man had respected her as an equal, and he was her lawfully wedded husband.

When he finally got the door closed, he bolted it. “Get out of those wet clothes. I’m going to change and then close the window shutters from the inside. When you’ve changed, go to the pantry. If you get there first, empty it and stack the contents on the floor of the kitchen. Make sure the stove is completely out, too. And strip the mattress in your room. Bring any bedclothes and cushions or pillows you can find to the pantry.” His gaze met hers. “Have you got all of that?”

“Sí, yo entiendo. We’re going to take refuge in the pantry.”

“It’s the most sheltered place in the house, surrounded by walls and without windows. We’ll need a lamp, some extra oil, candles and matches, a jug of water, and some crackers or biscuits, if we have any. I’m going to line the walls with our mattresses for extra protection. We’ll use the bedclothes and cushions to cover the floor.”

Nodding, she scurried off to her room. An angry gray dawn was breaking, and she noticed the broken window. She’d forgotten to tell Alejandro about it. The wadded comforter was still holding, but it was a sodden mass, dripping rivulets of water on the floor.

Quickly, she changed into her sturdiest clothes, old riding breeches and a shirt she’d inherited from one of her brothers. Then she stripped the bed and left the bare mattress for Alejandro.

Malvado must have heard her because he began screeching again. She’d have to bring him to the pantry. She knew Alejandro wouldn’t like having the bird around but under the circumstances, she had no choice.

With the bedclothes and pillows under one arm and Malvado’s cage dangling from her right hand, she ran to the kitchen. She could hear Alejandro moving about in his room, securing the storm shutters. Putting Malvado’s cage on the kitchen floor, she found the supplies he wanted and left them at the back of the pantry. Then she checked the stove. The embers appeared to be out, but she poured water over them as a precaution.

Alejandro came into the kitchen to fasten the storm shutters while she pulled staples from the pantry shelves and stacked them on the kitchen floor. Once he had the windows shuttered, he helped her finish. With the pantry empty, he went to get the mattresses, dragging them in one by one. Then he told her to get inside the pantry.

She pointed at Malvado’s draped cage. “I know you don’t like birds, but I—”

“Put him on the back shelf.”

“I’ll keep him covered. He’s frightened enough as it is.”

He smiled grimly. “That’s a good idea.”

Working together, side by side, as they’d done at the factory, they lined the walls of the small space with their mattresses. Then they covered the floor with a nest of bedclothes and cushions. She lit the lamp and placed it at the back of the pantry, a few feet from Malvado’s cage.

Alejandro stood on the threshold. “Are you ready for me to close the door? We can’t come out until it’s over. It might be hours, you know.”

Nodding, she moved to the back of the pantry and slid down onto a pile of cushions. He shut the door behind him. The only light came from the lamp. The pantry was a small, cramped space, barely large enough for the two of them to lie down.

Alejandro seated himself by the door, his legs stretched before him. If she stretched her legs out, too, they would touch. The only sound in the cramped space was their labored breathing. Malvado had stopped squawking and cursing.

Angelina let her head fall back against the mattress behind her, happy to be resting after their frenzied work here and at the factory. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until she stopped moving.

There was a resounding crash outside, the reverberation shaking the walls of the pantry. Malvado started shrieking and shouting obscene words again. And the wind picked up, too. Even inside the lined pantry, she could hear it, almost feel it. The wind howled like a banshee, and there were more loud crashes. What they’d experienced before had been merely the precursor. Now the hurricane was fully upon them.

She wrapped her arms around her torso for comfort. She’d seen the after effects of hurricanes in Cuba. Whole houses had been leveled. Suddenly their secure hideout didn’t seem secure anymore. When she’d been busy preparing, she hadn’t had time to think. Now she had too much time to worry.

Glancing at Alejandro, she found he had his ear pressed to the door, obviously trying to discern what was happening outside. His features were drawn with worry. Realizing the danger they faced, her throat closed and her heart raced. She wished for her rosary and gritted her teeth, silently mouthing prayers without her beads.

The house rattled and clattered around them, like an old buggy coming apart at the seams. She jumped and, to her ultimate mortification, started crying hysterically. Humiliated, but unable to stop, she buried her face in her hands.

And then Alejandro was beside her. He pulled her into his strong arms, holding her tightly and murmuring low, comforting words into her hair. She clung to him as if he were a lifeline, burying her nose in the soft cotton of his shirt.

He cradled her in his arms and pulled her halfway onto his lap. He stroked her hair gently, tenderly. Grateful for his comforting presence, she burrowed deeper into his arms. He responded by rubbing the base of her neck and shoulders. Arching into his caresses, she returned his gesture of solace by moving her hands over the muscled expanse of his back.

The fury of the hurricane receded. Malvado finally quieted again.

