Runaway Mistress

by Sandra Marton

  "It wasn't a relationship," Esmé said, hating herself for the tremor she heard in her voice, the tears she felt stinging her eyes. "It was an affair."

  Rio smiled slightly. "Why are women so hung up on words?"

  "Women," she said bitterly. "Is that how you think of me, Señor de Santos? As one of your 'women’?"

  "No, of course not. It was a figure of speech, querida."

  "And don't call me that! What is it, a — a generic term, so you don't have to try to remember the name of the querida you're with?"

  "Esmé." Rio frowned, as if he were confronting a jigsaw puzzle with a piece missing. "What is all this nonsense? Must we analyze everything? All that matters is that you still want me —"

  "That I still want you?"

  "Sí." It was so obvious. Couldn't she see it? He smiled, put a finger under her chin. "What could be more important than that?"

  She swung at him. It was a fast, wild blow and he dodged it easily, but that didn't keep him from staring at her in disbelief. Esmé? His cool, sophisticated Esmé, balling up her fist and trying to sock him in the jaw?

  "Está un idiota cretino," she snapped, and her fury stunned him so completely that he didn't realize she'd cursed him in his own language until she'd stormed away, scrambled onto the back of her horse, and galloped out of sight.

  Chapter Six

  Esmé opened the screen door that led into the Baron kitchen and let it bang shut after her.

  Damn Rio for making her so angry! Who did he think he was, telling her that she still wanted him? She didn't. It was just that he'd always known how to kiss her so that she felt it, straight down to her toes. So that one kiss wasn't enough, any more than one touch, one feel of his hands on her skin was enough.…

  "I hate him," she said through her teeth.

  "Per Dios, Abel!" The Baron's housekeeper came bustling out of the pantry. "Do you want to take the door off its hinges? Then you will complain when I tell you I need one of your men to fix… Oh." Carmen stared at Esmé. "I thought you were Abel. The foreman. He is always slamming —"

  "I know who Abel is, Mama," Esmé said dryly.

  She strode to the refrigerator, yanked the door open, then shut it so hard that it rattled. Carmen raised an eyebrow.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Yes! I've been dealing with an idiot, a man who flew here to buy horses from Jonas." Esmé opened a cupboard door, peered inside, then slapped it shut. "With all the cooking and fussing and shopping you do, I'd have thought there'd be a bottle of water in this place."

  "I do my job," Carmen said calmly, "nothing more. As for water, we are not so fussy as city people. You know our water comes from the well." She opened the faucet, filled a glass, and handed it to her daughter. "Why are you so upset?"

  "I'm not upset," Esmé snapped, and downed the water in one long swallow. Droplets of it moistened her lips and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "I'm tired, hot, and thirsty."

  "Tired, hot, and thirsty, sí." Carmen took the glass, rinsed it, and placed it in the drainer. "Tired ever since you returned here."

  "I have some kind of virus, that's all."

  "No virus lingers this long, chica."

  "Mama, please. I have things on my mind."

  "Upsetting things, and do not bother to tell me I'm wrong."

  "For God's sake, Mama…"

  "I do not like it when you take the Lord's name in vain, Esmerelda. And since when have you gone back to calling me 'Mama’?"

  Esmé sighed deeply. "Look, let's start again, okay? I don't want us to quarrel." Her lips softened, curved into a smile. "Mama or Mother, I love you. You know that."

  Carmen sighed and held out her arms. Esmé went into them.

  "I only want the best for you," Carmen said softly. "I want you to have a better life than I had. Surely, you know that."

  "Yes, I do."

  "You are not a naïve girl from a village in Mexico, to be seduced by a man's lies. You are an educated young woman with a fine mind, and you would have a teaching certificate if you had not decided to drop out of school and take up modeling."

  Esmé stepped out of her mother's embrace. "Mama," she said quietly, "we've been through this. Teaching was your dream for me, not mine."

  "It is a profession. Modeling is not."

  "Teaching is fine but I wanted to travel, to see the world before I settle down. Modeling gives me that."

