Uncaged Love, page 6
He hated what they’d been subjected to, whores paid to keep the men on the plantation entertained and happy and, most importantly, to keep them there and working hard, miles from the nearest city. Some had arrived at the compound gates willingly, selling their bodies as a way to feed their families. Others had been sold by parents with too many hungry mouths at home. Narváez kept the prettiest ones for himself and to work in the main house. A few others worked the barracks, but all too many were sold to a human trafficker. Rafe did what he could for the women, but, as his old friend often reminded him, he was Segundo, second in command and he did what he was told to do.
Rafe was pretty sick of taking orders, too.
He’d never sought the attention or quick relief from any of the women who passed through the organization. That’s not how he’d been raised. In Charleston, South Carolina, a man got to know the woman, enjoyed her company, and dated before he touched her body and shared his with her.
He missed intelligent conversation with a woman. He and Beth would verbally spar at every meal. The topic didn’t matter; each would argue an opposite side. Or they’d share information on the same subject. She had been so smart and had the ability to see things from many angles yet never lose sight of the goal. It seemed only natural she went into Naval Intelligence after graduation and commissioning. At heart, she wanted to save the world from itself. Instead, it had killed her.
Rafe slowly ran his hand up Harper’s arm and over her bare shoulder to the curve of her neck. Her pulse raced against his fingers when he ran his thumb over her jaw line. Her glossed lips begged for his when her little pink tongue darted out to moisten them. His eyes met hers, not quite asking permission, more in warning he’d take what he wanted.
A flicker of calculation crossed her eyes, and he knew he was being played. Like a slap in the face, he remembered she was a U.S. agent and had been trained in the world of shadows and lies, same as Beth.
On his fiancée’s brutalized, dead body, he’d sworn to never love again. He couldn’t get involved with a woman who worked in the shades of darkness that was his world.
Rafe took Harper’s hand and jerked her toward the door. “Let’s go.” His voice was gruff, but he didn’t care.
* * * *
Almost as tall as he was in her high heels, Harper strode easily beside Segundo, hand-in-hand. His fingers were intertwined with hers, likely to keep a good hold should she decide to bolt, not for the intimate palm-to-palm contact. There had been a moment in the bedroom when she’d seen desire in his eyes.
She could use sex against him. It was one of many tricks the CIA had taught her as part of her special operations training.
When he’d touched her scar, gently traced its pencil-thin lines, and his breath brushed on her neck…her body had betrayed her. She’d wanted to turn and kiss him. Somehow he’d known the pain of her wound had hurt more than just her body.
There was no way he could have known the two bullets before that one had murdered her mother and how the stream of “uncles” her aunt paraded through what was to be a safe home over the next six years had stained her view of men forever. Harper shoved the memories of her teenage years back into the recesses of her mind, where they belonged.
Focusing on escape, Harper mentally mapped the house as they walked down the hallway from her bedroom to a larger corridor and turned left. Thankfully, Segundo slowed as they descended a grand marble staircase to the main floor where an Italianate fountain sprayed water through its top and carved cherubs peed into the lower pool.
“At least someone here has a sense of humor,” Harper mused. Her only answer was a slight upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. She’d like to see him smile.
“We’re late,” he announced as he tugged her into an ornate room just off the foyer.
From Harper’s point of view, it looked as though someone had bought an entire French hotel lobby, and when it got there, they’d dumped it in with the Ikea furniture from a well-used college apartment. Dust clung to the magnificent eight-tiered crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room over a cheap pool table that had seen better days a decade ago. French provincial chairs with delicate tapestry seats sat next to a black block cigarette-scarred coffee table, one essential to every man’s first apartment. At the far end, at least forty feet away, furniture had been carelessly moved aside, and a mounted basketball hoop reigned over the wooden polished floor. This was Boys Gone Wild.
