Second Kiss With Miguel Bain
Or, Miguel's Peace

By Steph

Finally, after such a year, my vacation arrived. Oh, how I had waited to get away, to finally get out of the fog of San Francisco and onto a white beach with a good book and nothing but the mambo and margaritas to interrupt my concentration. I would have a quiet time away from everyone after this year of stress and I had found the perfect place; Isla Mujeres, the Island of Women, with not much to do but shop, eat, drink and lay on the beach.

After a long red-eye flight to Cancún, a taxi took me to the ferry where a multitude of young men offered to carry my bags down the pier for just a dollar. With my bad luck this year, I decided to keep hold of my bags and drag them down myself.

The early morning sun caused the blue waters of the Gulf to sparkle. While I looked out for the island, the majority of passengers, mostly Mexicans going to work, kept their attention on the television screen above, difficult to hear over the growl of the ferry engines. Before long, my vacation paradise came into view. Fishing boats, tourist excursions and ferries filled the port of Isla Mujeras and, it seemed, few cars traveled along the road that followed the long white sand beaches. The information I had gathered told me that the island had a great deal of tourist activity during the day, but at night, the place emptied, leaving those few who wanted to get away from crowds.

I checked into a white five-story hotel that sat directly on the beach. It offered swimming pools, two bars and a restaurant. It took only moments to unpack, change into my bathing suit, grab a book and head for the beach. Under a broad umbrella, I lay on a chaise and sighed. No excitement, no stress, just the sound of water lapping at the beach and salsa music that floated in from some open bar. It was only nine in the morning.

Within an hour I was completely immersed in The Sparrow, so much so that I didn't notice another presence until I heard the squeak of the other chaise that shared my umbrella. Not wanting interruption, I ignored the intruder.

"Fancy meeting you here," came a familiar voice.

No. It couldn't be. I refused to put the book down.

"Come on, Stephanie, you have not forgotten me? I thought you liked me."

I huffed and lowered my book to my breasts. With pressed lips, I turned my head to face him. "Like you? Miguel, you kept me prisoner in my own house for two days."

He wore long swimming trunks and held a tall drink with a lime twist and a yellow umbrella. After sucking through the straw, he said, "and those were very sweet days, too."

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"I am on vacation," he said. He waved his hand towards the beach. "What a paradise, eh? The Island of Women, my kind of place." He laughed and returned his mouth to the straw.

My book beckoned, but my eyes would not agree to turn from the view of Miguel Bain, wearing only shorts and taut tawny skin, laying only an arms length away. He put the drink on the table between us and folded his hands behind his neck. Finally, I lurched the book up and forced my view towards it.

"You know," he said, almost a drawl, "I am going on this little boat trip tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?"

"You're a murderer, a kidnapper and a rapist," I said. "Why would I go anywhere with you."

"Ah, ah," he said, sitting up. "I never raped you. Matter of fact, I think you came on to me." He lay back down. "I didn't mind. A woman, your age, single, can get a little lonely. Its perfectly understandable." I gaped at him. He laughed under his breath. "And you were pretty good, I mean, for a desperate woman."

I jolted up, my feet swinging to the sand. "I never! You just! How dare! Pig!" I threw my book at him.

His quickness might have astounded me if I hadn't been so nonplussed. My humiliation increased when he caught the book and nonchalantly opened it to read the inside cover. "I admit though, you're a pretty good cook." He turned to page one as I grabbed my towel and stomped off.

Back in my room, I paced and shouted, "Desperate! How dare he call me desperate! How dare he interrupt my vacation! That murdering piece of filth, that thieving bastard!"

A knock came at the door and I yanked it open. Miguel stood before me, smiling.

"What?!"

He raised the book. "You forgot this. May I come in?"

"No, you may not," I said, backing away as he walked towards me into the room and shut the door behind him.

"Are you sure?" he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I promise I'll be good." He stopped and cocked his head. "That's right. You don't like good. Well, I promise, I'll be bad." He tossed the book onto an upholstered chair and slowly studied the room, then crossed to close the curtains over the picture window. Finally, he closed the door to the balcony and leaned against it, facing me. "I'm very good at bad."

