The Bride Tamer

by Ann Major

  When he spotted the House of Montejo on the opposite side of the square, he paused. A bank now, the wonderful old colonial building was the oldest in Mérida, having been completed in 1549 by Francisco de Montejo, a city founder.

  A glance at his watch and he moved on. The sidewalk became more crowded the nearer he got to the market, which was located behind the Palacio Municipal.

  “Permiso,” he droned, avoiding the beggars’ eyes because he had no more money to hand out.

  “Pasale,” they replied.

  Against his better judgment, he plunged into the bowels of the cavernous market, which was made up of shops covered with makeshift roofs of faded canvas and tin. Inside, the stifling air reeked of fried food, hemp, cayenne, green spices, curry, leather and disinfectant. After the day’s blinding brightness, the cramped aisles and crowded stalls seemed dark and confining. He wandered among sandal shops, candy stores, hammock makers and piñatas. Soon the stalls and merchandise made him feel like he was in a maze. Would he even recognize Aphrodite—dressed?

  Smiling vendors jumped in front of him. “Sandals. From Campeche. Handmade, señor.”

  “Señor, guayaberas?” A man flapped a short-sleeved shirt with four pockets and distinctive vertical rows of double stitching at Cash.

  Cash shook his head politely. Swiftly he moved past tables of leatherette watchbands, used magazines, videocassettes of pirated American movies, leather backpacks, silver and coral jewelry, as well as embroidered huipiles.

  “Souvenir? Live pet beetle?” A pretty girl with jet-black hair, pale brown skin and high cheekbones, as well as the Mayan’s hooked nose, jumped in front of Cash and pointed to her arms that were crawling with beetles.

  “No, gracias,” he murmured, holding his hands up.

  Suddenly he’d had enough. Vivian would just have to get over her embarrassment and return to Isabela’s on her own. He’d never find her in this labyrinth.

  Stumbling blindly down the aisles, he banged into hanging piñatas and got hopelessly tangled in a rebozo. Luckily a Mayan girl gave him directions.

  He was striding toward a street entrance when a redheaded woman in a shapeless, brightly embroidered white huipil and a black skirt looked up and saw him. Screaming, she dived under a table, knocking sandals and hats everywhere.

  He knew that scream and that shade of copper-red hair.

  “Vivian!” he shouted.

  When he lunged for her, she kicked a stool at him. He tripped over it and went sprawling on the concrete. He was scrambling to his feet when he caught a glimpse of her copper curls under the counter.

  “Aphrodite?”

  A young man with a thin black mustache offered him a hand up.

  His eyes narrowing on the woman, Cash shook his head and flattened himself on the concrete. “Vivian?”

  “Go away!”

  “Come out from behind there.”

  She made an animal sound that hung low in her throat and crouched lower, trying to conceal her bright head behind a counter leg.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he said as she began to crawl backward. When she didn’t respond, he added, “There’s a wall behind you—filled with hats. The jig’s up.”

  They stood up slowly, not taking their eyes off each other. She was wearing Mexican silver jewelry with amethysts, the white huipil, the local blouse lots of the Mayan women wore, a black skirt, and huaraches.

  “You’ve gone native,” he muttered.

  “Why aren’t you at the beach with Isabela?” she whispered. “Why aren’t you ever where you’re supposed to be?”

  “Do you know heem, Mees?” The young man with the mustache was picking up his sandals and hats and frowning at Cash.

  “We’re friends,” Cash said, dusting himself off. “Give us some privacy, amigo.”

  “I don’t know him, Huicho,” Vivian said. “Sell the gringo a hat or some sandals for his big feet.”

  Huicho grabbed Cash with one arm and pulled a wide-brimmed straw hat off a shelf. But when she tried to bolt, Cash lunged and seized her by the wrist. She wriggled, but he yanked her closer.

  “Forget it, kid. I have a big head.”

  Smiling, Huicho patted his hat. “Muy grande, señor.”

  “Let me go!” she snapped, squirming.