Alejandro’s fingers worked their magic upon her, soothing her, gentling her, stroking away the terror and tension in her body. She gave herself over to the sensation of him touching her and relaxed. She dried her tears on his shirt. Her eyelids drooped as if lead weights pulled at them. Exhaustion overwhelmed her and she slept.

****

Angelina awoke with a start. The lamp had burned low, giving off a fitful light. She lay cuddled beside Alejandro, his arms wrapped around her. They must have both fallen asleep. She wondered for how long—hours or only minutes? The lamp suggested they’d been asleep for a while. A thin gray line showed beneath the door. It must still be day.

Cocking her head, she listened for the storm. Nothing. Not a sound. It was eerie, the complete silence. Had the storm already passed? She hoped so. And then she remembered. The eye of the hurricane, the middle of the storm, was calm. Was that what this was—the middle of the hurricane? At least the house was still standing around them.

She nestled her head against his shoulder and gazed at his face. His beautiful and scarred face, like two sides of a coin, so different from each other. Yet, to her, both sides were beautiful, both suggested strength and caring. Most of the time she didn’t even notice his scars. They were invisible to her, as much a part of him as his brown, wavy hair. She saw him through the eyes of love, perfect and whole and handsome.

In her naiveté and rage at what her beloved father had tried to do, she’d vowed to never love a man again. To never trust a man or allow herself to be vulnerable. And she’d fought her attraction for Alejandro. At first, she’d believed it was just a physical thing between them.

But when she came to know him, she’d learned of his caring and selflessness, of his quiet competence. Slowly, she’d come to rely upon his acceptance of her as an equal person, something no other man had given her.

She was in love with Alejandro Estava.

And it felt right, so right. Could that be the reason he’d seemed so familiar when she’d first met him? Because he was destined to be the love of her life, her soulmate? She didn’t know because she’d never felt this way about another human being before. All she knew was that her heart brimmed with so much love; it threatened to burst from her chest.

Acting on an impulse she’d often felt but had managed to resist, she reached up and gently stroked her fingertips over the scarred side of his face, wanting to soothe away his suffering, needing to take his pain away. Slowly, tenderly, she traced the ridges of his scars, feeling his anguish inside her.

His eyelids fluttered open. They gazed at each other for a long, breathless moment. Then the realization of her touch upon his disfigured face leapt in his eyes, and he grabbed her wrist. Frowning, he sat up, pulling her with him.

Her eyes implored him, brimming with the love she felt but couldn’t declare, not knowing how he felt.

Gazing at her, only a whisper away, she glimpsed a new realization dawning in the depths of his eyes. She held her breath, praying he understood and reciprocated her love. As if in a silent answer, he turned her captured hand over and nuzzled the palm, raining tiny kisses over it and her wrist.

She shuddered and closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his lips upon her skin.

His mouth found hers, brushing her lips, feather-light, tentative but bold at the same time. Reaching up, she curled her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, silently begging for more.

Responding, he molded his mouth to hers. Like hand in glove, their lips fit together, warm and moist, giving and taking. She drank him in like the finest wine, and he devoured her with an equal ferocity.

The soft nap of his tongue teased the corners of her lips, stroking lightly. She opened to him. Their tongues met. Lightning streaked through her, and a bubble of heat radiated from low down, between her thighs. Her pulse accelerated, and she melted into him as their tongues danced together.

His fingers moved to her throat, capturing for one brief instant the thrum of her pulse. Stroking downward, he unbuttoned the top of her shirt, and his fingers skimmed the tops of her breasts. She hadn’t bothered with a corset, only a chemise beneath the shirt.

His touch scalded her, leaving a scorched path of sensation. Her breasts swelled and her nipples puckered, pleading for his touch. Bolder now, he covered her breasts with his hands, caressing them, smoothing the gauzy fabric over her aching nipples, teasing them into hard buds.

She arched into his hands, silently offering herself.

His mouth left hers, trailing kisses slowly down the column of her throat, his tongue sliding sensuously over her skin. Her body pulsed with a new awareness, with feelings she’d never experienced before. All so new and exciting and…frightening, too.

Between her thighs, she felt an unfamiliar tightening, an almost painful craving. But she didn’t know exactly what she craved, just to be closer to him. Just to have him hold her, kiss her, touch her…

Her hands moved over his chest, registering the raw, masculine feel of him, the coiled and bunched muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. She found the hollow at his throat and explored it with her tongue, tasting the salty, male essence of him, reveling in his racing pulse beating against her lips. Reaching up, she combed her fingers through the thick, silky waves of his hair, something she’d wanted to do since meeting him. She savored the crisp, springy texture of his hair, so different, yet so like her own.

He unbuttoned the remainder of her shirt and parted it.

Feeling daring, she helped him, shrugging out of her shirt and pulling the chemise over her head. Bared to the waist, she waited, outwardly confident, even brash in her desire. But inside, she trembled like a leaf blown by the storm.

