Master of El Corazon (Harlequin Presents)

by Sandra Marton

  ‘I’ll watch for one minute. That’s all it will take you to lose.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Conor stopped walking and swung her towards him. ‘Now, what shall we wager?’ He grinned. ‘It should be something meaningful, don’t you agree, querida?’

  She could feel her breath catch. El Corazon, she thought, he was going to ask her to wager El Corazon...

  ‘Something of great importance to the both of us.’ He took her face in his hands and tilted it to his. ‘What I suggest,’ he whispered inches from her mouth, ‘is one night in my bed.’

  Arden’s eyes rounded. ‘What?’

  ‘If you lose the wager, you must spend the night with me. The entire night, from just after dinner until it’s time for breakfast.’

  She stared at him. ‘But—but then, everyone would—’

  ‘Everyone would know that you belong to me. Yes. That’s right.’ Conor smiled. ‘But you’ve already assured me, there’s no risk of you losing our wager.’

  She stared at him. ‘And what do I get, if I win?’

  He smiled. ‘Anything your heart wishes, querida,’ he said, and before she could answer, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and walked her into the heart of the fiesta.

  The mayor’s daughter was a pretty little girl with a tumble of dark curls and a shy smile. She greeted Conor solemnly, but once she’d opened the small, gift-wrapped box he took from his pocket, she shrieked with delight, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

  ‘A teddy bear pin,’ Arden said with a little smile as she and Conor melted into the crowd. ‘How did you know that would be the perfect gift for her?’

  He shrugged. ‘She’s adored teddy bears ever since she read Winnie-the-Pooh.’

  ‘Ah.’ Arden linked her arm through his.

  Conor’s brows lifted. ‘And what does that “ah” mean, señorita?’

  ‘It means,’ she said archly, ‘that you’re not quite the stubborn, macho fool I thought you were.’

  ‘My God,’ he said, ‘the woman gave me a compliment.’ He stopped dead and tapped a man brushing past them on the shoulder. ‘Amigo,’ he said, ‘mi amor just gave me a compliment! Can you believe it?’

  The stranger laughed as Arden ducked her head against Conor’s shoulder.

  ‘You’re awful,’ she whispered, but the two simple, wonderful words kept repeating inside her head. My love, he’d said, my love...

  ‘What will it be?’ She glanced up. They were standing at a charcoal brazier topped with at least half a dozen kinds of foods she’d never seen before, all of which were sending out aromas that made her mouth water. ‘Do we begin with emnpanadas? Or with gallos?’ Conor clucked his tongue. ‘Or those puposas. They look terrific. What do you think?’

  Arden smiled. ‘I think I’ve spent too much time eating safe gringo foods since I’ve been in Costa Rica. You decide and surprise me.’

  Conor smiled back at her. ‘With pleasure, querida.’

  In the end, he chose one of each, and they shared the meat and raisin turnover, the stuffed tortilla, and the fried corn and cheese cake to the last crumb.

  ‘Good?’ Conor said.

  Arden grinned. ‘Better than good. What’s next?’

  Glasses of tamarindo were next, a drink made from the fruit of the tamarind tree that was tart and delicious, and then there were more treats to sample, along with bottles of local beer. The hours slipped by quickly as they moved through the happy crowd and blended with it. Conor stopped at a silversmith’s stand and bought Arden a pair of beautiful hoop earrings that she put on immediately.

  ‘Pretty?’ she asked, turning her head so they caught the light.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Conor said, and the way he said it made her flush with pleasure.

  In early afternoon, a mariachi band set up just in front of the church and began to play. The music was sweetly primitive and very fast, and when Conor drew Arden into the circle of dancers that had formed, she laughed in protest.

  ‘I can’t dance to this,’ she said, but it turned out she could, that in the warmth and security of Conor’s arms her feet could fly over the old cobblestones with grace and speed—and then, suddenly, a roar went up ahead.

  ‘What’s that?’ Arden said.

  Conor smiled and put his arm around her waist. ‘The bullfight is starting.’

