Shed whispered the name, Roque, and touched her stomach.
Then shed shivered and snapped the window shut, realizing he was the last person she could ever tell and the last person she could ever desire.
Fear of him made her heart flutter when a very tall, dark masculine figure opened her front door. But it was only Irish Taylor, her fathers brilliant foreman. His craggy face was kind as he nodded at her.
Before the baby, Ritz would have said she wished shed never met Roque Moya Blackstone. Roque, biker, cowboy, horseman, womanizer. Roque, who was way too sexy whether he covered his black hair with a red bandanna and rode his bike or whether he wore his Stetson and sat astride a prized stallion.
Daddy had always said he was the reason her life had gone wrong. She had learned a long time ago, that nothing was as simple or as black and white as Daddy had said.
Sometimes Ritz wondered what would have happened if she hadnt seen him dance by firelight on that long-ago summer night. If some shiftless cowboy hadnt left the Blackstone Ranch gate open the next afternoon. What if the Kellers and the Blackstones hadnt been feuding? And what if Jet hadnt given into temptation and locked Ritz inside the forbidden kingdom?
What if Jet hadnt seen Roque naked and stolen his clothes? What if Ritz hadnt been so curious? What if Roque hadnt been so stormily virile and turned-on all the time?
What if he hadnt stolen Ritzs mare, Buttercup?
What if he hadnt put his hands around her waist and lifted her up beside him, whispering in that sexy, velvet voice of his, Do you want to fly?
But he had done all those thingsand more.
Shed only been fourteen.
Too young to fall in love.
Then he had to go and pretend to get hurt saving her and winning her heart. Shed given him her treasured St. Jude medal, and of course, hed refused to give it back, and ever since, shed been caught in the tangle of his dark spell.
Yes, looking back, Ritz could pinpoint the exact moment her life took its fatal turn. It had been the night shed watched Roque Blackstone dance like a savage half-naked on that beach. The driftwood had burned like fire and gold, and shed felt something alien and thrilling; shed come alive and been changedforever.
And a woman is prone to look back, especially at her husbands funeralwhen shes made huge mistakes, especially man mistakes, that seem to grow and compound and haunt, mistakes that keep on rebreaking her heart until she loses all hope of peace of mind and has no faith that she can ever get her life rightat least where men are concerned.
But now she had his baby to think of and plan for.
Just because she made bad choices, did that mean that her entire life was ruined? That she couldnt be a good mother? That she couldnt start over? Somewhere far away from Texas and the scandals of her marriage and the grandeur of the Keller name?
One thing she knewher heart was broken in so many pieces; it would take her a lifetime to pick them all up. She was through with men and marriage and wealth and fame.
Most of all, she was through with Roque Blackstone, the man who had shattered her as a girl and had the power to shatter her again.
If she could just get through the funeral, she would finally be free to make her own choices.
Until then she had to pretend.
Her lavish ballroom with its elaborate commode, twin fauteuils, and nineteenth century bronzes was so redolent with the cloying sweetness of white roses, Ritz almost gagged. Tables of crab, shrimp, and salmon were piled high. Unthinkingly her hand kept caressing her stomach protectively.
The organist was playing Amazing Grace. The newspaper obituary had been long and impressive. Everything about the grand River Oaks funeral, even his young widow in black, about whom so much had been written, was just as the deceased had planned itsolemn, stately, regal, in a wordperfect.
As outwardly perfect as the sham that had passed for his life.
His mother, queen for the day in her rustling black silk and showy diamonds, was a whirlwind of decorum and efficiency mincing from room to room in that tippy-toed gait that made Ritz want to scream. Mother Evanss smile was even more fixed and pompous than Joshs had been in his coffin, and she greeted everyone, except Ritz, with moist eyes and a soft, saccharine voice. From time to time she even brushed a nonexistent tear from her well-powdered, parchment cheek.
No wonder Josh had been unable to love Ritz or make her feel as Roque had. But there was no going back, no changing Joshor his mother. Or herself.
Plump old Socorro knew the truth and sympathized. But then she had always had a soft spot for Roque.
