Master of El Corazon (Harlequin Presents)

by Sandra Marton

  ‘The Cadillac belongs to El Corazon. That makes it mine.’ She tried to wrench her arm free of his grasp, but it was impossible. ‘And I did not ask you to carry my suitcase. I didn’t ask you to do anything! I wouldn’t, not if you—what are you doing?’ she demanded as he all but threw her against the side of a dusty, disreputable looking vehicle.

  ‘Unlocking the door to my Bronco,’ he said through his teeth, ‘preparatory to tossing either you or your luggage into the back seat—depending on whether or not I can get control of my temper in the next five seconds.’

  Arden stared foolishly at the car. ‘But—this isn’t the Cadillac,’ she said.

  ‘A brilliant deduction.’

  ‘It’s an old Jeep!’

  ‘It’s a Bronco.’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s a rowboat! I’m not getting into that thing with you.’

  ‘Ah, my apologies, señorita.’ Conor made a sweeping, dramatic bow. ‘I know my humble vehicle’s not up to your standards.’

  No, it certainly wasn’t. The Cadillac had offered the protection of wide seats and space, but this thing—this Bronco—would put her cheek by jowl next to Conor; she could just imagine how it would racket around the curving dirt road that led the last few miles to the finca, how she would be forced to lean in against him as they drove...

  He threw open the passenger door. ‘I know it’s going to be a hell of a disappointment, making your grand entrance in this instead of in the Caddy but believe me, no one at the ranch will care.’ He smiled slyly. ‘Of course, if you prefer, you could always walk.’

  Arden scrambled into the car. Conor nodded, tossed the suitcase into the back, and slammed the door after her.

  ‘Good thinking,’ he said as he slipped behind the steering-wheel and stabbed the key into the ignition. ‘After all, if I got to the house before you did, I might just steal the silverware.’

  Arden snapped her seatbelt closed, folded her hands in her lap, and stared straight ahead.

  ‘My thoughts precisely,’ she said.

  With a roar and a belch of plumy exhaust, the Bronco shot away from the kerb.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THEY reached the finca just after sundown. Arden was certain that Conor had deliberately aimed for every pothole and bump on the road, and when they finally bounced to a halt in the curving driveway she couldn’t wait to climb out of the car.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she stared at the house as it rose silhouetted against the night sky, and her breath caught.

  What am I doing here? she thought with a little shudder. Felix had left El Corazon to her, but—

  Conor flung open his door and stepped out. ‘Where do you want your luggage?’

  She looked blindly in his direction. At the airport, she thought, on a plane bound for New York.

  ‘In the same room you used before?’

  No matter what had gone wrong in this family, wasn’t Conor better entitled to inherit this house than a stranger?

  ‘If you’re waiting for a welcoming committee, you’re in for a disappointment.’ Conor pulled her door open. ‘Look at the bright side, Arden. At least, the alquacil isn’t here to arrest you.’

  She blinked her eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘I said, at least the sheriff isn’t—’

  ‘I know what the word means, Conor! What I’m trying to figure out is what you meant by that remark.’

  ‘I meant just what I said. You’re lucky you’re not being run in for fraud.’

  ‘Fraud!’

  ‘Or whatever it is you call convincing an old man to sign his property over to a con artist.’

  Arden gritted her teeth. No wonder Felix had left the house to her. The only thing worse than leaving El Corazon to a stranger would have been leaving it to a man like Conor Martinez!

  She threw open her door and stepped to the ground.

  ‘My old room will do fine,’ she said coldly. She started towards the house. Behind her, Conor grunted as he hoisted her suitcase from the back of the Bronco and followed after her. ‘As for meals—’

  ‘I can’t hear you.’

  She turned at the top of the steps and waited until he’d climbed to the porch beside her.

  ‘I said, we’ll arrange mealtimes so that we don’t intrude on each other.’

  Conor’s eyes turned flat. ‘Will we, indeed?’ he said, carefully setting down the suitcase.

