Loving Lies

by Tina Donahue

  Learn more about Tina at

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/24772

  Chapter 1

  Andalucía, Spain—1488

  The castle of Don Fernando de Zayas

  Of all the perils a man might face, Enrique de Zayas figured the worst was unending desire for a woman. Especially one whose heart he hadn’t yet claimed, because the lady in question was being remarkably difficult despite her passion for him.

  Heat had burned in Sancha’s eyes whenever her gaze met his. Which wasn’t often. When they’d been on the grounds of the convent and in the nunnery, she’d pretended not to notice his presence or how he longed for her. Of course, she had been busy tending to his brother Fernando’s grave injuries, sparing him death and life as a cripple.

  Isabella would never have forgiven her sister if Sancha had chopped off Fernando’s arm and leg to save his life. He was a warrior knight, proving his bravery by falling in love with and wedding Isabella, one of the obstinate Lopéz de Lara sisters.

  Women who appeared to be delicate Spanish flowers, but were as hard as any man. Even steel wasn’t as inflexible or as unpredictable.

  As guests gathered in the grand dining hall, Isabella left the noble men and women to approach him. He considered a quick retreat and might have succeeded if not for the señoritas who lingered nearby, blocking and eyeing him as the main fare for the feast tonight.

  Being a rich man in need of a wife was the second greatest peril a man could face.

  Isabella reached him, standing only as close as etiquette allowed to quell wagging tongues about what he and she might be discussing or plotting. Spaniards loved intrigue whether it involved the Crown or one of Spain’s wealthy subjects. Thankfully, Fernando seemed to have tamed Isabella somewhat despite the short time they’d been husband and wife. Good man. Her earlier abduction and near sale as a concubine for the Sultan’s harem had certainly fueled enough gossip.

  She turned into him. “Take heart.”

  Why?

  When he failed to comment on her cryptic greeting, she leaned a trifle closer. “Sancha is here tonight.”

  His heart caught then pounded, sending a flood of warmth to his groin. Not wanting to play the besotted fool, he refused to search the crowd, castle, or grounds for her. Fighting his sudden dizziness was all he could handle right now. The red walls of the room pressed in, the graceful arches appearing to dip and sway, lending an ominous feel. As though the murderous Moor who’d once owned this great castle lurked nearby, rather than Isabella.

  She glanced around the room. “Sancha promised not to take too long with the servant. She should be joining us shortly.”

  Again, he wasn’t certain what to make of her comment. “Too long doing what?”

  Her face drained of color. After a quick shrug, she craned her neck and scanned the guests. “Whatever one does with servants. Trust me. Sancha will not keep you waiting.”

  She already had, repeatedly, in the few weeks since they’d met. To him the time seemed longer than most of his life. He wasn’t a man who needed decades to determine his feelings for a woman. With Sancha, he’d fallen in an instant, each day without her adding to his torment.

  He sighed.

  “Oh no.” Isabella’s shoulders sagged. “Have you lost interest in her already?”

  He frowned at her accusation that made him sound like the worst sort of beast when he was the one in pain. “It would appear your sister has never shared my passion.”

  She dismissed his comment with a flick of her hand. “You need to woo her as Fernando wooed me.”

  “When he believed you were Sancha, his betrothed, or after he learned your true identity?”

  “Both.” She grinned despite the hell she’d put him, Fernando, and two of their other brothers through. “Everything worked out as it should.”

  Indeed. Sancha had never wanted to wed Fernando. With her sister taking her place, she remained blissfully unattached in order to torture Enrique with his endless yearning. “Where is my brother?”

  “Resting before the meal. I insisted he do so until his strength returns.”

  “Fernando allows you to order him about?”

  Her slender eyebrows lifted slightly. “You believe I or anyone could make demands of a warrior-knight? Never. I request and woo. Something for you to keep in mind with my sister.” She searched the crowd and inclined her head. “There she is.”

  God help him, Enrique was powerless to resist glancing her way, drinking her in.

  Bathed in the light of candles and oil lamps, she seemed unearthly, an angel sent to visit mere mortals. Her complexion was as pale and flawless as Isabella’s, neither of them marred by even one freckle. Although Isabella’s tresses were solid red, streaks of gold highlighted Sancha’s auburn hair, a shimmering mass of temptation, inviting a man to bury his face in those locks and inhale deeply of their scent.

  Her light, sweet fragrance had always reminded him of roses, making his head swim.

  He locked his knees to steady himself. Her emerald green caul matched the color of her silk gown that draped her figure magnificently, providing a hint of her ripe breasts and narrow waist. Unlike the other women here, she wore no jewels to prove her wealth, which was considerable. She was sole heir to her late parents’ estate, her holdings as vast as his.

  Many of the caballeros in attendance seemed aware of her worth or beauty, perhaps both, their attention fixed on her.

  She didn’t look at any of them.

  Enrique wasn’t about to suffer such treatment for himself any longer. Tonight he would change everything between them.

  First though, she had to look at him. To see him.

  She stared into the distance, lost in her own world. A server passed, brushing her arm. Despite his heavy tray, he stopped and inclined his head in apology. She offered a gentle smile, giving him more room.

  When he departed, she turned, her gaze touching Enrique.

  He stilled, unable to draw a full breath. Pleasure registered on her lovely face followed by the same longing he’d seen during their previous encounters, her dark eyes luminous with unmasked desire. Images flooded his mind of her sleek flesh against his, pale thighs parted to his touch and shaft, lips willing beneath his mouth, their limbs entwined, chests heaving after they’d sated their lust.

  They wouldn’t satisfy their craving for each other easily.

  She may have believed she was independent and even enjoyed playing a role more suited to a male. However, she still had a woman’s need for a man to thrill and protect her within his strong embrace.

  He fully intended to be that man, his inertia breaking.

  His first step toward her registered on her lovely face, her passion wavering, turning to caution instead.

  He feared she might bolt and prepared to give chase.

  Isabella dug her fingers into his sleeve. “Give me a moment with her. My sister is shy.”

  Sancha’s heated expression said otherwise. Hunger burned deep within her, simply waiting to be free. He planned to liberate her most sensual cravings as soon as he could. Once he had, there would be no end to their bliss.

  “Stay here.” Isabella patted his sleeve and brushed past the others to reach Sancha.

  Enrique waited a moment, lost patience, and followed. A hand clamped on his arm.