Poor Socorro. Usually, she spent her days ironing upstairs where she could smoke and hide out and watch her telenovelas. Today Mother Evans had Socorro racing in and out of the kitchen with heavily laden trays.
The good reverend could not seem to stop with the Bible verses, either.
Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your lifeLook at the birds of the airconsider the lilies of the field.
One more verse and Ritz was afraid shed pop out of her black sheath.
Grief? Nerves? Guilt? Terror?
All of the above.
But it was her fear of Roque that turned her fingers into claws around her china coffee cup and made her head drum.
What if he did come?
Not much longerand this day that Josh had so painstakingly planned would be over. Ritz had tried to talk him into a simple ceremony, but hed selected his favorite Armani suit, saying he wanted his embalmed body to rest in state in the grand salon of their mansion for the whole day before the funeral.
So, all of yesterday, legions of Houston dignitaries had trooped by his polished casket to tell Ritz how wonderful he looked and how exhausted she appeared, poor dear. Shed stood there, enduring hugs and murmured condolences, feeling sicker and sicker, until Joshs owlish, gray face in the casket had started to spin, and shed fainted.
The dead roses along with the aroma of smoked salmon were really getting to her. So, she moved out of the dining room. Oh, how she longed to breathe fresh airto never ever come back inside this ostentatious house that she couldnt afford on six acres in Houstons posh heart.
Shes shamelessall that bleached yellow hair, pronounced her busybody neighbor, Mrs. Beasley to Mother Evans as Ritz glided past them.
The scarlet poppy on Mrs. Bs big black hat swished back and forth like a conductors wand.
Mother Evans fixed Ritz with a chilly smile.
I live next door. The old ladys voice lowered to a whisper, assured that everybody including Mother Evans would stop talking and listen. The things that have gone on in this house since he married her
Ritz stared at a vase of roses on the fabulous commode by Riesener that Josh had found in Paris.
all those young boys
When? Oh when would it ever be over?
One minute Mrs. Beasley was queen of her gossipy little clique.
never loved your poor boy
But I thought I did.
high school sweethearts
Socorro let out a muffled cry. The front door slammed open, and a gust of hot, humid air swirled inside along with the tall, lean man clad in black leather.
Noses high in the air, everybody turned to gape at the biker with the windburned face, who stood framed in the rectangular white glare.
Noses high in the air, everybody turned to gape at the biker with the windburned face, who stood framed in the rectangular white glare.
Only when he knew he had their attention did he shut the door, and so quietly, his gentleness was hostile. Like a magnet, he pulled every well-bred womans gaze into his bad-boy orbit.
Roque.
A green wave of nausea hit Ritz. Her heart began to pound like a rabbits. She didnt know whether to freeze or run.
It wasnt him
Who else had high cheekbones that looked like theyd been hacked with blades? Who else would show up at a funeral with a red bandanna tied like a skullcap over his head to hold back blue-black hair that was way too long? Who else would sport a silver stud at his earlobein River Oakson such a sacred day?
Her head buzzed.
Or show so little respect to a man of Joshs stature as to wear a black leather jacket with a four-inch rip at the shoulder?
Roques black-lashed, green eyes drilled Ritz. The frank sexuality in them turned her insides to water as they had that first night when hed danced so wildly before that leaping fire.
She fought to look anywhere but at him.
Impossible.
She winced and had to hold herself in check when she saw that there was blood on his cheek and that he was limping a little.
A dozen voices interrupted Mrs. B.
Whats Blackstone doing here? Irish, Ritzs fathers foreman, demanded almost savagely.
Roques green eyes never left her.
Ritz felt as if electric currents vibrated in the air around her.
When she stiffened, the lines under his eyes tightened imperceptibly.
His skin was so brown. Everybody else was so white.
Excuse me, she whispered to no one in particular, desperate to get away from him and everybody elses prying eyes.
A waiter held up a platter of lobster and pink salmon on a bed of parsley and offered to make her a plate. The fishy odor made her throat go dry. Hot little salty drops popped out on her forehead.
She couldnt breathe. Nopleasejusttake itback to the kitchenanywhere
She fought the urge to be sick and then bent double.
The last thing she saw was Roque. His swarthy, piratical face went white and his green eyes brightened with fierce concern. Then he rushed to help her.