  ‘I’ll have my breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, and dinner at six. You’ll eat an hour later. That way—’

  She gasped as his arm shot past her, his hand slapping flat against the closed door.

  ‘You’re in no position to give orders,’ he said sharply.

  ‘I wasn’t giving orders, I was only suggesting a workable arrangement. Surely you’ve no more desire to bump into me than I have to bump into you!’

  ‘If there’s any scheduling to be done, I’ll be the one who does it. El Corazon is still mine—or had you forgotten?’

  Her chin lifted in defiance. ‘According to Felix’s will—’

  ‘According to his will, the ranch belongs to me. It’s only the codicil that says he left it to you.’

  Arden smiled. ‘Only the codicil? Unless my memory’s slipping, a codicil is a legally binding addendum to a will, which means—’

  ‘Not if the person who writes it doesn’t know what he’s doing.’

  ‘Come on, Conor, you can do better than that! Are you going to suggest Felix was senile? Everybody knows he was as sharp as a tack. Or that I brainwashed him into leaving me El Corazon?’ She made a face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Whatever you did, it worked.’

  ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that Felix might have left me El Corazon because he liked me?’

  Conor laughed softly. ‘I’ll just bet he did.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘That’s disgusting. He was an old man—’

  He shifted his weight lazily so that all at once he was as close to her as a whisper.

  ‘Right. But a man’s never too old to appreciate a woman like you.’

  ‘You know something, Conor? The more you insult me—’

  ‘Is that what I’m doing?’ He lifted his other hand and flattened it against the door so that she was trapped between his outstretched arms. ‘Hell, I thought I was paying you a compliment.’

  ‘And I don’t appreciate your sarcasm!’

  ‘It’s not sarcasm, sweetheart.’

  ‘Dammit, don’t call me that!’

  He lifted his hand and stroked his knuckles lightly along her cheek. ‘There’s not a man in his right mind could resist you.’ He smiled lazily. ‘Hell, only a saint or a fool would turn you away.’

  ‘Conor—’

  ‘Not even me,’ he whispered. ‘You got old Edgar to come around, and Uncle Felix. For all you know, I might tumble just as easily, sign El Corazon over to you, save you months of legal battling.’

  Months? Months? Surely this was just more intimidation. He couldn’t mean ‘months’.

  Arden swallowed hard. ‘El Corazon’s mine already.’

  Conor laughed and blew a curl back from her temple. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘There’s no “maybe” about it.’

  He shrugged lazily. ‘I’m just suggesting there are possibilities you haven’t considered yet.’

  Her heart skipped a beat. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Legal wheels grind slowly, querida mia.’ His thumb slipped over her lower lip. ‘In Costa Rica as well as in the States.’ He bent his head and nuzzled the hair back from her ear. ‘I know a lot of ways we could make the time pass quickly.’

  His breath was warm against her skin. A tremor went through her, and she put her hands against his chest.

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Is that what you really want me to do?’ he said, very softly. The night suddenly seemed very still. Darkness was wrapped around them, enclosing them in a silky universe all their own. Conor’s smile faded as their eyes met. His gaze drifted to her lips and linge
red there for the space of a heartbeat. ‘Me encantan tu boca,’ he murmured.

  I love your mouth, he’d said. The words were simple and not terribly original. Why, then, did she feel so breathless? Why was she suddenly aware of the feel of his arms around her, the quick, accelerated beat of his heart beneath her hands?

  ‘You’re beautiful, querida,’ he said huskily. ‘Very beautiful.’

  He bent his head and brushed his mouth over hers. The touch of his lips was as soft as the night, but she felt its heat burn through her flesh. With the fear and desperation of a rabbit escaping a fox, she wrenched free of his embrace and searched for the right words to wound him.

  ‘What are you trying to do, Conor? Seduce me—or swindle me out of my rightful claim to this ranch?’

  But she hadn’t wounded him. He only laughed softly and tilted her chin up with his finger.

  ‘That depends on how well you perform once you’re in my bed.’

  Arden stiffened. ‘You don’t listen very well. I told you, the more you insult me, the more determined I’m going to be.’