Segundo dragged her to the bar at the opposite end of the large room from the basketball court where Narváez stood chatting with the man Harper thought she recognized from the kidnapping. “My apologies, Carlos,” Segundo began.
Unsure why, Harper interrupted, “It was all my fault,” she explained in a slow, sultry voice in English-accented beginner Spanish. She turned to show off her naked back and toned buttocks. “My silly zipper got stuck.” She placed a possessive hand on Segundo’s chest. “He has very good hands and”—she paused dramatically—“took care of the problem. I’m sorry it took longer than we expected. He was very…thorough.” She batted her long black lashes at Narváez as she forced a slow, sexy smile to cross her face.
Seduction was actually a class she’d taken at CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Those lessons had come in handy during this Colombian mission. Harper was always amazed what men would tell a woman in order to impress her. She wondered what she’d learn from Carlos Narváez tonight.
Segundo grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his chest with a glare. Was he upset at her insinuation they were intimate before coming down? Had it infuriated him? True, he’d been a gentleman, but she wasn’t about to apologize. There had been that little heat wave she’d felt when he touched her, and she was positive he’d felt it, too.
Narváez handed her a glass of wine. Harper wasn’t sure her stomach would tolerate alcohol yet—plus she needed to keep a clear head. She gingerly touched her abdomen and begged in her novice Spanish, “May I please have bottled water? Let’s be sure I keep that down first. I’m not sure my tummy is ready for alcohol just yet.”
“I’ll bet,” the younger man said. “You were really puking your guts out last night.”
Narváez grimaced then handed her a bottle of unopened water he retrieved from the small refrigerator under the bar.
“Looking good now, though.” Dark eyes, identical to Narváez’s, ran the length of her body but stopped on its way back up, focused entirely on her breasts. “Since Segundo doesn’t seem to want her, Uncle Carlos, I’ll be more than happy to see to her needs.”
Segundo snaked an arm around Harper’s waist and pulled her to him. “I will see to anything she needs.”
Narváez glanced between the two men and laughed. “Pablo, my sister has taught you well, and I’m sure you learned a few things in that private high school in California, but you have a long way to go before you play in the same league as Segundo.” He then smiled at Harper. “Please forgive my rude nephew, but let me introduce him. Pablo Valez is my older sister’s oldest son. After getting kicked out of three colleges, she sent him to me hoping I could straighten the boy out. I’m not sure I’m doing a good job.”
Quick as a whip, Narváez whacked the young man on the back of the head. “Mind your manners. Miss Tambini is a guest, and you will treat her with the utmost respect.”
Clack. Flap. Clack. Slap. Clack, resounded in the high-ceilinged room. Female giggling followed. Three women emerged from the other side of a gaudy modernistic statue. A figure in jiggling electric lime green stood out among the rest. Harper had difficulty focusing. The woman wobbled across the marble floor on six-inch stilettos, shaking fringe that covered every inch of the cropped halter top and low riding mini skirt. Longer fringe barely covered her dark midriff and thighs. The blurring movement of the material made Harper’s stomach roll with what felt like sea sickness this time, not cocaine poisoning.
A nearly naked woman with bleached white hair piled on her head strutted with an exaggerated rolling gait beside the first. Her bright blue bathing suit bra had a puff of short blue feathers matching the bikini panties decorated with varying lengths of longer ones designed to create a skirt. Thigh-high sky-blue boots stretched up her legs so tight they appeared painted on. She stopped to pull them up, and her abundant breasts almost fell out of her bra.
Harper’s mouth fell open slightly, and then she saw the third woman. The yellow sports bra covered some of her buxom bosom. The belt to the matching yellow leather chaps held in her belly, but a scrap of her red lace panties peeked through. Red cowboy boots completed the outfit.
Harper clamped her lips closed to suppress the laughter threatening to bubble up her throat.
