Stranger Danger Read online

  She opened her mouth to refuse, to tell him to shut up and leave her life alone. For a moment, she considered telling him to hit the road and take his chances. Her anger swelled, then ebbed away. Damn him, but he knew her too well, and she couldn’t delude him. He’d always been the one person she failed to fool. “If I do, then you’ll tell me what you’re running from?”

  “Try me and find out.” His lips twitched with amusement, then shifted into a taunting grin. He’d always snared her this way, pulled her in, caught her, and once he had her, issued a challenge. Sara had never refused one and she didn’t plan to begin now. Besides, in their shared past, once she proved she could keep up, he almost always caved.

  “I’ll try,” she said. “I don’t know if I can explain.”

  “Start with Erik. Why in the hell did you trail him to Arkansas?”

  An invisible fist squeezed all the air from her lungs. On occasion, she’d wondered too. “It’s complicated,” she said and Santiago laughed. “Well, it is. I guess I have to start with my senior year. It’s supposed to be the best year of high school but for me, it was the worst. You had graduated and I was lonely. I missed you, Santiago.”

  He shook his head. “I was still around.”

  “You were enrolled at Los Angeles City College as a day student and you worked nights at General Mills,” she said, remembering. “You were always at school, working, or sleeping.”

  “La muñequita, we went out every weekend, to a movie or to eat or to the beach.”

  “Sometimes but you had to work when it was the East LA Classic,” she said, surprised his absence still stung years later. “You always had to work and you used to fall asleep at the movies.”

  “I worked hard,” he replied. “I knew what I wanted – to be an officer with the LAPD, but I couldn’t take the test or apply until I turned twenty-one. So I signed up to get a two-year degree and worked to pay for the tuition. And I graduated, then waited the six months until my birthday to apply with the department. But, by then, you were gone to Arkansas with Erik.”

  Sara remembered and the hurt she thought she’d leached from her body surged through her, potent and painful. “After I graduated, I got accepted at University of Southern California.”

  Santiago nodded. “You were going to be a teacher, no?”

  “Yes, I thought so, but things changed.”

  When he spoke, his voice lacked any emotion. “Because you met Erik? Wasn’t he a visiting professor from the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville?”

  He had been. And he’d impressed her the first time she’d seen him, strolling across campus during the summer session. Sara, in an effort to try to catch up with Santiago, had enrolled in two classes with a heavier course load scheduled for the fall semester. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had possessed a vague notion maybe she would transfer to City College after a semester or convince Santiago to change to her campus. Memory poured over her and she went silent, remembering….

  Afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees as she rushed across campus, finished for the day. Since it was summer, Santiago worked full-time days at General Mills and he’d be off work in an hour. Although she hadn’t told him she would come, she planned to meet him and take him on a beach picnic. Sara figured they could grab something on the way, then sit on the pier and watch the sun sinking into the Pacific. Head down, backpack in place, she failed to notice the other pedestrian crossing her path and they collided with enough force she fell to the ground.

  “Oh, shit!” she cried. Her bare knees below her denim shorts took the brunt of it and she’d managed to skin one on the sidewalk. A thin thread of blood trickled down her leg. “Ouch.”

  “Let me help you up,” a male voice said and she peered up, squinting into the sun to see his face. “I apologize.”

  He loomed above her, more hippie than yuppie with shoulder length sun-streaked light brown hair and cat-like green eyes. If he hadn’t spoken with a Southern kind of accent, she would’ve pegged him for a surfer or beach boy, but his voice established he wasn’t from California.

  “Thanks but it was probably my fault. I was in a hurry.” Sara glanced down at her leg and grimaced. By the time she cleaned up the scrape and changed, she wouldn’t be able to catch Santiago at the plant. He’d head home, not to his mother’s but to the apartment he now shared with four other guys. She hated going there, so maybe she’d just go home and call him. Maybe they could still go out, but the beach idea wouldn’t work, now. She sighed as she lifted her bag.

  “Let me buy you a cup of coffee or a soda pop,” the man said. “I should do something to make-up for knocking you down and skinnin’ your knee.”