  ‘You can be as determined as you like.’ He’d stopped smiling, and the easy playfulness was gone from his voice. His eyes, and his words, were hard. ‘But you’re never going to get this ranch.’

  ‘Has it ever occurred to you that I might not want it?’

  ‘Of course it has,’ he said. ‘Just as it’s also occurred to me that the moon might really be made of green cheese.’

  Arden reached down and grabbed hold of her suitcase. ‘It would be nice if it were,’ she said, ‘because then a rat like you could look at the sky each night and know you had as much chance of biting into that cheese as you have of getting this ranch!’

  Turning away, she pounded her fist against the door until a servant came flying down the hall to open it and then she stalked inside to the stairs and carried her bag the entire flight, down the hall, and into her room. Once safely inside, she slammed the door and dropped the suitcase to the floor.

  She didn’t want El Corazon, by Godl

  But she was damned if she was going to let Conor Martinez steal it from her!

  She slept soundly but not well. At dawn, when the crowing of a rooster somewhere on the finca awakened her, she felt bleary-eyed and almost achy with fatigue. She lay still, fighting against the sudden desire to repack her things and flee. Why should she run? she asked herself sternly. She had an absolute right to be here. It was Conor who was the intruder, not she, Conor who ought properly to move out...

  ...Conor, who never ceased to confuse her. Arden shook her head as she pushed aside the blanket. He had a strange ability to jumble her thought processes whenever he was around.

  No, she thought as she dressed in jeans and a cotton T-shirt, that wasn’t quite accurate. He didn’t confuse her so much as he made her feel unsettled, as if his very presence somehow tilted the horizon just enough to make her usually familiar world become out of kilter.

  Well, she wasn’t going to have any such problem today, she thought as she buckled on a small waist pack. With luck, she’d never even set eyes on him until tonight. It was just past six-thirty, surely far too early for him to be up and about. There was plenty of time to make a stop in the kitchen to pick up something light for lunch as well as to get a cup of the dark, rich coffee Inez would have just finished brewing without having to worry about running into Conor.

  Arden smiled grimly. By the time he began his day, she’d be miles away.

  Inez greeted her with a broad smile. ‘Buenos dias,’ she said, then added, in rapid Spanish, that she was delighted to see that the señorita had returned to El Corazon.

  Well, Arden thought with a little smile, at least someone was pleased to have her here. She drank half a cup of coffee, then tucked some fruit and biscuits into her waist pack. At the last minute, she stopped and scooped a handful of sugar cubes from the bowl on the table.

  The morning was soft and perfect, as were all the mornings she’d spent at El Corazon. She paused outside the door and took a deep breath of the clean, sweet air. It was good to be back here, she thought with surprise, despite the less than pleasant circumstances. She sighed as she began plodding through the dew-wet grass. Felix had been ready for his new beginning, but was she? If only Conor...

  Arden frowned. If only Conor what? She didn’t give a damn what he thought. It didn’t matter if he wanted her here or not. The finca was hers now, all of it, from the house to the rolling pastures that stretched all the way to the darkly smudged hills that defined the horizon.

  A horse whinnied softly in the paddock. Arden looked to where a mare and foal stood close together, their manes tossing gently in the light morning breeze.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said as she walked towards them. The mare pricked her ears, then trotted forward and delicately accepted the sugar cube Arden held out on her palm. Arden smiled and stroked the velvety muzzle. ‘Will you remember me the next time we see each other?’ she whispered. She laughed when the mare snorted and bobbed her head. ‘Good girl!’ Humming softly, she swung away from the fence and set off for the stables.

  Today, she was going to see the ranch Felix had left her from one end to the other, and she was going to do it on horseback. It would give her answers to some of the questions she had about the finca, questions she’d sooner die than ask of Conor. And it would keep her away from the house—and from Conor. As for tomorrow, well, she’d worry about tomorrow when she got to it.

  The stable door creaked softly when she pulled it open. The sweet smell of hay and horse filled her nostrils as the door thunked shut after her.

