Spring Bride

by Sandra Marton

“You were asleep,” Kyra said, smiling up at him.

  ”Sí. In that case, you should have told Dolores.”

  Her smile dimmed just a little. “Why?”

  “Well, because—because…” Because I don’t know what I would do if you left me. Antonio frowned. “I was concerned.”

  “About what? Nothing can happen to me here, Antonio.”

  She was right, of course. What he was concerned about had nothing to do with reality and everything to do with love—but how could he tell her that?

  “That is true,” he said stiffly, “but this is my island, and I am responsible for the welfare of everything and everyone on it.”

  The smile left her face altogether. “I see,” she said. She drew back out of his arms and turned to the paddock again. “Perhaps I should sign in and out in the future.”

  Antonio winced. Stupid, he told himself, stupid! Gently, he put his hands on her shoulders.

  ”Querida,” he said softly, “forgive me. It is just that—that I awakened and reached for you but you were not there. My bed suddenly was cold and lonely.”

  His words reached into Kyra’s heart. She sighed, turned to him, and laid her hands against his chest.

  “Let’s start over,” she said. “Good morning, Tonio.”

  Antonio smiled back at her. “Good morning, querida.” He kissed her gently, then drew back, his arms still encircling her. “I have a plan.”

  “A plan?” She laughed softly and leaned back in his arms. “That sounds serious.”

  “Well, it is not serious but it is important.” He flashed her a quick grin. “As much as I would like to keep you at my mercy, with no papers and no clothes, I have decided it is wrong.” Antonio took her face in his hands. “I am going to take you to Caracas so you can pick up a new passport and visa.”

  “And clothes.”

  He laughed. “And clothes, sí.” His eyes met hers. “I am hoping that even with all of those things in your hands, you will choose to stay here with me.”

  For how long? she thought, but she only nodded.

  “You know I will.”

  Antonio’s heart swelled. His head was full of words, but his tongue wouldn’t form them. There was time. There was lots of time.

  “So then,” he said, “it is settled, yes?”

  “Yes. And I’m glad you mentioned going to Caracas. I was going to ask you about it. I mean, I’ve thought of so many things that I need to take care of—”

  Antonio kissed her lightly on the mouth.

  “It is too early in the day for a beautiful woman to waste time thinking.”

  It was a gallant compliment, flowery and Latin. Still, it made her smile tilt just a little.

  “I’m serious, Antonio.”

  “So am I. Truly, there is nothing for you to worry your beautiful head over. I have thought of everything.”

  She laughed. “Such modesty! What do you mean, you’ve thought of everything?”

  “Well, as I said, though I love the way you look, dressed in my things, querida, I know you long for clothes of your own.”

  “Oh yes, I do. I’m going to telephone my bank and-”

  “There is no need. I will take you shopping. Whatever you buy will be charged to my account.”

  “That’s very generous, Antonio, but I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “Nonsense.” Antonio waved his hand in the air in that imperious gesture that had almost driven her crazy a couple of days ago. “That is how it will be. There is nothing to discuss.”

  “You’re wrong.” Kyra cleared her throat. “I think—I think there are lots of things to discuss. I appreciate what you’re doing, but—”

  “Sweetheart, if you wish, we can talk in the plane.”

  Antonio looped his arm around her waist. “And I told your embassy to have your papers ready promptly at noon, and—”

  “My embassy? You mean, you got in touch with them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Yes, but—but I’m the one who lost the passport and visa—”

  “And I am the one who will see to it that they are replaced.” He hugged her and smiled. “You see, querida? There is no need for you to lift a finger. I will do it all.”

  “You should have asked me first, Antonio.”

  “Asked you what? These things had to be done, yes?”

  “That isn’t the point. I’m perfectly capable of—”

  ”Mia querida, is it so terrible that I wish to take care of you?”

  She stared at him for a moment, and then she gave a deep sigh.