  “When you calm down, maybe I will.”

  She quit struggling and stared at him until he released her.

  “Why aren’t you with Isabela?” she asked, as Cash took the hat Huicho kept shoving toward his head.

  “I don’t know,” he said, plopping the hat on his head with a scowl. “Why would I prefer your company to hers?”

  He pulled the absurd hat off and handed it back to the mustached man. “See—head too big. Feet too big for your sandals, too.”

  “You’re supposed to take Isabela to the beach house,” Vivian insisted.

  “You and I need to talk first.”

  Huicho held up another hat and Cash grimaced so fiercely, the young man skidded backward several steps.

  “Did you ever hear the term ‘Ugly American’?” she whispered.

  “In that sissy hat I’d damn sure fit the bill.”

  She laughed, and the sound lit him up. Then she shyly hid her beautiful mouth behind her slender fingers so he couldn’t see she was smiling. “The hat messed up your leonine mane.”

  “My leonine what?”

  “Your beautiful hair,” she said softly, reaching up and smoothing it.

  She likes my hair.

  “There. That’s better,” she said as she tucked a damp raven lock behind his ear.

  He had a thing about his hair, and the instant she stroked it, he went rigidly still, his breath indrawn. Her fingertip against his ear had his blood zinging. His mood changed instantly.

  Then her hand fell away, but the zing got worse. She couldn’t seem to move either, and her hand hovered near his face, tempting him to touch her too.

  “Feels better,” he whispered, his voice tight.

  Slowly, but still staring at him in that funny, dazed way he found so appealing, she lowered her hand a little, her curled fingers helplessly digging into her palm.

  “This is bad,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t— We shouldn’t—”

  “Yes.” They were in this god-awful market. People like Huicho were watching. But Cash’s blood was on fire. He liked her body, her face, her eyes. He liked talking to her, being with her. Most of all, he liked the heat in her blue gaze when she looked at him.

  It felt like fate, and he didn’t believe in fate. But how could you not believe in something that was happening to you?

  “This is very bad,” he repeated, even as he felt a powerful desire to taste her.

  “I never meant—”

  His hand closed over her wrist, and it was his turn to stroke her in reverent wonder. What was it about her? There’d been the occasional pretty woman that had made him zing. But he’d been busy. He’d had a life. Nobody had ever gotten to him like she did. Not this fast. Not this powerfully. And he didn’t trust it.

  “I mean I shouldn’t have touched—” She broke off.

  He knew what she meant, and he knew better than to touch her, too. Still, he continued to stroke her arm, lightly, ever so lightly because he couldn’t seem to stop. Her skin was soft and warm, just liked he’d known she’d be.

  “I’m glad you did,” he said. “Why did you stop?” He put her hand against his temple, and the heat of her splayed fingertips against his scalp made him feel like he was drowning in pleasure. She was becoming addictive. For a moment he couldn’t breathe.

  One minute parakeets were chirping, piñata vendors were yelling, and a little girl was weeping for fried candy. A bunch of rowdy kids in big jeans and T-shirts raced by carrying boom boxes.

  Then Vivian’s fingertips slid against his temple, and the sounds in the market died to nothing. The boom boxes shut down like clams. Traffic noises—honking, brakes squealing—all gone.

  He couldn’
t hear a damn thing. Everything else seemed to slow down too. Mainly he noticed his sluggish, heavy breathing as well as the violent thudding of his heart.

  Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Or maybe it did and he just couldn’t hear. She had a beautiful mouth, and all of a sudden, more than anything, he wanted his lips on hers. He had to taste their sweet, voluptuous heat.

  “You’re going to marry Isabela,” she said helplessly.

  “That was the plan,” he admitted, but the plan seemed alien and all wrong to him now.

  “I think you got the incorrect impression. This morning…when you saw me…”

  “Naked?” he supplied helpfully, smiling.

  The word and smile set off sparks. Her eyes flashed and her cheeks flamed, and he got hot all over too.

  She lowered her voice. “I was embarrassed.”

