Beautiful Sacrifice

the top of the many steps leading up to the entrance. Mounds and waterfalls of flowers framed her.
    “Your mother,” Hunter said, though he couldn’t see her face clearly.
    “How did you know?”
    “You have her elegance and curves.”
    Lina made a startled sound. She’d never considered herself as lushly built as her mother. To know that Hunter thought of her that way sent heat rippling through her.
    Celia waved casually, then started to walk down the stairs one swaying step at a time. Even in the low lighting, the sensuality of her walk was striking.
    “I don’t move like she does,” Lina said.
    “No, you’re sexier. Those long legs add an extra punch that high heels can’t match.”
    “Stop it before I crawl right into your arms.”
    “That’s supposed to discourage me?” Hunter laughed softly.
    Then he bit down on her hand with a tender intensity that took her breath. She forced herself to remember that her mother was approaching.
    The wind blew warm into the car, like a huge animal breathing.
    “Hunter,” Lina said huskily.
    “Yeah, I know. That’s your mother coming toward us like a thunderstorm. Time to see how bad it’s going to be.”
    Hunter got out and walked quickly around the Bronco. He gave Lina an unnecessary hand out of the car and shut the door behind her like a good courtier. She smiled slightly and held on to his hand, telling him without words that she wasn’t going to pretend he was just a business associate.
    “You sure?” Hunter asked in a low voice.
    “Yes.” Her voice whispered against his ear as she went up on tiptoe. “Celia only respects strength.”
    “Which is your bedroom?”
    “In the back, on the second floor. Southeast corner room.” She smiled suddenly. “Wrought-iron trellis up to the balcony. Watch the bougainvillea. It has thorns.”
    “I’d expect nothing less leading to the bed of a princess,” Hunter said. He gave her neck a quick, biting kiss.
    Celia hurried forward.
    Hunter and Lina walked more slowly. He had time to size up the woman who looked more like Lina’s older sister than her mother.
    The files Hunter had read told him that Celia had had her first and only child after a difficult birth at age seventeen. Yet she looked barely a handful of years older than her daughter, a testament to good genes and better plastic surgeons.
    “Lina,” Celia said, stretching up to embrace her daughter. “It’s about time!” The words were in Spanish.
    Although Lina leaned down into the hug and her mother stood on precariously high heels, Lina was still taller than Celia.
    Those long legs add an extra punch that high heels can’t match.
    The memory of Hunter’s words made Lina feel much more feminine than her travel-wrinkled clothes.
    “I told you I’d be here for Abuelita’s birthday and the holidays,” Lina said in English.
    Celia’s mouth shaped into a delicious pout and she said in Spanish, “It’s fortunate that Abuelita insisted on an intimate family celebration this year. You know I depend on you for family arrangements.”
    “Really? I’ve never noticed,” Lina said in English.
    Hunter told himself he hadn’t heard Celia emphasize “family” twice, but he knew he had.
    So had Lina.
    “Cecilia, this is Hunter Johnston,” she continued in English, deliberately standing very close to him. “Think of him as a very, very good friend. I do. Hunter, meet Cecilia Reyes Balam, my mother.”
    Hunter’s poker face held, but it was a near thing. Lina’s emphasis on the second “very” had been a declaration of intimacy. When it came to throwing down gauntlets, she’d been taught by experts.
    He smiled at Lina, letting every bit of the heat and possessiveness he felt shine through.
    Celia would have to have been blindfolded to miss it. The flat line of her mouth said that she didn’t like what she saw.
    “Señora Reyes Balam,” Hunter said deeply in Spanish, his voice caressing the words like a native speaker. “It is my pleasure and honor to meet you. I now understand the source of Lina’s beauty.”
    Then he waited for Celia’s next move.
    With the smoothness of a businesswoman and the elegance of a queen, Celia held out her hand. Hunter took it in both ofhis, letting her measure the difference between his big, work-hardened fingers and her own fragility.
    “Mr. Hunter.” Celia nodded, switching to English. “How…unexpected.”
    “A thousand apologies,” Hunter said in Spanish. “Lina and I just decided it was