  “No, of course not. But—but…” She hesitated, trying to find the right way to phrase what she needed to tell him. “The thing is, I’ve always had someone taking care of me, Antonio. I mean, everyone in my family’s always been-”

  “Protective. Yes. So you said.” He smiled. “It pleases me to know that you had such love all your life. It is very Latin.”

  A cold hand seemed to close around Kyra’s heart. “It may be Latin,” she said carefully, “but my father…”

  Kyra broke off and stared at him. But what? But thinking for someone else, protecting them from real life, making them live their lives as an extension of yours, wasn’t love.

  How could she tell him that, when she knew there had never been anyone to care for him, that he had probably seen all too much of real life? It would be like explaining the way new shoes might pinch your feet to a man with no shoes at all.

  “Tonio,” she said, “please try to understand. I do appreciate your concern for me. But you and I—”

  “Sí.” Antonio looked into Kyra’s beautiful eyes, and his heart turned over. Why had he thought he could wait to tell her that he loved her? The knowledge lit his soul like a flame. He wanted to tell her he adored her, to ask her to marry him, to know the joy of seeing her smile and say yes. ”Sí,” he said again, and he took a deep breath. “You and I, Kyra. That is what I wish to talk to you about.”

  Kyra’s heart stood still. “You?” she said, her eyes searching his. “You—and I?”

  “Yes.” Yes? Was that all he could manage to croak out? Dios, what was wrong with him? He was a fool, stumbling for words. And it wasn’t necessary. She loved him; he knew that she did. He cleared his throat. “I realize we have only known each other for a few days,” he said, “and that—that our backgrounds are very different.”

  “Yes,” Kyra said quickly. She put her palms flat against his chest and felt his heart galloping beneath her fingers. “Yes, they are. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s so complicated, Antonio, but—but I’ll try to make you understand. You see, my brothers were so much older. They became very protective of me.”

  “Of course. I have no difficulty understanding that. What man would not feel protective of you, querida?”

  “And my father…how can I explain? He had certain expectations for me—”

  Antonio stiffened. “Expectations?”

  “Yes. He had my life planned. He was determined that I only do certain things, know certain kinds of people—”

  ”Sí. I am sure he did.”

  “I had to live up to those expectations, Antonio. It wasn’t a matter of choice.” Kyra shook her head. “It’s like a—a family requirement, you know? A set of commands that are never spoken, that you grow up knowing have to be obeyed for the rest of your life.”

  “I tell you again, I understand all of this, Kyra.” He smiled, but it was not a smile that reached his eyes. “You may have grown up with privilege and I without, but that does not mean I do not believe in expectations and rules, as well.”

  “That’s just the point! You seem to think I’d want to go from one set of rules to another.”

  Antonio folded his arms over his chest. “The principles that govern my life are not so different from yours. I would expect you to accept them.”

  Dammit, why was he being so impossible? Before her eyes, he was turning back into the cold, unyielding tyrant he’d been before they became lov
ers. She was trying to make him understand that she would never march to the beat of anyone else’s drum again and he was arrogantly assuring her that she would if he were the drummer!

  “Antonio,” she said with forced patience, “try looking at this from my viewpoint. I grew up in this—this enormous house—”

  “Ah, sí.” He smiled coldly. “I have no difficulty imagining it, Kyra. A big house.”

  “Yes. A mansion.”

  “Filled with all the trappings of power and money.”

  “Exactly.” She waved her hand toward his beautiful, warm home. “It was nothing like this place, Antonio, nothing at all like it.”

  A flush rose high on his cheeks. “I am not stupid, Kyra. The picture you paint is quite clear. You grew up a princess in a castle.”

  Kyra gave a little laugh. “Rapunzel?” she said. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

  A terrible coldness was forming around Antonio’s heart. He wanted to reach out and pull Kyra into his arms, kiss her and kiss her until she remembered that everything she was talking about was unimportant compared to what they felt for each other.

