by Lynda Chance
His life had been orderly before Erin came into it. Always calm, always on an even keel. But not now—hell no, he felt as if he were being torn in two. Before Erin, he’d only cared about two things. His business always came first, but the venganza de sangre, the vendetta his father had been obsessed with was always in the back of his mind. Hell, how could it not be? From the moment his aunt had committed suicide, his father had gone off the rails and demanded retribution for her death.
It had been a rough time, no question about it. His own mother had died when he’d been so young that he barely remembered her. She was only a vague, sketchy image in his brain.
From then on out, it had been his father’s younger sister, Sofia, who’d mothered him. Perhaps his father had taken advantage of the situation, with his younger sister living with them, but Max couldn’t really fault him. Arturo Villarreal had been distraught after his wife had died, although he’d hidden it well from Max when he’d been a child. But as Max had grown older, he’d begun to recognize his father’s pain—and he’d known that the older man had loved the wife he’d lost with a passion that couldn’t be replaced.
Perhaps that was why his father had snapped when Sofia had been taken from them as well. Max had been only a pre-teen when his aunt had left for the United States in search of adventure, but he’d been old enough to be happy for her. She’d assured him that she’d be back, and he’d had such a strong bond with his father that he hadn’t felt as if his aunt had deserted him.
But life had been different after she’d come back to Argentina. She’d been heavily pregnant and unmarried, and his father had been outraged. He’d demanded the name of the man who’d fathered the baby and his aunt had supplied it under duress. From that moment on, his father’s anger hadn’t been directed at Max’s aunt, it had been directed at Gordon Rule. They’d tried, he and his father, to be of comfort to Sofia, but they were men and hadn’t understood her softer feelings.
She’d given birth to baby Nora, and Max remembered their family being happy for a time. But that happiness hadn’t lasted when he realized how his aunt was being ostracized by the community. She had one true friend in the area, a youngish widow by the name of Magdalena Navarro, and Sofia had taken the baby with her for weeks at a time to visit her friend, just to get away, or so they had thought.
The shock of her suicide had devastated them. His aunt had left Nora with Magdalena and unbeknownst to them, she’d come home, gone up to her room and downed a bottle of sleeping pills. It was later that Magdalena had found her handwritten Will—and demanded her right to keep Nora, as Sofia had wanted it.
Their hands had been tied and his father’s pain and anger had escalated. Losing both his sister and Nora had thrown him into a downward spiral, but that wasn’t all. His father had been deeply rooted in his Catholicism and he’d firmly believed that his sister’s soul had been eternally damned by her suicide.
All through Max’s teenage years, it was all his father harped on—his venganza against Gordon Rule. It was preached to him almost night and day—revenge for the death of his Tía Sofia. Revenge for the baby that had been taken away from them. Revenge for the devastation and shame his family had endured. Revenge for his aunt’s soul.
Max had heard it so much that it had been ingrained in him. And truthfully, it hadn’t taken much to convince him that revenge was needed; he’d been cut to the quick by his aunt’s death … and by the loss of Nora.
Magdalena had died when Nora was quite young, and the only son in the family, Rafael Navarro, had inherited the estancia and immediately sent Nora to boarding school. It had pissed Max off to no end that he wouldn’t be able to see the girl grow up, as he felt was his right as her closest living relative.
Nora’s move to boarding school had caused friction between Max and Rafael, and when the young woman had finally came back to Argentina after college abroad, Max had barely been able to contain his anger. To his way of thinking, his young cousin was now living with a man she barely knew—a man who wasn’t even a blood relative. But he’d had no legal say in the matter, and when he’d broached the subject with Rafael, the man had become enraged. There had been zero chance that Navarro would release Nora back to Max. The confrontation had almost ended in blows—and the relationship between Max and Rafael had been contentious ever since.
Now, as Max held onto Erin, he felt the cadence of her breathing even out somewhat, telling him that she was asleep. It wasn’t an easy sleep; she was fitful beside him. He hated that she was troubled, hated that he was the one causing her emotional turmoil. But what the hell was he supposed to do? It was beyond his capabilities to let Erin go—it just wasn’t possible. Part of him realized that his own emotions had shifted—but he wasn’t going there. Emotions made a man vulnerable, and the last thing Max needed was to show vulnerability where Erin was concerned.
But to say he was conflicted was putting it mildly. His honor, his pride, his upbringing—all called for loyalty. Loyalty to his family, loyalty to his father who’d lived and breathed for venganza. And, yet, he knew he wasn’t being fair to Erin. He knew the Rule family wasn’t responsible for the sins of their father—or if Erin was to be believed, and he had no reason to doubt her—the sins of their grandfather, but Max had been conditioned to put la familia first.
He felt as if his foundations had been pulled from beneath his feet. He knew he had to do right by Erin, ironically, his sense of honor demanded it, but letting her go wasn’t an option so what the fuck was he supposed to do?
