Chapter 10
Pilar assumed Yates would make an appearance first thing, but as the morning slid into afternoon and he’d not shown up by lunchtime, she relaxed. She hoped he’d decided that a woman who smuggled guns was indeed unworthy of further pursuit and would never bedevil her again, but she knew that to be wishful thinking. More than likely he’d been waylaid by a business matter of some sort and would visit tomorrow. In an attempt to put him out of her mind she spent the afternoon sitting in the garden having her portrait done. Doneta thought a painting of her would be an excellent keepsake when she moved to California.
“Pilar, stop moving,” Doneta pleaded. “Each time you do, it throws things off.”
“Sorry.” This was Pilar’s first time as a model and having to sit as still as a rock was difficult for a woman unaccustomed to doing so. “How much longer?”
“If you keep moving about, we’ll be here until Christmas.”
Pilar sighed.
Her mother appeared. “Pilar.”
Glad for the reprieve, she broke her pose and heard her sister’s frustrated groan, which she smilingly ignored. “Yes, Mama?”
“Do you remember meeting a man last night named Luis Garcia?”
“No.” Pilar didn’t remember anything about the evening that didn’t involve Noah Yates.
“Apparently, Senor Garcia remembers you. He’s here and has asked me if he might sit with you in the parlor for a few moments.”
Pilar was confused. “Why?”
“I think he’s interested in courting you.”
She sighed. She’d lived her entire life without any male interest and now they were lining up at the door. Granted there were only two, but that was two more suitors than she’d ever had before. “So what did you tell him?”
“I told him yes. If you are so opposed to Mr. Yates, maybe if you show an interest in another he’ll bow out.”
Pilar seriously doubted that but before she could express it, Doneta asked, “What does Senor Garcia look like?”
“Looks are not always a true measure of a man, Doneta.”
“That means he’s overweight and has a glass eye, Pilar.”
Their mother shot her a quelling look. Doneta pretended to fiddle with her paints and their mother turned back to Pilar. “Go upstairs and change into the blue day gown we bought for you—”
Pilar opened her mouth.
“Do as I asked, please, unless you prefer to go to California?”
Pilar left without another word.
When she entered the parlor, the man she assumed to be Senor Garcia stood. He was no taller than she and appeared to be quite a few years older. There was a balding patch on the crown of his head and he sported an enormous broomlike mustache that caused her to wonder if he’d cultivated it to make up for the baldness and his short stature. He took her hand and bowed respectfully. “I am honored to see you again, Senorita Banderas.”
Even though she still didn’t remember being introduced to him, she replied, “I am honored as well.” His hand was sweaty, so much so she had to force herself not to drag her palm over the skirt of her dress to rid it of the clammy moisture. Instead, as she sat down, she discreetly used the arm of the settee instead. At her age, she didn’t need a duenna but her mother played the role anyway because Garcia was a stranger, and her forced grin matched Pilar’s.
His smile showed a few rotting teeth. “And how old are you?”
Thinking that an odd way to begin the conversation, she eyed him for a moment. “Twenty-five.”
He appeared surprised. “You look much younger.”
“Thank you.” She supposed that was the correct response. In truth, she wanted to get to her feet and leave Senor Sweaty Hands where he sat. She gave her mother a glance and saw Be Nice displayed on her face, so she drew in a deep breath and reset her false smile.
“And how often do you attend mass?”
Pilar believed in the Savior but her family had never attended worship regularly. “Easter and Christmas.”
His eyebrows rose. “That is all?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Pilar wondered how long it had taken him to grow that elaborate mustache. It seemed to originate somewhere within his nostrils and looked to weigh almost as much as he.
“Senorita Banderas, I asked you if you’ve been baptized?”
She’d been so intent on the hair she hadn’t heard his question. “My apologies. Yes, I’ve been baptized.”
“At birth,” her mother added, sounding proud.
“The woman I marry will be expected to attend mass each Sunday.”
“I’m sure she’d find that agreeable.”
He scanned her with mild disapproval.
She waited.
“I am a wealthy man.”
“That’s very nice.” Again, she had no idea how to respond properly.
“And your expectations of a husband?”
“The senorita would expect her husband to have a boat.”
Pilar froze in response to the familiar male voice, turned and saw Noah Yates standing in the doorway. His arms were filled with flowers. How long he’d been there was anyone’s guess.