I stood in the center of the room, my hands on my hips. "Miguel, I want you to leave." He stepped forward as his response. "I mean it. I'll," he grabbed my wrist, "I'll," then jerked me towards him with a sharp yank, "I'll turn you in." With another jerk, he twisted my arm behind me so that my back arched. His free hand lifted the material of the one-piece bathing suit at my hip while his teeth found a hidden nipple. "Oh, you bastard," I moaned as my body writhed in betrayal. My free hand reached for his trunks.

In the next instant, he dropped me on my rear.

"Well, if you really want me to go, I'll go."

I sat on the floor, gaping at him, my chest heaving. When he reached the door, he turned and said, "be ready tomorrow at seven am. I'll come by to get you for that little boat trip."

Long after he closed the door, leaving me alone, I still gaped.

I didn't leave my room for the rest of the day and ordered room service rather than chance meeting Miguel in the restaurant. Even then, I didn't open the door to the man with my food until I was sure of his identity. That night, I could hardly sleep, unable to force away the picture of Miguel, his naked torso, his strong shoulders, those thick dark curls and those eyes. I couldn't get those eyes out of my mind, nor could I put aside the memory of the time he invaded my home. How he had frightened me, excited me. There was nothing romantic about him, just danger and raw lust.

Desperate? I was NOT desperate. And I wasn't lonely. I had plenty of friends. But that threat of him, how it disturbed my tranquility. My entire body pulsed its response to his every touch. Of all my male friends, had any man been able to gain such a reaction from me? I couldn't remember any but Miguel.

By seven am, I had only slept for a few hours. When I heard my name, whispered so close to my ear, I reacted severely. First I sat straight up and hit my head against something, which shouted. I leapt out of bed and turned in a circle until my eyes opened.

"Stephanie," Miguel said, rubbing his forehead, "you should learn not to panic." He stretched the length of the bed wearing khakis, a blue cotton shirt and deck shoes. When he smiled as if undressing me, I realized that I was naked. "I would like to oblige you," he said, "but the boat is waiting."

"What boat?" I said, reaching for my robe.

"I told you, we are going on a boat ride today."

Once protected by my teri-cloth robe, I faced him, arms folded tightly across my chest. "Look Miguel, that's real sweet of you to invite me, though you probably have some ulterior motive, but I'm on vacation. I need this vacation. I need rest and quiet and peace and NO STRESS AT ALL. Entiendes?" I discovered that I was gritting my teeth and willed myself to relax the jaw before I broke something.

He raised his hands, leaning on an elbow. "I promise. No stress, just a quiet little boat ride. That's all."

"I don't believe you."

He stood and smiled, "have I ever lied to you?"

"And how would I know if you had?"

He stood then reached to touch my face with the back of his fingers. I stepped to the side to avoid them.

"Honey, come with me for awhile. Let me pay you back for the trouble I caused you."

"No."

"Hmm," he said, his lips pursed. "Okay, then come with me or I'll kill you." He lifted his shirt to show me the handle of the gun sticking out of his pants.

I couldn't seem to stop my mouth from muttering my anger as I dressed. I knew, from the moment I saw him that he wasn't going to let me enjoy my vacation. "Why me?" I asked.

"Who else around here would I want to go on a boat ride with?" he said, shrugging before eating a strawberry left over from room service the night before.

The boat ride, on a small but comfortable little craft, was as peaceful as he promised. I sat quietly, wondering what he kept in the long bags on the boat's bottom and the chest behind me. He piloted us slowly across the sea, stopping when we reached a shallow area so he could point out some of the fish that could be seen below a ceiling of clear blue water. In the distance, other boats, likely with tourists, had stopped so their occupants could snorkel. Miguel handed me a pair of binoculars. I saw a far off island.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

"Yes," I answered, my eyes on the serene sea.

He smiled and continued to pilot the boat past the island. He said it was a preserve called Contoy.

The weather was fine and the water smooth except when we passed through a reef area where rough, white-tipped waters tossed the boat this way and that. Miguel handled the little craft expertly and my momentary doubts passed.