  But the truth was he had no idea what she felt for him. He had made assumptions, leaped to conclusions…

  He had made that mistake before.

  He turned, walked a few steps, then swung around to face her.

  “None of this mattered yesterday,” he said tonelessly, his eyes on her face.

  Kyra sighed. “It did. It’s part of the reason I was so hesitant about—about our becoming involved.” It’s one of the reasons I was so afraid to admit to myself that I was falling in love with you. The thought was so clear and sharp in her head…but this wasn’t the time to speak of love, not when Antonio was standing there looking stern and unapproachable, when she was standing here knowing that she could never be herself if she allowed him to control her life. “I suppose—I suppose it would have been better if you’d known more about me before I came to your island, Antonio, but—”

  “But you did not come here willingly.” A muscle danced in his cheek. “I brought you here.”

  “Yes. And I didn’t expect—I didn’t expect—”

  “To end up in my bed.”

  Kyra winced. She had meant that she hadn’t expected to fall in love. Antonio’s words, delivered with stoic callousness, put a very different edge on things and brought a rush of flame to her cheeks.

  “That’s true.”

  ”Sí. It is. It is true that I brought you here, true that I gave you no choice but to come.” His eyes darkened as he came toward her. “But I did not force you to make love.”

  “I never said you did! I’m just trying to explain why…” She blew out her breath. “I don’t know how to get through to you, Antonio.”

  “Perhaps,” he said coldly, “it would be best if you simply got to the point.”

  “The point,” she said, flinging out her arms, “is that we have different expectations. I knew that as soon as you told me about yourself, about your childhood. I should have said something then, but I didn’t want to hurt you…”

  She was still talking, her silver eyes fixed on his, but Antonio was no longer listening. Why should he, when he knew what she was going to tell him? He was not good enough for her. She would say it with more kindness than Jessamyn, but the message would be the same. Despite his wealth, despite his feelings for her, she was still the princess and he was the commoner. He was good enough for the dark passion that swept over them in the night, but anything else was out of the question.

  A rage so deep it drove every sane thought from his head swept through Antonio. He wanted to reach out and grab Kyra, to shake her until her bones rattled, to force her face up to his and kiss her until she cried out the truth, that the “expectations” that were so important to her would never allow her to admit that she had fallen in love with the rough-bred bastard who loved her.

  But he didn’t love her. He was only a victim of the same foolishness that had happened years ago.

  Was he such a sentimental idiot that he could not want a woman for more than a couple of days without trying to convince himself he loved her?

  “Enough,” he said, his voice slicing harshly into her endless explanation.

  “Antonio?” Kyra stared at him. His face had become a white mask under its olive hue; the skin was drawn so tight that it looked as if it might tear over the sharp bones beneath. “Antonio, please. Listen to me.”

  “I am done listening.”

  “I don’t think you’ve listened at all.”

  “I have listened,” he said with disdain, “and now I am bored.”

  Kyra flushed. “Bored? Bored, while I’ve tried to explain how we might work things out?”

  His teeth flashed in a quick smile. “I know what you have proposed, Kyra. We will go on as we have been, with you in my bed.”

  Her flush deepened. “Well, yes. That will give us time to explore each other, and—”

  Antonio laughed. “Ah, querida, I have explored you all that is necessary. I know what makes you moan, what makes you reach up and pull me down to you. What more exploration do I need than this?”

  Kyra paled. That he should reduce things to such a level stunned her. Was this what happened when he couldn’t get his own way?

  Antonio saw the look on Kyra’s face. He had hurt her deeply; he should have felt a rush of satisfaction. Instead, a pain lanced into his heart.

  “Kyra…”

  “Don’t,” she said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I—I want to leave here, Antonio.”

  “Kyra, what I just said—”

  “I don’t give a damn about what you just said,” she lied. Her chin lifted. “I wish to be in Caracas by this afternoon.”