Nono.
Tight spasms sent the contents of her stomach roiling up her throat.
The shock of his warm fingers at her waist made her forget everything else.
Dont touch me!
You okay? he rasped.
Her cup and saucer smashed to the floor.
She tried to stand up and spin free of him, but his hand locked on her arm like a vise.
She expected his nastiest, most mocking smile.
The tenderness in his rough voice took her breath away as he dabbed at her mouth with his bandanna. His black hair fell in wild disarray around his shoulders.
Are you going to have a baby? His voice was raw; his glittering eyes stark and naked.
No. No. Just say no.
But she couldnt. All the lies she should have shouted died in her throat.
So its mine. Again, his eyes met hers squarely, honestly.
No. Of course not. She fought to loosen herself from his bruising grip.
You owe me the truththis time!
Still, she could only stand there, mute, agonized.
Finally, she pushed against his chest, but the more she fought, the more like steel his hands and arms and huge body became. She kicked at him and lost her balance, the leather sole of her shoe sliding on the polished floor.
Her hand hit the parquet floor before he could catch her. A sliver of china slashed her arm. Blood pooled.
Somebody screamed.
A woman.
Surely not her.
Then why was everybody staring at her? And why was Roques brown face spinning like a carved gods in the midst of Joshs shocked friends?
Ive got you now, he said gently. Youve cut yourself.
Livid red dribbled from her arm onto his brown hand and then to the white china chips. He lifted her to her feet.
Jet and Irish, dark figures in black, raced through the fascinated throng of mourners.
darling! Your coffee cup Somehow Mother Evans and Irish deftly pushed Roque aside.
shattered it! Jet said.
Your arm! Oh, dear! Mother Evans began to fuss. And you were sick againYour dress!
I dont think its broken, Irish said, examining her arm, and although he was a cowboy, he would be the one to know.
Jet took over. Socorro, get me a towel.
And still, Mrs. Beasley couldnt stop.
Josh was a gardener, grew all his own roses. She cut every one for the funeral, and then forgot to put them in water and let them wither
too bad she couldnt be faithful
big money
hers. Keller money, you know
thought they cut her off
Through it all, Roque stared at her. Only at her.
all that messy yellow hair. She doesnt look like a border saint to me
theres too many of them
shouldnt help them
overrunning us
her work at the colonias was just her excuse to get away from Josh so she could sleep with all those other men
Roques aquiline features hardened.
Her own nerves clamored as if every cell in her being was tuned to him. Only to him.
She was pregnantwith his childagain. And he knew it.
He wasnt a powerless boy from Mexico, the despised son of his evil rich white father anymore.
Jet had the towel around Ritzs arm now and was squeezing. Its just a scratch. Youll be fine in a minute.
Thank you, Ritz whispered brokenly. II think I need to go upstairs and lie down.
didnt shed a single tear at the wake, came the unstoppable Mrs. Beasley.
I did, too! Ritz whispered. When I was chopping onionsfor Mother Evanss caviar.
Just then Roques dark, masculine eyebrow flicked upward in sardonic mockery.
Shh, Jet said.
I promised Josh I would cry. Thats why I chopped.
It doesnt matter, Jet said, pulling her gently away from the others.
Nonot that way she pleaded when Roque stepped in front of them.
But it was already too late.
Ill take it from here, Roque said, blocking their path. His jaw was square, his fierce eyes dark emerald. The cut on his cheek blazed.
Everybody held his breath, but anyone who expected a scene was disappointed. Jet stepped meekly aside. And Ritz let herself be led by Roque Blackstone upstairs to her bedroom.
Not even Irish attempted to rescue her.
The minute they were in her room Roque closed the door, his eyes zeroing in on the pile of slashed strips of black fabric scattered messily all over the floor and then on her open suitcases spread across her bed.
Ritz went white. Why hadnt she thought? She should have directed him to any other room. But shed been too upset to think.
Roque knelt and lifted a scrap of black wool and then another of silk and waggled them beneath her nose. What the hell is going on?
Nothing. She took a breath. While you amuse yourself, Ill go brush my teeth.