Segundo must have seen her attempts to withhold her humor and laid a restrictive hand on her back. He bent down, his lips almost touching her ear. When he spoke, she felt the heat of his English words. “The blonde in feathers is Bunny, Carlos’s wife. Think twice before laughing and insulting her. Everyone in this room has a gun except you.”
Harper plastered on an overzealous smile and whispered, “Where does the one in the green dress keep her gun? That outfit is so tight I can see her naval. She’s got an outie.”
“You are so bad.” His suppressed laughter came through in his voice.
Loudly, Harper answered in mutilated Spanish, “No, Segundo, I’m very good.”
Narváez proudly brought the colorfully feathered woman to her. “Harper, please let me introduce the love of my life, Bunny.”
Both women held out a hand, but Harper gave a good squeeze before releasing the silly-dressed woman’s knuckles. “Nice to meet you,” Harper said, although the sentiment was far from true.
Harper assessed the woman to see if she might use her to gain her freedom. She saw a loyalty to Narváez that matched Segundo’s, but hers was laced with fear. As the man’s fourth wife, she had reason for concern.
Carlos wrapped a possessive arm around his wife and signaled for the other women to approach. As he introduced them, they snuggled into his large body, his eyes tracing each with apparent lust.
Harper dutifully nodded at each when introduced.
Narváez pulled all three women into him and spoke to them in low tones.
“Are they guests? Friends of Bunny’s?” Harper asked Segundo.
“No, and yes.” He pulled her a few steps away from the now giggling women. “The women are…um…they work in the house.”
She just stared at him. She had a pretty good idea what they actually did in return for their keep but waited to hear how he’d explain it.
“They’re here to keep the men content,” he finally managed.
“But they’re Bunny’s friends? She must be really hard up for female companions.”
His eyes changed to a cold blue. “Bunny used to be one of them, before she became Carlos’s favorite.”
They both glanced at the tight group and watched Carlos stroke the cowgirl’s nearly bare ass.
“I hope she’s not the jealous wife type,” Harper couldn’t resist saying.
Segundo chuckled. “No, she knows she has to share. As his wife, though, she gets status and credit cards.”
Male rumbling came from the far end of the bar where Valez and two bodyguards snorted lines of cocaine, leaving several other sicarios to watch over the festivities. From her peripheral vision, she caught the way Valez watched her, not as a potential threat, but as a potential treat. He grinned at her and blatantly adjusted his erection. His initial male appreciation was morphing into animalistic hunger, no doubt enhanced by the cocaine.
The Narváez lovefest huddle now broken, the woman in the slime-green outfit jiggled with anticipation as she and the cowgirl kept eying the nearby men, but they remained at Bunny’s side. They obviously knew their place. When Bunny nodded, the two women trotted to the bar and plucked small straws suggestively from the guards’ fingers before they bent to inhale the white powder.
Velez never took his gaze off Harper, ignoring the other two women.
Bunny dragged her husband to join them. Each took a new straw from a cup before they too inhaled a white line.
Harper cringed and glanced at Segundo. Would he join them? A flash of disgust glinted in his blue eyes, and he looked away.
Carlos moved behind the bar and made drinks for the women while they cackled incessantly about each other’s choice of clothing for tonight’s special supper.
Before the drinks were finished, all three women glared daggers at Harper from over-painted eyes. She ignored them and discussed world politics, in English, with Carlos and Segundo. Both were amazingly well informed.
Harper tracked the conversations of Bunny and the women as they debated fashion and celebrities. Harper was surprised at how much attention the women paid to U.S. movie stars and their apparel. She’d never cared what stars wore to social events and awards, but it was a serious topic with these women.
Whenever Bunny tried to draw Carlos into their conversation, he waved her off without so much as a glance in her direction and continued to focus on Harper. She could see jealousy building in the new wife as well as a slight flicker of fear.
Did the inane peacock really think she was looking at her replacement? No way in hell. The idea was so repugnant Harper shuddered.
A bell rang somewhere in the mansion.
