Saint by T.L. Gray Page A

Carolyn had been owned by the
man she loved. Owned so completely that nothing his father did could break her.
It had been fascinating to watch. Carolyn was magnificent, even in bondage. It
had been an educational experience, one that still excited him to think about.
The way she laid beneath him, her proud eyes accusing as he made her feel like
a woman.
    Benito had wanted to help Carolyn in the
end, but knew better than to interfere in his father’s plans. She’d been a
pleasant diversion, but not worth his life. He was meant for greater things.
    “You are faithful to me always, Nina?” he
inquired lightly. “I cannot have a wife who looks elsewhere for what only I can
give her.”
    “Wife?” Nina’s eyes sparkled with hope.
    “That is what you want, yes?”
    “More than anything!” she breathed,
pressing closer to him. “You promised.”
    “Yes, I did promise.” He ran a hand down
the length of her, lighting small fires upon her skin as only he could. “And I
always keep my promises to you, don’t I?”
    “You promised so very long ago. Always
there was another matter to be taken care of first.”
    “It must be a small ceremony now that I am
confined in my activities. We cannot draw attention to ourselves. You
understand how important this is?”
    “I understand.”
    “That’s one of the reasons I love you,
Nina. You understand me.” He laid her down on the cool wet tiles surrounding
the pool, petting her, stroking her, telling her how beautiful she was and how
much he loved her.
    He did love Nina, like no other woman he’d
held beneath him. She was part of him and could never be allowed to stray. It
would destroy him. It would destroy his power, everything he’d worked so hard
to build. His father had suspected he’d taken Nina to his bed as a child. But
Nina knew she must keep the secret always or face being torn from his arms.
    He was her protector, her lover. He owned
her.

Chapter Six
     
    Maria spotted the huge black man ascending
the hill on foot and strode out to meet him. At close to seven feet, she had to
drop her head back to look up at him. Bulldog features and thick lips were made
more intimidating by his muscular physique. His hands alone were three times
the size of hers. He wore his dark hair shorn so close to his head it was
barely discernible and made his head seem too small for his massive body. Slung
over his shoulder were two large duffel bags. He carried them as though they
weighed nothing
    Halting directly in front of him, she
asked, “You’re him?”
    “Beg pardon, Miss?”
    “Him. Saint. Francis said…I’m sorry, how
rude of me.” She smiled and extended her hand, “I’m Maria.”
    He ignored her hand in favor of asking, “Are
you little Jimmy’s mother?”
    The question hit her like a bullet, strong
and fierce, leaving a burning path in its wake. She dropped her hand to her
side. “I’m his sister.”
    “I ain’t Saint. I came to bury the
candyman.” He brushed past her without another word and continued on to the
front porch where Francis and Gabriel stood.
    “What?” She turned to follow him. “Who’s
the candyman?” All these weird names they used were starting to get confusing.
But he was no more interested in answering her question than he had been in
shaking her hand.
    “Joan.” Francis acknowledged with a nod of
his head. “Did you walk all the way from Mississippi?”
    “Hitched a ride.”
    “Joan?” Maria frowned, glancing from the
black man to Francis, then to Gabe. “He’s not Saint?”
    The two on the porch chuckled at her
assumption. “Sorry,” Gabriel said wryly, “but you’re getting warmer.”
    So then, this Joan—Lord, what a name for a
man—was another of the colonel’s so-called squad. She folded her arms beneath
her breasts, bristling at the amusement in the preacher’s eyes. “Who’s he
supposed to be?”
    Francis clucked his tongue regretfully. “I’m
ashamed of you, Angelface. A good Catholic girl like you not