  "It can also give you trouble." Carmen huffed out a breath. "Men will prey on you, chica. Will you be strong enough to resist them?"

  Esmé knew she was coloring. She swung away from her mother's questioning eyes.

  "I'm not a fool, Mama. I know how to take care of myself."

  "You think you do. But if a man comes along with soft words and turns your blood to fire…"

  "You said it yourself, Mama. I'm not you. No man can —"

  The screen door flew open. Both women swung toward it as Rio stepped into the room, his eyes dark with anger as they lit on Esmé.

  "There you are," he growled. "Did you really think you could get away from me so easily?"

  Chapter Seven

  Carmen looked from the stranger's angry face to her daughter's pale one.

  All at once, she understood everything. Why Esmé had come back to Espada so suddenly. Why she'd spent the past several weeks in edgy silence.

  Why she was so upset today.

  This man, this dangerous-looking stranger with the angry eyes, was the reason.

  Her throat constricted. Foolish girl, she thought angrily. Foolish, foolish chica. She wanted to grab Esmé and shake her. Better still, she wanted to grab her and spirit her away…but that wasn't possible. Esmé was a woman, not a child.

  Besides, one glance at this man and she knew she would never be able to keep him from Esmé, if he was determined to find her. Still, a mother could protect her young as long as she was able.

  She stepped in front of her daughter, looked at the stranger, and spoke as calmly as possible.

  "I am Carmen Bennett."

  She saw the surprise register in his hard, handsome face.

  "Bennett?" His eyes flew past her to Esmé. "Are you Esmé's mother?"

  "I am Esmerelda's mother, sí. And you are…?"

  "I am Rio de Santos, señora."

  Rio de Santos? Carmen thought, in surprise. A Spaniard, not a Mexican, from his looks, and perhaps that was not so surprising, now that she considered it. For who but an arrogant, hot-tempered Latin could have tamed her equally hot-tempered daughter?

  He smiled, and she saw the lazy charm of a tiger ready to be unleashed. "I am a guest of the Barons."

  He took her hand, brought it to his lips. Carmen told herself she was too old and too wise to be influenced by tigers.

  "Perdone, señor, but guests of the Baron family —"

  "Perhaps I should have been more specific. I am not a guest, I am a client."

  "Sí. Of course. Nevertheless —"

  Esmé stepped past Carmen. "Go away, Rio," she said coldly.

  Rio folded his arms over his chest. "Is that your solution to everything? To run?"

  "I'm not running. I'm simply asking you to leave."

  "No."

  "Coming after me was pointless. I'm not interested."

  "In what?" His smile was cool. "I don't recall making any offers."

  Esmé jerked up her chin. "Will you just — just climb into that plane of yours and fly back to New York?"

  "I intend to. After things are settled."

  "Things are settled. I thought I made that very clear."

  "I thought so, too." His smile tilted. "Until a few minutes ago, on that mesa."

  "What mesa?" Carmen said suspiciously. "Esmerelda, what is he talking about?"

  "We — we rode up to Superstition Butte." Esmé cleared her throat. "And — and we had a discussion.…"

  Rio laughed. She looked at him, eyes snapping. Then she brushed past her mother, grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the d
oor.

  "I'll be back, Mama."

  "When?" Carmen put her hand to her throat. "Esmé. Chica…. Don't do anything foolish."

  "I've already done as many foolish things as I ever intend to do," Esmé said, with a brittle laugh. "Don't worry, Mama. I'm done playing the fool."

  But as the screen door swung shut behind them, and she felt Rio's arm slide possessively around her waist, Esmé had the terrible feeling that her words were nothing but empty promises.

  Chapter Eight

  Rio marched Esmé away from the house, his arm encircling her waist like a band of steel.

  "Let go of me," she demanded.

  Rio answered by tightening his hold. Esmé cursed and tried to break free but he was big and strong, and angry enough to be formidable.

