Slowly, her eyes downcast, she looped her arms around him. Her fingers brushed the thick, dark hair that grew low on his collar; it felt like the softest silk and she fought against the swift desire to bury her fingers in it, to turn her face to his neck and touch her mouth to his tanned throat…
Dios, Antonio thought, what had he done to himself?
There was no need to be standing here with Kyra in his arms. She had suddenly gone pale with exhaustion; she’d reached out to the railing for support All he’d had to do was take her arm and steady her.
Instead, he’d gathered her up in an embrace. It meant nothing, he’d told her. And now he was telling the same thing to himself.
But it was a lie.
He caught his breath as he felt the cool brush of her fingers against the nape of his neck. If only she would bury her hands in his hair, drag his head down to hers. He ached with self-loathing for wanting to possess her, but it didn’t change his need.
He bent his head so that his chin just brushed her cap of dark, shining hair. It felt like silk and smelled of lemons and he thought how strange it was that something as mundane as the scent of citrus should suddenly make his heart beat faster.
“Kyra?”
His voice was a sigh in the silence of the night. Her face tilted up to his, her eyes wide and so pale in the glint of the moon that they might have been starlight.
“Kyra,” he said again, and as her lashes drifted slowly to her cheeks, Antonio brought his mouth to hers.
Her mouth was satin. It was velvet. It was as soft as a flower and just as sweet. His arms tightened around her and he groaned softly as her hands did what he had dreamed they might, her fingers sweeping into his hair, her palms cupping the back of his head so that he might deepen the kiss.
He did, his tongue sweeping across her lips and into her mouth and now it was she who groaned with desire.
Antonio’s hand moved to the side of her breast. His fingers brushed upward, kissing the nipple with flame, turning it hard beneath her cotton shirt.
He whispered something in Spanish against her mouth, turned her closer to him, exulting in the wild leap of her heart against his and the moans that slipped from her parted lips.
“Señor del Rey?”
Antonio lifted his head. Light from the open front door spilled out onto the steps, blinding him. He backed down quickly into the shadows, while he fought to recover his senses.
“Dolores?”
”Sí, señor.” His housekeeper, a small, stocky woman in a long flannel robe, peered cautiously into the night. “I thought I heard the dogs, but no one came to the door.”
“Antonio,” Kyra whispered, “put me down. Please.”
“I apologize if I woke you, Dolores,” he said, ignoring her.
“No, no, señor. I was reading when…” The housekeeper’s eyes widened as Antonio stepped forward into the light. “Is that a woman?”
Antonio nodded. “It is.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “Is she ill?”
“She is tired.” He came up the steps and into the highceilinged foyer, his footsteps loud against the tiled floor. “She has had a long and very difficult day.”
“Ah, I see,” Dolores said wisely.
It was all Antonio could do not to smile for he knew she didn’t see at all. He had never brought a woman here before. Not that he was bringing Kyra here in the way Dolores meant. Not that she was staying. Not that he was really going to force her to keep their unholy bargain.
”Señor?” Dolores hesitated. “Shall I prepare something for her to eat?”
“A good idea. Some soup, perhaps. And a sandwich.”
“Of course And shall I bring it to the guest room or—or will she be sleeping in—in—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Kyra’s voice was rough with impatience. “I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself. And I am not a—a sack that needs carrying, thank you very much!”
Antonio frowned. “The stairs are long and you are tired. I was only—”
“Yes.” Kyra shoved her hands against his chest and glared at him. “I know You’ve already told me. You’re trying to keep me from tripping or slipping or doing some fool thing like breaking my neck so you don’t have to deal with a medical emergency” Her mouth straightened into an angry, thin line. “Will you put me down?”
“Ah, señor, if you do not need me.”
“Go on,” Antonio said, his voice clipped. “Make our guest something to eat. I will show her to her room.”
“I am not a guest,” Kyra said furiously She banged her fist on Antonio’s shoulder and raised her voice to a shout. “Where is that old crone? Why did she run away? Is she so accustomed to seeing you carry your victims into your lair that she thinks nothing of it when she sees a woman struggling in your unwanted embrace?”
She cried out as Antonio’s arms tightened around her.
“You were not struggling a little while ago, querida.” His voice was low and harsh, his face grim as he started up the wide staircase. “You were as soft and compliant as a rabbit, and if we had not been interrupted you would have let me take you there on the steps, with the moonlight on your naked body.”
It was painfully close to the truth. Whatever had happened outside in the courtyard was beyond Kyra’s comprehension. Antonio had touched her and suddenly she’d lost all connection to reality. That she hated him, that he had blackmailed her into coming here, that his contempt for her was matched only by her contempt for him, had become meaningless.
All that had mattered were his kisses. His touch. The feel of his strong, muscled arms around her, and the race of his heart against hers…
Antonio kicked open a door and stepped into a room dusted with moonlight. A huge, canopied bed stood on a raised platform in its center.
Kyra’s struggles intensified. “Put me down, you—you tyrant!”
“Watch what you say to me, woman.” His voice was icy as he shouldered the door closed behind him.
