Saints Astray (Santa Olivia #2)

Saints Astray (Santa Olivia #2) Page 3

“I didn’t.” Pilar’s smile turned smug. “I sent the first order back when it got cold.”

Loup stared at her.

“What?” She shrugged. “I might never get to pretend I’m a rich rock star again. Who the hell knows what these government people want with us? And this place is amazing.” She fanned the magazines in front of her. “I started thinking I didn’t want to go shopping without knowing what was in style, you know? I mean, how would we know? So I called the concierge like Christophe said and asked him to send up some fashion magazines. Check it out. They just did it! Like you could ask for almost anything!”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.”

Loup lifted one of the domes, inhaling. “You know there’s no way this comes without a price, right?”

Pilar smiled wryly. “You think you need to tell Rory Salamanca’s ex-girlfriend that, baby? Everything comes with a price. His was his witch of a mother, and giving up you. Until we know what this one is, we might as well enjoy it. Eat.”

The food was delicious, fresh and hot, made with ingredients that tasted nothing like government rations. Loup ate her way steadily through a plate of eggs and potatoes and crispy bacon, French toast, and a plateful of fruits that she’d never tasted before, passing only on the pastry basket. When she was finished, she felt better than she had since the day of the fight. “Thanks. That was great.”

“I told you I was gonna take care of you.” Pilar sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed and gave her a serious look. “You’re my hero, baby, but even heroes need someone to take care of them. Especially cute little heroes who don’t have the sense to be afraid. And we don’t have the first idea what we’ve gotten ourselves into here. So just promise me you’ll let me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious. Promise.”

“I promise!”

“Good.” Pilar caught a fold of Loup’s bathrobe and tugged, pulling her down to kiss her. “Mmm. You taste like maple syrup.”

“I thought you were in a hurry to go shopping.”

“Are you kidding?” Pilar shot her an incredulous glance, then uncoiled from the bed. She crossed the room to pull the gauzy inner drapes over the window that looked out onto a vast courtyard. The brightness grew soft and muted. She came back and wound her arms around Loup’s neck. “Two days ago, I thought I’d lost you, probably forever. Now I’ve got you and a fancy hotel room with a bed as big as a swimming pool. You think I’m gonna walk out that door without taking advantage of both?”

Loup smiled happily. “No?”

Pilar kissed her. “Damn right.”

It was slow, smoldering sex, urgency tempered with luxury. The room was luxurious, the sheets were luxurious, the sheer pleasure of being together was luxurious. Loup felt the endless hours of deprivation and abuse melt away under Pilar’s lips and tongue and hands.

“God, I love the way you feel,” Pilar whispered against her skin, straddling her.

“When’s it going to be my turn?” Loup whispered back.

“Mmm.” She lifted her head. “Once you start, you’ll send me through the roof, Supergirl. I wanna take my time.”

She took a long, long time before playing fair.

Afterward they lay in bed and talked until the phone rang. “You go,” Pilar said, lazy and sated. “I’m not sure I can walk yet. My legs are still wobbly.”

“Liar,” Loup said fondly, but she answered it. “Yeah, hi. Um… sort of.” She raked a hand through her now extra-disheveled hair. “We kind of both need to shower.” She lowered the phone. “It’s Christophe. He’s tired of waiting. Can we be ready in an hour?”

“I guess.”

“Yeah, okay,” Loup said into the phone. “Okay. See you then.” She placed the receiver carefully back into the cradle, concluding her first-ever phone call, then turned to see Pilar watching her. “What?”

“Nothing.” She smiled, folding her arms behind her head. “I just like looking at you. And all of this, it’s like a dream. So far it’s a really, really good dream. I don’t wanna get out of bed.”

Loup picked up a fallen magazine and held it out enticingly. “Shopping, Pilar.”

“Mmm.”

“What about all of those cute little bottles of shampoo and stuff in the shower? And the stall’s big enough for both of us.”

“Ooh.” Pilar got up with alacrity. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Christophe arrived an hour later to find them damp but dressed, Loup working her way through the previously bypassed basket of pastries, having expended a fair amount of energy. He glanced around the room with amusement, taking in the tossed bedsheets, the empty trays of food, and the scattered magazines. “You made yourselves at home. Good.”

Pilar flushed. “Well, you said to.”

He gave her a courtly little bow. “And I meant it. Are you ready?”