“A boat?” Garcia echoed, sounding baffled.
“Yes. You know those vessels that move on water. The senorita likes to sail.”
Yates bowed before her mother and presented her with a large bouquet of stemmed red roses. “Senora, I tried to find blooms as beautiful as you, but the florist said that was impossible.”
Her chuckling mother shook her head at his outrageousness. “Thank you, Mr. Yates.”
He then crossed to Pilar and handed her an even larger bouquet of yellow roses. “Pilar.”
“Thank you,” she replied coolly. Doneta’s words of last night rose tauntingly. He brings his novia . . . flowers . . .
“Who are you?” Garcia demanded.
“Noah Yates. Miguel Ventura’s business partner.” He then asked her mother in an innocent tone, “May I join the family for dinner, senora?”
Sitting there with a huge pile of gorgeous roses in her arms, she gave him the only obvious answer. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” He moved his attention to Pilar. He bowed her way, straightened, shot her a smile and exited.
She sighed. He’d caught her so off guard that had she been on a true battlefield, she’d be severely wounded or dead. First blood. Noah Yates.
Senor Garcia looked to the hallway Yates disappeared into and then back to her. “You like to sail?” He eyed her as if she were something he’d never seen before.
“Yes.”
“And your uncle sails with you?”
“No.”
“Then with whom do you go?”
“Friends. Sometimes alone. My grandfather taught me.”
“You let her sail alone, senora?”
“I do. She’s very knowledgeable about the sea and boats.”
Pilar asked him, “Do you sail, Senor Garcia?”
“I’m a tailor. What reason would I have to be on a boat? My wife won’t have any reason to be on one either. Especially unaccompanied.”
Pilar kept her smile in place as she turned to her mother. “I’d like to put these in water, Mama. May I be excused?”
Her mother stood. “I think that would be wise. Thank you for your visit, Senor Garcia.”
He appeared taken aback by the sudden dismissal. “You’re—welcome.”
“Let me see you out,” her mother offered encouragingly.
He bowed stiffly to Pilar. “Good-bye, senorita.”
“Good-bye, Senor Garcia.”
Picking up the hat beside him, he followed her mother’s lead, and once they were out of sight, Pilar exhaled an audible sigh of relief.
“Seemed like a nice fellow,” Yates said, magically appearing again. “We’ve both probably caught fish larger than he is. Mustache was very formidable though.”
She swore she’d swallow a fish hook if she laughed. “Go away.”
“Do you think people mistakenly step on him in the dark? He’d be in real danger at my family’s ranch. My brothers and I are fairly tall.”
Pilar wanted to run him through with her sword even though she was grateful that his entrance helped set in motion Senor Garcia’s departure.
The intensity in Yates’s eyes as he gazed down at her suspended time. His voice softened. “Do you like the roses?”
She glanced at their beauty in her arms and couldn’t lie. “Yes.”
“Doneta said no one has ever given you roses before—or flowers of any kind, for that matter. I’m enjoying being your first.”
Her senses took flight again because she knew he was talking about more than flowers. “I—I need to find a vase.” Why he had the ability to make her stammer when she’d never stammered before—ever—was beyond her ken. She wondered if her mother would mind if she killed her sister.
“You find your vase. I’ll see you at dinner.” And he took his leave.
One of the servants found her a vase and offered to arrange the roses for her, but Pilar declined. Even though she knew nothing about doing the task properly, for some reason she wanted to try. Taking both the flowers and the vase up to her bedroom she sat on the floor with them beside her.
Doneta came in. “See, I was right. The novio brings flowers.”
Pilar rolled her eyes. “Why are you helping him?”
“Because my, I’ve—never—read—a—love novel—sister, that is my role.”
Pilar stared.
“The younger sister is always on the hero’s side.”
Pilar shook her head.
“Besides, I’m hoping he has brothers.”
“He does. Two. Both married.”
“Oh,” she replied dejectedly.
Doneta watched Pilar trying to put the roses in the vase in a fashionable order. “You first need to cut some of the stems so you have a few shorter ones. Then place them in front of the taller ones.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a painter and that’s how you do it in a painting. Tall blooms in the back. Short in the front.” Doneta found a pair of scissors. “Here.”
Following her sister’s instructions, Pilar ended up with a beautifully arranged vase of roses.