His gaze drifted downward, followed by the sharp intake of his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice sounding hushed, awestruck.

He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. “I’ve never desired a woman as I desire you. I’ve never worshipped a woman as I worship you. And I’ve never loved a woman as I love you. Will you have me, Angelina?”

“Forever and ever,” she gasped. Lacing her hands behind his neck, she confessed, “I love you, too, Alejandro. I’ve loved you from the first day I saw you, standing on Frances Street. But I was afraid,” she admitted. “Afraid to love and trust a man, any man.”

“Yo entiendo, I know.”

“Por favor, touch me. Love me. I’m yours and I want you so.”

“You want me even with this…” He touched his scarred cheek. “It’s not pity. Is it?”

“Oh, Alejandro, I’ve never pitied you. It’s true that I wanted to erase your hurt and anguish, yes. But never pity. Don’t you know you’re beautiful to me, both inside and out? Don’t you understand? I feel as if I’ve known you always, loved you always.”

And he did understand. He understood too well. She had known him for most of her life. Like the time he rescued her, he wanted to tell her who he was, but the raging hunger of his body wouldn’t be denied any longer.

They were married, and she’d said she loved him. There would be plenty of time later for confessions. But for now his body craved hers with a ferocious, unquenched need that blotted out all reason, all logic, and sense.

He needed to possess her finally after a lifetime of waiting. He wanted to drive his cock deep inside of her, claiming her forever as his own. After today, there would be no going back. Their marriage would be real, not a sham.

He reached out and cupped her breasts in the palms of his hands, admiring their fullness, the delicious, ripe roundness of them. Spreading his fingers, he explored the satiny texture of her skin, savoring the petal-soft feel of her warm and silky flesh.

She groaned and bowed her back, thrusting her breasts forward, as if demanding more.

Eager to please, he widened his exploration, gently rubbing her nipples in a circular motion, slowly teasing them. Her nipples puckered and tightened beneath his touch, pebbling into hard points.

He tore at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to bare his chest, needing to crush her naked skin against his. Under his ruthless onslaught, the buttons of his shirt popped, and he threw off the confining cloth.

Her violet eyes widened. She gasped and then sucked in her breath.

In the rush of passion, he’d forgotten. Now he wished he’d left his shirt on. Closing his eyes, he didn’t want to see her pity or disgust. She’d said she didn’t pity him, that his face didn’t repel her. But she’d had time to grow accustomed to his disfigured features. Not so with his body.

He hadn’t prepared her for this.

Waiting, his body tensed, drawing as taut as a plucked mandolin string.

But when she touched him, her fingers were as light as thistledown, whispering over the puckered flesh, gently exploring the ridges of his pain and suffering.

Slowly, he relaxed, giving himself over to the novel experience of someone touching him with intimacy and tenderness. Not since he’d been a young boy, and his mother had soothed away the inevitable scrapes and bruises of childhood, had anyone touched him. Really touched him.

His first wife had been a shy and modest woman, not given to passion, carrying out her wifely duties in mortified stoicism. If there had been any touching, he’d been the one to do it, hoping to arouse her desire. But that had never happened. She’d gone to her grave a virgin to passion.

Holding his breath, his senses sharpened, centering on the feel of her fingers moving over his bare skin. She traced the contours of his disfigured flesh, from his right shoulder down, to a triangular patch that spread under his arm, tapering to a point at his waist. If he concentrated just so, and believed with all his heart, he could almost feel her smoothing away the blemished skin, restoring him, making him whole again.

Erasing his anguish, as she’d said, with her love.

But as marvelous and reaffirming as her touch was, he had to know, had to read the truth in her eyes. Like twin pools of twilight, her eyes always reflected her innermost feelings.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, keeping them half-closed and hooded, not wanting her to know he watched her reaction.

Her hands had moved away from his scars, and she was eagerly discovering the remainder of his chest, trailing her fingertips along the ridges of his muscles, scoring his skin lightly with her long nails, and combing her fingers through his chest hair.

He watched her expressions. Like the stormy sky outside their lair, her expressions changed swiftly, from curiosity to wonder to passion. But he couldn’t discern not one drop of pity or disgust.

Thanking God for this rare gift of her love, he opened his eyes and his arms, pulling her against him, crushing her naked breasts against his bared chest.

Her eyes widened again and then the lids drooped languorously. Newly awakened desire deepened their color to midnight velvet. Understanding the game they played, she purred like a cat and rubbed herself against him.

This time, it was he who sucked in his breath. His cock rose and threatened to burst from his breeches. He pulled apart from her and lowered his head, taking one coral-tipped breast into his mouth, licking the nipple and areola with the tip of his tongue.

She twisted and squirmed, moaning in the back of her throat. He closed his mouth over her breast and suckled her like a famished baby. Whimpering, she grasped the back of his head and pushed, urging him on.

