Spring Bride

by Sandra Marton

  “No! Damn you, Antonio—”

  “I am already damned,” he said thickly. “Damned with wanting you. Stop fighting me, stop fighting yourself. Admit it is the same for you.”

  “No,” she said again, “no…”

  His mouth took hers again in a hard, passionate kiss. Kyra went completely still—and then, with a cry of hunger, she acknowledged the desire she had tried so hard to suppress hours ago in her bedroom. Antonio was right. She wanted him as she had never imagined wanting any man.

  She raised herself to him, her hands clasping his forearms, her mouth opening to his kiss.

  Antonio stumbled back against the wall, taking her with him, letting his hard body support her soft, supple weight.

  “Kyra,” he whispered, “Kyra, mia exquisita…” His teeth nipped lightly at her bottom lip as his hands swept into her hair. He drew her head back, looked down into her eyes. “I want you now,” he said fiercely. “I cannot wait any longer.”

  Kyra felt herself quicken at his harsh words. “Here?” she whispered. “In the stable?”

  ”Sí. No one will disturb us. My men are out with the horses.”

  “But—but—” She caught her breath as his hands swept under her shirt and cupped her naked breasts. “Antonio,” she said, “Antonio…”

  He swept the shirt over her head. It sailed through the air and into a corner. Her hands rose instinctively to cover her breasts, but he caught her wrists and drew her hands to her sides.

  “No,” he said, “no, do not hide from me, Kyra. Ah, you are so beautiful.”

  Kyra held her breath, waiting as his hands let go of hers, as they lifted slowly to her breasts and cupped them, and when his thumbs moved across the pink crests, she moaned with pleasure.

  “Do you like it when I touch your breasts?” he said thickly. His hands were still on her, touching and stroking, but his eyes, dark as midnight, were on her face. “Tell me what you like. Tell me what you want.”

  “I want…I want…” She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. Her body had told him, and her kisses, but now she said the words that had been buried deep within her all these weeks. “Oh, Tonio,” she whispered, “I want you!”

  Antonio caught her to him and kissed her deeply. Then he scooped her up into his arms and carried her through the stable to a shadowed stall spread with clean, sweetsmelling hay. He let her down slowly, kissing her as he did, and then he took a folded cotton blanket from a shelf, spread it over the hay, and eased her down beside him.

  “I have dreamed of this,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “Have you?”

  ”Sí I have dreamed like a boy of kissing you, so.” His mouth brushed hers. “Of touching your breasts.” His hand drifted over her skin, caressing her until she moaned. “Of making you mine.”

  His fingers closed on the zipper of her shorts It opened and his hand slid inside, his fingers moving over her belly and into the soft curls that were already damp with her need.

  Kyra caught her breath as Antonio’s palm closed over her.

  ”Querida. You are so hot, so wet…” His hand moved, his fingers stroked.

  “Tonio,” she whispered, her eyes wide, “wait.”

  “Kiss me,” he murmured against her mouth.

  She did, and while his tongue moved against hers, his hand moved against her flesh until suddenly, with a soft, wild cry, she bucked against his touch in ecstasy.

  “Tonio.” Her voice broke. Her hand rose, cupped his cheek. “Tonio, I never.. ”

  He smiled, turned his face and pressed his lips to her palm. Then he drew back, pulled off his shirt, and took her in his arms again.

  The feel of her skin against his was so simple, yet it was as erotic as anything he’d ever experienced. He kissed her, reveling m the taste of her mouth. Then he took her hands, kissed them, then brought them to his shoulders and drew her flattened palms down his chest while he looked into her eyes. They were dark and wide with desire. Slowly, he eased the shorts from her body

  The sight of her lying before him, naked and languid, was almost more than he could bear. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her breasts were round and rose-tipped above a slender waist; her hips were sweetly curved and looked made to fit his hands. And the tuft of curls that guarded her femininity was a lush, deep auburn.