  If she was someone else, if she didn’t love Santiago so much, Sara realized she might’ve found him attractive although she usually didn’t go for blondes. His accent intrigued her, though, so different from the light Spanish lilt in Santiago’s voice. “Thanks but I’m on my way somewhere,” she told him. Then she stuck out her hand. “But maybe we’ll meet again. I’m Sara Straughn and I’m a student. I’m taking a couple of summer courses now, but I’ll start full-time in the fall.”

  He shook her hand with a tight, brisk grip. “I’m Erik English, art history professor,” he replied. “I’m out here for a year on an exchange with a professor at this school. I normally teach at the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville.”

  The way he pronounced the name of the town, it sounded like he said “fate-ville”. Intrigued, a little, Sara smiled. “Maybe I’ll take one of your courses,” she said although she didn’t think she really would.

  She’d been delayed long enough that traffic had picked up, and she knew she’d never make it to General Mills in time. At home, she showered and cleaned her knee, then put on jeans and a tank top. Sara reached for the phone, then changed her mind. Forget being shy. She had every right to go to Santiago’s apartment so she would. She savored the way she’d surprise him and when she arrived, she parked. Her heart danced with anticipation, but her nerves kicked up a fuss so she waited. As she tried to calm down, she brushed her hair smooth and put on fresh lipstick.

  Her ears recognized the low purr of his beat-up old Camaro, rough on the outside with an engine he’d honed to near perfection. Happiness surged through her, and she reached for the door handle to step out and greet him. Santiago whipped into a parking space four down, beyond a pickup truck and a Cadillac. Sara exited the car but before she could call his name or wave, she realized he wasn’t alone.

  His companion wore her luxuriant black hair pulled back with part of it teased into a little pompadour on the crown of her head. The rest cascaded in a rich midnight spill down her back. Her lips were bright red and pursed into a kissable pout. Sara inhaled her rich, powerful perfume and heard her soft giggle as the woman gazed up at Santiago like he was God and she offered worship. Then she rattled off something so low and rapid in Spanish, Sara couldn’t follow it or understand, but she heard Santiago’s familiar voice respond, soft and gentle.

  When he put his hand on the small of the woman’s back, she turned away. Tears blinded her vision and rained down her face as she ducked into the car, then sprawled across the seat so he wouldn’t see her. Pain blossomed in her chest and spread, the heartache leading to an instant stomachache. She lay across the seat for what seemed like a long time, crying, before she dared raise her head. When she did, they were gone, presumably into his apartment.

  For a moment Sara considered confrontation. She imagined marching up to the door, knocking, and asking him what she’d observed. Maybe he’d have some explanation, but she couldn’t fathom any she’d accept. He had lied, said he loved her, said there was no one else he wanted, but her eyes saw evidence it wasn’t so. If it had been, he wouldn’t be slipping a woman – because she appeared older, early twenties at least – into his place. Whoever she was, she possessed everything Sara lacked or so it seemed.

  She had style, Mexican hair, pouty lips, and she was petite, so small she ba
rely came up as high as Santiago’ shoulder.

  Hurt, angry, and more upset than she’d ever been in her life, Sara went to the beach alone, something she’d never done. She stayed there until late and when she came home, her mom told her Santiago had called four times.

  But she never called him back and before the fall semester began, Sara adjusted her schedule to include Art History 101, taught by Professor English.

  At the time, she thought she’d done the right thing, but it would prove to be her biggest mistake ever.

  Now, she stared at Santiago, emotions in an uproar, and responded to his question. “No,” she said. “Everything changed because I saw you with a woman outside your apartment. I came over that Friday night thinking we’d go to the beach, but when you got home, you weren’t alone. I crawled back into my car and cried for a long time. You broke my heart. That’s why I wouldn’t return your calls and why I followed Erik back to Arkansas. I guess I wanted to hurt you the way I hurt. I suppose I should’ve talked to you, at least asked you who she was, but I didn’t.”