Chapter 8
“It’s time for supper,” Carlos announced as he held out his hand to Harper. She laid her fingers on his upward palm, and like a princess, she glided into the huge formal dining room. Bunny scurried to Carlos, who simply looked at Segundo and tilted his head toward his wife.
When Segundo held out his hand in an after-you gesture, Bunny grabbed it, held it up as she mimicked Harper’s action, and tottered into the next room.
Carlos guided Harper to the head of the formal table, which was set for royalty. Only half of the twenty-four seats were elegantly prepared for the meal.
“We seldom get guests here, and I do so enjoy a grand dinner party.” Carlos seemed intent on impressing her. “Does this meet your approval?”
It was truly extraordinary. The crystal water goblets were already filled, and a waiter was pouring a light-colored white wine for the first course into one of the five glasses on the upper right. She counted five forks to the left of the fine bone china plate, three knives, and three spoons to the right. A small bread plate held a butter spreader and another spoon lay horizontal at the top of the plate.
Harper knew very little about stately dinners. She’d been raised by a single mother who’d sold real estate, and fancy eating out usually meant sitting down at a chain restaurant rather than their usual fast food grab and go. Only once, while she was in the Army, had she attended a meal like this: a Battalion Dining In. This table was laid out as similarly.
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “I feel honored you’d go to all this trouble for me.”
Segundo parked Bunny in the chair to Carlos’s left then rounded the table behind them.
“It’s my pleasure. You are an important guest.” Narváez seemed to gleam.
Yeah, right. Important enough to kidnap.
Carlos practically shoved Harper into the chair to his right. Segundo took the next one, sandwiching her between the two men.
The colorful women argued for a moment about who was to sit beside Bunny then sat quickly when Carlos cleared his throat. The bodyguards lumbered in with Velez who plopped down next to Segundo.
Harper played the charming guest throughout the first two courses, eating little. She cut the toast point laden with caviar into small pieces and sampled one, quickly deciding she was not a fan of fish eggs. The cold soup was more to her liking, and she’d eaten half of it before she set the rounded spoon aside. When the poached salmon with mousseline sauce and cucumbers was served, she again tasted a bite and lied as she voiced her approval to Carlos. Covering her dislike of seafood, she started into a long, amusing story about literally running into Peyton Manning in an airport so she wouldn’t be expected to eat more.
Before everyone had finished that course, two guards dressed in rumpled uniforms entered the dining room, all but zipping up their pants. They were followed by two women, barely covered by robes, with tousled hair and reddened, swollen lips. Everyone at the table stopped eating and stared.
After a terse look from Carlos, the men turned tail and slid away. The women weren’t as observant, but when Bunny shook her head almost violently, they got the message and left.
Harper tilted her head toward Segundo and declared in English, “Obviously they didn’t get the memo.”
Carlos burst out laughing, and everyone else at the table followed his lead, although Harper was pretty sure only Segundo and Carlos understood what she’d said.
Throughout the meal, Segundo and Harper bantered subject after subject. From impressionistic paintings to Middle Eastern politics, baseball to soccer, they spoke in Spanish and sometimes slipped into English when the arguments became heated. Carlos often interjected an opinion and was occasionally caught on one side or the other.
Segundo’s grimace at the beginning of the meal had evolved into a grin and finally a genuine smile. It changed his whole face. He looked younger, less burdened. The bright white flash of straight teeth and teasing brown eyes dashed Harper’s defenses. For a few minutes, she enjoyed his personality, forgetting this man had kidnapped and imprisoned her.
“Segundo,” Bunny called across the wide table, “you are smiling. I’ve not seen you like this before.”
“Forgive me, Bunny, but it has been many years since I have enjoyed such a sharp mind.”
Harper winced at the verbal slam to Bunny.
Obviously realizing his faux pas, Segundo added, “Our business keeps me so serious and focused, I rarely take time to enjoy the company of a woman.”