  Antonio’s muscles tensed. He ached to bury his face at that juncture of her thighs, to inhale her scent and taste the petals of the flower he knew lay hidden within her.

  But he was already too close to the point of no return. He didn’t want to enter her in one swift thrust and then explode within her like a boy, and that was surely what would happen if he gave in to the primal urge that was drumming its ancient beat in his blood. Instead, he kissed her mouth again, losing himself in its sweetness and its heat, and then he rose, kicked off his sneakers, and undid his zipper.

  Kyra caught her breath at the soft sound of the zipper opening. Her heart cried out for Antonio’s possession but her head was warning her that once she’d made love with him, her life would never be the same again.

  But it was too late for rational thought. Antonio was standing before her, his eyes as blue as the sea, his face flushed with desire, and Kyra’s heart kicked against her ribs.

  He was magnificent. His shoulders were broad, his arms and torso golden and tautly muscled. His skin was satin laid over steel, and she ached to touch all of him, to see all of him.

  It was as if she had spoken aloud. Antonio stripped off the shorts and stood before her, glorious in his arousal.

  Her eyes flew to his and he smiled and came down beside her, whispering her name. Her gaze moved across his face, that wonderful, arrogant face, and with shattering swiftness her heart flooded with an emotion so bnght, so pure, that it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Sweetheart?” Antonio cupped her face in his hands. ”Mia novia, why do you cry?”

  Because I just realized that I adore you, Kyra thought, but she only shook her head and lifted her arms to him.

  The gesture tore into Antonio’s heart. He kissed her passionately, then lowered himself between her thighs and with infinite slowness began sheathing himself in her slick heat.

  Sweat beaded his skin. He could feel his breath rasping in his throat. He wanted to go slowly, to see Kyra tumble over that precipice again before he followed.

  But he couldn’t wait. His need was too great. He had to claim her at last, to bury himself inside her and go with her into that dark, starswept whirlpool.

  With a groan, Antonio thrust forward—and met the barrier of Kyra’s virginity.

  Every muscle in his body went rigid. He thought his heart might swell to bursting with the knowledge that he was the first man to know the soft secrets of her woman’s flesh, the first to make her tremble in fulfillment.

  “Antonio,” she sobbed, “please, please…”

  Fiercely, he kissed her. Then, his mouth still on hers, he slid his hands beneath her, lifted her to him, and thrust home.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE French had a saying Kyra had learned years ago from Mile Dufour, who had been one of her language tutors.

  The more things seemed to change, the more they stayed the same.

  It had been Mademoiselle’s favorite adage, her way of explaining everything in the world from floods to famines to why the trains didn’t run on time.

  Kyra would be doing her daily lesson, reading aloud from Paris Match or Elle when some item would spark Mademoiselle’s interest.

  “Let me see that, cherie,” she’d say, and after a moment she’d look up, roll her eyes and say alors, it was obvious that there was nothing different in this world. Things seemed to change from one day to the next, but truly, they did not.

  Now, as Kyra stood leaning back in Antonio’s arms, watching the crimson sun begin its descent over the sea, she thought how wonderful it would be if Mademoiselle were to suddenly appear.

  “You were wrong,” she would say. “Oh, yo
u were so very, very wrong.”

  Things could change. Things did change, and with heart-stopping swiftness.

  A little more than a week ago, bogged down in the age-old “who-am-I, what-am-I” quest, she’d set out on a simple adventure, hoping it might somehow jolt her into figuring out where her destiny lay.

  Now she knew that it lay in Antonio’s arms.

  Her world had changed, and all because she’d gone to a dance recital she hadn’t much wanted to attend, booked passage on a ship she’d known nothing about, had her purse snatched by a thief on the streets of a city where she was a stranger…

  A soft laugh bubbled in her throat.

  Antonio drew her closer into his arms. “What is this?” His tone was gruff but she could feel his lips curve into a smile as he pressed them lightly to her temple. “The tourist office would be appalled to know that the sight of the sunset makes my Kyra laugh.”

