Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 by Patricia Hagan Page B
Authors: Patricia Hagan
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eat some beans or rice, and then go wander around the coves or into the forest and get soaking wet in the infernal rain. And a little later he could get soused on rum and wind up in bed again with Molina.
Molina. Lord, she was beautiful. Of course, he had not seen too many native girls who were not lovely. But there was just something special about Molina. Her skin was black and shiny, and her body molded into delicate curves that made a man’s fingers itch to reach out and touch. Her coffee-colored eyes were fringed with thick, silky lashes, but good God, they could spit fire when she was in one of her rages.
Molina was, no doubt, a descendant of the slaves from Africa who had been imported to replace a race of people called Arawaks, exterminated by the Spaniards in the 1600s.Masters intermingling with slaves through the years had produced a class of mulattoes, and Louis XIV had declared them free.
Molina, he figured, was part African, part French, part Spanish, with a little bit of English slipped in somewhere down the line. She was darker than most of the other people on the islands.
He let his breath out in a long sigh. Damn it, he had never meant to take up with another woman, but he had never been the kind of man to go without one for long. Besides, he had nothing else to do with his time besides drink and make love. If there had even been Sam around to talk to, but how in the hell was he supposed to know Sam would be sent with the other committee to Santo Domingo, for Christ’s sake?
Travis did not remember much about the train trip to Washington. He was drunk when he got on the damn thing and drunk when he got off, and Sam kept pouring hot coffee down his throat and telling him if he didn’t sober up he’d get left behind, but he didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to stay in a stupor.
Somehow he wound up on the boat, and the second day one of the men on the committee came around and told him it was time he sobered up. Travis had agreed. He felt like hell by then and could not remember the last time he had eaten. With solid food in his stomach, a bath, and clean clothes, he had gone in search of Sam, and that’s when he learned his friend was on another ship heading for another place.
He felt a stirring beside him, then the cool touch of fingers wrapping around his penis, gently squeezing. He felt himself rising.
“You make up for last night, no?” Molina’s voice was as soft as her touch. “You make Molina feel like a real woman, for you are such a real man. See what I make you do? Oh, mon, but you are big. I never had a mon so big before.”
“Molina, you never had a man before I came along, and you know it,” Travis said wearily. Her virginity was a sore subject with him. Damn it, he never would have taken her if he had known she had never lain with a man, but she still continued to pretend to be grown up and sophisticated in the ways of womanhood. He still had not been able to get the truth out of her about her age. She damn well was not the twenty years old she swore she was.
“Not this morning,” he said firmly, grasping her wrist and pulling her hand from his swollen organ. “My head feels like one of those blasted drums that beat every night, and I think I might be sick.”
“Too much rum again,” she said petulantly. “Molina is getting tired of her man being such a drunk. You do not please me. I think I will go to the mambo and tell her how you treat me, and she will call on the loa to make you want me.”
Travis’ eyes flashed open and turned to stare down at her in fury and disgust. “Damn it, Molina, I have told you I will not listen to any of that voodoo nonsense. I don’t believe in it, and I don’t like it.”
He swung his feet around and winced at the feel of the soggy mud floor. The rains had soaked the ground outside and seepage had moved into the cabin.
Glancing around, he spotted his boots far away and was obliged to walk through the squishy mire to retrieve
Molina. Lord, she was beautiful. Of course, he had not seen too many native girls who were not lovely. But there was just something special about Molina. Her skin was black and shiny, and her body molded into delicate curves that made a man’s fingers itch to reach out and touch. Her coffee-colored eyes were fringed with thick, silky lashes, but good God, they could spit fire when she was in one of her rages.
Molina was, no doubt, a descendant of the slaves from Africa who had been imported to replace a race of people called Arawaks, exterminated by the Spaniards in the 1600s.Masters intermingling with slaves through the years had produced a class of mulattoes, and Louis XIV had declared them free.
Molina, he figured, was part African, part French, part Spanish, with a little bit of English slipped in somewhere down the line. She was darker than most of the other people on the islands.
He let his breath out in a long sigh. Damn it, he had never meant to take up with another woman, but he had never been the kind of man to go without one for long. Besides, he had nothing else to do with his time besides drink and make love. If there had even been Sam around to talk to, but how in the hell was he supposed to know Sam would be sent with the other committee to Santo Domingo, for Christ’s sake?
Travis did not remember much about the train trip to Washington. He was drunk when he got on the damn thing and drunk when he got off, and Sam kept pouring hot coffee down his throat and telling him if he didn’t sober up he’d get left behind, but he didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to stay in a stupor.
Somehow he wound up on the boat, and the second day one of the men on the committee came around and told him it was time he sobered up. Travis had agreed. He felt like hell by then and could not remember the last time he had eaten. With solid food in his stomach, a bath, and clean clothes, he had gone in search of Sam, and that’s when he learned his friend was on another ship heading for another place.
He felt a stirring beside him, then the cool touch of fingers wrapping around his penis, gently squeezing. He felt himself rising.
“You make up for last night, no?” Molina’s voice was as soft as her touch. “You make Molina feel like a real woman, for you are such a real man. See what I make you do? Oh, mon, but you are big. I never had a mon so big before.”
“Molina, you never had a man before I came along, and you know it,” Travis said wearily. Her virginity was a sore subject with him. Damn it, he never would have taken her if he had known she had never lain with a man, but she still continued to pretend to be grown up and sophisticated in the ways of womanhood. He still had not been able to get the truth out of her about her age. She damn well was not the twenty years old she swore she was.
“Not this morning,” he said firmly, grasping her wrist and pulling her hand from his swollen organ. “My head feels like one of those blasted drums that beat every night, and I think I might be sick.”
“Too much rum again,” she said petulantly. “Molina is getting tired of her man being such a drunk. You do not please me. I think I will go to the mambo and tell her how you treat me, and she will call on the loa to make you want me.”
Travis’ eyes flashed open and turned to stare down at her in fury and disgust. “Damn it, Molina, I have told you I will not listen to any of that voodoo nonsense. I don’t believe in it, and I don’t like it.”
He swung his feet around and winced at the feel of the soggy mud floor. The rains had soaked the ground outside and seepage had moved into the cabin.
Glancing around, he spotted his boots far away and was obliged to walk through the squishy mire to retrieve
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