“The House Honeys have noticed,” Bunny reprimanded.
Harper choked on her lamb until Segundo patted her on the back. His touch on her bare skin instantly made her stop coughing. His open palm sent tingles through her entire body. When he casually rubbed his hand up and down her spine, she tried to hold back her shiver, but couldn’t.
Rafe was pretty sick of taking orders, too.
He’d never sought the attention or quick relief from any of the women who passed through the organization. That’s not how he’d been raised. In Charleston, South Carolina, a man got to know the woman, enjoyed her company, and dated before he touched her body and shared his with her.
He missed intelligent conversation with a woman. He and Beth would verbally spar at every meal. The topic didn’t matter; each would argue an opposite side. Or they’d share information on the same subject. She had been so smart and had the ability to see things from many angles yet never lose sight of the goal. It seemed only natural she went into Naval Intelligence after graduation and commissioning. At heart, she wanted to save the world from itself. Instead, it had killed her.
Rafe slowly ran his hand up Harper’s arm and over her bare shoulder to the curve of her neck. Her pulse raced against his fingers when he ran his thumb over her jaw line. Her glossed lips begged for his when her little pink tongue darted out to moisten them. His eyes met hers, not quite asking permission, more in warning he’d take what he wanted.
A flicker of calculation crossed her eyes, and he knew he was being played. Like a slap in the face, he remembered she was a U.S. agent and had been trained in the world of shadows and lies, same as Beth.
On his fiancée’s brutalized, dead body, he’d sworn to never love again. He couldn’t get involved with a woman who worked in the shades of darkness that was his world.
Rafe took Harper’s hand and jerked her toward the door. “Let’s go.” His voice was gruff, but he didn’t care.
* * * *
Almost as tall as he was in her high heels, Harper strode easily beside Segundo, hand-in-hand. His fingers were intertwined with hers, likely to keep a good hold should she decide to bolt, not for the intimate palm-to-palm contact. There had been a moment in the bedroom when she’d seen desire in his eyes.
She could use sex against him. It was one of many tricks the CIA had taught her as part of her special operations training.
When he’d touched her scar, gently traced its pencil-thin lines, and his breath brushed on her neck…her body had betrayed her. She’d wanted to turn and kiss him. Somehow he’d known the pain of her wound had hurt more than just her body.
There was no way he could have known the two bullets before that one had murdered her mother and how the stream of “uncles” her aunt paraded through what was to be a safe home over the next six years had stained her view of men forever. Harper shoved the memories of her teenage years back into the recesses of her mind, where they belonged.
Focusing on escape, Harper mentally mapped the house as they walked down the hallway from her bedroom to a larger corridor and turned left. Thankfully, Segundo slowed as they descended a grand marble staircase to the main floor where an Italianate fountain sprayed water through its top and carved cherubs peed into the lower pool.
“At least someone here has a sense of humor,” Harper mused. Her only answer was a slight upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. She’d like to see him smile.
“We’re late,” he announced as he tugged her into an ornate room just off the foyer.
From Harper’s point of view, it looked as though someone had bought an entire French hotel lobby, and when it got there, they’d dumped it in with the Ikea furniture from a well-used college apartment. Dust clung to the magnificent eight-tiered crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room over a cheap pool table that had seen better days a decade ago. French provincial chairs with delicate tapestry seats sat next to a black block cigarette-scarred coffee table, one essential to every man’s first apartment. At the far end, at least forty feet away, furniture had been carelessly moved aside, and a mounted basketball hoop reigned over the wooden polished floor. This was Boys Gone Wild.
Segundo dragged her to the bar at the opposite end of the large room from the basketball court where Narváez stood chatting with the man Harper thought she recognized from the kidnapping. “My apologies, Carlos,” Segundo began.
