by Sable Hunter
“This way!” She pointed down a narrow alleyway. Behind them, people were rushing in their direction, some carrying lanterns. The voices of their pursuers grew louder. “In here!” Pushing open a wrought iron gate, she hurried inside a small courtyard, guiding the cowboy in with her. As soon as she could, she shoved the gate shut, just about the same time as footsteps went thundering past.
Isabella flung herself into the shadows and turned her ankle on a rock. With a startled gasp, she fell against the broad, hard chest of her handsome champion.
To keep the beauty from falling, Bull grasped her, pulling her body against him and filling his arms with soft, sweet woman.
Isabella gasped. His broad, warm palm completely covered her breast.
In the glow of the moon, she looked down at the large hand cupped over the scarlet material of her bodice. Due to the cut of her dress, she wore no bra. The only barrier between his palm and her nipple was a very thin piece of scarlet silk. Isabella held her breath, waiting for him to free her – to push her aside. But he didn’t. His strong arm curved around her waist, clasping her body tightly to his.
“Who are you?” she asked softly, in perfect, yet stilted English.
“Shhhh, people are right outside the gate,” he whispered back, not moving, still holding her close.
Isabella closed her eyes, willing this provocative dream to continue. A stranger, the living manifestation of her desires, held her in his arms and she never wanted to move. No alarm sounded in her mind, she felt safer than ever before.
When the footsteps on the other side of the wall abated, his hand seemed to move reluctantly – but not before it skimmed over her nipple, leaving a hard, aching peak in its wake.
Isabella moaned, wishing the sensation could continue. To her relief, he didn’t turn her loose, he simply began caressing her bare arms from her shoulders to her wrists and back. Her knees became weak and she sank back more firmly against him.
“What possessed you to do that?” Bull couldn’t help but ask. He wanted to know more about her, but this information seemed paramount. “You could’ve been killed.”
Her skin felt alive where he touched her, a hot tingling pervaded her body – traveling from her arms to her nipples, down her spine, and even to the tips of her toes. “I had to, they were to be killed. Fed alcohol, then chased down the streets, across the river to be slaughtered.”
“Why?” Bull asked, wanting to know the answer, yet needing to know her far more.
“An ancient, stupid, barbaric custom.” Isabella bit back a moan as his fingers caressed her neck. Her breasts ached and the evidence of her arousal was pooling between her thighs.
Another shout out in the street caused Isabella to jump, a small cry erupting from her lips.
“Shhh, they’ll hear.” Bull spoke near to the soft velvet of her cheek. “What’s your name, beautiful?”
Isabella quaked. Should she tell him. “Who are you?” she countered his question.
“Bull Redford.”
She couldn’t help but be amused. “That’s not your name.”
Hearing the smile in her voice, he smiled back. “Well, that’s what my friends call me. My given name is Benedict, Benedict Carson Redford.”
“I shall call you Benedict – I like that.”
And he liked the sound of his name on her tongue.
Wham!
A sudden beating on the gate caused Bull to pull her farther into the shadows.
“I’ve got to leave before someone comes. People live in the cottage behind us,” Isabella whispered. “I can’t be caught.”
“Is there another way out of here?”
“Over the wall.” She pointed to the back, adjacent to the entrance of the quaint cottage. “There’s an alley at the rear.”
Seeing the height was manageable, he pulled her along. “Come, I’ll help you.”
Isabella went with him, her heart racing a mile a minute. “Thank you, Benedict.”
Hearing more footsteps, more voices, he couldn’t delay. Releasing the woman who’d captivated him like no other, he placed his hands on the top of the wall and pulled himself up. “Goddamn Oreos,” he mumbled. Once he was in place, he straddled the six-inch capstone and offered to lift her. “Come here. I’ll pick you up.” She pulled off her shoes and gave them to him. He set them on the wall, then accepted her outstretched hands, lifting her as much as guiding. As soon as she was a few inches off the ground, he reached out to clasp her waist and soon she was on top of the wall with him. He jumped off on the other side, then held up his arms for her to follow.
