Master of El Corazon

by Sandra Marton

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘You’ve thought heaven only knows what about me from the beginning, and I resent it!’

  Conor gave her a long look and then he smiled tightly. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ He turned and began walking slowly down the aisle. ‘As I said, our stock is primarily Arabian. The current count stands at eight stallions, twenty-four mares, and half a dozen foals...’

  Arden followed blindly after him, listening as his voice droned on but not hearing the words. Why had she said that? She’d made a point of never defending herself to him, not after that first ugly night. Then why... ?

  ‘If I’m boring you, just say so.’

  She blinked. Conor was standing facing her, his hands on his hips, his mouth narrow.

  ‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘no, you’re not. I don’t know anything about horses, just how to ride a bit.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you made a point of learning that.’ His eyes were like chips of green ice. ‘Riding is a way of life here, on the finca, but I suppose it’s a sort of a prerequisite for the life you prefer.’

  Arden’s eyes flashed as dangerously as his. ‘I don’t suppose it would ever occur to you that I simply like to ride.’

  He smiled tightly. ‘You’re right. It wouldn’t.’

  ‘I hate to disappoint you,’ she said with a toss of her head, ‘but I do.’

  ‘What do you like best about it, hmm? The people you meet? The Hunt Club balls? Come on, Arden, this is me, remember? I know the truth about you.’

  ‘If you did, you’d know that the last thing I’d want to do is go to a ball—’

  ‘Why?’ Conor’s smile was sly. ‘Wouldn’t the wealthy old gentleman who paid for your lessons pay for the gowns you’d need?’

  ‘I paid for my own lessons,’ she snapped, jabbing her forefinger against her breast. ‘I paid by mucking out stalls—’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What do you mean, why? Because I wanted to ride, that’s why! Because riding meant getting away by myself, into the woods where it was quiet, where no one looked at you and judged you by whether you lived on the Hill or in the valley, because sometimes I got tired of watching my mother wait hand and foot on other people...’

  She fell silent, shocked as much by everything she’d said to him as by the fact that she’d needed to say it.

  ‘That’s not a great way to grow up.’

  Arden looked up sharply, searching Conor’s face for some hint of sarcasm, but she found none. She sighed.

  ‘It wasn’t,’ she said. ‘I mean, when I look back I realise that it was—it was just that my mother worked so hard for everything she had...’ Her chin lifted defiantly. ‘And so have I.’

  A long moment seemed to pass. When Conor finally spoke, there was an abrasiveness to his voice Arden had never heard before.

  ‘How hard did you work for that money Lithgow sent to your hotel room?’

  ‘God, but you’re all so damned predictable!’

  She swung away, but Conor reached out and caught her wrist.

  ‘It’s not a tough question, Arden. Surely, you can answer it. How hard did you work for—’

  ‘That was my severance pay!’ She swiveled towards him, her eyes blazing. ‘Lithgow left town before he authorised the office to give it to me. That was why I had to come to work here, for Felix. When I went back to confront him, he promised to make good on what he owed me.’

  ‘And so he sent you an envelope filled with cash.’ Conor’s mouth twisted. ‘Come on, sweetheart, you can come up with a better story than that!’

  ‘It’s the truth, dammit! I was angry because my cheque hadn’t come in. I guess he decided to lay out the money himself and...’ Arden puffed out her breath. ‘I don’t owe you any explanations, Conor!’

  They stood staring at each other, both of them breathing heavily, and then Conor nodded.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said slowly. His fingers flexed; his hand fell away from her wrist. There was a silence, and then he cleared his throat. ‘I was telling you about the horses,’ he said. ‘We have eight stallions, two dozen mares, six foals, and eight geldings.’ He reached out and rubbed the ear of the horse in the last stall and the animal nickered softly in response. ‘Although we may be adding to that number, unfortunately. One of the stallions has been a problem lately, and—’

  ‘And you’d geld him, just for that?’

  ‘It’s not pleasant, but we may have no choice. Diablo is half crazy with the scent of one of the mares. All he can think about is covering her. He’s become a danger to himself and to others.’

