Free Made For Each Other by Parris Afton Bonds

her, and she noted that there was a mixture
of amusement and pride in the usually guarded eyes.
    That evening, after a siesta and
dinner on the terrace, Nick took her dancing. But the pleasant man
of the afternoon was gone. She did not know what she had done to
incur his moodiness. She realized she was not as beautiful as the
women he was accustomed to escorting, but she had tried to look her
best that last evening on Cozumel.
    She did know that Nick slipped into
these uncommunicative moods each time she was forced to knock on
their connecting bedroom door and ask for his help in taking her
brace off and putting it back on before and after her baths. She
suspected he resented her displaying so tantalizingly what she had
expressly denied him; what he did not know was that it was just as
difficult for her to stand before him clad only in a towel, to feel
his warm fingers against her flesh, and not surrender.
    That evening she had spent a long hour
soaking in the tiled tub. Then she arranged her freshly washed hair
in a cluster of curls anchored at the nape of her neck with a red
oleander picked from the potted shrubs on the terrace. Lastly, she
slipped into the long white huipile with its border of green
embroidery at hem and sleeves. She only wished the brace were not
so visible above the scooped neckline.
    But the long mirror on the bathroom
door assured her that, considering the day spent in the sun and
wind, she was extraordinarily pretty that evening, especially with
the pink glow the afternoon sun had left on her full
cheekbones.
    Yet Nick wore a distant look of cool
politeness and made little conversation in between the dances when
they returned to their bamboo booth that coordinated with the rest
of the nightclub’s jungle motif. If his arms did not embrace her so
firmly, pressing her small body against the length of his when they
danced to romantic songs like “Noche de Ronda” and “Maria
Bonita”—if his fingers did not linger at her side where her breasts
swelled—she would have thought he was completely indifferent to her
feminine charms.
    However, when they returned to their
suite after midnight, Nick clearly demonstrated otherwise when she
would have closed the connecting door. Perhaps it was the effects
of the one glass of salted margarita she had drunk, but she
unwisely did not pull away when Nick’s hand cupped the back of her
neck, slowly tightening, as he drew her to him. she stood on
tiptoe, swaying against his broad chest for support.
    It was only supposed to be a light
thank- you kiss for the marvelous days at Cozumel, but the touch of
Nick’s warm mouth against her own, parting her lips in a demanding
insistence, caused her to forget her resolve not to become
emotionally involved with him.
    After a long moment he released her
passion-bruised lips, but his hand, entangled in the cinnamon curls
at the nape of her neck, still held her captive. He pulled her head
back firmly, tilting her face to his searching gaze. “Changing your
mind?”
    Infuriated—not only at Nick but at her
easy submission—she shoved away from him. Her carefully arranged
curls came loose to fall in wild disorder over her shoulders. “And
you—you gave your word you wouldn’t—”
    “It was only a husbandly kiss, Mrs.
Raffer,” he taunted.
    “Goodnight, Mr. Raffer!” She slammed
the door and bolted it, trying hard to ignore the soft laughter on
the other side. Sleep was difficult that night, for a pair of bold
blue eyes invaded her dreams, watching her with derision lurking in
their drowning depths.
    The next morning she sat stonily
opposite Nick while they ate a breakfast of papaya and pineapple on
their balcony. He seemed indifferent to her mood as he casually
glanced over the English edition of one of Mexico’s leading
newspapers, which had been shoved beneath the door. Finished with
her fruit, she stood. “I’m going to pack,” she told the back of the
New York Stock Exchange listings.
    Nick folded the