Mi Carino - Risky Love Read online

  Diego drew her up, her hair now in her face she panted hard, her cheeks wet with tears. She needed to feel something other than sadness. She wanted to feel something other than the hot shame burning her cheeks. God help her but she just needed him period. She clawed at his zipper, undoing his pants. Diego’s broad chest rose and fell with his hard breathing. His eyes wild with fury remained trained on her. She sniffed back her tears and handled his cock, lifting on her knees she eased down so that his thick cockhead breached her channel. Her eyes locked with him. So much pain, disappointment, distrust, and anger was between them. She sank deeper, taking in several inches. The sting still prevalent through her ass intensified the pleasure.

  Neither of them spoke. But she knew he enjoyed it. She was so damn wet, her glide up and down his cock as she rode it became an ardent bounce. Diego grabbed her hair and tugged back as she gasped. He ran his tongue over her exposed neck as she bounced harder and harder. He released her hair and ripped her shirt open popping her pearl buttons. Marcella kept moving. All of him stuffed her to completion. She was so full of him. He squeezed her breast hard forcing her nipple into his mouth through her bra. She clawed at his arms. Several grunts and bottom maneuvers from him sent his thick cock up her shockingly sweet channel, and they both climaxed.

  Marcella burst into tears.

  Diego grabbed her face and she opened her eyes.

  “Go home, leave here and take that woman with you. We need some time apart. I don’t want to hurt you Marcella, but you disappoint me. I fear I will.”

  “But…”

  He lifted her from his lap and set her aside. He stood, tucked his cock back into his pants, then cut her down with a withering glare over his shoulder. Marcella closed her tattered blouse and stared up at him shaking her head sadly. Diego grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Marcella turned her face into the sofa cushion and wept.

  ***

  Twenty-four hours had passed and she hadn’t seen or spoken to Diego. Her apartment had become her sanctuary, and alone there she mourned him and what they lost. Susan called Marcella repeatedly for details on what happened. She made sure no one saw her when she escaped the warehouse building in tears. Marcella only managed to tell her that they fought and it was over. It’s all she could manage, and at Edward Katchner’s debut she found out that she couldn’t manage even that very well.

  “Marcella! It’s wonderful, look at it. Look at it! They love it!” Garrett grinned. Elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, lenses flashed. “The most brilliant minds in the world had gathered at Garrison’s. A line of scientists marched through the viewing area wanting to see or be near such a remarkable find. She felt nothing. Marcella looked away. Her eyes once again went to the door. More people arriving, the gallery was wall to wall with academics.

  “Girl, come here! Excuse us, make way, excuse us,” Susan said taking her by the arm and pulling her away. “What the hell is going on with you? This is it! This is your day, you did all of this and you haven’t said more than ten words all day. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m not feeling well.” She managed. She struggled to find her voice. Her throat was as raw as her emotions, and battered as her heart.

  “Marcella? Sweetie?” Susan cupped her face. She just blinked at her. “What is it? Are you and Diego fighting again? That hot guy Lance said everything was okay, when I spoke to him this morning. I got his number. Girl, he is so damn sexy. A little stiff, he doesn’t laugh at my jokes. But girl the sound of his voice makes my heart beat hard and fast. Did you call Diego?”

  “I need some air,” she mumbled.

  “Hi, Marcella?”

  She turned to the man’s voice. It was Richard. Again. He stood there with flowers. His face had healed considerably. She looked at him and the flowers, wanting to cry. Everywhere she turned he appeared. And she hated flowers now, especially roses. If another man gave her flowers she would scream.

  “I read in the paper how important today was. I know I said I would stay away, but I had to see you just one more… Okay, I have no excuse. I’m happy for you and I wanted to tell you this, say congratulations.” He gave her the flowers. Marcella didn’t move. She just stood there staring. Susan caught the awkwardness and accepted them. Richard smiled sadly. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Be happy, you deserve it,” he whispered in her ear, then turned and walked away.

  “That was sweet of him.”

  Marcella closed her eyes trying to catch her breath. Suddenly she felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

  “Marcella?”

  “Leave me alone.” she turned from Susan pushing back through the crowd. She saw Sam with two girls, one on each arm. They fawned over Sam vying for her affection. “Excuse me. Excuse me,” she pushed through the crowd.

  The gallery exploded with applause as Edward Katchner took to the podium. A hush followed with every eye and ear turned to the honored guest. This was the biggest night of her career and she wanted to vomit.

  Marcella burst into tears. She gathered enough strength to discreetly locate her purse and keys, then slip out of the back of her event, unseen but desperate again to be with him.

  The night had been unusually quiet outside of Diego’s beach house. Marcella opened the door then stepped inside. He stood there waiting, in the dark. She could smell his cologne mixed with his tequila. She couldn’t see his face. She didn’t have to. She went to him without being asked and suddenly she could breathe again. He took her hand and led her upstairs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The sheets were cool. After a long stretch they drew down to his pelvis. His chest expanded and heaved before a contented sigh of release escaped his broad nostrils. Diego’s lashes were long for a man, a cursed trait from his mother. They were so long that when his lids parted a fraction, he saw little and had to stretch his eyes to see more. He thought he heard tiny bells. A melody of soft chimes echoing with the wind.