  It was darker here; shadows dappled the aisle that stretched between rows of box stalls. Arden blinked, waited until her eyes adjusted to the change in light, then began to walk slowly down the aisle. Horses nickered softly from the stalls as she passed them and she paused often to pet a silken muzzle and distribute her sugar cubes.

  The sound of the door swinging open, then slamming shut, shattered the silence. She whirled around, her hand to her heart.

  ‘Come to do an inventory of the livestock?’

  Conor’s voice was gruff, his posture challenging. Everything about him looked challenging, Arden thought, and her heart tumbled with a strange double beat. He was dressed as she was, in a T-shirt and jeans, but the shirt moulded itself to his muscular shoulders and chest and the jeans were so old and faded that they delineated his maleness.

  ‘Or are you just here to do a general inventory?’

  Colour flamed in her face. Her eyes swept up to his and she gave him a cold look.

  ‘I don’t appreciate having you checking up on me, Conor.’

  He smiled coolly. ‘Is that any way to thank me, Arden?’

  ‘Thank you?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘For what? For following me like a shadow?’

  ‘I was on the far side of the stables, grooming Diablo—’

  ‘Diablo.’ Arden smiled sweetly. ‘Of course. What else would Senor Martinez name his horse except Diablo?’

  ‘I was grooming him,’ Conor said pleasantly, ‘and I looked up and there you were, trying to bribe one of our best mares with sugar.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I was simply—’

  ‘And I thought, Isn’t that charming, the señorita’s going to the stable to count noses? Why don’t I go and help her?’

  Arden tossed her head. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

  ‘You should have asked me for a list of our stock, Arden. I’d have been happy to oblige.’

  She turned her back to him and made her way more quickly down the aisle. ‘Yes, I’ll just bet you would.’

  He laughed. ‘Do I detect a touch of irritation in that soft voice? You’re really going to have to work on that temper, sweetheart. It won’t go over very well in the circles you hope to move in.’

  ‘Listen,’ Arden said, whirling to face him, ‘if I want advice—’

  The words caught in her throat. Turning so quickly hadn’t been a good
idea. He’d been right behind her, closer than she’d realised. Swinging around had brought them face to face or, rather, face to chest. Her nose was inches from that tightly pulled T-shirt; she caught a sudden whiff of the aroma of the stallion mixed with Conor’s particular masculine scent, felt the heat emanating from his body.

  A primal desire spread through her body with the swiftness of lightning; she swayed unsteadily and Conor caught her by the shoulders. Their eyes met, and suddenly she felt as if the ground were opening beneath her, as if any movement or mis-step would send her tumbling into oblivion.

  She took a breath. ‘You were going to tell me about the horses,’ she said, her voice as cool as winter.

  The muscle in Conor’s cheek twitched. ‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment. He brushed past her. ‘We raise Arabians,’ he said in a businesslike, almost brusque manner. ‘We did have Morgans, at one time, but the Arabians did better in this climate and so we—’

  ‘We?’ Arden’s lips curved into a tight smile. ‘Don’t you mean “Felix”?’

  ‘I mean precisely what I said. I have time and money invested in El Corazon, Arden, a great deal of both.’

  ‘And you’ll be damned if you don’t get the return you expect.’

  The horse nearest them whinnied and Conor reached out and patted its arched neck.

  ‘You’ll have to watch your language, too,’ he said.

  ‘Temper, language—’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. Can you redo yourself, do you think?’

  ‘I have no wish to “redo” myself,’ she said angrily.

  ‘I don’t know if the moneyed crowd will hold it against you. I mean, after all, you’re a gringa, but—’

  Arden stamped her foot. ‘I hate the way you say that!’

  ‘Why?’ He swung towards her, smiling. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but you make it sound as if—as if being North American is something I ought to apologise for.’

  He laughed, showing even white teeth. ‘Have I asked for an apology?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way and you know it. I only meant...’ Arden blew out her breath. ‘Why does it give you such pleasure to insult me?’