  Arden swallowed hard. ‘Can’t you—can’t you solve the problem by letting him... by letting him...’

  What was the matter with her? They were discussing horses, not people, and she’d spent enough time around horses to know that people who bred them discussed the sex lives of the animals as if they were discussing the propagation of cabbages.

  But there was something dark and deep in Conor’s words, just as there was in the way he was looking at her and in the way she was beginning to find it hard to breathe.

  ‘By letting him take her?’ he said. Arden nodded. ‘I’ve tried that,’ be said, very softly. ‘But she won’t accept him. He’s too wild and untamed. Soon, he’ll be dangerous. The passion that drives him makes him unfit for anything else.’

  ‘Well, then,’ she said carefully, ‘whatever you think has to be done...’

  Conor looked at her for a long minute and then he laughed.

  ‘I half expected you to tell me what you thought needs to be done. I mean, now that you think you’ve a claim on the ranch—’

  ‘Think? I don’t “think”, Conor, I know! I have a claim on the ranch.’

  ‘Which is why you came strolling down to the stables to check things out first hand.’

  ‘I told you, I came to saddle a horse and go riding.’

  ‘Ah.’ He shifted lazily and tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. ‘You thought you’d kill two birds with one stone, make an inventory of the stock we own, and see the finca close up, all at the same time.’

  Arden’s brows lifted. ‘We don’t own anything.’

  ‘I was trying to be polite. But you’re right: it’s better to be honest.’ His smile tightened. ‘I own it all.’

  ‘Keep on dreaming, if it makes you happy.’

  ‘You’re in for one hell of a disappointment, sweetheart. El Corazon will never belong to anyone but me.’

  ‘According to your uncle’s will—’

  ‘I’d advise you to remember that nothing will change on this finca while the will is in probate. For the past five years, I’ve made all the decisions here.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll just bet you have!’

  ‘Is there some deep meaning in that remark?’

  Arden shrugged her shoulders. ‘Felix told me how determined you were to push him aside and take over.’

  ‘Did he,’ he said, in a way that made the words a statement, not a question.

  ‘Felix was old, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew what you wanted—’

  ‘—and you helped him find a way to keep me from getting it.’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘How generous of you, Arden.’

  ‘If you’re implying that I suggested he leave the ranch to me—’

  ‘I’d rather a court made that determination.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! I told you, Felix and I never discused El Corazon or what should be done with it.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’

  He smiled coolly. ‘But you just said you did.’

  ‘Wipe that smug look from your face, Conor! Felix told me you wanted to snatch the ranch from him. End of story.’

  ‘Did it ever occur to you to ask me my plans for El Corazon instead of swallowing Felix’s story intact?’

  ‘Are you telling me he was lying?’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything, for God’s sake!’

  Arden laughed in his face. ‘Who’
s got a foul mouth now?’

  Conor reached out and grabbed her. ‘You’ll drive me to more than profanity, if you’re not careful!’

  ‘Get out of my way, Conor.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘That’s none of your business!’

  ‘It’s my business if you’re going to sashay around my stables.’

  Arden laughed incredulously. ‘I don’t believe you! We just talked about whose property this is, and still you have the nerve to—’

  ‘El Corazon is still in my possession. And possession is nine-tenths of the law.’

  ‘You can’t possess what you don’t own.’

  He took his hands from his back pockets suddenly, and she fell back. Her shoulders hit the wall and the atmosphere crackled with tension.

  ‘Shall I prove my possession to you, Arden?’

  Her heart kicked against her ribs, but when she spoke, her voice was cool and controlled.

  ‘I should have known. When discussion fails, try intimidation.’

  His smile softened, grew sexy and dangerous. ‘Intimidation? Is that what you call this?’

  ‘What would you call it?’

  He laughed softly. ‘I’m sure we can come up with a name, if we try hard enough.’

  ‘Stop it,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m not in the mood for...’

