Master of El Corazon (Harlequin Presents)

by Sandra Marton

  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.

  ‘Arden?’

  His mouth was only inches from hers. A tremor went through her. Yes, she thought, oh, yes ...

  She swallowed hard, then did as he’d asked. Conor nodded.

  ‘Good girl.’

  His stride was long and steady; he carried her as if she were weightless. And it felt-it felt wonderful to be in his arms this way, to feel the steady beat of his heart against hers, to smell the early-morning scents of soap, man, and horse, to feel the warmth of his body under her hands.

  Her heart gave an unsteady thump. Conor glanced down at her and smiled in a way that made her foolish heart skip a beat again.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll be fine, querida. I would never let anything happen to you.’

  But something had already happened to her, and he was the cause of it. Conor was—he was—

  Arden screwed her eyes shut. No. No, she wouldn’t think that way.

  ‘Querida?’ Her eyes flew open. ‘What’s wrong? Are you feeling ill?’

  Dumbly, she shook her head, then buried her face in Conor’s shoulder as the room tilted. He muttered something harsh and his arms tightened around her as he strode into the house.

  ‘Inez!’ he roared.

  The housekeeper came scurrying into the foyer, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. Her dark eyes widened as she took in the scene before her.

  ‘We need two aspirin. And an icepack,’ Conor barked in Spanish as he mounted the stairs. ‘And phone for the medico. Tell him to come at once!’

  Arden’s room was cool and shadowed, the blinds and curtains drawn against the ascending sun. Conor carried her to the bed, sat her down gently and held her in the curve of his arm while he plumped the pillows behind her. Then he eased her back against them and switched on the bedside lamp just as Inez came bustling in with a glass of water, a packet of aspirin, and an ice pack.

  ‘Gracias, Inez. Now,’ Conor said, ‘let’s get a better look at that bump.’ He clasped Arden’s shoulders, drew her towards him until her head was against his chest. Arden closed her eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart as he carefully parted her hair with his fingertips, then stroked lightly over the swelling on her skull. ‘Does that hurt?’

  It did, a little. But being in his arms more than compensated for the discomfort. His touch was soft and tender, and suddenly she recalled how he’d touched her moments before the accident, his hands moving across her bare breasts and arousing her to hot, honeyed passion...

  She scooted back against the pillows. ‘Honestly,’ she said with a shaky laugh, ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Conor smiled. ‘But we’ll let the doctor make it official.’

  ‘No,’ Arden said quickly. ‘I don’t need a doctor, Conor. If you’d just—’ If you’d just leave me alone, before I make a fool of myself, she thought shakily, but that wasn’t what she said. ‘If you’d just let me get some rest—’

  ‘Not until after the doctor’s checked you over.’ Frowning, he leaned towards her and framed her face with his hands. ‘Let me see your eyes.’

  ‘My eyes?’ she repeated foolishly as his face drew level with hers.

  ‘One of the ways you check for concussion is by seeing how the pupils react to light. Look towards the lamp, please.’

  ‘Conor, really, my eyes are fine—’

  ‘They’re not fine.’

  ‘But they are. They’re—’

  ‘They’re beautiful.’ Her eyes flashed to his. He was frowning, as if he’d just seen something he’d never seen before. ‘I just-I just can’t decide if they’re hazel or...’ Their eyes met and a dark flush rose along Conor’s high cheekbones. He cleared his throat and got to his feet. ‘Well,’ he said briskly, ‘why don’t I open these blinds a little?’

  Arden swallowed. ‘Fine,’ she said shakily. She shut her eyes. “That‘s—that’s a good—’

  ‘Don’t close your eyes!’ Her lashes flew up from her cheeks and she stared at him. ‘Remember what I said? I don’t want you to doze off until the doctor’s seen you.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Are you sleepy?’

  She wasn’t. She just didn’t want him to look into her eyes again, for if he did—if he did, who knew what he might see?

  Conor sat down on the bed beside her. ‘Talk to me, Arden, and keep yourself awake.’