He admitted it now; he felt untold guilt for keeping her with him by making threats against her family. But only half an hour or so before, just the thought of allowing her to leave had screwed with him so badly that he’d found himself tying her wrist to his in an act of primitive control. He hadn’t planned on doing it; he hadn’t realized he was going to do it until it was already done.
And now, he couldn’t deny that the feel of her tied to his side was soothing to him.
His brain was telling him he had to let her go; his heart and body would never let that happen.
****
Erin woke early the next morning and found Max had vacated their suite—as he normally did. But the difference this morning was his tie from the night before was still wrapped around her wrist in a knot so tight that she knew she’d have to cut the damn thing off with scissors.
She debated what to do about it. She admitted that the sight of his tie around her wrist—clearly the actions of a dominant, territorial lover—was sending butterflies twisting through her stomach. Did he expect her to cut it off? It wasn’t a cheap tie, it was a designer label and in perfect condition. It was on her right arm; she was right-handed and there was no way she could remove it without cutting it. Did he expect her to sail downstairs and let his staff see it around her wrist in all its glory?
She couldn’t even shampoo her hair without damaging the thing. Conflicted, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Dressing hurriedly in shorts and shirt before putting her hair in a ponytail, she went downstairs, the majority of the tie wrapped around her hand in an attempt at camouflage.
She found Max in his office, a cup of coffee at his side as he studied his laptop. As she paused in the threshold of his open door, he glanced up and saw her. Keeping a neutral expression on her face, she lifted her arm and let the material unfold and drop. Standing still, she raised her eyebrows in question.
He stared straight back and raised his own eyebrows in answer.
“Max—”
“What?” he snapped, standing to his feet.
A rush of heat spread through her system as he came around from behind his desk. “I can’t get it off,” she said.
He leaned against the front of his desk in a display of nonchalance that for some reason, looked forced. “So?” he finally asked.
“So? So? So, do you want to get the knot out or do you want me to take scissors to it?”
Slowly, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked in the
direction of the tie, a hint of red slashing across his cheekbones.
When he refrained from answering, she threw her hands up in frustration and swirled around, ready to leave. “Fine—I’ll get the scissors.”
He was on her in a heartbeat.
One masculine hand snagged the end of the tie, holding her in place, as the other hand slammed and locked the door, sealing her inside with him. He spun her around in a dizzying display of speed, dragging her to the oversized couch. Pushing her down so she was lying full length on her back, he came down on top of her. One hand sank into her hair as the other nailed her hand that contained the tie above her head.
Staring into her eyes, he began twisting the cloth around his own hand, fisting it tightly until the back of his hand was against her wrist—she could feel the pull of the material on her skin. His gaze narrowed as he bit out, “Leave it.”
She sucked in a breath. “Leave it? Are you crazy? Everyone will think we’re playing sex games or something.”
“It’s not a game and trust me, I don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks.”
“Max,” she tried to soothe, “This is silly. Please, just untie it.”
“I like the look of it—you’d have left me in the middle of the night without it.”
She didn’t respond to the accusation in his words, only said, “But now it’s morning—take it off.”
Instead of an appropriate response, he lowered his head and kissed her, his hand in her scalp clenching with aggressive force. The same trickle of heat she felt every time he came near hit her low in the pelvis. His scent clouded her thoughts as her legs began quivering.
He first stroked her gently with his tongue, but in a flash of movement, he adjusted the angle of her chin and went back for more. He was greedy now—she felt it. His teeth nipped at her and became biting; she felt the connection like a live wire that radiated from her nipples to the heat between her thighs.
As if he craved control, he lifted her bound arm a couple of inches, stretching her torso, his head dropping to the side of her neck. Tingles ran down her spine as she felt a wave of addictive heat settle over her. He kissed a trail of heat over her neck and up her chin until he found her lips again. She began kissing him back.
At her response, he lifted his head and her eyes flew open. Through the layers of sexual heat, she understood he was manipulating her physically to prove some kind of diabolical point. She flattened her lips. “Do you like that? Having me under your control?”
His eyes flared. “I fucking love it.” With a rush of movement, he brought their entwined arms down and thrust them behind her back in a display of dominant strength that had little to do with the contention between them and everything to do with sex.
His pelvis settled more threateningly between her thighs, his erection pushing up and into her mound. Through a haze of arousal she realized he was still on a short leash from the night before, although she didn’t understand exactly why. She lowered her voice and in a placating tone said, “I haven’t been fighting you. I give in every time and you have to know that I enjoy it.” She swallowed and continued, “Why are you doing this?”
He pushed harder against the juncture of her thighs with his erection. “To prove a point.”
“And what point would that be?”
“That I can.” With those words, he quickly undid the row of buttons on her shirt. Pulling their joined arms from behind her, he lifted their hands to her breasts in tandem. She pulled in a startled breath as he released enough slack on the tie to grab hold of her hand. He plastered her palm to her breast and held it there with his, his fingers delving between hers to find her nipple and tweak it. “It pisses me off that you leave my bed. You’ll sleep tied to me for the rest of your life if that’s what it takes to keep you beside me.”