Isabella gave herself to him, entrusting herself to his care until he could swing her down and to the ground. “Thank you.” Seeing the flash of lanterns and hearing more voices, she looked up into his face. “I have to go.”
“Wait! What’s your name? When can I see you again?” Bull felt control of the situation slipping from his fingers.
Isabella touched his face, leaning up to place her lips against his in a very quick, very chaste kiss. “No time.” Seeing his face, his adamant frown, she kissed him again quickly. “Come to the bullfights tomorrow night. I’ll look for you.”
And then she was gone.
“Your shoes!” he called, but before he could take off after her, Bull was attacked.
CHAPTER
TWO
“Hellfire and damnation!” Bull dry-scrubbed his face. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a steamroller.” The events of the night before seemed surreal. He touched his fingers to his lips where she’d touched them with hers. Damn! He could still feel her, smell her. His body reacted to the memory, his cock swelling and lengthening. He’d never felt this way. No woman had ever affected him like this. Not even Carol. Not even close.
As soon as his masked beauty disappeared into the night, he’d been about to take off after her, unwilling to let her go. Unfortunately, he was detained by an angry trio of men who were part of the throng chasing her. To give himself credit, he’d done well for an out-of-shape cowboy, absorbing a few blows and landing a few of his own. A couple of sore ribs wasn’t a high price to pay for the chance to rescue a true damsel in distress. Afterward, he’d talked his way out of trouble at the police station. Apparently, they believed his claim that he had no knowledge of the beautiful woman other than their chance encounter. Of course, the five hundred American dollars he slipped the officer hadn’t hurt either.
Once he was in the hotel bed, he’d barely slept and when he had…it was to dream of her. The imprint of her body was branded on his skin. His arms felt empty. His palm itched to cup her breast again. “Fuck!” Bull slammed his hand against the window sill. A whole city lay before him and he had no idea where to find her. He didn’t even know what her face really looked like.
All he had left of her was a sexy shoe and only one shoe at that, he didn’t know what had happened to the other one. By the time he’d stalled her pursuers, the other high heel had been lost in the darkness. Bull picked up the small red stiletto, weighing it in his hand. The tiny thing was a woman’s size six at the most, much smaller than the size nine his ex-wife had worn. He shook his head, amazed at how fucked up all of this seemed. Here he was, like some poor excuse of a Prince Charming in cowboy boots, longing for a Spanish Cinderella with a Free Willy complex.
What if he couldn’t find her at this bullfight? What else could he do? Go door to door to see who the shoe would fit? Damn, he didn’t even know her name. The men had yelled La something, but he hadn’t heard it well enough to make sense of what they were saying.
Placing the shoe carefully on the bedside table, Bull grabbed his phone. He might as well venture out, find out about this bullfight, get something to eat, and check his messages for any word from Cortez.
When he arrived in the lobby, there was a young boy hawking newspapers. Hell, he didn’t even know anyone did that anymore. Bull considered buying one, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to read more than a smattering of it. He started to turn away
, when the photo on the front caught his eye. A red shoe. More exactly, the twin of the red stiletto he had up in his room.
“Lea todo sobre él! Senorita libera a los toros!”
Moving forward, he offered a few pesos to the boy in exchange for a paper. “Well, I’ll be damned!”
The desk clerk on duty was the same one he’d conversed with the night before. Going to him, he laid the paper on the desk and pointed to it. “Could you tell me what this article says?”
The clerk smiled, patting his own paper. “Apparently, some woman disrupted the festival last night. She released the bulls and there was much confusion. The only evidence they found at the scene was one of her shoes.” The young man leaned forward and spoke with a smile on his face. “They mention the presence of some unknown American cowboy. That wouldn’t be you, would it, senor?”
“Who me?” Bull pushed his hat back. “Get in trouble in Mexico?” He chuckled. “I’m not that stupid.” Yea, right.