  ‘You’ve been in the mood for this from day one,’ he said softly, taking hold of her shoulders.

  ‘You bastard! You don’t—’

  His mouth dropped to hers, cutting off the rest of her words. His kiss was expert and sensual, the kiss of a man accustomed to winning response from a willing woman, but Arden wasn’t willing. He drew back.

  ‘Go on, play hard to get.’ He smiled. ‘A little makebelieve- can be fun.’

  ‘Let go of me,’ she said coldly.

  ‘You don’t really want me to do that.’

  ‘You haven’t any idea what I want or don’t want!’

  ‘Haven’t I?’

  ‘No! You think—you’re so damned certain that I...’

  Suddenly, to Arden’s dismay, tears rose in her eyes. She tried blinking them back but it was impossible; she felt them roll down her cheeks and she stared at Conor in horror, hating herself for this unexpected show of weakness, hating him for somehow bringing it on. She had not cried once throughout this whole hideous ordeal, not when Edgar Lithgow had attacked her, not when Conor had degraded her, not even when she’d found herself adrift in a strange country.

  Conor drew in his breath. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘I’m not! I never cry!’

  His thumbs lifted, skimmed her cheeks, smudging the tears against her skin.

  ‘No?’ he said softly. ‘What do you call this, then?’

  ‘Stupidity.’ The tears came harder and she closed her eyes. ‘All right, Conor, make the most of this moment. I promise you, you’ll never see me cry again.’

  ‘Hell,’ he said again, his voice rough. He took her face in his hands and lifted it to him. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry. I only wanted to—I only wanted to—’ His gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘I only wanted to kiss you,’ he whispered, and he bent to her, his mouth unrelenting in its search for hers and incredibly, indescribably tender in its capture.

  There were a thousand reasons to deny him, a thousand more to pound her fists against his chest and tear free of the arms that were encircling her. But she did neither. A sweet, fierce flame burst to life deep within her; she gave a sob of acquiescence, rose on her toes, and wound her arms tightly around Conor’s neck.

  He groaned her name and gathered her closer, kissing her again and again. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs moulded to his, their heartbeats merged and became one swift, galloping race of desire.

  Arden put her hands into Conor’s hair, curling her fingers into that dark silk she had so longed to touch. What was the point in denying it now? He was right. She had wanted this for days, for weeks, perhaps for a lifetime, she’d wanted to touch him, to be touched by him, to hold him in her arms and feel his passion, know he wanted her.

  It was impossible to get close enough to him. She wanted to feel every inch of his flesh against hers, she wanted to touch him everywhere and be touched in return.

  It was as if Conor had read her thoughts. He shifted his weight and all at once she felt the hardness of his arousal press against her. Heat bloomed deep in her belly and filled her with desire. The sweetness of the kiss became the fire of passion.

  Conor’s fingers tunnelled into her hair, tugged her head back. His teeth nipped sharply at her bottom lip and she made a little sound of pleasure and opened her mouth to him. He whispered against her lips, words in Spanish that needed no translation. His hands slipped to her buttocks and he lifted her into the pulsing thrust of his erection.

  ‘Querida,’ he murmured, ‘querida mia...’

  His hands were under her T-shirt, tugging it impatiently from her jeans; his mouth was at her throat. He fumbled at the front closure of her bra and then her breasts were naked in his hands. She cried out as his thumbs skimmed across her nipples, cried out again as a flooding pool of warmth and dampness welled between her thighs.

  ‘Conor,’ she said desperately, as if the answer to what was happening to her might be contained in that one word, ‘Conor,...’

  ‘Cuidado!’

  The warning cry sliced the air like the crack of a whip. Arden’s eyes flew open. She heard the beat of powerful hoofs and then the sound of her own scream as a huge black stallion came thundering down the aisle towards them, its breath hot and its eyes rolling.

  Conor lunged for the animal’s halter, and the beast reared up on its hind legs, slashing at the air with razorsharp hooves.

  ‘Conor,’ she screamed, and he thrust her behind him. The back of her skull thunked hard against the stable wall.

