Chapter Six #3
Standing at his side, Carly’s own temper stirred.
“And you, senorita—I hope you will not misunderstand. I have no interest in your El Dragón. As far as I am concerned he is nothing but a ruthless outlaw. If it pleases you to sleep with him, that is your misfortune. All I wish to do is return to my home.”
Ramon felt the smaller woman’s anger almost as hot as his own, and a corner of his mouth tugged upward in grudging respect.
Ignoring them both, she swept past him into the house.
He couldn’t help recalling her humble beginnings and found himself admiring how well she had learned to disguise them.
She was as regal as any noblewoman he had ever met, as haughty and proud as any woman of pure Spanish blood.
That thought made him uneasy. She was a gringa. Nothing could change that. Just as it could not change Miranda’s part Indian heritage. Fortunately, he felt little more than affection for Miranda. It was all he would allow himself to feel for the saucy American girl.
* * *
Carly sat beside the don through supper.
Florentia and Pedro Sanchez sat on the opposite side of the stout oak table.
As he had been earlier, the Spaniard was charming and attentive, and that fact made her nervous and withdrawn.
She didn’t know what he was after. She only knew she hadn’t forgotten the hard man he could be.
Pleading a headache, she withdrew from the table and retired to her room, but she had trouble sleeping.
What were his motives? Why was he being kind when before he had been so cruel?
Was he sorry for what he had done? He had never really said so, only that he’d made a mistake.
Perhaps he was trying to make amends, but she couldn’t seem to make herself believe it.
And even if he was, it didn’t change things. She was still his prisoner, he still the master of her fate.
Lying on the mattress, staring up at the rugged hand-hewn beams above her head, she recalled the furious look he had scorched his mistress with, the woman who called herself Miranda.
She was beautiful, dark-skinned and exotic.
Obviously seduction wasn’t the don’s objective. He already had a woman to warm his bed.
In a strange way, the notion disturbed her.
That even now he was probably with Miranda, kissing her, making passionate love to her.
Carly knew little of such things, yet until now the notion had seemed romantic.
She had hoped one day to be married, perhaps to a man as handsome as the don. One who could be just as charming.
But wasn’t nearly so ruthless.
Eventually, she fell asleep, but when she did, she dreamed.
Dressed all in black, the Spaniard thundered toward her astride his fierce black horse.
He swept her up in his arms, flung her over his saddle, and rode away with her into the forest. Pulling the stallion to a halt, he carried her fighting and screaming to a grassy knoll beside a stream and there he began to kiss her.
Carly quit struggling. The heat of his mouth made her body go limp, made her insides grow buttery and liquid. His lips felt warm, and softer than she had expected; the arms that crushed her against him were hard as granite and utterly implacable, but he did not hurt her.
His hands swept downward, skimming lightly over her body. There was fiery possession in his touch. He wanted something from her, something more than the liberties he had taken already. His kiss demanded it, yet she wasn’t sure what it was.
Part of her wanted to struggle, to free herself from his hold. The other part …
Carly awoke with a start, her body burning with a strange, damp, all-pervading heat. She was trembling all over, her nipples hard and tender where they pressed against the sheet.
Climbing out of bed on limbs that were painfully unsteady, she poured water into the porcelain basin, dampened a cloth, and washed her face.
With a sigh, she returned to bed, but again had trouble sleeping.
When she finally did doze off, it seemed only minutes till the graying of dawn began to lighten the sky outside the simple muslin curtains at the window.
It would soon be morning. She wondered if the don would come.
Or if he would stay with his woman.
* * *
Miranda Aguilar raked her nails along Ramon’s hard-muscled thigh. Lying beside her on the bed, he stirred with the first light of dawn and rolled onto his back. She smiled at the long, hard ridge jutting up from its nest of thick black curls, heavy and seductive against his lean flat belly.
Last night they hadn’t made love. Ramon had been too angry. She shouldn’t have gone to the woman. He had warned her against it, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care what it took—as long as the woman stayed away.
His fingers closed over her wrist, stopping the movement of her hand. “I will not tolerate your disobedience,” he warned softly, reading her thoughts, his eyes dark and boring into hers. “Treat the woman with anything less than respect and you will not like the consequences, I warn you.”
Her lips drew into a pout. She leaned over and kissed the head of his shaft, making it throb and quiver. “I am sorry I displeased you.”
“As I said last night, I will be more than displeased should you do it again.”
Ramon had a terrible temper, but he had never hurt her.
Once, when she had first come to Llano Mirada, Elena Torres, the girl who was his woman then, had stolen some money from one of the men.
When Ramon confronted her, demanding she give back the money, she shouted obscenities and called him vile names.
Ramon tossed her over his shoulder, carried her over to the horse trough, and dumped her in the water.
The woman deserved it and the dunking hadn’t hurt her. Mostly her pride had been stung.
No, he had never been cruel to a woman. Except for the gringa. Which did nothing to ease Miranda’s fears.
“Do not be angry, Ramon,” she said seductively.
Bending forward, she ran her fingers lightly over his chest, bent and took his flat copper nipple into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue.
Her hand strayed down to his hardened arousal.
She stroked him there and the muscles of his stomach went taut.
Beneath her fingers, the rhythm of his heart grew more rapid.
She raised up to kiss him, but instead he gripped her shoulders and rolled her beneath him then began to suckle her breasts.
His hand slid down to the folds of her sex.
She was already wet and ready. Ramon spread her legs and drove himself deeply inside her.
In minutes he brought her to climax, then rapidly reached his own. For a moment he lay quiet, staring up at the beams over his head. Then he rolled away.
“It is early yet,” Miranda said softly. “The sun is only just up. For once can you not linger here for a while?”
“Not today,” he said curtly. Grabbing a clean linen towel from beside the basin, he draped it around his neck, pulled on his snug black breeches, and headed out the door of the cabin, making his way upstream toward the place set aside for the men to bathe.
Miranda sighed. More and more he grew distant. She was losing him, she knew, and yet there was nothing she could do. She thought of the woman, the beautiful Americana with the fiery auburn hair.
Ramon had treated her badly, but he had been beside himself with grief. Still it worried Miranda, for it took great passion for such an act. Already that passion had changed from hatred to something else. She did not wish to see it change again.
Miranda slammed a slim fist down on the feather mattress. Ramon wanted the beautiful gringa. Miranda could see it in his eyes whenever he looked in the woman’s direction.
She wondered how long it would be before he took her.
She wondered as well what she could do to stop him.