Authors: Doreen Owens Malek

Montega's Mistress (31 page)

“No!” she said in an astonished tone, and he grinned sheepishly. He joined her on the couch again, taking her hand.

“Maybe you would like a wedding here, with your relatives,” he said. “Girls dream of such a ceremony, don’t they?”

“Not when they have my family,” Helen said dryly. “Besides, I’m a little far gone for a white dress and a march down the aisle.”

“And the groom is not exactly blue chip aristocracy,” Matteo added.

“I wouldn’t have any other,” Helen said softly, touching his face.

He seized her hand and kissed it. “Then you’ll come back to San Jacinta with me. We’ll have the wedding there.”

“Theresa can be my matron of honor,” Helen said, pleased with the idea.

“And Martin will stand up for me. We can be married in the church I attended when I was a boy; would you like that?”

“I would,” Helen agreed, thinking that her whole life had changed in the space of the few minutes since his arrival.

“I love you,
majita,”
Matteo murmured, bending to kiss her. She responded eagerly, and soon she was half lying in his arms and he was peeling the robe off her shoulders.

“Wait,” she said abruptly, sitting up.

“What for?” he asked, nuzzling her fuller breasts. “It’s a little late to worry about birth control isn’t it?” he added dryly.

“As I recall, you never did worry much about it,” Helen replied, a smile in her voice, and he groaned, trying to reach her nipple with his tongue as she deftly eluded him.

“I want to change,” she said to him, rising as he reached after her.

“You want to change your clothes so I can take them off?” he asked incredulously.

“Will you be patient?”

“Patience was never my strong point,” he called as she disappeared into the bedroom.

“Tell me about it,” she answered and shut the door.

Matteo drummed his fingers on the coffee table, got up and looked out the window at his two companions and then sat down again.

“What are you doing in there?” he yelled.

The door opened and Helen emerged, carrying a two piece negligee on a hanger. Her expression was mournful.

“What’s the matter?” Matteo asked, puzzled.

“I bought this for you,” she said, extending the set which was made of beige silk appliqued with Alencon lace. “In case you came back for me.”

Matteo glanced down at himself. “I don’t think it will fit,” he said, grinning.

“It doesn’t fit me anymore, either,” Helen wailed. “And I wanted to look so nice for you.”

“You do look nice,” he said, getting up and taking the garments out of her hand. “You always look nice.”

“Oh, how can you say that?” she demanded, refusing to be comforted. “I certainly didn’t look nice in the camp, running around in Rafaela’s clothes.”

“You certainly did.” Matteo held the set out at arm’s length and examined it. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve had this hanging in the closet since you got back, in case I showed up?”

“Yes, and now I look like an elephant in it. An elephant in a silk dressing gown.”

Matteo embraced her, letting the negligee fall to the floor.

“Sweetheart, I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” she responded, stiffening in his arms. “I wanted to be so glamorous, and I feel so... maternal.”

“You’re beautiful. Beautifully maternal.” He undid the sash of her robe, and this time she offered no resistance, closing her eyes as his lips left a heated trail on her skin.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “We’ll have to have more children.”

“One thing at a time,” Helen answered, then went limp as he lifted her in his arms.

“You’re heavier than you used to be,” he teased, hefting her as if weighing a bundle.

“And to think you used to worry about my weight,” Helen replied.

“I’ll always worry about you,
princesa
,” he murmured, kissing her neck as he pushed the bedroom door open with his foot. Then he stopped short and said, “Oh, oh.”

“What is it?”

“A bed, a real bed with clean sheets. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make love to you in a real bed. I’m not sure I’ll remember how. Cots and dirt floors are one thing, but this... I don’t know.”

“Very funny,” Helen replied, and then they both looked up as loud knocking commenced at the outer door.

“Your friends must be wondering what happened to you,” Helen said to Matteo.

He set her down on the bed and said firmly, “I’ll be right back.”

She lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about how perfectly happy she was, until he returned.

“What did you say to them?” Helen asked.

“I told them to take a coffee break, that I was going to make love to my fiancée and would be a while.”

“You didn’t!”