He tasted and suckled both of her breasts while his fingers searched for the buttons of her riding breeches. He worked the buttons free, one-by-one, and slid the tight breeches over the swell of her lush hips.

His fingers brushed silk. Glancing down, he found the barrier of her silken under drawers. Beneath the lace and frills, he glimpsed the dark triangle of her woman’s mound. Tentatively, he cupped her mound and smoothed the silken fabric over her satiny flesh.

She moaned and tossed her head, arching her back and pushing her breast deeper into his mouth. Her fingernails raked his back, urging him on.

He lifted his head from her breast and kissed her mouth, sucking her tongue into his mouth. Gently, he lowered her to the cushions, while his hands roamed her torso and kneaded her breasts. She offered no resistance when he removed her boots and slid her breeches off her legs, leaving her naked but for her undergarment.

¡Por Dios! She was lovely. Molded for a man’s pleasure with full, high-pointed breasts, a whisper of a waist rounding into voluptuous hips, and long, lean legs. Hers was a figure that could bring a man to the brink of madness. Even her feet were beautiful, exquisitely formed, high-arched and with tiny toes.

Her hands plucked at the buttons on the front of his breeches. He didn’t wear under drawers, but she didn’t know that.

He covered her hands with his. “Slow down, Angelita.”

Lowering himself beside her, he trailed his fingertips over her bare skin, circling her breasts, dipping lower, exploring her navel, straying dangerously close to the juncture of her thighs, only to pull away at the last moment and retrace his sensual exploration.

She shuddered under his lovemaking, thrilled at the touch of his calloused fingertips sliding over her. But he’d called her “Angelita.” No one had ever called her that except the other Alejandro, her childhood friend.

She thought it a curious coincidence but then, when his mouth found her breast again and his hands strayed lower, she didn’t think at all.

She lifted her hips from the cushions and pushed her woman’s mound against his hand, wanting something more, needing him closer. Wanting him inside of her.

He gentled her then, stroking her through the silk of her undergarment, finding her swollen and tender bud. She pressed against his hand, unable to stop herself. His fingers were like magic, drawing pleasure from her, bringing her to the very brink.

Trembling, she swayed upon the precipice, suddenly fearful of the plunge, and feeling strangely alone in her spiraling, almost tormented ecstasy. His fingers abandoned her, and she moaned softly. He pulled her satin undergarment down her legs.

Her eyes opened to find he’d shed his breeches as well. He rose above her; gloriously male, superbly muscled, and lightly dusted with black hair. His long and thick erection jutted from the crisp, dark curls between his thighs. One lone drop of moisture glistened on the proud head of his cock, beckoning her. Awestruck, she tentatively touched him, and he groaned.

Her fingers trailed over the wonder of his shaft. He felt like hot steel wrapped in the softest velvet. Just holding that most intimate part of him in her hands gave her so much pleasure.

As she stroked him, he stroked her, reaching between her thighs and teasing her desire. His fingers stroked and caressed, bringing her to the edge again. But this time, she wasn’t alone. Her hand moved up and down his erection, bringing him to the same shuddering precipice.

He parted her thighs wider and lowered himself over her. She welcomed the weight of his body, reveled in the spicy scent of his flesh that mingled with the erotic musk of their lovemaking.

He raised his head. “This first time might—”

“Hurt,” she finished. “I know. My mother explained when I was—”

“Don’t say it,” he cut her off. “Don’t even think it. You’re mine now, forever. You’re mine,” he repeated.

“Forever,” she agreed.

He lifted her hips with his hands and thrust into her, slowly and gently at first.

The hurricane suddenly broke over them again. The wind howled and screamed.

Their bodies crashed together, straining and moving as one, mimicking the storm’s fury outside. She felt a twinge of pain and gasped. His fingers found her again, wedging between their bodies and laving pleasure over the stinging pain.

Shuddering beneath him, she spiraled up and up, as if on the wings of angels, soaring higher and higher, no longer afraid of the precipice, bringing him with her this time, both of them plunging headlong into ecstasy.

Clinging together, they drifted to earth in the aftermath, savoring the joy of their oneness. He rolled to his side and brought her with him, his cock still embedded within her. He tenderly stroked her back and murmured words of love and the promise of a bright and shining future together.

The hurricane shrieked around them. Loud crashing sounds shook the walls of their tiny home. Malvado, who had been so quiet during their lovemaking, awakened to squawk and batter himself against the cage bars.

But none of it mattered. She was safe and secure, nestled in the arms of Alejandro. Cuddled and cherished in the embrace of the one man she trusted with her life and heart.

Nothing could touch her now. Not her father or Cortez nor even the forces of nature. She’d found love and happiness, fulfillment and a deep, abiding contentment. For the first time in her life, she was gloriously whole and totally at peace with herself.

She’d finally come home.