Doneta said, “You have to admit, they are lovely.”
“True, but you are not to tell Yates anything else about me. Nothing.”
“Pilar. I’m helping you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am, because you need it. If this were left up to you that gorgeous man would walk away from here and wind up being some other girl’s brother-in-law, and I’m not going to allow that to happen. Besides, he loves you.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
Doneta sighed. “Fine. Be dense. When you love him so much you want to eat his shoes, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“What!”
“I’ve nothing else to say.”
“Eat his shoes? Women eat men’s shoes in those silly books you read?”
“It’s just an expression, Pilar.”
“Said by whom?”
“Never mind.”
“You’re making me concerned about you, ’Neta.”
“You just mind your pole and don’t let this big fish get away.”
Pilar sighed and shook her head. First eating shoes and now, allusions to fishing poles. Noah Yates had driven her sister insane.
Noah was enjoying dinner with Miguel Ventura and the Banderas women if only for the opportunity to view Pilar at his leisure. She was wearing the same blue day gown she’d had on earlier. It was plain, high necked, and had long sleeves. The line of buttons up the front, in tandem with the bodice’s snug cut, emphasized her curves. There were simple hoops in her ears. She possessed a natural beauty that didn’t require a lot of adornment, so their sedateness was just the right touch.
Miguel was the only member of his immediate family present. He explained that his wife and daughters had left early that morning to visit her sister in Yorba City. Although Noah found the daughters pleasant enough, he didn’t miss Simona or her judgmental attitudes in the least.
He was seated directly across the table from Pilar, who was doing her best to ignore him but he didn’t mind. Each time she did send him a furtive glance, his eyes were waiting and hers would go chasing away. Again, he wanted to carry her off and be done with this courting-ritual nonsense. He could already imagine her soft lips opening under his own and what her nearness would do to him when he finally got the opportunity to slide his hands slowly over the curve of her hips and feel her nipples berry against his palm. Were she able to read his thoughts, she’d undoubtedly grab her sword and behead him there and then.
Senora Banderas asked her brother, “How long will Simona be away?”
He sipped his wine. “She said she won’t be returning until you and your daughters have moved into a place of your own.”
“Then we shall try and conclude the arrangements as quickly as possible.”
“Take your time.”
Everyone fought their smile.
“Where is the property you’re considering purchasing, senora?” Noah asked.
“Here in the Keys. Most of my countrymen are here.”
“Many Cubans have also settled in Yorba City,” Miguel added. “But I’d prefer to have my sister and her daughters near me whether Simona agrees with that arrangement or not.”
Because Noah had already staked his claim, Miguel would be doing without Pilar’s company. “Senora, may I have your permission to tour the gardens with Pilar after we’re done here?”
Pilar glanced up. She didn’t appear pleased by the request, but he’d expected that and was looking forward to their sparring.
“I’m sure that will be fine, Mr. Yates. Are you agreeable, Pilar?”
She shrugged. “Why not.”
“You will conduct yourself as a gentleman?” her mother asked him pointedly.
“Always.”
Pilar’s tiny eye roll made him smile inwardly.
So after dinner, they went walking. At the outset, she refused to take his arm. “I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who’s been to war, not a simpering girl needing a man’s arm to keep from falling down.”
“Understood,” he replied with light amusement. “Is there anything you might need a man for at your advanced age?”
That earned him a look of disapproval. “Not as far as I know.”
“Such innocence.”
“Meaning?”
“When we marry, I’ll explain.”
“Ah, the kissing and the marriage bed, correct? I doubt either will leave me weak-kneed.”
They came upon a bench set within a stand of fragrant jasmine as beautiful as he thought her to be. “Shall we sit?”
“If you insist,” she said disinterestedly.
He couldn’t wait to give that sassy mouth something to do, but that also would come in time. “So, did you enjoy your visit with Senor Shorty?”
“His name is Luis Garcia.”
“My apology, but I prefer my name. More apropos, I think. You couldn’t possibly be interested in being his wife?”
“I’m not interested in being your wife either, but I’m entertaining it.”
“Touché, mi pequeño pirata,” he replied, mixing the French with the Spanish.
“And I do wish you wouldn’t address me that way.”
He was having such a good time with her. “Because . . .?”
“Because the way you say it, it sounds like . . .” Her words trailed off and she looked away.