“Hell, yes.”

Outside, the city seemed even larger than ever. Cars thronged the streets, not a single military vehicle in sight. Streams of pedestrians flowed along the sidewalks, not a single one of them in uniform. It felt like a different world, a world that had forgotten Santa Olivia and the Outposts on the other side of the border.

Christophe took them to a store that was only a short walk away, four stories tall and filled with an enormous, dazzling array of clothing and accessories. It was brightly lit and everything was new, new, new. In Outpost, almost everything had belonged to someone else. Loup stared, dazed by the selection. “How does anyone ever choose?”

Even Pilar was temporarily overwhelmed. She froze for a moment, awed by the array of choices confronting her, before rallying and making a beeline for the nearest rack. “Don’t worry, baby. I know what looks good on you, and I read lots of magazines this morning.”

It wasn’t long before a pretty young saleswoman glided over to help. Between her and Pilar, with surprisingly helpful input from Christophe, they quickly amassed a large pile of clothing in a private dressing room.

“Very nice,” the saleswoman said in approval when Pilar modeled her first ensemble, a narrow pencil skirt with a cute top. “Nice for business casual for a young person. You have good fashion sense.” She exchanged a quick spate of Spanish with Christophe, then turned to Loup. “We need for you.”

Loup eyed Pilar’s skirt. “I’m not wearing something I can hardly walk in.”

“Okay, no. Not for you. But nice for meeting.” She rummaged through crowded hangers, handed her linen pants and a jacket, a black camisole. “Try this.”

“Isn’t this fun?” Pilar whispered in the changing room.

“Pilar, those look like jeans you have.”

“No, they don’t!”

“They’re all faded.”

“That’s the style.” She pointed. “Look at the stitching on the pockets. It’s all different. And they don’t flare as much. Anyway, they’re new.”

“I guess.” Loup went out to model her outfit.

“Very nice,” the saleswoman said. “With the jacket, it is business, but soft. Then take off the jacket…” She gestured at Loup, who complied. “A nice necklace and earrings, and you go out to dinner. Now you see how the pants hug the hips, very young and chic, and the nice sexy camisole makes…” She put her hands on Loup’s waist, then blinked and pulled them back, startled at the feel of her not-quite-human musculature. “Um. Yes. So you are a dancer or a gimnasta, I think?”

Loup glanced at Christophe. “Gymnast,” he clarified.

She shook her head. “Boxer.”

“Oh.” The saleswoman blinked. “Yes, well, because you have the toned physique, you can wear small tops like such that can look vulgar on someone more…” She demonstrated with her hands.

“Voluptuous,” Christophe supplied. “That is the word, I think.”

“Point taken,” Pilar said mildly, spilling out of a low-cut shirt that was a size too small. “Christophe, can we buy just one nice dress? Like for going out dancing?”

He spread his hands. “I was told you have a line of credit here for twenty-five thousand pesos. Spend it how you like.”

“How much is that in real money?”

He and the saleswoman conferred in Spanish. “Maybe twelve hundred euros, so maybe two thousand dollars. I don’t know. There hasn’t been much American tourism here since they closed the border. Europeans, yes. Americans, no.”

“Whoa.” Loup frowned. “Where’s all this money coming from, anyway? I mean, I get that government people want to talk to us, but seriously. That hotel? Two thousand dollars’ worth of clothes? And why is there some American senator involved? That seems kinda dangerous.”

“All I know is that there are people in the American government concerned with rumors of the Outposts,” Christophe said. “Friends of the same people who helped coordinate your escape on the military side of affairs.”

Loup shook her head. “It doesn’t add up. It’s an awful lot of money to throw at a couple of runaway orphans.”

Christophe shrugged. “Okay, so maybe there is one other party that wishes to talk to you. This is to make you feel welcome and interested to listen. There is no obligation.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“There isn’t.” His dark gaze was as steady and unblinking as her own. “Believe me, you are honored guests here. I would not betray a member of my family.”

“Loup…”

“Okay, okay.” She softened. “Go find a nice dress.”

Pilar brightened. “And makeup? And maybe some earrings?”

“Sure.”

The saleswoman beckoned to Pilar. “Come with me.”

Half an hour later, Pilar preened in front of the mirror wearing a little black dress that managed to be sexy and elegant, subtle makeup, high heels, and big hoop earrings, her hair caught up in a rhinestone-studded clip.