  Why the hell are my doors open?

  First his gaze, then his head dropped over to the right. He missed the heat of his woman’s body. And she was his. After everything, she had returned to him, on his terms. Diego found her side of the bed empty. The melodic clinks were not wind chimes but the hollow sound of her restless gold bracelets on her wrists. He scanned the room and found her. She was at the closet, snatching off clothing from hangers.

  She was leaving.

  “Que pasa?”

  She froze. He could see her hand tremble as it lingered on a hanger for a moment. Slowly she cast her dark locks back over her shoulder and peered out at him from under long bangs. Diego inched back on his pillows, sleep had clouded his conscious mind, but the sight of her removing her clothes from next to his things was a sobering moment. Marcella turned and faced him but he saw it took inner strength for her to do so. She looked as if she wanted to bolt from the room. With a nervous bite to her bottom lip, her eyes flittered from him to the floor. There was something far more distressing. Diego noticed how red and inflamed her nostrils were and slick her cheeks remained with fresh tears. She’d been crying. Taking a deep breath at first, she tucked her long locks behind both ears. She wore a NYU sweatshirt and a faded pair of jeans. She was dressed?

  “Are you leaving?” Diego asked, considering that sometimes she would take her things to be dry-cleaned. But if that were her intent why was she up at four in the morning, after a night of allowing him to make love to her? They made love several times last night, as many times as he needed. She was so giving, so willing to please him. He forgave her. She forgave him. He was addicted to every inch of her. So what was she doing? And where the hell did the tears come from? They were past it now dammit. No more debating their affections, they were one. They understood each other.

  Instead of answering him she walked away. Out of the room, to the next then back with an arm full of her things. Diego eased from the covers with a curse under his breath. He slipped on his robe and followed her when she headed out onc
e more.

  Marcella had a lot of clothes. He loved her style. The sexiest most feminine suits and dresses he had seen on a woman. He remembered how the moments when she was away he would go into the closets and run his finger over the fine threads. Now he stood in the door watching as her hands, those gentle beautiful slender fingers folded her things neatly then laid them flat in her bag. He watched her sniff, wipe at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and struggle not to cry. She was leaving. She wasn’t supposed to go.

  “Stay.” Diego heard himself say. A request he never made from his heart until that moment. Sure he wanted her, desired her even, but he was speaking from a place he always thought was barren—his heart. “Marcella stay.” He stammered. She shook her head sadly and continued to pack.

  Diego’s hands went up, he grabbed the back of his neck with both. The pressure in his skull became so intense he then slammed his fist as hard as he could into the wall. When he looked back she continued to pack. When he opened his mouth to plea he realized he couldn’t do it. There was just so far he would go. Of course her pain had been his doing. How could he care so passionately for her and not be able to tell her? Hell he hadn’t told her anything in the short weeks they’d been together. And she’d asked him over and over, begged him to let her in. She turned and started picking up her shoes and he felt a growl form deep in his throat as his hurt met with age old pain. Women had hurt him before, one woman in particular. But none ever meant as much to him as his sweet Marcella. Finally he found his voice.

  “I was born in a city called Barranquilla to a woman named Marie Andes Juarez. She had three children, me, my sister Ana and little brother Enrique. All of us were from her marriage to a man named DeMarco Andes. When I was seven we moved to a neighboring village called Santa Catalina. My Papi had gotten a good job working for a man named Juan Juarez. He set us up with a cottage. My father ran the coffee bean fields, and my mother worked for him and his wife as a domestic in his mansion. The affair started soon after, and went on behind Papi’s back until I was ten. I know this because I was forced to be the lookout for my mother while she indulged Señor Juarez’s urges. Then unexpectedly Señora Juarez, his wife, took ill and died. It is rumored that my mother poisoned her. I think that may be the case. If you met my mother you would understand why. She and Juan Juarez decided they needn’t hide it any longer. But my Papi was a proud man. He went beyond his position and challenged Juarez for his life. I was there the day they dragged him out into the coffee fields and butchered him with machetes as my mother and Juan watched. No one saw me, but I was there. She didn’t care how much he loved her, how much he sacrificed for her. She betrayed him, she didn’t care at all.”

  Marcella froze.

  Shock registered over her entire being. Her lips quivered as if she would speak. He expected her to come to him. Throw her arms around him and kiss him the way she did whenever his hurt became too much. He never denied this. He felt entitled to it because this moment was the one she had been asking for, for months. Then like the dawn the truth cast a dull haze of light over the fact that he had blown it. Pushed her too hard, forced her to submit and bend to his will until there was nothing left. Instead of returning to his arms she turned away. She picked up her shoes and continued to pack.

  “The watch you asked about? It’s Papi’s, and his father before him. The only thing of value he owned. He wore it in the fields, to church, to my sister and brother’s christening. He was never without it. After his death Juan Juarez wore it as a trophy. My mother had given it to him off of my father’s cold body. It’s the only thing I stole from them when we fled… after.”