He gently turned her face back to him and stared down into her flashing brown eyes. “Like an endearment?”
She nodded.
“Suppose I told you it was.” He found the curve of her lips mesmerizing. “Do you really think you’re immune to a man’s kisses?”
She backed out of his light hold on her chin. “If you suggested this walk so you could kiss me, please do so, so I can return to the house.”
He steepled his fingers and studied her silently. What a little hornet she was. Her response proved she had no idea he could remove her stinger in ways that would not only leave her weak-kneed but craving more as well.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Why the hesitation? Are you going to kiss me or not?”
“I think not.”
She blinked with surprise. “May I ask your reason?”
The feather-light line he drew down her cheek made her eyes slowly slide shut. The tender tremble of her skin in response to his touch was highly arousing. “You aren’t ready, but then again, I could be wrong.”
“Being kissed is not going to make me . . .”
His lips gently met hers and the contact made her immediately soften. “Oh my,” he heard her sigh.
Under his coaxing invitation, her mouth opened and he teased the ripeness with tiny movements of his tongue. She purred and he husked out, “This is what a man is for.” He wanted to drag her onto his lap and savor the warm pressure of her weight against him but that too would come in time. Instead, he contented himself with kisses: teaching her, tasting her, and silently letting her know that he wasn’t immune to her either. Leaving her parted lips for a moment, he traveled down to fleetingly sample the thin band of bare skin above her collar, and when he flicked his tongue against it, she whimpered with pleasure. Moving his lips to her ear, he breathed, “You were saying, chiquita?”
She responded by bringing her hand up and pulling him closer. He thrilled at that and his manhood awakened. She was the loveliest, sweetest thing he had had in his arms in recent memory and all he wanted to do was show her the full measure of what desire meant. And then, as if she’d suddenly realized just how responsive she’d become, she stiffened. Her eyes popped open and she looked appalled. He watched with silent amusement.
She jumped to her feet. “I—I have to go.”
He nodded but kept his laugh to himself.
She stammered, “Good—good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Pilar.”
She all but ran back in the direction they’d come.
Rattled and outdone, Pilar stood in her bedroom with her back against the closed door and tried to slow her racing heart. How in the world had she lived twenty-five years and not known the power a man’s kisses could wield? The instant his lips met hers she’d melted into the stone bench as if she’d been rendered boneless. This is what a man is for . . . Hearing that, she’d wanted to throw back a tart, clever rejoinder, but what he was doing to her mouth with his, and to the corners of her lips with the fiery tip of his tongue, left her with the brain of a crustacean. There were no weapons in her bow for this. He’d set her adrift, rudderless, no sails. When his hot lips moved to the trembling skin beneath her jaw, her hand had suddenly grown a mind of its own and drawn him closer. A part of her had found the heat of him against her glorious; his teasing tongue divine, until a voice in her mind woke up and screamed: What are you doing! That’s when she knew she had to flee. She drew a still trembling hand over her face. Whatever was she going to do!
Only then did she see her sister across the room seated in front of her easel, brush in hand.
Doneta scanned her for a silent moment before asking “He kissed you, didn’t he?”
“No.”
“You’re lying. From the looks of you, you were either kissed or struck by lightning.”
“Hush!”
Doneta smiled knowingly and resumed painting. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
“I’m not speaking to you.”
“Suit yourself, but you’re doomed now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once the young lady is kissed—all she wants is more of the same.”
Pilar moved away from the door and walked to her own bed and sat down. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Were I you, I’d end the courtship and go straight to the wedding.”
“But you’re not me.”
“No, I’m not. But if I were, I’d know that hoping for a miracle to make this all go away will not be forthcoming. You’re being pursued by a man so delicious he makes most sane women’s teeth ache the moment he walks into a room. Just surrender and find some happiness.”
Pilar fell back on the bed and cried out in frustration, “But I don’t want to marry him.”
“That’s the rebel gun smuggler speaking. What’s the woman in you saying?”
Pilar refused to explore the opinion of the newly awakened part of herself because she wanted her to go away and never be heard from again. She also refused to admit that her sister knew way more about this madness than she’d ever imagined.
“Your answer?”
“I’m not speaking to you, remember.”
Doneta put brush to canvas. “That’s right. I forgot, but when you’re ready to talk about what a great kisser he is, let me know.” She smoothly ducked the shoe Pilar aimed at her head.