  My Kyra. Her heart seemed to repeat the magical words and she smiled and tilted her face to his.

  “What tourist office? We rode our horses the length of this island today and I didn’t see anything but sun and sea and sky.”

  Antonio grinned. “You are a very observant woman, Señorita Landon. Have I told you that?”

  “I don’t think so. All I recall your saying is that I’m a danger in the kitchen but that I have an excellent seat.”

  “Indeed.” His smile tilted as he turned her in his arms. His hand slid down her back and gently cupped her bottom. “Actually, I should have said you have an extraordinary seat. One I will never tire of admiring.”

  Kyra laughed and wound her arms around his neck. “I was talking about my riding technique, señor.”

  ”Sí.” Antonio’s eyes darkened. “As was I.”

  His soft words sent a flood of color racing into her cheeks. She gave a soft laugh and buried her face in his throat.

  “Hush, Antonio. Dolores might hear you.”

  “Dolores is in the kitchen, preparing a feast she will pretend is the light supper I requested.” Smiling, he put his arm around Kyra and they began walking slowly along the gravel path that led through the garden. The dogs, Bashful and Dopey, yawned, got to their feet, and loped on ahead. “My housekeeper is a happy woman, thanks to you.”

  Kyra looked up at him and smiled. “I’ll bet she is. She probably had visions of my bringing her kitchen down around her ears.”

  Antonio thought of what Dolores had said to him just that morning, that she had despaired of ever seeing him so happy. But it was too much to admit, even though he knew in his heart it was the truth. He was not ready to give so much of himself away, to trust so completely.

  ”Síi.” He bent his head and kissed Kyra’s upturned face. “She thanked me for getting you out from under her feet. I said it was a sacrifice but one any man would make to be certain his meals were served on time ”

  He laughed as Kyra swung out in front of him and mimed a look of fierce indignation.

  “And here I thought you were about to give me a compliment! I suppose I should have known bet—”

  Her breath caught as Antonio swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

  “You have made me happy, too, querida,” he said softly, framing her face in his hands. “Is that a compliment more to your liking?”

  “You know it is.”

  “And is it one you can return?”

  Kyra smiled into his eyes. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life ”

  Antonio lifted her face to his. “Is this true?”

  “Yes. Oh, Tonio, I…”

  “What? What were you going to say, sweetheart?”

  That I love you.

  The words were there on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. If only Antonio would say them first, if only he would take her in his arms and kiss her and say, Kyra, mia querida, I adore you.

  “Kyra?” In the gathering darkness, Antonio’s eyes were as deep and unfathomable as the sea. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

  It was hard, but she managed a quick, gently teasing smile.

  “Only that—that somewhere in Caracas, there’s a thief who’ll never know he did a good deed by snatching the purse of an unsuspecting gringa.”

  Antonio smiled, though it took some effort. What had he hoped she would say? Something more, something that would free him to tell her—to tell her…

  He frowned, put his arm around her shoulders, and they began strolling through the garden again.

  “Sí,” he said. “It is strange what misfortune can sometimes bring.”

  Misfortune? It had been the happiest day of her life, Kyra thought as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She had found paradise.

  Yesterday, after they’d made love the first time in the stable, Antonio had taken her back to the house. There, in the quiet of his room and the softness of his bed, he had made love to her again, this time with a slow thoroughness that had left her twisting in his arms, begging him to end the sweet torment.

  At night, they’d dined by candlelight on the patio, Antonio incredibly handsome in a tuxedo, she feeling flushed and silly in his spruce green silk robe with the cuffs rolled back. But Antonio kept telling her how beautiful she looked.

  “More beautiful than any woman I have ever known,” he’d said, until she almost believed him, and if Dolores had been surprised to find that the morning’s scullery maid had turned into a princess by evening, she’d hidden it well. And there’d been a curve to the housekeeper’s lips that had warmed Kyra’s heart.