  Santiago came to his feet and glared at her. “Tu eres está loco!”

  Sara hadn’t expected so much anger. “I’m not crazy,” she protested. “Maybe you don’t remember.”

  He moved until he stood in front of her chair. “There was no one else but you for me, la muñequita! Not then, not now. I never understood why one day we were good, together, and then you wanted nothing to do with me. You should’ve trusted me, chica. And you could’ve asked me, then.”

  Deep beyond all the layers she’d added to cover her emotions, she wanted to believe him, but if she did, then she’d made the biggest mistake of her life almost fifteen years ago. “I saw a woman with you, Santiago,” she said and described her. “Who was she, then, if you weren’t cheating?”

  His eyes darkened and his lips twisted into a harsh line. Santiago whirled around, dug into a pocket of his duffle bag and pulled out a worn wallet. He unfolded a plastic sleeve of pictures and as he fumbled one free, Sara saw her senior portrait among the other photos. Santiago thrust a picture in her face. “Is this her?” he asked, his voice as rough as gravel. “Is it?”

  She took the photograph and nodded. Sara would never forget the hairstyle, the perky bow, the crimson lips. “Yes.”

  Santiago snatched it back. “She was my sister.”

  A cold dread gripped her throat. “That’s not Gabriela!”

  “No, it isn’t Gabi,” he said. “It’s my half-sister, Areli. You’d never met her, Sara.”

  Sara reviewed what she recalled about his family, his parents, Gabi, and his older brother Luis. They’d always been tight knit. Last she’d known, Luis wrote for the LA Times and Gabi was a stay-at-home mom.

  “You didn’t have an older sister….”she said, then hesitated. A conversation dredged from the dim past floated into her mind. “I have a half-sister, too.” She recalled Santiago telling her this on a rainy afternoon. “My father, his first wife died and his daughter went to live with her Abuela. I’ve never met her – she lives in Mexico.”

  His eyes glittered like black ice. “Si, I did. She’s dead, now, but I did and if you’d asked me, you would’ve known.”

  Before she could open her mouth or make amends, he turned on his heel and picked up his duffle bag. He thrust his pistol into the rear of his jeans and started for the door.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. “Santiago?”

  He whirled around to face her, his face a hard mask. “We’re strangers, now. I’m leaving.”

  She didn’t think when she spoke from the heart. “Don’t. I want you to stay,” she said. “If you’re in as much danger as I think, I want you to stay. If anything happened to you, I’d…”

  “You’d what?”

  Anguish filled her soul. “I’d die.” She sobbed the words as she broke down. “Don’t leave, Santiago. Por favor, mi corazon!”

  The Spanish he’d once taught her, the old endearment flew from her mouth. He put his hand on the doorknob, then removed it. When he turned around, the naked pain in his face smote her hard. Sara moaned.

  “I’ll stay under one condition,” he said, his voice as shattered as broken glass.

  “Anything.”

  He crossed the room and kissed her, his mouth urgent and ungentle on hers, harsh and demanding and possessive. Sara’s hungry need answered his and her fingers clutched his t-shirt tight to hold him, to keep him where he belonged…with her.

  Chapter Four

  His mouth ravaged hers, claimed and marked it. Santiago held her fast with one arm, his muscles powerful as a python. Sara couldn’t escape, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else. He worked his tongue into her mouth and she tasted the lingering flavor of beer on his lips, all her senses on high alert. Although he’d kissed her when she let him in, it’d been intense but brief. This time, his lightning struck hard and fast. Sara burned, his passion consuming her. Desire poured from him into her, as potent as tequila, and she abandoned any pretense that she didn’t care. Oh, sweet loving Jesus, his insistent, once familiar lips evoked things she hadn’t felt in years. One minute, fever raged through her body, the next, she shivered with erotic chills.

  Santiago did the impossible, stopped time with his kiss and wiped everything else from her mind. Her existence shrank to the small space they shared. His lips strayed from her mouth and nibbled below her ear, first left, then right. With nimble fingers, he unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it away, leaving her black lace bra. He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat and then used his teeth to make a love bite on the top edge of her breast.