  She gave a helpless laugh. ‘Talk to you? About what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Anything.’ He grinned. ‘Tell me about the little girl who mucked stables in her spare time. What did she like, besides horses?’

  ‘This is silly. I’m—’

  ‘Did she play with dolls and colouring books? Or was she a tomboy who was always coming home with dirty knees and bruises on her shins?’

  Arden smiled a little. ‘A tomboy. My mother bought me a doll each Christmas, in hopes I’d turn into the demure child she wanted.’

  His grin widened. ‘But it didn’t work.’

  ‘Uh-uh. I never understood why any girl in her right mind would want to pour tea for her dolls when she could be out tramping through the woods or—’

  ‘Or riding a horse,’ he said, taking her hand in his, ‘so she could get away from all those insensitive bastards who never let her forget she was the daughter of a servant.’

  Arden’s smile vanished. She tried to tug her hand free of his, but he wouldn’t let her do it.

  ‘I don’t know why I told you that,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps because you wanted me to understand you better.’

  Colour stained her cheeks. ‘If you think I was asking you for your pity—’

  ‘Did I say that, querida?’

  ‘No,’ she said, after a second, ‘you didn’t. But—’

  ‘And I do understand you better now. You see, I grew up much the same way.’

  Arden smiled cynically. ‘Who are you trying to kid, Conor? You grew up in this big house—’

  ‘—in this big house, with an uncle who rarely let a day pass without somehow reminding me that he’d taken me in, and I was obliged to him.’

  Her smile faded. ‘Felix?’

  Conor looked down at where her hand lay in his. ‘I don’t really blame him now,’ he said slowly. ‘He didn’t know the first thing about children and all of a sudden, there he was, a man in his seventies, with a boy to raise.’

  Arden looked at him. ‘And so you rebelled,’ she said softly. ‘Is that why you worked on that banana boat?’

  He smiled as he rubbed his fingers lightly over the back of her hand. ‘Sort of. When I turned eighteen, he told me I could finally begin earning my keep. He put me to work here, at El Corazon. But having him bark orders at me twenty-four hours a day was even worse than having him constantly reminding me that I owed him everything. One day, I decided it was impossible for me to live my life so he could be happy. I packed a change of clothing and left.’

  ‘But you came back,’ he said quietly.

  Conor shrugged. ‘Eventually.’

  ‘Then, you must have had some good memories of the years you spent here.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘Do you have good memories of—what’s the name of that town in Connecticut?’

  ‘Greenfield.’ She hesitated, then smiled back at him. ‘Of course. Nothing’s ever completely black or white.’

  ‘Exactly. Besides, I had to come back. Felix was sick.’

  ‘He told me.’ Arden paused again. ‘He said you came back to the ranch to take it away from him.’

  ‘Did he?’ Conor said, with a quick, flat smile. ‘Yes, it’s the way he’d think, that I wanted to avenge the injustice he did my father. And he wasn’t wrong, Arden, he—’


  ‘Señor Martinez?’ The rap at the door, and the voice, came at the same instant. Arden looked up as a portly man carrying a small black bag stepped into the room.

  ‘Dr Borgas.’ Conor rose, his hand extended. ‘Thank you for coming so promptly.’ He nodded towards Arden. ‘This is Senorita Miller. She’s had a bump on the head, and I’d be most grateful if you’d examine her and see if she’s all right.’

  Arden made a face. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Really. I had a headache, but even that’s gone now.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that, señorita.’ He looked at Conor. ‘If you will be good enough to leave us, señor...?’

  Conor did, but only after frowning and assuring Arden that he would be just outside if she should need him. Borgas smiled as the door shut after him.

  ‘Señor Martinez is very protective of you, señorita.’

  Arden flushed. ‘Oh, no, Doctor. He’s just concerned about my injury.’

  ‘As you prefer. Still,’ he said, with a little smile, ‘I would prefer to examine you so that I may assure the señor that you are fine and healthy and he need not wear out the hallway, pacing it as he worries about you. Lie back, please, Señorita Miller, and look directly at this light.’