  After that, there was only darkness.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ARDEN had never passed out in her life. What she knew about such things came from films and books. Women fainted, then returned to consciousness with a sort of genteel grace.

  But fiction, it seemed, had little to do with real life. One moment she was submerged in a sea of darkness and the next, she was rushing up through that sea towards a blinding light while an urgent voice repeated her name endlessly.

  Her eyelids felt heavy but she forced them open and focused her vision on a face looking down at her. It was Conor, but Conor as she had never seen him, with his skin drawn tight over his cheekbones and his eyes as dark as the darkest jade.

  ‘Conor?’ she said in a shaky whisper.

  A long, slow exhalation of pent-up breath whistled from his lungs and he smiled.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘It’s all right, querida You’re fine.’

  Was she? Her head hurt a little, but she couldn’t remember why any more than she could understand the reason she was lying here, tightly held in Conor’s encircling arms. She only knew that there was comfort in those arms, comfort and a peace she had never known before.

  She ran her tongue over her lips. ‘What—what happened?’

  ‘You hit your head against the wall and knocked yourself out.’

  Arden frowned. ‘Did I? I don’t remember...’

  And then she did. The horse, the huge black horse, coming suddenly from out of the shadows, its hoofs slashing down like razors; Conor, shoving her behind him to safety; Conor, facing the animal’s fierce rage alone...

  ‘The horse,’ she said frantically as she struggled to get up, ‘oh, God, the horse...’

  Conor’s arms tightened around her. He held her closer, whispering soothing words in Spanish, rubbing her back gently, as if she were a frightened child.

  ‘It’s over, querida,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re safe now. Diablo’s safely locked away.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ She drew back, enough so she could look searchingly into his face. ‘Did he hurt you?’

 
He smiled a little. ‘No, no, I’m fine. The horse broke loose from the boy who was taking him back to his stall, but he’s safely locked away now.’

  Arden sighed, closed her eyes, and let Conor’s gentle hands go on stroking the tension from her body.

  ‘Good,’ she whispered.

  ‘Arden.’ His hand cupped her cheek and she opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘Don’t drift off again, querida. You might have a concussion.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I can see OK, and I’m not nauseous or anything...’ She winced as she sat up a little. ‘My head hurts, though.’ Her breath caught as she touched her fingers lightly to the back of her skull. ‘And I’ve got a lump here, but—’

  ‘Let me see.’ Conor leaned forward, his fingers dancing over hers. ‘Yes, I see it. It’s not bleeding, but I’ll take a better look when we get to the house.’

  She nodded. The simple action sent a dull pain rocketing through her skull and she made a little sound of distress.

  ‘Easy, querida,’ Conor shifted her in his arms. ‘A couple of aspirin and an ice-pack will make you feel better while we wait for the doctor.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I don’t need a doc—What are you doing?’

  ‘What does it look as if I’m doing?’ he said as he scooped her up and rose to his feet.

  ‘I can walk!’

  ‘I’m sure you can.’ He strode to the stable door and shouldered it open. ‘But I’m not taking any chances until I’ve checked you over more thoroughly.’

  ‘Conor, really, I’m perfectly fine. You don’t have to carry me.’

  He glanced down at her. ‘I don’t,’ he said in a tone that she recognised all too well, a tone that said Conor Martinez was in charge and everyone else had better stay out of the way. ‘But I’m going to.’ He smiled a little in a way that softened the hard-edged command. ‘Why don’t you just enjoy the ride, querida?’

  She stared into his eyes. They had gone back to the colour of emeralds again, although now that her face was only inches from his she could see that the irises were flecked with gold.

  ‘Arden.’ His voice was soft. ‘Put your arms around my neck, OK?’

  It was such a simple suggestion, but the intimacy in the way he was holding her would somehow be heightened when she looped her arms around him. It was easy, breathtakingly easy, to imagine him carrying her not to her room but to some soft, secret corner of the garden where he would make love to her for hours and hours.