  Her good humour faded. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said, hanging back as he began leading her forward. ‘Conor, listen. I don’t want—’

  But it was too late. The crowd was surging around them, laughing good-naturedly, carrying them forward whether she wanted it to happen or not...

  ... and there it was, the bull ring—only it wasn’t a ring at all. It was a wooden-fenced pen, and inside it were a smallish black animal looking sleepy in the late afternoon sun and a couple of young boys grinning impishly and waving red cloths.

  ‘Oh,’ Arden said, and Conor laughed and put his arm around her waist.

  ‘Noble,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘and poetic. And what was that other word you used?’

  ‘All right,’ she said, tossing her head, ‘so they start with something light and funny. But when the matador comes along—’

  ‘Those are the matadors,’ Conor said with a chuckle. ‘The boys will wave their capes at el toro until either they get tired or he does, and then the rancher who brought him leads him home.’ He turned her towards him and smiled. ‘The boys will boast of their courage to the girls, and the bull will boast of his courage to the cows, and everyone will be happy.’

  . Arden smiled. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly, querida. That’s the way we fight our bulls in my country.’

  She giggled. ‘I like it.’

  ‘I thought you would.’

  ‘And I’m sorry I was so silly.’

  Conor lay his hand against her cheek and lifted her face to his. ‘I’m not,’ he murmured. ‘Have you forgotten our wager?’

  Their eyes met. Heat sizzled deep in her belly, raced along her veins and set fire to her body.

  ‘Conor,’ she said shakily, ‘Conor—’

  ‘Soon, we will go home, querida,’ he said, and his arm swept around her in a gesture of possession so complete that it stole her breath away.

  Now, the hours began to drag. The fiesta was still fun, but Arden could think of nothing but what would happen when they reached El Corazon. She had lost the bet they’d made; she was obliged to spend the entire night in Conor’s room.

  But why had he made the wager? He knew it would embarrass her.

  Unless. Her pulses quickened. Unless it was his way of telling her that he was going to mention the word neither of them had used, the word that implied permanency and a life together. Unless, tonight, he was going to tell her he loved her, that he wanted her not only for now but for the rest of his life...

  Yes, she thought, oh, yes, that was it! Of course!

  The night sky lit with fireworks. Conor drew her closer into the curve of his arm.

  ‘Isn’t it perfect, querida?’ he asked softly.

  Arden closed her eyes.

  ‘Perfect,’ she whispered.

  Thank you, God, she thought, and the fireworks were still there, exploding on her closed lids in exquisite bursts of scarlet.

  It was very late when they reached El Corazon. The house lay wreathed in silence, the servants were all gone to their rooms for the night.

  Conor opened the door and they stepped quietly inside. He kissed her, put his arm around her waist, and slowly, they climbed the steps to the second floor. At the landing, he paused and turned Arden towards him.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about our wager,’ he said softly.

  Her smile was tremulous. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘so have I.’

  He smiled back at her and stroked his hand lightly against her flushed cheek.

  ‘I’ll understand if you don’t want to keep it, sweetheart.’

  Arden smiled, loving him all the more for that simple show of understanding.


  ‘Do you want me to keep it?’ she asked.

  He took her in his arms and kissed her until she was breathless.

  ‘What do you think?’ he murmured, pressing his mouth to her hair.

  A sigh whispered from her lips. ‘I think I want you to take me to your room,’ she said softly.

  Conor drew back and cupped her shoulders in his hands. He smiled into her eyes, kissed her again, and then lifted her into his arms.

  She clasped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his neck while he carried her down the hall to his room. The door snicked shut after them, and he lowered her slowly to the floor. Velvety darkness closed around them.

  ‘How I want you,’ Conor whispered. He stroked his fingers lightly over her face and she shut her eyes, hearing only the thudding beat of her heart and the whisper of his breath. ‘Mi amor,’ he said thickly, and his hands moved down her throat and across her breasts, his thumbs sweeping in tight arcs over her nipples.