“Sure, why not? It’s the truth.” He undressed while she watched, tossing his clothes on the corner armchair and then joining her on the bed.

“I suppose we have to be careful,” he said to her, taking her in his arms.

“Yes, but not too careful,” she replied, and he laughed.

Matteo made love to her gently, but thoroughly, and as they lay together afterward Helen said, “Tell me what our life in Puerta Linda will be like.”

“Well, I’d like to say that it will be luxurious and carefree, but that would be a lie.”

“Matteo, if I wanted that I’d live with my mother.”

He stirred, settling her into the crook of his arm. “It will be hard to build a country from scratch,” he said honestly, “and you probably won’t see that much of me in the beginning.”

“That will be a lot more than I’ve seen of you since I left Tres Luces,” Helen said tartly. “I think I’ll be able to take it.”

“And you’ll be busy,” he said, kissing her forehead, “with the
bebe.
”

“
Bebe?”

“That’s ‘baby,’ in Spanish.”

“Thank you. I never would have guessed.” After a moment she added thoughtfully, “I think I’d like to teach. That’s what I was planning to do before you arrived today.”

“What about your paper?”

“It’s finished.”

“So you haven’t spent all your time pining away for me,” he said, turning her onto her back and looking into her face.

“I pined,” Helen said seriously. “I pined plenty.”

“So did I.”

“Really? I assumed you didn’t give a thought to me until you had taken over the government and then you said, ‘Gee, what about Helen? She was a swell girl. I wonder how she’s doing?’”

He let her go, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “If you assumed that you were wrong,” he said quietly.

Helen propped herself up on her elbows, tucking the sheet about her, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Matt, I was kidding,” she told him.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that it was very hard for me to let you go, do what I did; and you were on my mind every day, whether you believe it or not.”

“I believe it,” she said softly.

He turned to look at her. “What if you had stayed and were hurt while carrying the child?” he asked.

“You did the right thing; I’m not arguing with you,” Helen said, taking his hand and pulling him back down on the bed. “Though you couldn’t have convinced me of that when I left.” She smoothed the dark hair from his forehead. “I thought I would never see you again,” she went on softly. “Do you know what that did to me?”

“I think so,” he responded, and kissed her. The kiss deepened, and he lifted his mouth from hers to inquire, “Can we, again?”

“Are you asking my permission?” she said, smiling.

“What about the baby?”

“I don’t think we can ask him yet.”

“Helen,” he said in a frustrated, anxious voice.

“Yes, we can,” she said, laughing and putting her arms around his neck.

And they did.

– THE END –

I am Doreen Owens Malek, author of over forty books and lifelong fan of romantic fiction. I live in PA with my husband and college student daughter, a mini dachshund and a sun conyer parrot. I would like to tell you a little about myself.

I came to writing by a circuitous route, starting out as an avid reader of
Jane Eyre
and
Wuthering Heights
and
Gone With the Wind
and
Rebecca
, and any other similarly themed books I could find. I first worked as a teacher and then graduated from law school when I desired a more lucrative and independent career. I had always been discouraged from pursuing a writing career by the volatile nature of the business and the relatively poor chance for success. But the realization that I needed a focus for the future encouraged me to do what I had always wanted to do. I sold my fledgling novel to the first editor who read it, and I have been writing ever since. I have written all types of books for all types of people, but my favorite literary pursuit is and always has been romance. Nothing is as rewarding as hearing from my readers, so please use my website to communicate your thoughts and criticisms, as I am always eager to learn from you.

A romance novel rarely disappoints me: in an uncertain world filled with tragedy and sadness, reading about an appealing woman finding a strong man to love her and share her life is the perfect escape. I like to read and write stories in which the main characters overcome obstacles to get together, and then stay together because their mutual devotion cannot be denied no matter what else is happening around them. They always HELP each other and reinforce the quaint but enduring notion that love conquers all—at least in the fictional universe of my imagination. So pull up a chair and take down a book—or pick up a Kindle—and join me in a world where the heroes are tough and headstrong but never boorish and the heroines are feminine and sympathetic but never helpless.

Happy reading!
— Doreen Owens Malek

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