  He had a hell of a lot of nerve! She was the one who had the right to be angry. He had followed her to Espada, made her look foolish in front of Jonas Baron, her employer, made her look even more foolish in front of her very own mother.…

  "Are you deaf?" she hissed furiously. "I told you to let go!"

  "When I'm done with you, chica," he said coldly. "Then, I will let you go."

  "Don't call me that! I am not a little girl."

  "Then stop behaving like one."

  "You can't do this!"

  "I already am."

  "Dammit, Rio —"

  "You're repeating yourself. Besides, it is improper for a well-bred Spanish señorita to use vulgarities."

  "A well-bred…" Esmé laughed. "Don't delude yourself, señor. I'm not Spanish. My mother was born in Mexico. My father was born in the States. I am a mestizo, and proud of it. And even if I were Spanish, if I want to curse, I will."

  "Not when you are with me."

  "I'm not with you! I'm being dragged along by you, as if I were a — a package. And I don't like it."

  He stopped and spun her toward him. She could see a muscle flexing in his jaw. The emerald eyes that could burn hot as flame were icy with anger.

  "Do you wish to draw everyone's attention to us?"

  Esmé slapped her hands on her hips. "Me, draw everyone's attention to us?"

  She tossed her head; her dark hair flew around her head like a raven's wings. Rio fought the sudden desire to sink his hands into that dark silk, cup her face, and kiss that sullen anger from her mouth.

  She was beautiful, yes, but she was behaving like a brat and he was tired of it. He was tired of chasing after her, too, from New York to Texas, from a windswept mesa to the Baron kitchen.

  If she had something to say to him, let her say it.

  He stepped closer to her. "I am pleased you find my comments amusing." He moved toward her again and saw the faintest flicker in her eyes. Good, he thought grimly. She was afraid of what he might do next. Let her be. Maybe then he'd be able to get her to tell him what in hell was going on, why she'd left him because yes, he wanted to know the reason. He was entitled to know it — especially after the way she'd kissed him a little while ago.

  A woman who gave herself to a man in a kiss was not a woman who should be running away from him.

  "As for who is drawing attention to us — if you would behave yourself."

  "You mean, if I would just let you order me around, don't you? Have me fall into step next to you? Or maybe walk two paces to the rear?"

  Rio's eyes narrowed. He reached out, grabbed her wrist, tugged her to within an inch of his body.

  "Lower your voice and walk beside me like a civilized woman."

  "I'm completely civilized." She poked a finger into his chest. "You're the one who's behaving like a savage!"

  He looked at her finger, then at her. "Do not poke at me," he said quietly.

  "How about you not telling me what to do?"

  "Esmé. I am warning you —"

  "And I am warning you, Rio. Don't you dare —"

  Her angry protest ended in a shriek as Rio picked her up, dumped her over his shoulder like a sack of laundry, and strode toward the stable.

  Chapter Nine

  Esmé couldn't believe Rio was doing this, that he'd grabbed her, tossed her over his shoulder, and marched away with her.

  "Are you crazy? Put me down!"

  He answered by shifting her weight and clamping his arm more tightly behind her knees.

  "Put — me — down!" Esmé pounded her fists against his back. "Put — me —"

  "Uh, mister? You need some help here?"

  Esmé saw a pair of familiar-looking, beaten-up boots come into view. "Who is that? Abel? Is it you? Abel, tell this idiot to put me down!"

  "No," Rio said politely, "thank you, señor, I am doing just fine."

  "He's not doing fine! He's — he's kidnapping me!"

  "Don't look like much of a kidnap to me," Abel said, after a moment that Esmé suspected had probably included a wink of the eye from one man to the other.

  "The señorita seems to have had a bit too much sun." The stable doors loomed ahead. Rio shouldered them open; Abel reached out a hand and held them ajar. "She'll be all right as soon as I get her into the shade."

  "I will not be all right! I am all right! Abel? If you don't tell this — this idiot to put me down —"

  "Thank you for your assistance, Señor Abel."

  "Think nothin' of it, señor."