“You took advantage of me a few minutes ago. You know that you did! I wasn’t myself. I—”
The breath whooshed from her lungs as Antonio dropped her in the center of the bed. She scrambled back against the pillows, her eyes flashing.
“I warn you, Antonio, if you touch me you’re only going to make things worse. I’ll—I’ll go straight to the authorities on this island. I’ll tell them you abducted me, I’ll charge you with kidnapping. I’ll—What’s so funny?”
He was laughing at her, damn him, laughing at her, his hands on his hips and his dark head thrown back as if she had just cracked the funniest joke he’d ever heard.
Kyra reached for the first thing she could get her hands on, a small porcelain clock that stood ticking quietly on the beside table. She flung it at Antonio’s head but he ducked as it hurtled past him and smashed into pieces against the wall.
“Damn you, what is so funny?”
“You, querida,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Do you really think I am so desperate for a woman that I would force myself on such a sharp-tongued, skinny, bedraggled-looking creature as you?”
Color raced into her cheeks. “None of that seemed to be enough to stop you a little while ago!”
“As for your threats…you came to my island of your own volition.”
“You blackmailed me into coming here!”
Antonio leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed.
“I offered you employment.” A cool smile touched his lips. “I know the idea of exchanging work for money may be new to you but it is quite common, believe me.”
“Go on, say whatever you like.” Kyra glared at him. “When I file my complaint with the authorities—”
“Do you know how to fly a Cessna?” he asked politely. “Or were you planning on swimming to the mainland?”
“I’m talking about the authorities on this island. I’m sure you pay them all huge bribes to keep them in your pocket, but. .” Her nostrils flared. “What’s so amusing this time
?”
“You are looking at the authority on this island, Kyra.” He smiled. “There is no law here but the law I choose to impose.”
“But—but what about the others who live here?”
“What others?” He laughed. “Surely you do not think that my housekeeper or the others who work for me dispute my decisions?”
She turned the color of sun-bleached linen. That was fine, Antonio thought grimly. She deserved a taste of fear. If this little episode in his life accomplished nothing else, it would be good to know that he had taught Kyra Landon she could not get away with such dangerous games, seeking a man’s help only to condemn it when it was offered, teasing him with the promise of fire but turning to ice at his touch.
Not that he was blameless, he thought reluctantly. It had been stupid, letting his anger get the best of him so that he’d ended up bringing her here. As for the rest, she was everything he’d called her: sharp-tongued, bedraggled-looking, as impossibly stubborn and thickskulled as the new Arabian stallion down in the stables behind the house.
Yet he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her.
Antonio turned and walked to the window. It was ridiculous. He’d been working long hours lately, what with flying back and forth between the States and South America while he tied up half a dozen deals that involved not just his shipping company but his real-estate holdings, too.
Was that why he was behaving with something less than his usual logic? Of course it was. The realization came as a relief.
All right, then. He had made a mistake. Tomorrow, he would rectify it. He would take her back to the mainland, set in motion the arrangements necessary to get her out of his life once and for all.
With a smile of relief, he turned and looked at her.
“I have reached a decision, Kyra.”
“So have I!”
“Let me finish, please,” he said calmly. “Tomorrow, I intend to—”
“I don’t care what your intentions are, Antonio.” Kyra’s eyes flashed as she got to her feet. “I’ve changed my mind about our bargain. Take me back to Caracas.”
She kept her eyes on his face and waited, her heart pounding. All the time he’d been standing here, brooding over her fate like some medieval tyrant, she’d been working up to this moment.
What she’d agreed to was stupid. Dealing with her brothers was one thing; giving in to the demands of Antonio Rodrigo Cordoba del Rey was quite another.
There was only one way to deal with men like him. You had to stand up to them and tell them what you wanted. If you didn’t, they’d roll over you without a second thought.
“Well?” She looked at him, her cheeks flushed. “Did you hear me? I demand—”
“I told you once, Kyra.” His voice was sharp. Who did she think she was? Who did she think he was, a boy to take her orders? “Watch how you speak to me.”
“Why? Because you own this island?” Kyra flung out her arms. “Because you think you can force everybody to do your bidding?” She shot to her feet and stalked toward him. “You’re so used to playing tin god that you can’t imagine anyone standing up to you!”
Antonio fought to contain his temper, which was edging up toward the danger level.
“You try to blame your situation on me,” he said coldly, “but you are in a mess of your own making. You have made foolish, even childish, decisions.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me!”
“I am simply saying—”
“I know what you’re saying! That the world should shut up and salute when you give an order! Well, I’m not saluting. And I’m not staying here another minute!”
The last vestige of Antonio’s control snapped. “I will not be spoken to like that by anyone, Kyra, least of all you!”
“And I will not take orders,” Kyra said, her breathing rapid, ”especially from a man like you!”
His hands whipped out and clasped her shoulders, hard.
“Be careful,” he said between his teeth. “Be very careful of what you say.”
“Let go of me, you—you bully!”
His hands bit into her flesh. “Kyra, I warn you—”
“Don’t you warn me, you—you no-good bastard!”