The sea deepened and the waves became larger carrying us up over one swell then down into a valley with graying waters as its hills. When the wind picked up, I held my hat to my head and leaned back, my eyes on Miguel and his eyes on the sea.

And what eyes! He squinted when he looked back to the east then smiled at me, wordless, his dark eyes filled with that intensity that defined him. I found that intensity alluring, and those deep eyes, sometimes angry, even hateful, sometimes cold, yet even then, hypnotic. No, I had seen him on the point of savagery all those months ago, and even when I thought he might truly hurt me; I could not escape those eyes. They had captured me more than his murderous threats.

"Where are we going?" I shouted over the wind and outboard motor.

He smiled wider. "It's a surprise!"

The amusement in his eyes reminded me of what amused Miguel. But in my denial, I dismissed the danger this man wore in every taut muscle and decided that I would enjoy this trip, enjoy Miguel, and forget all else.

As the sun rose to its zenith, we approached a pair of islands, less than a half mile of water between them. Miguel piloted the boat to the island on the north side, a flat sandy stretch of land dotted with tall scrub. The southern island looked more appealing. The tree-covered land had a dock and boathouse. I could barely see the frame of the house that the trees hid.

"That one looks nicer," I shouted.

"Private," he said.

I nodded and sat up to study the land we approached. "Are we going to eat?"

"Yes," he said, turning the motor off and lifting the blades out of the water as the bow drove into sand. A moment later, he was on the beach, pulling me into his arms. "I thought we could eat, have a little wine, set up the tent to keep those people," he jerked his head towards the south, "from spying on us, and then I can show you how bad I can be." Before I could answer, he released me and began unpacking the boat. He tossed the boat tie to me. "Anchor this with a rock, sweetie."

I did as he told, noticing how businesslike he had suddenly become. He set the tent up in earnest, dug a pit and found a dead bush to break up for firewood, though he never lit a fire. Trying to help, I pulled at the long bag at the bottom of the boat.

"Hey, hey, wait, wait, wait. I'll get that," he said, suddenly over my shoulder and pulling the bag out of my hand.

"Fishing rods?" I asked. Now, that's a nice way to relax, I thought, as he chuckled and nodded.

Miguel shoved the fishing rods into the tent, then drew up to me and took me in his arms.

"I guess you can't tie me up, this time," I said, laughing as he led me to the tent. Desperate? No, not me.

He laughed, his eyes darting southward. "Let's have a little picnic, first."

"Of course," I said, disappointed.

He brought caviar and apples, French wine and Camembert cheese, grapes and iced shrimp. When he finished laying out the spread on a blanket, I sat on one edge and smiled inwardly as he sat next to me. What a luxury to have Miguel Bain feed me caviar piled on crackers. I drank wine and leaned against him while he stroked my hair. I remember he kissed my forehead and said something like, "que duermas bien, querida."

The next thing I remember, he was urging me to wake. It was dark.

"If you don't wake up," I heard, "I'll leave you here."

I saw little in the dark without even moonlight, but I rose, trusting Miguel to do as he promised.

"What happened?" I muttered. My head ached.

"You fell asleep," he said, closing the chest on the boat. He tossed in his long bags. "Get in, we're going."

I stumbled forward and he lifted me into the boat. "Where's my hat?" I asked, and he pushed it onto my head.

A moment later, he pushed the boat into the water and jumped in, then began to row.

"Why are you rowing?" I asked.

He tossed me his jacket. "Use that as a pillow and go back to sleep."

"What time is it?"

"Time for you to shut up."

I shut up, took my hat in my hands and leaned back with my head on his jacket. He grunted and sucked in air with the effort of moving the boat away from the island. My head started to clear and it suddenly occurred to me that my "nap" may have been planned. I tensed with the thought of what he had been doing while I slept.

"Shit," Miguel muttered.

I looked back and saw the lights on the southern island. Its seemed the whole place began to light up, one section at a time. Spotlights scanned the water and Miguel began to grunt in time to the pull of the oars.

My body tensed, my jaw tightened. "Miguel, what did you do while I slept?" I could hear motorboats in the distance, but the spotlights hadn't reached us yet. "Miguel?"