  It took less than half an hour for the doctor to confirm Arden’s self-diagnosis. She was fine, except for the lump on her head.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Conor demanded, when he was let back into the room for the diagnosis.

  ‘Quite certain,’ Borgas said with a smile. ‘Just see to it the señorita rests for the balance of the day and for the evening. Tomorrow, her life can return to normal.’

  Arden awoke to a soft rap at the door the next morning. Inez, she thought groggily, come to bring her a breakfast tray, just as she had brought her lunch and dinner yesterday, at Conor’s insistence.

  Arden sighed and sat up against the pillows. Conor had obviously forgotten Dr Borgas’s instructions. Breakfast in bed was hardly ‘normal’.

  Well, she’d put a stop to that immediately.

  ‘Come in,’ she called as she tossed back the blankets. The door opened and she looked up, shaking her head and smiling. ‘Inez, you take that tray right back to the... Conor.’ She blinked foolishly, then snatched the blanket and drew it up to her chin. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He smiled at her, tall and ruggedly handsome in jeans and a faded denim shirt.

  ‘Good morning, querida How do you feel today?’

  ‘Fine, thank you. But—’

  ‘Fine enough to breakfast al fresco?’

  She smiled uncertainly. ‘To what?’

  ‘I thought we’d have our coffee outside today.’

  ‘On the terrace?’

  He grinned. ‘Better than that.’

  ‘I don’t understand ... ?’

  ‘Are you up to a ride in—what did you call it?—in my “old Jeep”?’

  She flushed. ‘In the Bronco?’

  ‘I promise,’ he said with an engaging grin, ‘this time I won’t aim for every pothole.’

  Arden couldn’t help laughing. “So, you admit it.’

  Conor laughed, too, but then his smile faded and his eyes turned dark and smoky.

  ‘Well?’ he said softly. ‘What do you say? Will you come with me, querida?’

  Her heartbeat quickened and a danger signal began to flash into her brain, but nothing could stop him from the answer she gave him.

  ‘Yes,’ ‘Arden whispered. ‘I will.’

  The finca was enormous, she had known that. Felix had told her it stretched in all directions for thousands and thousands of acres, but seeing all that land, driving through it, made the size of it real in a way numbers scratched on paper never could.

  Conor tucked her into the Bronco as carefully as if she were made of glass, loaded a picnic hamper into the rear, then drove them first to the top of a ridge where they sat looking over a field of wild flowers, drinking a Thermos of dark, sweet coffee and munching on fresh cinnamon rolls.

  ‘I want to show you the rest of the finca,’ Conor said, after they’d got back into the car, ‘but first, if you’re up to it, I thought I’d take you to the most beautiful place I know.’

  Arden smiled. ‘Prettier than the lake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She lay her head back and sighed. ‘Then it has a lot to live up to, Conor, I’m warning you:

  He grinned. ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  He turned the key and the Bronco lurched forward. ‘Just promise you’ll tell me if I’m driving too fast. Or if your head hurts. Or—’

  ‘Conor, honestly, I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  She smiled at him. ‘Positive.’

  And she was, she thought as they drove along a narrow dirt road that wound into the hills; she was finer than she had ever been before.

  Her gaze flew to the man beside her. It was wrong, that she should feel so happy to be with him. Conor was the enemy—although it was getting harder and harder to remember that. Where was the river of anger that had flowed between them the past weeks? Had such a simple thing as a runaway horse, a blow to the head, turned it back—or had there been something other than anger driving her all along? Had despising Conor been safer than—than—?

  ‘Why so quiet?’

  Arden blinked. Conor was looking at her, a questioning smile on his face.

  ‘I—I was just-just thinking how lovely El Corazon is.’ She bit her lip. ‘And—and how big it is...’

  She broke off, wishing she could call back the words; certain Conor would interpret them to mean she was weighing and measuring the monetary worth of the ranch that had been willed her, but he only smiled.