  Diego felt his chest cave under the weight of his confession. And still she continued to pack. She should be still. She should listen and not move. His mouth curled in fury and his chest tightened to the point that his neck and face flushed deep red. “Did you hear me? Marie had no use for us I said. She left us there, in the cottage, never visited her baby boy who was only three and cried for her every night. I believe the food we received most days was from Juan Juarez and other villagers’ kindness not hers. So I decided to run away. I took them and ran to the coast. We slept on the streets, on the beaches, I danced for change and juggled cans for tourists until Enrique slipped away from me and drowned in the ocean. His body washed up two days later.”

  Marcella burst into tears. This he expected. His story was a horror story. One he never wanted to share with her. She had forced him to reveal the ugliness of his past and like he suspected she was going to run from him. Just as most did when they saw what lay behind his mask.

  “Enrique’s death broke Ana, she ran from me. I found her two years later. She’d become a prostitute strung out on cocoa. She had only been nine. She died before she ever saw ten.”

  Diego watched helplessly as she zipped her bag. He never cried, never permitted it, but he never spoke the story aloud to anyone. “I did what I could. I did things you don’t want to know to get my fortune and justice. I’m telling you this because… I made a mistake. I punished you to keep from loving you. I know that now. I crossed the line, and I couldn’t stop myself. This is my curse. Still I can’t be the man that lets you go. I need you Marcella, desperately.”

  “It’s too late.” She said.

  Diego stepped to her. He blocked her from leaving. “This is me. Pain and fury is what I’m made of. I understand, because of you Marcella that life can be about more. Teach me. Teach me how to love you and I swear I will never hurt you again.”

  She dropped her head and covered her eyes, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. He ached to touch her but he knew he’d lost the privilege.

  “Marcella. When I hold you in my arms, it’s the way you feel. It’s not the sex, it’s the way you feel nena. It’s something I didn’t count on, I didn’t plan for. That’s why I can’t stop touching you, desiring you. I know it started as sex, but it’s something more between us. You were never supposed to happen. But you did. I never counted on… on… on… loving you so much.”

  She moved away from him, blowing hard breaths. She kept her back to him. It killed him when she turned from him. “It’s too late. I’m empty. Just like you. I’m empty inside.”

  She went to her coat and slipped it on. Diego walked around her to block her in.

  “I’ll send Susan to pick up my things,” she said circling him wide to keep from being within his reach. Ginger the cat purred and she swept the white ball of fur into her warms. He tried to cut her off again but she sidestepped him—again.

  “Marcella. Marcella? Marcella?”

  At the door, with her hand to the silver knob she paused. Then she turned it and walked out.

  The air drained from his lungs. His eyes stretched to the point of watering. He pressed three fingers to his temple and rubbed hard, as if to wake himself from a nightmare. Then he dropped on the wall and every mistake he made with her since the moment they met hit him like a falling brick.

  Chapter Twenty

  Turbulent smoky storm clouds blanketed the dark waters of the Pacific with the threat of a monsoon instead of normal winter rain. Sharp lightening in the distance flashed over the rising waves—the sea boiled with the tide and smashed over the rocky shore. Diego’s elbow rested upon the left arm of his deck chair, his chin propped between his thumb and his trigger finger as he sat silent and observant. He didn’t stir. Not even the threat of the storm could move him. Instead he sat in memories, all filled with her. Their short time together, their nights, her loving him without reward, he drowned in the remembrance. Diego could see her as she braved the waters despite the cold. He could remember how beautiful she was, topless, splashing about, her hair whipped out in long tendrils flinging water, her sweet laughter despite the low temperature. Remembering her was easy, facing what he’d done—it left him immobile with regret.

  Marcella had left him. He spent the following days as he did this night, out on his veranda in his deck chair. A bathroom trip twice allowed him to retrieve
the bottle of tequila for dinner. He couldn’t go back in. He smelled her in the sheets, could hear her voice in the wind. He thought he had it all under control. How wrong he was. Her rejection punctured a hole in his world; the beach house remained silent and abandoned, barren. Barren was the word that kept returning to mind. That’s how he felt inside, barren.

  He gave a sardonic chuckle. Feeling sorry for himself was never a well he visited often. It made for weakness and he would not be alive today if he allowed that flaw. Still he sat there in misery, drunk off it.

  How he loathed the sea. Yet this is the place he brought her, where he kept her, the one place that made him feel reasonably sane and gave him a sliver of peace. He took another shot of tequila, letting the liquor hit the back of his throat and burn its way down. There was movement in his house. Despite the rushing sounds of the waves rolling in, he heard a door close, followed by approaching footfalls on the stairs outside of his bedroom. He instinctively knew the reason why. She had come. Of course she would. Now.

  “Diego? Miejo?”

  She walked out on the deck alone. It was possible that Lance waited patiently below, which didn’t matter—what he had to say he wanted the whole world to know. She stepped further into his peripheral line of vision but he didn’t immediately look at her. She circled and stood before him. The hem of her coat lifted and flapped upward like her skirt about her knees. Was it cold out? He hadn’t noticed.