"Sweetie, if you don't shut up, I'm going to throw you overboard."

I shut up and listened while he continued to row. The boats, and there were obviously more than one, didn't seemed far away, then one began to sound as if it was getting closer. Spotlights criss-crossed the water, also far away. Then I heard the helicopter. My hands began to shake and my nails cut my palms as I clenched my fists.

The helicopter's spotlight came closer. My heart pounded while Miguel cursed under his breath. I covered the reflective metal chest with Miguel's dark jacket then reached for the dark blanket from below the seat. I tucked myself into the bottom of the boat, covered by the blanket, a coward, yes, but seeing no reason to make an open target of myself. As I folded my body partially beneath the seat, I saw the fishing bags and knew what they really were.

"What are you doing?" Miguel said between grunts.

"Protecting myself, asshole," I said. The longer rifle had a power scope. The other one had a less powerful site, so I took the bigger weapon, studied it and realized. I'd never fired anything beyond simple pistols.

"If you fire," he said, "you'll call them all over here. Put it down." A light crossed over, illuminated Miguel. "Fuck! Shit!" He grabbed the rifle out of my hands and aimed it to the dark sky, not waiting for the light to catch him again. I took the other rifle and aimed as well, though I had no idea if I could even fire the thing. The only thing I knew was that I wasn't going to let Miguel get me killed!

The light returned, providing us with a clear target. Miguel fired, then again. I pulled the trigger slowly. The shot threw me backwards and I knocked my head on the starboard side of the boat.

Miguel laughed. "What's the matter, sweetie? A little nervous?" He laughed again and I saw that he had a hard on.

I pulled my eyes away from that tent between his legs and raised the rifle once again, this time bracing myself. The copter swooped down on us, and I could hear their fire as bullets zipped into the water. In the distance, the sound of speedboats came closer.

"Ammo," Miguel shouted, "under the seat!" I pulled the metal box out from beneath the seat and shoved it towards Miguel, who fired again at the passing copter. "Load this," he said, shoving the rifle into my hands. He started the outboard motor, no use trying to hide now, and took the other rifle while I shoved cartridge clips into the one he handed me.

"You know," I said, "my doctor said I'm not supposed to have any stress." I exchanged rifles with him. "He said that I should go somewhere peaceful." I opened the bag further and pulled out a semi-automatic, checked its clip and laid it next to my folded legs, found another one and leaned it against the port side, next to Miguel. The boats were getting close; the helicopter began to swoop again. "He said, that too much stress would put me in the hospital," I continued as Miguel aimed upwards and I aimed southwards. "Are you listening, asshole?"

"Sweetie, take it out on them," he said, and the melee began.

The deafening sound of rifle and automatic weapon fire filled the air. My first shot hit the closest boat's spotlight. I think the second one hit flesh. I was shouting and so was Miguel.

"Come on, mother fuckers!" Miguel screamed. His laughter was contagious, that of crazed excitement and I started laughing with him. What the hell, we were about to die. "Fuck you!" Miguel shouted as the helicopter suddenly began to ooze greasy smoke. Its engine sputtered. The men in the boat screamed. And Miguel piloted our boat away at top speed. The crash of the copter sent waves towards us, helping our escape. The boat without the light had been directly in the helicopter's path.

I gasped for air, my heart pounding, my hands clenching the semi-automatic.

"Sit down, sweetie," Miguel called. "Or you might hurt yourself." He laughed as he leaned forward and took the gun from my hands. Without letting go of the rudder, he pulled me closer, then kissed me hard. I kissed back. "Not bad, honey, not bad."

"You're going to be gone by tomorrow, aren't you," I asked, as I unzipped his pants, allowing his excitement to expose itself.

"Long gone, honey," he said, before kissing me again. He pulled me over him while I pushed at my clothes. He broke open my shirt and touched my nipple with his teeth.

"And me?" I said as I straddled him.

He sucked in his breath. "What about you?"

"Are you going to kill me this time?" I moaned as his teeth sought my other nipple.

"Maybe," he whispered. "Maybe I'll tear your heart out."

I moaned with perverse pleasure. There was nothing romantic about him, just danger and raw lust.