  “Ditto.”

  “It’s not ditto. You got naked deliberately.”

  “To make you feel more at ease.”

  “You make it sound like it was a gentlemanly act.”

  “It was.” The need to taste her soft lips was intense.

  “Well, it didn’t work, and that’s not why you did it.”

  “I know why I do the stuff I do.”

  “Well, then admit men enjoy getting women in compromising situations. They like to create a sexual environment…so anything might happen.”

  Like a kiss.

  “I know how men like you think,” she continued.

  “You just think you do.”

  “Isabela thinks you’re special. But you’ve got a dirty mind.”

  “You tempted me.”

  She turned red again. “If you’re so pure—why aren’t you with her?”

  He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her in his arms and put his hands all over her, to push his aroused body against hers, to see how they fit together. Hell, maybe she did have him pegged.

  What he wanted was to slam her against the shelves of sombreros and bang her and get this crazy thing between them over with—once and for all.

  He wanted to hold her tenderly too.

  Which was exactly why he wasn’t about to touch her—not with a ten-foot pole. Besides, he was hot, burning up in fact. And not because the market was a noxious-smelling oven.

  “You want to know if I’d be an easy conquest,” she said. “Because I’m a divorcée.”

  “I don’t give a damn about you being a divorcée,” he muttered, stepping toward her. “But the other part—the easy conquest part… Well, are you?”

  “See! I’m right about you.” She backed up fast.

  “I was just teasing,” he retorted grumpily.

  “Well, don’t tease. I’m not in the mood. You’re too big and this space is too tight. Besides, it’s too damn hot.”

  And you’re too damn sexy. He wiped his brow.

  Huicho was holding a stack of hats, waiting politely to get Cash’s attention, his black eyes glued on them.

  “Can we go somewhere else?” Cash murmured, ignoring the vendor. “I could buy you a coffee.”

  “No. I’m too hot for coffee.”

  “You should’ve said yes to coffee,” Cash murmured. “Then I wouldn’t have to do this—”

  “What?”

  “Convince you to have a talk before this thing—whatever it is—gets out of hand.”

  “If you’d just leave, nothing would get out of hand. Isabela is waiting. And none too patiently—I promise you.”

  Isabela? Suddenly he didn’t give a damn about Isabela. Not when Vivian’s eyes and body and mouth lured him like magnets.

  “This is your fault, you know,” he said.

  “Men always blame sex on the woman.”

  “Sex? Don’t ever forget you suggested it.”

  “Not here,” she shrieked, genuinely alarmed.

  He smiled. Telling himself to move slowly, he took another step toward her. As if he were a snake about to strike, Vivian sprang backward, straight into the shelves piled high with hats.

  “Mis sombreros,” Huicho cried as his shelves tilted, causing dozens of hats and lots of sandals to rain down on them.

  Cash had never forced a woman before, and he never would—especially not in a public place. Then she screamed again, and vendors popped out of the woodwork to gape. To shut her up, Cash seized Vivian by the arms and crushed his mouth down on hers, hard.

  At first her body was rigid and her lips stiff and unyielding.

  “Let me go!” She pounded at his chest with puny fists.

  “Hush!” His grip tightened. After that he was lost.

  Next thing he knew, his tongue was in her mouth and he had her pinned to the wall. Her wriggling body against his felt better than anything he’d ever imagined, and hotter too. Perspiration dripped from her hair onto his hands. Desire spiraled through him.

  Feeling as if his world had gone insane and he’d gone even crazier, he released her mouth and muttered, both savagely and tenderly, “I’ve never done this before. I swear to you.”

  “I hate you,” she spat. “I’ll hate you forever if you don’t stop—”

  “Just with you,” he growled. “This has only happened with you. Usually I’m the sanest man alive. Boringly sane.”

  When their mouths came together again, it was like a match falling on gasoline. He exploded, and after that, he couldn’t stop kissing her.