  The foreman stepped back. The doors swung shut and Esmé and Rio were alone in the shadowed, silent stable. Rio dumped Esmé on her feet. She spun toward the door but he grabbed her, shoved her back until her shoulder blades hit the wall, and planted a spread hand on either side of her. He looked at her and frowned.

  "You are pale," he said.

  She probably was. Hanging upside down had down something to her stomach. She took a couple of deep breaths before she answered him.

  "Let's not waste time on solicitude, okay? What do you want, Rio? Why did you cart me around like a — a sack of feed?"

  "I carted you around, as you so charmingly put it, because there was no other way to gain your attention."

  Esmé slapped her hands on her hips and blew a dangling strand of dark hair off her forehead.

  "Yes, well, you've certainly gained my attention, and the attention of every other human being on this ranch! Maybe it doesn't bother you that I'll be the topic of conversation in the bunkhouse for the next umpteen evenings, but it sure as hell bothers me!"

  "I suppose that is true." Rio's mouth twitched. "It will make for some talk among the men."

  "Damned right. It's hard enough to get respect from a bunch of grungy cowboys —"

  "Any man who shows you a lack of respect will have to answer to me," Rio said, his voice suddenly cold and hard.

  "I didn't mean respect as a woman, I meant respect as a horse trainer."

  A horse trainer. His elegant Esmé. Rio couldn't help but smile.

  "What's so funny?" Her eyes narrowed. "I am an excellent trainer. Ask Jonas, if you don't believe me."

  "Oh, I believe you. It is only that I would not have thought a woman whose lovely face is on magazine covers would prefer to train horses."

  "That just shows how little you know me," Esmé said. "I never intended to model forever. I just — I wanted something different for a while, that’s all."

  "And now you will train horses?" She nodded, and Rio smiled again. "You’re right, querida. I did not know this other side of the woman who is my lover."

  Color flooded her face. "I am not your lover. Not anymore."

  Rio lifted a hand to her face. She would have jerked away from his touch but he clasped her chin, traced the arc of her cheekbone with his thumb. It wasn't fair that such a simple gesture should still make her catch her breath.

  "Don't — don't do that," she said quickly.

  "Do what?" A muscle flickered in his jaw. He stepped closer, bent his head, nuzzled the damp strands of hair from her temple. "Do what, querida?" he whispered, and took her mouth with his.

  Chapter Ten

  Rio's mouth closed over Esmé's.

  For
a heartbeat, she gave herself up to the heat and excitement of the kiss, but this was exactly why she'd left him, because he'd still had this power over her, even though he'd been getting ready to leave her.

  Where was her pride? Her self-respect? She twisted her face away from his.

  "Stop it," she said, in a shaky whisper.

  He clasped her head and turned her face to his. His eyes were hot coals, his mouth a thin line of sensuality. He looked as he always did when he wanted her, and just seeing that need in his face had always made every pleasure point in her body throb in response.

  From the start, this was how it had been between them. All Rio had to do was look at her this way, no matter where they were, and she would feel the pull of his desire deep inside. She had never been able to resist him, never wanted to resist. Being in Rio's arms, in his bed, made her feel alive. That was what was so dangerous about him, that he could do this to her, even now, when she knew she didn't want to be just another woman, passing through his life.…

  Esmé gasped for breath, wrenched free, and jammed her hands against his chest.

  "I don't want you to kiss me," she said. "Not anymore."

  A quick smile flashed across his handsome face. "Liar," he said softly.

  He bent his head, put his mouth to her throat. Heat sizzled through her again. He whispered her name and bent her back over his arm, his teeth nipping lightly at her flesh, and she moaned, clasped his head, arched back so he could reach her breasts.

  Oh, it was wonderful to be in his arms again, to feel his hard body against hers. All these weeks, without his touch, without his kisses, without him. She'd been so lonely. How many times had she awakened in the night, her body on fire for his possession?

  Rio, she thought, Rio, I love you.…

  The shock of it swept through her like a tidal wave. No. She didn't love this man. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She was a toy to him. A conquest. He only wanted her because she'd had the courage to do what no other woman had done — she’d left him.