  ‘Bigger than you realise, querida. And what we’re about to see is the most beautiful part of it.’ He shut off the engine and the silence of the forest enfolded them. ‘Are you up to a five-minute walk?’ Arden nodded, and Conor stepped from the Bronco, came around to her side, and lifted her gently down. He took her hand and led her along a narrow path that wound into a dense stand of magnificent trees.

  ‘What is this place?’ she asked softly.

  Conor smiled. ‘The cloud forest.’

  ‘The cloud forest.’ She shivered with delight. ‘What a wonderful name! It sounds magical.’

  ‘Look up, past the tops of the trees, and you’ll see why it’s called that.’

  He slipped his arm around her waist and she tilted her head back, watching the clouds that rode the sky so low it seemed they might catch in the branches of the trees.

  ‘El Corazon boundaries encompass only a small portion of the forest.’ He grinned as he took her hand again and led her further along the path. ‘The first time I stood up to Felix was over those few hundred acres.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He had an offer to sell them. An extraordinarily good offer, as I recall.’

  ‘To whom?’

  ‘To a company that makes furniture of what they call “exotic woods”.’

  ‘And you stopped him? How?’

  Conor smiled. ‘By threatening to contact the Friends of the Forest and every other environmental organisation I could find. He laughed in my face-until I pointed out that every last one of them would take him to court and it would cost him thousands upon thousands of dollars to defend himself.’

  Arden laughed. ‘Good thinking.’

  ‘It wasn’t an empty threat. The legal profession can be like an evil juggernaut, destroying everything and everyone that gets in its path. The only people who profit are attorneys.’

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘you saved the cloud forest.’

  ‘Only a small piece of it,’ he said, twining his fingers through hers, ‘but, I must admit, an exceptionally beautiful piece. See for yourself.’

  He stepped back so that she could move out ahead of him. She walked forward another few paces, then caught her breath. The dense wall of green had given way to a small clearing bordered by ancient oaks and tall p
alms, patched with vines and wild flowers, and bisected by a stream that tumbled down from the mountain.

  ‘You were right.’ Arden swung around to face Conor. ‘It is beautiful, Conor. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, very softly. ‘You’re right, querida.’ He reached out and stroked her hair back from her face. He smiled slightly, and his gaze fell to her mouth. ‘I have never seen anything more perfect than this.’

  Electricity danced along her skin. ‘Conor,’ she said in an urgent whisper, ‘I don’t think we—’

  He took her face in his hands. ‘You have the face of a madonna, Arden. Have I told you that?’

  ‘We should talk,’ she said shakily. ‘We-we’ve had so many misconceptions about each other, and—’

  ‘Do you remember what I said to you about what we should have done the night we met, querida?’ He bent and brushed his lips against hers. ‘If we had made love that night, there would have been no misconceptions. We would have known each other as we were meant to know each other from the day the world began.’

  ‘Conor,’ Arden whispered, ‘Conor, I think—’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ he said. He tilted her face to his and kissed her hungrily. ‘I think,’ he murmured, his mouth a flame against hers, ‘that I will die if I don’t touch your breasts again, that I must taste the silk of your skin...’ Her head fell back as he kissed her throat. ‘My blood beats out your name with each beat of my heart, Arden. I lie sleepless at night, imagining you naked and on fire in my arms, thinking of how you’ll tremble beneath me...’ Arden moaned softly, swayed forward, and Conor caught her up in his arms. ‘Tell me you want me with that same passion,’ he demanded. ‘I want to hear you say it.’

  She looked into his eyes. How could she deny him this, when it was what she yearned for, too? She wanted him, she had always wanted him, and everything else—the anger, the quarrels—had not diminished the wanting, had even, in some strange way, intensified it.

  ‘Tell me,’ Conor said.

  Arden sighed her surrender, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his throat.

  ‘I want you more than life itself,’ she whispered.

  He gave a growl of triumph and his mouth dropped to hers, slanting over it hungrily as he carried her across the little clearing to a velvety bed of emerald moss that felt soft as feathers beneath her, and he came down beside her. She put her hands against his chest, the palms flattened so that the heavy beat of his heart thudded under her touch, and he bent and kissed her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, his hands driving deep into her hair.