  She said his name, her voice broken and husky with desire, and he unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall away from her, unclasped her bra and let it follow the blouse. He kissed her deeply, almost violently, bending her back over his arm, and his hand swept over her body, branding her with flame.

  She trembled as he dropped to his knees before her. ‘Arden,’ he sighed, his breath warm against her belly. She clutched his shoulders for support as he stripped away her skirt, her panties; her knees buckled when he clasped her hips and drew her towards him and when he put his mouth on her, she cried out his name.

  ‘So sweet,’ he whispered, tasting her. ‘So sweet and fresh, like a flower.’

  He rose and pulled off his clothing, and then he took her in his arms again and carried her to the bed. There was a wildness in him tonight, she could feel it in the hard tension of his muscled shoulders, in the sharpness of his teeth as he nipped at her throat.

  ‘Arden,’ he said, and he clasped her wrists and drew her hands high over her head. ‘Mi amor,’ he whispered, and he entered her, slowly, exquisitely, so that she could feel the power of him filling her inch by inch.

  She cried out his name, twisted her hands free, and dug them into his hair, drawing him down to her with a ferocity that matched the rapidly increasing thrusts of his body. She arched up from the bed, locked her legs around his hips, pleading wordlessly for him to bury himself deep within her.

  I love you, she thought. She gave a little sob and pressed her lips to his throat, arched as if in pain above her. Oh, Conor, she thought, how I love you!

  ‘Querida,’ he whispered. He bent to her, caught her mouth with his and kissed her, his tongue moving against hers like silk. He tasted of heat and of the night, of the commingled passion of their straining bodies.

  ‘Look at me, Arden,’ he said, in a voice that pleaded as much as it commanded. She did as he’d asked, opening her eyes and focusing on him as he rose above her in the moment that preceded his final possession. ‘Yes, like that. Like that...’

  He groaned, thrust deep, and Arden cried out, her call a keening note of promise and release that soared upwards into the darkness.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ARDEN slept dreamlessly, secure in the curve of Conor’s arm, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Just before dawn she stirred. Her hand crept across his chest and she clung more tightly to him in her sleep, her subconscious mind already anticipating—and lamenting—his imminent departure.

  But Conor only drew her closer.

  ‘I’m right here, querida,’ he murmured, pressing a light kiss against her temple.

  ‘Mmm.’ She sighed, burrowed against his warmth, and kissed his throat. ‘It’s almost sunrise,’ she whispered sleepily.

  He smiled. ‘That’s wonderful news.’ He rolled towards her, settled her firmly against him, and yawned. ‘Now, go back to sleep.’

  Arden started to shake her head, to remind him that the household would be awakening soon and it was time for him to leave her...

  And then she remembered.

  She’d lost their wager. Conor wasn’t in her bed; she was in his, and she’d promised to stay the entire night.

  She thought of Inez, who would surely see them come down the stairs together, of the maid who would see her untouched bed and know it hadn’t been slept in, and she stirred uneasily.

  ‘Conor,’ she whispered, ‘I know we made a bet, but—’

  ‘We did.’ He kissed her mouth gently. ‘And you lost.’

  Arden sighed. ‘I know I did,’ she said slowly, ‘but—’

  ‘Querida.’ He rose on his elbow and gazed down at her, his face shadowy and mysterious in the pale grey light of early morning. ‘I promised we would talk, and we will, at breakfast. Then, I think, you’ll feel better about spending the night in my bed.’

  She snuggled closer to him and smiled as she stroked the dark hair back from his brow. ‘Are you going to offer me another wager I’m certain to lose?’

  ‘Neither of us will lose this time,’ Conor said. He cupped her breast, then slid his hand possessively to her hip. ‘Unless you think spending the rest of your life here, in my arms, is a penalty.’

  Her heart felt as if it were turning over. She’d been right, then. He’d fallen in love with her and he was going to ask her to marry him.

  ‘We could talk now,’ she said softly.

  ‘No. Not now. This isn’t a time for talking.’ Conor’s voice roughened as he moved over her. ‘We have much better things to do than talk. Isn’t that right, mi amor?’