Antonio flung her from him. “Dolores will awaken you in the morning,” he said, his voice sharp as a razor, “and assign you your duties. I promise you, Kyra, you are going to spend a week on this island that you will never forget!”
The door slammed shut after him. Kyra stood absolutely still, fists clenched at her sides, and then she gave a little shriek of pure fury, flew to the door, and threw the lock.
“The same goes for you, Señor Dictator,” she yelled.
She put her ear to the door, listening as Antonio’s footsteps receded.
Then, at last, she let the tears come.
CHAPTER SIX
KYRA had no intention of waiting for the housekeeper to wake her the next morning
She might have signed on to be Antonio’s servant-of-the-week, she thought grimly as she sat up in bed, but she would not let him make her feel like a prisoner. She didn’t need a wake-up call or a matron to escort her downstairs
Her bedroom glowed with the soft, golden light of the Caribbean morning. It was, she had to admit, a handsome room, furnished in a dazzling pastiche of periods and styles that somehow came together with a breathtaking beauty.
Kyra walked to the window and looked out at the view. Her room overlooked a garden at the back of the house, which blazed with the lush colors of the tropics. Beyond, an emerald lawn stretched toward the azure sea visible in the distance.
A man was walking slowly through the gardens toward the house. Kyra stepped quickly back behind the curtains. It was Antonio; she knew it instantly, even though she had never seen him dressed so casually before. But even in denim cutoffs, a white T-shirt and tennis shoes, he looked…Her pulse gave an erratic little flutter. There was ony one word to describe how he looked
Magnificent.
He paused, tucked his hands into his rear pockets, and turned to look out over the rolling green lawn to the sea. The breeze ruffled his dark hair and he lifted one hand to push it impatiently back from his forehead Kyra’s gaze flickered over him. The seams of his T-shirt strained across his wide shoulders as he stood there, hands on his narrow hips, his muscular legs planted firmly in a stance that emphasized the overwhelming power of his masculinity.
Kyra touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. If only they had met some other way. If only they’d met in a setting like this, relaxed and easy and…
Was she losing her mind completely? The setting wouldn’t change the facts. Antonio Rodrigo Cordoba del Rey was like his name: aristocratic, imperious, unforgiving. He was an inflexible, cold-blooded tyrant.
Cold-blooded? No. He was hardly cold-blooded. He had held her in his arms and kissed her with a fiery Latin passion that had stolen her breath and melted her will. Kyra’s throat tightened. Was it a talent he’d been born with—or had he refined the art of seduction on more women than any man had the right to possess?
Impatiently, she swung away from the window.
Who cared how many women had trooped through his life? She didn’t, that was certain. All she cared about was getting through the next few days with as little contact with Señor del Rey as possible.
Her stride was swift and determined as she made her way across the bedroom to the bath, detouring past the shards of porcelain that lay on the tile floor, all that remained of the clock she’d hurled at Antonio the night before.
Let it lie there, she thought with a toss of her head. Antonio’s poor wretch of a housekeeper could deal with cleaning it up. She’d be damned if she would!
Briskly, she stripped off the bra and panties she’d slept in, tossed them onto a chair outside the bathroom, and stepped into the shower.
Sleeping in the underwear she’d worn all day—and would have to wear again, she thought, her nose wrinkling with distaste—had not been appealing But it was
better than sleeping in the raw.
She knew it was silly. After all, there’d been a locked door between her and Antonio all night. And she hadn’t really feared he’d try to force himself on her. Oh, she’d taunted him about kidnapping, sure, but even while she’d done it, she’d known without question that for a man like him, the very thought was ridiculous.
Antonio del Rey had a list of faults as long as her arm, but he’d never take a woman against her will. He wouldn’t have to when he had a much more effective method of guaranteeing surrender. He’d used it on her, kissing her until she’d felt as if she were drowning in a torrent of passion.
“Dammit,” she said sharply, and blanked out the shameful memory. He’d never have gotten anywhere if she’d been herself. The incident was over and done with; there was no sense dwelling on it.
Kyra shut off the water. The bathroom, a huge marbleand-glass affair, had every convenience She’d been too weary and upset to notice last night, but now, wrapped in an oversize bath sheet, she poked and sniffed among the glass vials and jars of lotions, powders and creams.
Evidently, women guests were not a rarity in this house—though she could not imagine a woman staying here. Antonio would want her in his room, in his bed. It was what the woman would want, too, to lie beside him through the long, dark night, to awaken in his arms with the heat of the sun and the heat of his kisses stirring her to arousal…
What nonsense! Kyra glared at her reflection in the mirrored wall.
“You are in desperate need of a caffeine fix,” she said grimly. Her reflection nodded in agreement and Kyra grinned, scooped a white velour robe from the back of the door, and slipped it on. Still smiling, she fluffed her damp hair and walked into the bedroom.
“Good morning.”
Antonio was sitting on the unmade bed, his back propped against the headboard, his hands laced lazily behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles.
The sight of him stunned her. She gaped at him as if he’d materialized from a magician’s hat.
“I trust you slept well?”
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