  Sara’s fingers ran with abandon through his hair, so different than the way he once wore it short-cropped. She rested her other hand on his shoulder as his tongue darted over her nipples, licking and laving until they bloomed.

  Incredibly sweet shivers rocked her body as Santiago’s hands caressed her, sometimes as light as the brush of a soft breeze, often with eager intent. He was never clumsy and despite his urgency, Santiago never grew so rough he hurt her. He kissed her again, then suckled one nipple in his mouth until she almost came. He crooned sweet names in Spanish whispers, but carried away, Sara couldn’t stop to translate. “Te deseo, la muñequita,” he said, his eyes gazing into hers.

  Although he spoke of want, of desire, but not love, she nodded. “Si, mi corazon,” she said, giving him back his first language and with it, her heart.

  He grasped her hand and led her to the bedroom. En route, Sara jerked his t-shirt off and unzipped his jeans. Under them, he wore nothing and she couldn’t hide her grin as he pulled them down, then kicked them off. She removed her pants too and skinned out of her undergarments with haste. Her unmade bed, forgotten in the morning’s unexpected turn, invited them to collapse among the tangled covers.

  Santiago put her down on her back, her head resting on the bank of pillows and gazed down at her. His cock stood up, proud and erect, and as she gazed at him, she decided he had to be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His lean, bronzed body had matured from her memory, grown harder and more muscular. He moved with a dancer’s grace, she thought, and with purpose. She touched him, marveling at his solid flesh. She wrapped her hand around his cock and gave it a squeeze.

  He groaned. “Go easy, querida, or I’ll explode.”

  Laughing, she moved her fingers up and down his shaft, teasing and tantalizing. Sara adored the sounds he made, pleasure noises and grunts of near pain. She played with him until his dick hardened more in her grasp.

  “Ready or not, here I come,” he said and shifted position. He thrust into her, an arrow to its target, and filled her to capacity. He penetrated to the depths of her body, his erect penis bringing waves of pleasure powerful enough to bring tears to her eyes.

  She moaned, unable to help herself. She ached to scream, to shriek her delight but held back, conscious of the thin apartment walls surrounding them. Instead, she scissored her legs behind his back and drove him deeper inside.
Sara used her hands to caress his back, then to use her short but sharp nails to rake against his skin.

  He bucked against her and found his rhythm. They moved together, in tandem with increasing friction and warmth. She worked to match his strokes and tightened her pussy to caress his dick within. Santiago pumped harder and she clutched him as the tension built higher. When the pleasure reached an almost unbearable level and her breath caught short, Sara sensed the fine tremor in his body. Like an earthquake, it increased until it shook them both hard enough to rattle their teeth. “Now,” he grunted in her ear. “Come with me, la muñequita, ride me all the way.”

  Sara yielded, giving up any lingering resistance. Their orgasms hit with the brutal force of high tide and drowned her in their wake. Every sense radiated with the incredible rush of pleasure and she cried out, wordless and loud, as the ecstasy consumed her. She’d never come in such a wild heat, she thought, not back when they were still teenagers and never with Erik. At the peak, she bit his lip as he kissed her, and even after her shudders stopped, her body remained charged with crazy energy. I ought to glow like a neon light after that.

  Santiago pulled out and she want to cry with the loss of their physical connection. He rolled onto his back and pulled her into the circle of his left arm. She pillowed her head against his shoulder, her cunt throbbing with heat and a few aftershocks. Her hand stretched out across his chest and he lifted his right hand to hold it. “Te amo,” he whispered.

  She stilled. They were two small words, but they touched her soul and filled her heart to beyond capacity. Sara focused on his face, gazed into his deep, dark eyes, twin pools of emotion. She met his intent look and held it. Revelation struck with almost as much force as their shared orgasm. He loved her. He always had, had never stopped, and maybe always would. And the knowledge leeched away years of bitter longing, tempered the pain, and kindled a pure kind of happiness she hadn’t known in a very long time.