“Certainly not, amigo.” The clerk winked at him, making Bull squirm a bit. “Many think the woman was La Diosa. She is fast becoming a legend for her bravery.”
“Who? What does it mean, this name, La Diosa?”
Patiently, the clerk explained everything to him. “La Diosa means the goddess. She has risen up against tradition to be a new kind of toreador, one who protests what she calls the senseless slaughter of the bulls. To many matador’s shame, La Diosa is braver, she faces the beasts with no weapon and conquers them with nothing more than her voice and her touch.”
Bull only processed part of what the clerk was telling him. He’d got stuck on the fact that the most delicate, feminine woman he’d ever met fought bulls for a living. “She’s a bullfighter?” The memory of his beauty telling him to come to the bullfight made scary sense now.
“Yes, the Goddess is a very sexy bullfighter.”
“The Goddess, huh?” Damn straight. She’d conquered him with no more than her voice and her touch. “Is she from here? Do you know her real name?”
The desk clerk shrugged. “No one knows either of those things. The only way you can find her is by attending the bullfight with the rest of us. La Diosa faces death again tonight.” He gave Bull a flyer that told when and where the spectacle would be held.
“I don’t like the sound of this at all.” A shiver of fear passed over him. He didn’t like to think of the beautiful woman he’d held in his arms facing anything that could cause her harm. She needed someone in her life who cared enough to put his foot down and take care of her - and his size twelve, ostrich, hand-tooled boots were just the ones that could do it.
For the rest of the day, Bull searched the town himself, or the best he could with no knowledge and no direction. There were many beautiful senoritas, but none who remotely possessed the spirit and the bearing of his goddess.
At least, he heard from Don Luis and their meeting was scheduled for early the next morning. Bull almost asked him about the bullfights and what he might know of La Diosa, but he found he had no desire to share something so important with the stranger.
For Bull, the hours dragged by. Despite the beauty of his surroundings – vineyards, hot springs, lush valleys, and mountains – nothing seemed to draw him. He couldn’t wait to move with the crowd toward the Plaza de Toros Monumental de Aguascalientes.
When the time came, Bull was surprised; the plaza was welcoming and geared to tourists. Most of the signs were in several languages and one of those languages was English. One piece of information Bull gleaned was that the structure was the fourth largest building in Mexico, seating an estimated fourteen thousand people. Huge bronze statues of bulls and bullfighters graced the plaza out front. Everything seemed alien to Bull, nothing like a rodeo. He filed in as one of the crowd, his eyes drawn to the big posters, all displaying an artistic rendering of a shapely woman wielding a cape with graceful flair, proclaiming her name in large red letters.
LA DIOSA.
Honestly, Bull had no idea what to expect. Although he craved seeing his beauty again, he hoped she didn’t prove to be La Diosa. He had no desire to witness the woman he was so attracted to put herself in danger. When he found his seat, Bull was located about three rows up from the center of the ring. Frankly, he was surprised at how big and modern the place appeared to be, very much like where a football team would play. Situated in the center of the city, this seemed to be more of a cultural symbol than a sports arena, however. He didn’t know if they sold food or drink and he wasn’t interested in finding out. His stomach felt uneasy enough without tempting fate by consuming spicy food and beer. As the stadium filled up, Bull studied everything - the people and the excitement building in the air. He could hear many different voices and many different tongues. Without being told, he knew he was about to witness a powerful event - artistic, sensory, and dangerous.
“Excuso?”
A distinguished male voice drew his attention. Bull looked up to see a frail, but stately older man standing to his right. Bull picked up his Stetson. “Is this your seat?”
“Thank you, Senor.” The gentleman eased down on the hard surface and Bull wished he had a stadium seat to offer him.
“You’re welcome. Do you come here often?” Bull cringed at his attempt to be polite. If he couldn’t talk rodeo scores or the price of a bale of hay, his conversational skills were limited.
“No, not often. Not anymore. Climbing these stairs became more difficult by the year.” He smiled, holding out the program. “This is a special time, however. La Diosa fights today.”
