I shook my head. That was part of the reason. Maybe I would have believed him before, but he’d told me a story to slow the ebb of panic that threatened to swallow me whole. “You said it to comfort me.”
“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “And I wanted someone to know the truth.”
“I never thought it would end this way,” I whispered. “Whit, at some point they’ll have to contact my mother. When she hears about what they’ve done, she’ll come running.”
He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. I knew he didn’t believe me.
“She’ll be here. If she didn’t care about me, she would have never sent me those tickets and warned me. I’m her weakness. Her vulnerable underbelly.”
“We’re talking about a lot of money, Olivera.”
“She’ll come. You’ll see. Mamá will be here in time.”
Whit gave me a sad smile. My bottom lip wobbled, and Whit immediately reached forward, softly dragging his thumb across. “Don’t.”
Warmth filled my belly, and for the first time I was aware of our proximity, my weight on his long legs, the strength of his arms enveloping me, the tantalizing brush of his breath against my brow. We were both still, as if recognizing the danger of moving, how it might shatter the spell. My pulse jumped as our eyes locked. He regarded me with a gentle look, one I’d never seen, one I didn’t think he was capable of. I gave into the impulse I’d been fighting and smoothed the inerrant lock of hair from his brow. He shut his eyes against the caress, his breath catching.
When he opened them next, his expression blazed in sudden decision.
“Inez,” he whispered slowly. “You’ll have to forgive me for what I do next.”
The moment his mouth covered mine, every thought, every worry fled from my mind. He tugged me closer, his arms digging into my lower back. One hand glided upward, holding the back of my head, threading his fingers through my messy hair. He kissed me deeper, and I melted against him. I swept my hands across the width of his shoulders and he shivered under my touch. He coaxed my mouth to open, touched his tongue to mine in a delicious sweep. I moaned, and he caught the sound, holding me tighter. A sharp tug pulled, deep in my belly, as I shifted to get closer. He made an approving noise at the back of his throat, and his hands cupped my rear, and he pulled me against him.
My eyes flew open when I felt how much he wanted me.
Whit pulled away enough to read my expression, a tender smile bending his mouth. I was flushed, my blood pitched to feverish heights.
“I’ve never had a friend like you,” he said. “That day on the dock, you walked away from me, leaving behind almost everything you owned with the most insufferable smirk on your face. My God, you surprised the hell out of me.” He kissed me, pulling my bottom lip into his mouth. “When you made me run after your bloody carriage, I couldn’t believe you had that much nerve.”
I laughed, and he kissed me again. He drew me close, and he palmed my breast, his thumb brushing across sensitive skin over my shirt, and I shivered.
“Do you kiss all of your friends like this?” I asked breathless.
“Did you know you taste like roses?” he whispered against my lips.
I shook my head, dizzy from his touch, the strength of his arms wrapped tight around me. The hard plane of his chest made me feel safe, as if he’d protect me from whatever happened next. I kissed him, knowing there’d never be another chance. I kissed him, knowing it would be the last.
The flame of the candle went out.
We froze, our breaths mingling together in the dark. Whit wrapped both arms around me, our chests pressed so close together not even a secret could pass through. A sob worked its way up my throat, coming out in a muffled gasp. Tears dripped down my face, and Whit kissed each one.
“Is this it, Whit?” I whispered.
He squeezed me and pressed his lips against mine lightly. “I don’t know, Inez.”
We were fused together in the pitch black. Whit idly dragged his palm up and down my back, and the only sound came from our soft breathing and the scuttling of some insect across the stone. We traded kisses in the deep shadows, distracting me from the terror inching closer as the hours dragged, minute by slow minute. I lost all sense of time. In my whole life, I’d never known such darkness. It was cold and infinite.
A muffled sound came from the entrance.
I turned my head, my pulse leaping in my throat. “Did you hear that?”
Whit hauled us to our feet and we felt our way to the stone barring the exit. “Who’s there?” he called.
Another muffled shout from the other side. I looked at Whit and smiled, relief sinking in my bones so fully, I almost crashed to the ground. “It’s Mamá!”
Whit shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t think so.”
“I know it’s her. I told you she would come.”
Whit furrowed his brow, and pressed closer to the entrance, angling his ear nearer and listening intently. I crept forward but he neatly maneuvered me behind him. A loud noise sparked from without. Whit pivoted and threw his arms around me, pushing me backward and behind one of the stacks of crates.
The blast enveloped us.
Capítulo Treinta Y Cinco
A horrible ringing sounded in my ear, persistent like a buzzing mosquito. Whit’s arms bracketed my head, his long body shielding me from the barrage of rocks and pebbles scattering around us. He flinched and I reached up and touched the side of his face. He leaned into my hand, his eyes clenched tight.
Gingerly, he lifted himself off me, his jaw locked, his expression pinched.
“Whit, are you all right?”
He grunted.
I sat up and crawled toward him, trying to see where he’d been hurt. Gently, I placed his head in my lap. A figure drew close. My palms were covered in sweat, trembling. My mother had come for me. She had made it in time.
“?Mamá?” I croaked. “?Mamá!”
“It’s not”—Whit coughed—“your”—another cough—“mother.”
The figure rushed forward. I turned my head to meet the dusty face of Tío Ricardo. He stood over us, panting, a gun in his hand. Sand covered him from head to foot. He’d lost his hat at some point. My uncle stared down at me with an unfathomable expression on his face, hard and unblinking.
As if he weren’t seeing me at all.
My mother hadn’t come. A sob worked its way up my throat. I wasn’t her weakness after all.
“Inez,” my uncle breathed. “Inez.”
Whit hauled us both to our feet, swaying slightly.
Tío Ricardo stepped forward and helped steady him with his free hand. In the other, he held a pistol. “How bad are you hurt?”
“Some bruising, I’d guess,” Whit gasped, eyes watering. “Nothing broken. I can walk . . . or run if you really need me to.”
“I really need you to. They will have heard the blast. We have to go right now before they return.”
We followed him, my heart beating wildly against my ribs. We ran through a tunnel, the walls close, holding memories from centuries past. Whit stayed at my side, gripping my hand and helping me navigate the debris littering the ground. None of this looked familiar.