Pictures of You Page 14
“There was challenge back at the waterfall,” she went on. “Nature always provides a challenge. Look what happened yesterday! But when the storm ends, the cascade always returns to where it was. You can depend on its constancy. I do need the challenge, but I also need the constancy. I guess I’m not as strong as I’d like to believe.” She was amazed at her rambling and shot him a look of self-consciousness at the frankness of her confession.
His eyes caught hers, and the look of compassion they held made her ache inside anew. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Eva. I think none of us are as strong as we may think. It’s perfectly natural to need others to lean on. That’s what binds people together. That’s what marriage is all about.”
How easy for him to dispassionately philosophize on the need of people for each other, she pondered. If he only knew her need … but she was getting too melancholic now. She had to lighten things up a bit.
“Now how would you know about marriage? Aren’t you the classic bachelor?” she teased, momentarily diverting her concentration from the path underfoot to his thoughtful eyes. Did he see the hint of sadness that her smile must have betrayed? She prayed not.
“As a ‘classic bachelor,’ as you so smartly put it, I can all too clearly see what I’m missing. I have needs too, Eva.”
How could he be so sincere, she wondered, and then shatter the fragile peace they had built by making reference to his male needs. Typical, she thought, lowering her head even more to avoid his gaze.
They had finally come within sight of the others, and just as Eva had begun to tire under the brisk pace he had set to catch up, she was relieved to be able to end this discussion which, begun so meaningfully, was bound to end in an explosion if carried on much longer. Having nothing more to add in a civil tone, she remained silent. He accepted her withdrawal and moved ahead to see how the leaders of the line fared.
The trek continued with only a noontime stop for lunch and a rest. Eva chatted with the others, but had no further opportunity to talk with Roberto, a mixed blessing.
By midafternoon, the intensity of the heat had begun to affect them all. The pace slowed, for which Eva was grateful, as she had begun to feel the letdown, the anticlimax, of this return trip. She was taken aback when Roberto walked up to her and without a word removed the duffel from her shoulder and put it over his. He must have known she would be too tired to argue, she mused. And she was not about to let her pride stand in the way of his help, especially since she would be leaving tomorrow, out of his life and beyond caring.
But she would care. Every inch of her protested that she would care. The very thought of never seeing Roberto again cast a spell of sadness over her which persisted throughout dinner and the evening, and only dissipated when exhaustion overtook her and she fell into a deep sleep.
As always, the morning brought a feeling of renewal, a putting into perspective of the previous day’s quandaries. Eva forced herself to look to the future. She would return to New York, immerse herself in her work, as she had done so often before, and let time do its healing.
Throughout the day’s hike, Eva’s thoughts returned periodically to this resolution. But by midafternoon, when the familiar sight came into view, the intimate clutter of rooftops in the distance below them, she knew for certain that, just as she would return to New York, a part of her would remain forever in this little town of Terra Vermelho. And that was an aspect of her future with which she would have to somehow learn to cope.
CHAPTER 9
Contrary to her expectation, Eva’s spirits lifted significantly once back in Terra Vermelho. She was again shown to the room—Roberto’s room, which she had used when she had first arrived. It was only at that point, catching her reflection in the mirror, that she realized how bedraggled she looked and how filthy she felt. A bath was a definite must, she determined.
At the stairs, making her way toward the kitchen in search of Maria, she came upon Roberto who, judging from the clean clothes and towel over his shoulder, had the same idea. He was in an unusually good mood, she noted, wondering off-handedly if he’d had time to pay a visit on his little girl friend yet.
His low voice was friendly. “It looks like I didn’t get in there fast enough. You are looking for a bath, aren’t you?”
Evidently he had made the same deduction. “I was, although I don’t know where it is. I was just going to ask Maria to show me. But you go ahead. I’ll visit with Maria in the meanwhile. Is she in the kitchen?” Eva found it easy to keep a level head, with Roberto so near, only as long as the conversation remained fairly impersonal.