Unsure why, Harper interrupted, “It was all my fault,” she explained in a slow, sultry voice in English-accented beginner Spanish. She turned to show off her naked back and toned buttocks. “My silly zipper got stuck.” She placed a possessive hand on Segundo’s chest. “He has very good hands and”—she paused dramatically—“took care of the problem. I’m sorry it took longer than we expected. He was very…thorough.” She batted her long black lashes at Narváez as she forced a slow, sexy smile to cross her face.
Seduction was actually a class she’d taken at CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Those lessons had come in handy during this Colombian mission. Harper was always amazed what men would tell a woman in order to impress her. She wondered what she’d learn from Carlos Narváez tonight.
Segundo grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his chest with a glare. Was he upset at her insinuation they were intimate before coming down? Had it infuriated him? True, he’d been a gentleman, but she wasn’t about to apologize. There had been that little heat wave she’d felt when he touched her, and she was positive he’d felt it, too.
Narváez handed her a glass of wine. Harper wasn’t sure her stomach would tolerate alcohol yet—plus she needed to keep a clear head. She gingerly touched her abdomen and begged in her novice Spanish, “May I please have bottled water? Let’s be sure I keep that down first. I’m not sure my tummy is ready for alcohol just yet.”
“I’ll bet,” the younger man said. “You were really puking your guts out last night.”
Narváez grimaced then handed her a bottle of unopened water he retrieved from the small refrigerator under the bar.
“Looking good now, though.” Dark eyes, identical to Narváez’s, ran the length of her body but stopped on its way back up, focused entirely on her breasts. “Since Segundo doesn’t seem to want her, Uncle Carlos, I’ll be more than happy to see to her needs.”
Segundo snaked an arm around Harper’s waist and pulled her to him. “I will see to anything she needs.”
Narváez glanced between the two men and laughed. “Pablo, my sister has taught you well, and I’m sure you learned a few things in that private high school in California, but you have a long way to go before you play in the same league as Segundo.” He then smiled at Harper. “Please forgive my rude nephew, but let me introduce him. Pablo Valez is my older sister’s oldest son. After getting kicked out of three colleges, she sent him to me hoping I could straighten the boy out. I’m not sure I’m doing a good job.”
Quick as a whip, Narváez whacked the young man on the back of the head. “Mind your manners. Miss Tambini is a guest, and you will treat her with the utmost respect.”
Clack. Flap. Clack. Slap. Clack, resounded in the high-ceilinged room. Female giggling followed. Three women emerged from the other side of a gaudy modernistic statue. A figure in jiggling electric lime green stood out among the rest. Harper had difficulty focusing. The woman wobbled across the marble floor on six-inch stilettos, shaking fringe that covered every inch of the cropped halter top and low riding mini skirt. Longer fringe barely covered her dark midriff and thighs. The blurring movement of the material made Harper’s stomach roll with what felt like sea sickness this time, not cocaine poisoning.
A nearly naked woman with bleached white hair piled on her head strutted with an exaggerated rolling gait beside the first. Her bright blue bathing suit bra had a puff of short blue feathers matching the bikini panties decorated with varying lengths of longer ones designed to create a skirt. Thigh-high sky-blue boots stretched up her legs so tight they appeared painted on. She stopped to pull them up, and her abundant breasts almost fell out of her bra.
Harper’s mouth fell open slightly, and then she saw the third woman. The yellow sports bra covered some of her buxom bosom. The belt to the matching yellow leather chaps held in her belly, but a scrap of her red lace panties peeked through. Red cowboy boots completed the outfit.
Harper clamped her lips closed to suppress the laughter threatening to bubble up her throat.
Segundo must have seen her attempts to withhold her humor and laid a restrictive hand on her back. He bent down, his lips almost touching her ear. When he spoke, she felt the heat of his English words. “The blonde in feathers is Bunny, Carlos’s wife. Think twice before laughing and insulting her. Everyone in this room has a gun except you.”
Harper plastered on an overzealous smile and whispered, “Where does the one in the green dress keep her gun? That outfit is so tight I can see her naval. She’s got an outie.”