  Antonio’s eyes narrowed. “I am not a boy to be given orders.”

  “No.” Kyra’s voice trembled. “You’re not a boy, Antonio You’re a coldhearted, mean-tempered, no-good-”

  She cried out as his hands closed on her shoulders.

  “Be careful of what you say to me,” he growled.

  “I’ll say whatever I damned well please.”

  “You will not!”

  “Listen, Antonio, maybe you can give orders to the rest of the world, but I won’t take them!”

  “But you will, querida.” The coldness in his tone made the word anything but an endearment. “You are my servant on this island. Have you forgotten that—or did you think your performance in bed would satisfy your debt?”

  Kyra felt the blood drain from her face. How could she have thought herself in love with this man? No woman could love Antonio del Rey, not if she valued her self-respect.

  “Thank you for reminding me of my position here,” she said, her voice trembling. “And you’re right, Antonio. I haven’t repaid my debt. But if there’s a shred of decency in that—that block of ice you call a heart, you’ll let me leave San Sebastian right away.”

  He nodded stiffly. “With pleasure. I will telephone for an air taxi.”

  He turned and walked away. By late afternoon, new passport and visa in hand, Kyra was at the airport in Caracas and on her way home.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT WAS the coldest winter Colorado had seen in years.

  Everyone agreed to that, from the TV weather forecasters trying not to look gleeful as they flashed satellite maps and photographs each evening to the tourists pouring into towns like Aspen and Boulder.

  For her part, Kyra was too busy to notice.

  She had returned from the Caribbean filled with a brisk, almost brittle, energy. Within a week’s time, she had signed up for evening classes in computer science and real estate at the university and accepted chairmanship of an art exhibition that people said would be the highlight of the season.

  In November, she got a call from Zach. He wanted to tell her that he’d gotten married in Las Vegas over the weekend. There hadn’t been time for a real wedding, he said. He and his bride had only been able to take a couple
of days off between films.

  “When we finish this picture, we’ll come for a long visit. You’ll love Eve, Sis,” he said, and Kyra replied she was sure she would. She was happy for him even if, for some unaccountable reason, the news of his marriage put a lump in her throat.

  A couple of weeks later, Grant phoned.

  “You’ll never believe it,” he said happily, “but I’m married! Crista’s wonderful. She’s in the middle of opening her shop—she makes jewelry. Beautiful stuff, you’ll see. Things should ease up in the spring. We’ll come for a long visit I just know you’ll love her.”

  Kyra said she was sure she would. And the lump rose in her throat again.

  Cade didn’t phone; he was off in the middle of nowhere, searching for oil, but from everything that he had—and hadn’t—said the last time Kyra had seen him, she had the feeling that he, too, had fallen in love.

  All the Landons had, except her.

  What she’d felt for Antonio had nothing to do with love. It had to do with sex. Antonio was a sexy man and she’d wanted to sleep with him, but she hadn’t been adult enough to admit it. So she’d created a dreamscape of hearts and flowers and forever-after—and she thanked her lucky stars she hadn’t let herself get trapped inside it.

  She was living her own life now, and if sometimes she woke in the dark with traces of dampness on her cheeks and a lump in her throat, it didn’t mean a damn thing except that maybe she was coming down with a cold—or maybe she needed something more to do.

  In December, the short days and endless storms made the mansion seem gloomier than ever.

  “I hate this place,” Kyra said to Stella one night, as the wind whistled outside.

  And just like that, it came to her.

  She wouldn’t sell the house. It was home, despite everything, and she loved the land and the lake and the mountains that surrounded it. But the house could be changed.

  The next morning, Kyra phoned her banker to be sure of just how much money she had. The answer was staggering. It was enough to tear down the mansion and rebuild it ten times over.

  But that wouldn’t be necessary. All she needed was an architect, a contractor and an auctioneer to sell off virtually all the mansion’s massive furniture and pretentious works of art.