“When I last saw her she was.” His eyes sparkled in amusement. “How do you communicate with her?”
“Oh, a little sign language here and there. She’s a friendly sort. A smile says so much with Maria. I’d like some coffee, if it wouldn’t be imposing on her.” What she really wanted, though she didn’t understand why, was some female companionship, conversation or no.
“I’m sure she’d be pleased. Maybe you can give her a hand, anyway. She’s making a special dinner for tonight. We’ll all be eating together—at about eight?” Again, the mischievous look in his eye. “If you get bored in the kitchen, you could always come converse with me in the bath … .”
“Thank you, but no thank you. I’ll just have my coffee now and bathe later,” she replied, coolly ignoring the impertinence of his suggestion.
“As you wish …” he drawled, handsomely appealing even in his dirty state, she conceded. “But if you change your mind, the tub is through the second door on the left. Don’t forget!”
Even with his boyishness as put on as it was, Eva had to laugh good-naturedly at him. He could really be so charming at times. Perhaps if he were a little less charming right about now and a little more aggravating, she would not feel such twinges at the prospect of leaving in the morning. As she headed toward the kitchen, her smile faded at that thought.
Sure enough, Maria was working busily in the kitchen. It was the first time Eva had seen her since their return. Looking up in surprise, Maria dropped everything to bustle over and give Eva a warm hug, babbling excitedly in Portuguese. Without having to ask for it, Eva was given a cup of steaming coffee, which she sipped while Maria flitted about at her work. All of Eva’s hand motions asking Maria to let her help with something fell on deaf ears; Maria fully understood her but insisted that she sit and rest.
What a delightful person, Eva thought, as Maria efficiently chopped all sorts of things Eva did not recognize into small pieces. Several pots were already steaming; this would be quite a farewell dinner, Eva judged, from the extravagance of the preparation.
Farewell dinner … again the tugging sensation at Eva’s stomach. That must have been the explanation for Roberto’s good humor. Of course! By tomorrow, he would once again be unencumbered by this house guest. Not that her presence had slowed him down very much, if the memory of that beautiful bronze-skinned girl served her well. But she must be a kind of thorn in his side, resisting his advances as she had. Yes, she was an affront to his male ego, and, as such, he would certainly be glad to see her go.
The frown on Eva’s brow had attracted Maria’s attention, bringing a look of concern to her cherubic face and setting off a whole new barrage of incomprehensible affectionate smiles, reclaimed the towel and clothes she had laid on the chair and, indicating to Maria that she was going to bathe, made her way out of the kitchen, down the hall and up the stairs in the direction Roberto had shown.
The bath did wonders for Eva. Gradually, layers of accumulated dirt and sweat dissolved into the water which, hot and steamy, cleansed her as the cold water of her waterfall had simply been unable to do. Her muscles soaked in the relaxing warmth until the warmth had just about gone. Only then did she step out of the tub, dry herself off, and dress, before returning to her room for the little while that remained before dinner.
How good it felt to put on a dress, after days of wearing the same T-shirt and jeans. She chose, for the evening, a co
mfortable halter-topped sun dress, of a crisp cotton material, flattering with its slim skirt, open back, plunging vee-neck, and strap that tied around the neck. Its color, a teal blue, emphasized both the green in her eyes and the auburn tinge of her hair. It mattered very much to her that these men, her friends who had seen her at her worst in the soggy muck of the rainstorm, should be left with a memorable impression. Or was it really Roberto whom she wanted to impress?
For whatever reason, she took added care with her makeup, what little she had that had not been lost in her knapsack, and with her hair. The latter she caught up loosely at the back of her head, leaving delicately tumbling tendrils to create an impression of total femininity. That was it, she realized. Having spent the last few days as one of the guys, she wanted, tonight, to look feminine, act feminine, feel feminine, and to be treated as such.
With a final smudge to her blue eyeshadow, Eva left her room to join the men, who would be arriving downstairs just about now.