  After dinner, they’d danced on the moonlightdrenched patio. Eventually, they hadn’t been dancing at all; they’d only been swaying in each other’s arms, kissing and caressing and whispering until Antonio had swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to his room.

  The night had passed in a haze of slow, tender exploration and explosive, fierce passion, and awakening in his arms this morning had been the most wonderful part of it all.

  And today…Kyra’s breath caught. Today, they’d saddled horses and ridden along the beach to a halfmoon cove ringed by coconut palms.

  “How beautiful this is,” she’d said, and Antonio had said yes, she was right, she was, indeed, beautiful.

  “Not me,” she’d said, turning to him and laughing. “That isn’t what I meant, Antonio.”

  But then she’d looked into his eyes, those blazing, sapphire eyes, and in a heartbeat she was in his arms and he was bearing her down beneath him to the hot, white sand.

  The memory sent a shiver of pleasure racing along her skin. Antonio’s arm tightened around her

  “Are you chilly, querida? Sometimes, at night, the breeze that comes in off the sea can be cooler than one would imagine”

  “No, I’m fine. I was just thinking about…” She felt color sweep into her face “Never mind. It’s not important”

  “Was it a good thought or a bad one?”

  She laughed softly. “A good one, but don’t bother trying to find out what If I told you any more, you’d be insufferable.”

  Antonio chuckled. “I am already insufferable, according to you Isn’t that one of the things you called me over the past few days?”

  “Well, you were.” Kyra smiled. “Insufferable, impossible, unbearable—but I suppose if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have dragged me off to your lair.”

  Antonio turned her toward him. He stroked her hair back from her face, his fingers following the shell-like curve of her pink earlobe.

  “You mean,” he said with a little smile, “I would not have brought you here if you had not been stubborn, foolish and altogether impossible.”

  “Me? Impossible?” Kyra laughed softly. “You’re the impossible one, Tonio, not me.”

  Antonio’s thumbs swept over the arc of her cheekbones.

  “Say it again,” he whispered.

  “Say what again?”

  “The name you call me.”

  “Tonio? Isn’t it all right
? I mean, if you don’t like me using it—”

  He kissed her. “I love you using it. It is just that no one has ever used a—what do you call the little name?”

  “A nickname.” Kyra frowned and pulled back in his arms. “Wait a minute No one’s ever called you Tonio before?”

  He laughed at the look on her face. “Why are you so surprised?”

  “What did they call you, then?”

  “When?”

  “Well, when you were little.”

  A muscle knotted in his jaw. “Many things,” he said. “But none you would call a nickname.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Antonio shrugged. “It is not important.”

  “But-”

  “Come, tell me about yourself.” He smiled down at her as they began walking back to the house. “What were you called when you were a little girl?”

  Kyra laughed. “What do you mean, when I was a little girl? As far as my brothers are concerned, I’ll probably never outgrow being called Little Sister or Squirt.”

  Antonio laughed, too. “Squirt? You were squeezed out? Is that it?”

  “No!” She smiled. “That’s not what ‘Squirt’ means when it’s a nickname. It refers to—to something small and insignificant.”

  “This is a term of affection?” he said, his brows lifting.

  “If you knew Cade and Zach and Grant,” she said, “you’d understand.”

  “You have three brothers?”

  “Yes. Although sometimes, when they’re busy poking their noses into my life, it feels as if it’s more like a dozen.”

  Antonio nodded. “They are concerned for your welfare,” he said. “You are fortunate, having a family that loves you.”

  “I know, but-”

  “I had no family.”

  The simple words were harsh and almost without inflection. Kyra stopped walking and swung toward him.

  “No family? But Dolores said—”

  “What?” Antonio’s tone grew sharp. “What did that foolish old woman tell you?”

  “Nothing, really. Just that she and your mother came from the same village and that your father was a Spaniard.”