“You are so bad.” His suppressed laughter came through in his voice.
Loudly, Harper answered in mutilated Spanish, “No, Segundo, I’m very good.”
Narváez proudly brought the colorfully feathered woman to her. “Harper, please let me introduce the love of my life, Bunny.”
Both women held out a hand, but Harper gave a good squeeze before releasing the silly-dressed woman’s knuckles. “Nice to meet you,” Harper said, although the sentiment was far from true.
Harper assessed the woman to see if she might use her to gain her freedom. She saw a loyalty to Narváez that matched Segundo’s, but hers was laced with fear. As the man’s fourth wife, she had reason for concern.
Carlos wrapped a possessive arm around his wife and signaled for the other women to approach. As he introduced them, they snuggled into his large body, his eyes tracing each with apparent lust.
Harper dutifully nodded at each when introduced.
Narváez pulled all three women into him and spoke to them in low tones.
“Are they guests? Friends of Bunny’s?” Harper asked Segundo.
“No, and yes.” He pulled her a few steps away from the now giggling women. “The women are…um…they work in the house.”
She just stared at him. She had a pretty good idea what they actually did in return for their keep but waited to hear how he’d explain it.
“They’re here to keep the men content,” he finally managed.
“But they’re Bunny’s friends? She must be really hard up for female companions.”
His eyes changed to a cold blue. “Bunny used to be one of them, before she became Carlos’s favorite.”
They both glanced at the tight group and watched Carlos stroke the cowgirl’s nearly bare ass.
“I hope she’s not the jealous wife type,” Harper couldn’t resist saying.
Segundo chuckled. “No, she knows she has to share. As his wife, though, she gets status and credit cards.”
Male rumbling came from the far end of the bar where Valez and two bodyguards snorted lines of cocaine, leaving several other sicarios to watch over the festivities. From her peripheral vision, she caught the way Valez watched her, not as a potential threat, but as a potential treat. He grinned at her and blatantly adjusted his erection. His initial male appreciation was morphing into animalistic hunger, no doubt enhanced by the cocaine.
The Narváez lovefest huddle now broken, the woman in the slime-green outfit jiggled with anticipation as she and the cowgirl kept eying the nearby men, but they remained at Bunny’s side. They obviously knew their place. When Bunny nodded, the two women trotted to the bar and plucked small straws suggestively from the guards’ fingers before they bent to inhale the white powder.
Velez never took his gaze off Harper, ignoring the other two women.
Bunny dragged her husband to join them. Each took a new straw from a cup before they too inhaled a white line.
Harper cringed and glanced at Segundo. Would he join them? A flash of disgust glinted in his blue eyes, and he looked away.
Carlos moved behind the bar and made drinks for the women while they cackled incessantly about each other’s choice of clothing for tonight’s special supper.
Before the drinks were finished, all three women glared daggers at Harper from over-painted eyes. She ignored them and discussed world politics, in English, with Carlos and Segundo. Both were amazingly well informed.
Harper tracked the conversations of Bunny and the women as they debated fashion and celebrities. Harper was surprised at how much attention the women paid to U.S. movie stars and their apparel. She’d never cared what stars wore to social events and awards, but it was a serious topic with these women.
Whenever Bunny tried to draw Carlos into their conversation, he waved her off without so much as a glance in her direction and continued to focus on Harper. She could see jealousy building in the new wife as well as a slight flicker of fear.
Did the inane peacock really think she was looking at her replacement? No way in hell. The idea was so repugnant Harper shuddered.
A bell rang somewhere in the mansion.
Chapter 8
“It’s time for supper,” Carlos announced as he held out his hand to Harper. She laid her fingers on his upward palm, and like a princess, she glided into the huge formal dining room. Bunny scurried to Carlos, who simply looked at Segundo and tilted his head toward his wife.