The evening was, without doubt, one of the highlights of Eva’s trip. She suspected that each of the men—yes, even Pierre—had some misgivings about leaving the next day, so the subject was avoided by all. Maria had outdone herself, serving dish after dish of delectable local fare, from a light rice broth with chicken pieces, called canja, to a delicious cozido, a stew with a myriad of exotic ingredients, to palmitos, the tender hearts of palm known to be a Brazilian specialty, to the delightful pastries called bom cocados, that were made of coconut.
Throughout the meal Roberto dispensed liberal servings of batida, the potent mixture of fruit juice and whiskey which every Brazilian concocted with his own favorite tropical fruit. Eva was careful on this score, not wishing to make a fool of herself with drink a second time, although she needn’t have worried. Roberto diligently kept tabs on her, too, and long after he stopped refilling her glass, he was still offering more to the others.
The end of the evening came all too quickly for Eva’s liking. The atmosphere had been intimate, the conversation both stimulating and entertaining. The plan was for four of them—all except Roberto and Paul, who were staying on a little longer—to share a taxi into Belo Horizonte the next morning, so there were no immediate good-byes exchanged as each set out for his own place of lodging. When the joviality had died away, there were only Eva and Roberto remaining behind, staring at each other awkwardly across the empty room.
Eva was suddenly acutely aware of Roberto, her love for him and her desire for him. Above all, she knew that she would be leaving tomorrow for the last time. She felt a knot beginning to form in her throat at the thought of never seeing Roberto again, and her eyes filled with tears.
He stood across the room from her, watching her, mindful of the inner torment she was going through. Neither of them moved; neither shifted his gaze from the other. Eva was growing more distraught by the moment, the knot moving from her throat to her stomach and back again, but she could no more tear her gaze from him than she could deny her love.
Slowly, Roberto approached her, stopping several feet away. Eva remained frozen, fighting her personal battle of self-restraint, until he gently held his arms out to her in silent invitation. It was all she needed. She had known all along that she wouldn’t have been able to resist. In one forward motion she was in his arms, clinging to his shoulders, burying her head on his chest to smother the sobs she feared would escape.
He stood and held her, the steel band of his arms entrapping her against his long, hard body. Finally, the desire became too great. She lifted her eyes to his face and for an infinitely long moment they remained locked onto his. Slowly, lovingly, her gaze moved over his cheekbone and along his jaw line, settling on his lips in a return invitation. That was all Roberto had needed, as his mouth lowered to hers in a fiery declaration of desire. His lips burned against hers, tasting, exploring, caressing, and then permitting her to satisfy the same devouring need. She sought his tongue as he sought hers, and the deeper kiss touched off a new wave of sensuality.
When Eva paused, breathless, Roberto nuzzled her neck, the sensitive hollow at her throat, her shoulder. She shuddered in excitement, the telltale ache in her loin growing steadily. At that moment, held within Roberto’s soul-reaching embrace, she knew that she would not, could not, deny him tonight. She wanted him desperately, even if it had to be for only this one night.
It was, uncannily, as though he sensed some subtle change in her. He raised his mouth from her ear lobe and studied her for a long moment. His gaze tore at her heart such that she could wait no longer. In a husky whisper, she begged, “Please, Roberto … love me … just for tonight …” He kept her waiting no longer.
With one strong sweep, he had lifted her into his arms and was carrying her out of the room, through the hallway, up the stairs, and into her room—his room—that they would share this one night. Her arms were about his neck as he carried her, her face buried in his neck, inhaling the smell of his skin, so warm and fresh and distinctive, intoxicating her with its own brand of liquor.
Gently Roberto laid her on the bed, then sat down next to her. Taking her wrists with his hands, he drew them up over her head, pinning them to the pillow as he leaned over to kiss her again, a slow, tantalizing kiss which only increased the frantic jumping in her stomach.