  As for Vivian, she’d been dazed and furious when she’d left the house. Thinking herself safe from him in the market, she’d been terrified when he’d suddenly appeared, striding straight at her like a tall gringo god.

  Then he’d seen her, and after that he hadn’t stopped staring at her with those wild green eyes that lured her. Dios, how he’d flushed every time he looked at her. Dios, how could just his eyes on her mouth turn her to mush?

  Now that he was kissing her, with heated, demanding lips, she knew that he was temptation—at least for her—in its purest, rawest form. He was taller, bigger, darker than she remembered. Or at least he seemed so in the shadowy stall. She was like a moth who’d been exiled to the dark and cold too long, a moth who’d beat her wings to death just to be near the flame, even if the wicked tongue of desire burned so hotly she caught fire and was incinerated.

  If Cash was here, he was only responding to her signals. This was all her fault. After years of rigid control, her body was betraying her, as she’d always feared it would.

  When he grabbed her again, to her horror and embarrassment and immense delight, her hands slid up around his neck and she threw her body into his. Their clothes were damp with perspiration, their skin hotter. She heard him gasp. The fact that he wanted her thrilled her. Her lips opened, and she was kissing him back with an urgency that more than matched his.

  Her tongue was in his mouth, and she wanted it there. Heat lit every cell in her body and made her feel achingly alive. Every minute since she’d run out of the pool house, she’d been thinking about how gorgeous he was, every long inch of him. Over and over again she’d relived him ripping off that sheet so she could see him.

  Her hands slid around his back, which was warm and muscular and damp. Dios, he felt even better than he looked. She wanted to tear his wet shirt off and lick his body as she had in her dream.

  Mindlessly, she was running her fingers up the contours of his broad shoulders and raking her fingertips through his silky black hair, thrilled that he groaned and gasped at her slightest touch. He made her feel precious and desirable and all woman.

  He was hard and hot and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where this was going. She had to open her eyes, and when she did, she saw half a dozen familiar brown faces from the village. When she blinked, they began to giggle and hide their smirks.

  She shut her eyes in mortification. The villagers would never take her seriously again. But the minute her eyes were closed, she became a wanton creature of sensation again, a woman who needed a man to hold her as Cash was holding her. She was blissfully aware only of
his mouth and hands, aware only of his taste and her own wildly pulsating hunger for more.

  Isabela. He belongs to Isabela.

  Vivian had to remember that. But it wasn’t easy, not when some deep part of her wanted him so much. The thought that he could never be hers only made her kiss him more desperately and cling more tightly.

  When he cupped his hands around her breasts and raked his fingernails across her erect nipples, she pulled him behind a stack of hats on the countertop and pressed her fingers against his fly and touched him through his jeans just to make sure he was as turned on as she was.

  He was.

  Curls of flaming heat exploded in her blood. She wanted more breathless kisses, more…more… She squeezed him gently through the denim.

  He groaned and gripped her tighter. “Aphrodite, unless you want it here and now in this melting hell hole, on this concrete floor on top of a bunch of straw hats in front of your friends, we’d better clear out of here fast.”

  As suddenly as he’d seized her, his big brown hands fell to his sides, where they hung like claws knotted. She could see his pulse hammering in his throat—as hers was. He panted for every breath as she did.

  Dios, he wanted her, every bit as much as she wanted him. She imagined a roller-coaster car flying off its track, out of control.

  Not good.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” His voice was rough and strange even as his eyes drank in her face. His expression hardened.

  “If ever there was an understatement…” She shut her eyes because just looking at his exquisite, carved face with all that wavy black hair falling across his dark brow made her want to forget Isabela and all her sister-in-law meant to her and throw herself into his arms and kiss and touch him all over again.

  She wanted to smooth his hair back, to lock her legs around his waist and rub herself against that bulge in his pants. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to climax again and again and then lie in bed with him afterward for hours. She was insane.

  “I don’t know what got into me,” he said, forcing out the words between harsh breaths. “I’ve been like a dead man so long. You’re better than a roller-coaster ride.”