Why couldn’t he realize that wasn’t what she needed? The question abruptly left her brain as she heard his roar of frustrated arousal. With speedy movements, he released his end of the tie and sank to his knees in front of her. He pushed her shorts and panties to the floor, tossing the garments away, before lifting her one of her legs over his shoulder, his mouth promptly finding her clit.
Stars went off in her head as she pushed everything else away and concentrated only on Max and the conflagration that was shattering her senses.
****
Five days later, Erin was slowly going out of her mind. She didn’t know what the hell kind of campaign Max was waging, but every night she went to sleep tied to him. Every morning she went down to his office with the tie dangling from her wrist.
For five days, the outcome had been the same. He’d sealed her inside the office long enough to go down on her, always forcefully—devastatingly—always making her come with an explosion of heat and need that she’d never known existed before Max entered her life.
And he never finished the encounters with a happy ending for himself. He’d simply rise above her and lift her chin. He’d kiss her deeply and she knew he did it so she could taste herself on his lips. Then finally, he’d loosen the knot around her wrist and slip the tie in his pocket, as if setting her free for the day.
It was enough to make a girl start losing her mind.
She was getting in so deep that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to find happiness without Max in her life. She began dreading going back to the States without him. The angst she was feeling was enough to make her want to get away from her own thoughts. She needed some fresh air to clear her head.
****
Max glanced up from the map he was studying when his ranch manager knocked on the door casing. The man rarely came inside—Max shut the laptop and gave him his attention. “What’s going on?”
“Just letting you know that the rain has started and the weather reports aren’t looking promising. The Sudestada makes it the perfect condition for a flash flood—and you know how bad it was last year.”
“Yeah, thanks for giving me a heads-up. We’re prepared as always, right?”
“Si, but I wanted to make sure Señora Villarreal made it home okay. No one noticed her coming back.”
A stab of worry made Max’s voice too sharp. “Where the hell did she go? And when did she leave?”
“Around noon—and she was on foot, heading for the vineyard—said she was taking a walk.”
An unsettling chill moving along his nerve endings, Max didn’t waste time on more small talk. Surging to his feet, he yelled for his housekeeper to begin a search of the upstairs rooms—just in case Erin had come back. He checked the downstairs area, to no avail; Marisol’s troubled face said it all as she appeared at the top of the stairs. He dialed Erin’s cell, but it went straight to voicemail, so with terse instructions in case Erin turned up, he followed his foreman out the door to begin a search of the extensive estancia for his missing wife.
****
The next ninety minutes were the longest of Max’s life. As his men met to organize the search, the rain came in a steady downpour, the sky turning such an ominous color that Max’s panic steadily increased as the heavens rained down. His frame of mind continued to deteriorate as a sick feeling formed in his gut as the minutes passed.
Four teams of his men began a search for Erin that extended over thousands of acres. Max set off on his own mission on an ATV, making sure to stay in touch with his men by cell phone. He carried a two-way radio as well—just in case. As he explored the quadrant that he’d designated as his search area, the arid fields quickly turned muddy as the rains became torrential.
Although he was dressed for the rain, he became drenched within five minutes.
Wet and frustrated, he drove the perimeter of the vineyard and finding nothing, he drove it again. The rain was so blinding that he could barely see five feet in front of him. The mud became too slippery and he was forced to stop to put the vehicle into four-wheel drive. About to start out again, the wind became so fierce that fear made him hit the steering wheel in frustration before gripping it so hard his knuckles s
howed white. This shit wouldn’t have happened if he’d kept her tied to him.
As he put the vehicle in motion again and pressed the accelerator, the rain let up somewhat, allowing him to see the vague outline of the ruins that lay to the south. The old church was burned out and decayed from over two hundred years of neglect, but it was a shelter of sorts. Would Erin have known of its existence? Could she have somehow stumbled upon it?
Hoping against hope that he would find her there, it still took him another ten minutes of slow going before he pulled in front.
Climbing down from the ATV, he glanced around but didn’t see anything moving or out of place. Pacing around to the passenger side of the vehicle, he pulled out the pistol that was kept there and made sure it was loaded—the last thing he needed was to be slowed down by a wild animal seeking shelter.
The front of the building was missing, falling bricks, weeds and bramble made the entrance difficult to access. He fully expected Erin not to be there, so when he called her name and got an immediate response, elation hit him hard. His heart started beating a hot and heavy cadence.
Pushing into the darkened interior, he found her coming to her feet, wiping her hands on the jeans she was wearing. She was wet and shaking, her lips white from where she’d been biting them. “Are you all right?” he asked abruptly, taking her into his arms.
“I’m f-fine,” she said shakily, through cold, trembling lips.
After he’d established that she was unharmed, he called his foreman and let the man know that Erin was safe and to call off the search.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and gave his full attention back to his wife—his shivering, wet wife. The fact that she was cold and wet at all thoroughly pissed him off and now that he knew she was alive, safe and in one piece, his fear manifested itself in anger. “Why the hell would you leave and not tell anyone where you went?”
“I had no agenda, Max. I only needed to get away from—from the house.”