“You’re beautiful, Eva. I need you so much,” he murmured softly, as he reached up to remove the pin which held her hair, easing her curls over the pillow in graceful tumbles. Then he lowered himself down next to her on the bed and pulled her onto her side into his embrace. Their lips played, though barely touched, as his hands kneaded her shoulders, then traced the plunging vee of her neckline, before slipping inside the halter to fondle her breast, so full and creamy white. She cried out briefly at his touch, aching for more, wanting nothing short of his full possession.
As Roberto had predicted, she was not to be a passive lover. As his hands sensuously alerted the tips of her breasts to the height of passion, her own had unbuttoned his shirt and were playing on his chest, adoring each curling tuft and every sinewy bulge, reveling in the very touch of his skin. Her insides felt as though they would burst as his thigh thrust between her legs, massaging her, heightening her need even as she felt his.
As his lips took hers once more, his hand left her breast and moved to the hem of her dress, searing a path up her thigh to a height she could bear no longer.
When she cried out this time, it was in sheer pain. The spasms in her stomach had intensified and there was no more mistaking these pains for those of passion.
“Oh, my God, Roberto! Something’s wrong!” she cried out as the reality of her condition hit her. Roberto stiffened, then immediately disengaged himself from her and arose from the bed. Tears of pain stung her eyelids as she repeated, gasping in between spasms, “Something’s wrong!” Her voice had reached a high pitch of panic at the sudden seizure.
“You little bitch!” returned the low-toned growl, as Roberto glared at her disbelievingly. “I should have known. I should have known,” he muttered between his teeth as he slammed out of the room, leaving Eva doubled up on the bed.
She remained in shock where she was for what seemed like an eternity, having neither the strength nor the desire to move from where she lay. With each new spasm the pain grew stronger, tearing through her in excruciating intensity. Her mouth went dry and beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead, as she sought to smother the outcries that threatened to erupt with each renewed cramp.
So preoccupied was she with this sudden physical onslaught that she could only spare an intermittent thought for Roberto, their moment together now lost, and the parting look of hatred in his face. He didn’t believe her! He didn’t know she was truly sick!
“Roberto … Roberto …” she murmured over and over between breathless sobs, his name almost a chant that she willed to guide her through whatever this was. If he only knew how much she needed him now, to comfort her and cradle her through the enervating cramping which racked her body.
Her medicine. If she had accidentally ingested even a small piece of fish, she would need her medicine. A tortured moan escaped from her lips as she realized that the medicine she always carried as a precaution, which she had even brought with her into the mountains, had been crushed and buried under the landslide and would be of no use to her now.
“Roberto! Roberto!” This time she screamed his name, again and again, with every last bit of strength her pain-racked body could gather. Where was he? He would know! That had to be it, she acknowledged hysterically. Fish! She must have eaten fish! She had to get to a doctor! Only too well did she remember the increasingly devastating stomach cramps, the raging fever, the eventual breathing difficulty that accompanied these attacks.
The fever brought with it a dizziness, which fought her as she attempted clumsily to rise from the bed. She had to get help. Someone had to be in the house. Roberto? Maria? Her intention was sidetracked by a suddenly rising nausea; she staggered to the basin on the low table just as the convulsions began, and her badly shaking arms and legs supported her as she lost the contents of her stomach. When the vomiting ceased and she could stand no more, her weakened knees gave way and she sank limply to the floor, grasping her stomach in a fit of renewed pain.
It was here that Maria found her, alerted by her earlier screams. Eva heard the excited babbling in Portuguese before she felt the arms, which gently lifted her to her feet and helped her to the bed. The fever was dulling her sense of purpose; she had to break through.
“Maria, fish … was there any fish in the dinner?” she begged, grabbing Maria’s arms and raising panicky eyes to hers. “Fish,” she repeated, “I’m allergic to fish! Please … tell me …” Her voice broke off as even her fevered brain knew that Maria couldn’t understand, and she sank down on the bed, drained by the frantic exertion.