When Segundo held out his hand in an after-you gesture, Bunny grabbed it, held it up as she mimicked Harper’s action, and tottered into the next room.
Carlos guided Harper to the head of the formal table, which was set for royalty. Only half of the twenty-four seats were elegantly prepared for the meal.
“We seldom get guests here, and I do so enjoy a grand dinner party.” Carlos seemed intent on impressing her. “Does this meet your approval?”
It was truly extraordinary. The crystal water goblets were already filled, and a waiter was pouring a light-colored white wine for the first course into one of the five glasses on the upper right. She counted five forks to the left of the fine bone china plate, three knives, and three spoons to the right. A small bread plate held a butter spreader and another spoon lay horizontal at the top of the plate.
Harper knew very little about stately dinners. She’d been raised by a single mother who’d sold real estate, and fancy eating out usually meant sitting down at a chain restaurant rather than their usual fast food grab and go. Only once, while she was in the Army, had she attended a meal like this: a Battalion Dining In. This table was laid out as similarly.
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “I feel honored you’d go to all this trouble for me.”
Segundo parked Bunny in the chair to Carlos’s left then rounded the table behind them.
“It’s my pleasure. You are an important guest.” Narváez seemed to gleam.
Yeah, right. Important enough to kidnap.
Carlos practically shoved Harper into the chair to his right. Segundo took the next one, sandwiching her between the two men.
The colorful women argued for a moment about who was to sit beside Bunny then sat quickly when Carlos cleared his throat. The bodyguards lumbered in with Velez who plopped down next to Segundo.
Harper played the charming guest throughout the first two courses, eating little. She cut the toast point laden with caviar into small pieces and sampled one, quickly deciding she was not a fan of fish eggs. The cold soup was more to her liking, and she’d eaten half of it before she set the rounded spoon aside. When the poached salmon with mousseline sauce and cucumbers was served, she again tasted a bite and lied as she voiced her approval to Carlos. Covering her dislike of seafood, she started into a long, amusing story about literally running into Peyton Manning in an airport so she wouldn’t be expected to eat more.
Before everyone had finished that course, two guards dressed in rumpled uniforms entered the dining room, all but zipping up their pants. They were followed by two women, barely covered by robes, with tousled hair and reddened, swollen lips. Everyone at the table stopped eating and stared.
After a terse look from Carlos, the men turned tail and slid away. The women weren’t as observant, but when Bunny shook her head almost violently, they got the message and left.
Harper tilted her head toward Segundo and declared in English, “Obviously they didn’t get the memo.”
Carlos burst out laughing, and everyone else at the table followed his lead, although Harper was pretty sure only Segundo and Carlos understood what she’d said.
Throughout the meal, Segundo and Harper bantered subject after subject. From impressionistic paintings to Middle Eastern politics, baseball to soccer, they spoke in Spanish and sometimes slipped into English when the arguments became heated. Carlos often interjected an opinion and was occasionally caught on one side or the other.
Segundo’s grimace at the beginning of the meal had evolved into a grin and finally a genuine smile. It changed his whole face. He looked younger, less burdened. The bright white flash of straight teeth and teasing brown eyes dashed Harper’s defenses. For a few minutes, she enjoyed his personality, forgetting this man had kidnapped and imprisoned her.
“Segundo,” Bunny called across the wide table, “you are smiling. I’ve not seen you like this before.”
“Forgive me, Bunny, but it has been many years since I have enjoyed such a sharp mind.”
Harper winced at the verbal slam to Bunny.
Obviously realizing his faux pas, Segundo added, “Our business keeps me so serious and focused, I rarely take time to enjoy the company of a woman.”
“The House Honeys have noticed,” Bunny reprimanded.
Harper choked on her lamb until Segundo patted her on the back. His touch on her bare skin instantly made her stop coughing. His open palm sent tingles through her entire body. When he casually rubbed his hand up and down her spine, she tried to hold back her shiver, but couldn’t.