“So, I hear.” Bull didn’t let on he might know her. “I’m B…Benedict Redford,” Bull said, deciding to use his proper name.
“Honored, I’m sure. My name is Jose Mercedes.” They shook hands as a flurry of trumpets broke the silence. “Ah, we begin. Do you know much about the sport?”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”
Jose pointed toward a lower entrance to the interior of the arena. “They will enter from that gate. Bullfighting is a very old tradition and is carried out according to a very strict set of rules and customs. The fights here in Aguascalientes are different than in other locales. Some toreadors come all the way from Spain to train here because there is no age restriction. They also allow the form of bullfighting called recortadore where there are no weapons and the bull is not injured. This form of fighting is what La Diosa prefers. Her place next to the matadors in the parade attests to her skill.”
When Jose mentioned a parade, all Bull could think of was the opening ceremony at a rodeo, where all the participants ride in behind the presentation of the flags. In a few moments, he saw he wasn’t far off the mark.
“The opening parade is called a paseíllo and introduces all the participants in the bullfight,” Jose explained.
Bull leaned forward, anxious to see if he could spot his beauty. Leading the parade were two men on horseback dressed in black hats with feathers, white ruffled collars, and black capes. “Who are those fancy dressed fellows?”
Jose laughed. “Those are alguacilillos and they are wearing 17th century costumes. They uphold the rule of law in the bullring. The president of the corrida will present them with the official keys to the bullpen.”
“And what’s a corrida?”
Jose held up both hands, gesturing to encompass everything. “The bullfight!”
Taking it all in, Bull observed the men parading in a circle, then watched the excited crowd rise to their feet.
“Behind the alguacilillos, come the toreros, the bullfighters. The senior matador is on the left and the more junior ones to the right.” Bull sat up straighter, peering out into the ring. As they drew nearer, he could see the last person in the second row was shorter…a woman.
“I see her,” Bull let out a long breath.
It was her, dammit! He’d felt that body pressed against him so intimately the night before and he’d never forget it. The shape of her neck, the roundness of her shoulders. La Diosa was his beauty. A knot
of dread formed in his chest. She looked so small. Despite his apprehension, he couldn’t deny the fact that she was a sight to behold. The clothing the matadors wore was ornate and embroidered, each in a different, brilliant color. La Diosa was dressed in snow white trimmed in gold. She donned the traditional costume of tight pants and a short bolero with the black hat all toreadors wore. He thought she looked more like a princess than a bullfighter.
As Bull followed her progress around the ring, Jose continued to speak, telling him everything from the history of the sport to boring statistics about the matadors. “Behind the matadors are the banderilleros, the men who will tag the beast with sharpened sticks. After them are the picadors on horseback who wield the lances. The others making up the parade are the assistants.”
“La Diosa, she has none of those assistants, does she?” Bull was beginning to get the picture.
“No, she fights alone. Normally the senior matador opens the bullfight, but since La Diosa lets the bull live, she will go first.” He lowered his voice. “Many of her audience refuses to watch any bloodshed, so they leave after her performance.”
“I understand.” The next thing he knew, his beauty was alone on the sand with a huge, black bull.
The spectators jumped to their feet, yelling encouragement. Bull held his breath, every cell in his body compelling him to run down and drag her from the ring. How could this be acceptable?
“Many of the recortadores use acrobatics, Mr. Benedict, performing somersaults over the animal, using its body as a gymnast would use a pommel horse. Not La Diosa, she stands her ground and whispers to the bull, taming the creature as only a maiden can.”
Her position in the ring was very near to where they sat. The animal faced her from the far side, it’s eyes focused solely on La Diosa.
Jose continued to speak, “The beast comes in angry, full of anxiety from being separated from the herd. Watch closely, the banderilleros are about to begin the conflict.” Before they retreated safely behind the wall, several men ran at the bull, causing the beast to advance across the field. La Diosa waited, her cape held out to her side.