  Arden caught her breath. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘oh, yes...’

  And then the hurricane of their passion engulfed her, and she gave herself up to it.

  When she awoke again, sunlight was streaming into the room and she was alone. The smile that had been blooming on her lips faded. She had dreamed of greeting the morning in Conor’s arms, dreamed of kissing him awake.

  Her glance shifted to the bedside clock and she shot upright against the pillows. Was it really that late? No wonder Conor was gone. You didn’t keep late hours on a ranch, she’d learned that much during the time she’d lived at the finca.

  And today he’d want to finish his chores quickly, she thought, so he could propose to her at breakfast...

  Her smile faded. And so he could be ready to greet Linda, when she arrived this afternoon.

  Arden sighed, pushed back the blanket, and got to her feet. In her happiness, she’d almost forgotten about that. Well, it was probably for the best. If there were going to be a confrontation, they might as well get it out of the way. Conor would know how to soothe the girl and make her understand that Arden represented no threat.

  She sighed again as she stepped into the shower. Linda would never be her best friend, but surely they could work out some sort of co-operation—especially once Linda knew that she was going to sign over El Corazon to the man who should have been its rightful owner.

  The thought brought a smile to her lips. What would Conor say, when she told him she was going to give him the finca? She could hardly wait to see the look on his face.

  ‘Conor,’ she’d say, before he had the chance to ask her to become his wife, ‘I love you with all my heart, and I want you to have El Corazon. It could never belong to anyone but you.’

  Just as she could never belong to anyone but him, she thought as she wrapped herself in an oversized towel. A pink flush rose on her skin as she glimpsed herself in the mirrored wall opposite. The long, loving night in Conor’s arms had left its mark on her. Her mouth was pink and swollen; her eyes were luminous and soft with pleasure. There was a light bruise on her throat from his teeth and her colour darkened as she thought that she had probably left the same marks of passion on him.

  No, she thought, and her heart lifted, no, not just passion. She had given Conor all the love she possessed, and he had given her his in return. She closed her eyes, thinking of how he had caressed her, of how he had whispered to her, called her his love. Mi amor, she thought, and she smiled; mi a
mor...

  It was amazing, how they’d misjudged each other. She had thought him the enemy, but now she knew he was a kind, caring man—and he loved her.

  It would have been wonderful if he’d said so, during the night. But she understood his reticence. Men were like that, she supposed; they found it easier to show their feelings than to talk about them—and Conor had surely shown his. She raised her hand to her mouth, where she could almost still feel the heat of his kisses, and then she draped the towel over the rack and hurried into the bedroom.

  The things she’d worn to the fiesta were dumped on a chair near the window, crumpled like the petals of an old bouquet. Conor must have scooped the discarded clothing from the floor. A little tremor of pleasure raced through her as she remembered the way he’d undressed her, leaving behind a trail of garments that had wound from the bedroom door to the bed.

  She picked up her blouse and skirt and shook them out, but they were both wrinkled beyond repair. Well, there was no choice but to wear them while she went to her own room for a change of clothes.

  What was that? The blouse and skirt slipped from her hand and she moved to the dresser, where a white slip of paper with her name scrawled across it stood propped atop a neatly folded pair of faded jeans and a navy T-shirt.

  Arden took the note and opened it.

  Good morning, querida,

  I was going to go to your room and get you something of your own to put on, but then I decided I’d much rather see you wearing my things. When you’re ready, come down to the terrace and join me. We have much to discuss.

  Arden shut her eyes. How right he was, she thought, and she brought the note to her lips.

  ‘I love you, Conor,’ she whispered.

  Quickly, she pulled on the jeans and cotton shirt and ran her fingers through her hair. Then, barefoot, she made her way down the stairs.

  The house was quiet, as it always was at this hour of the day. Arden knew the pattern by now. Inez spent her mornings in the kitchen, preparing for lunch and dinner, overseeing the maids who giggled softly to each other as they pared vegetables or polished silver.