Carly jolted at the contact. She started to struggle, astonished at the Spaniard’s boldness, determined to tear herself free, but the hard, demanding warmth of his lips, the soft white heat radiating through her body, made her clutch his shoulders instead. Her breasts crushed into the bands of muscle across his chest and waves of fire slid through her. His tongue touched the corner of her lips, coaxing her to open for him, then he took her mouth with fierce possession.
Carly moaned at the feel of his warm, slick tongue, at the tendrils of heat unfurling in her belly. The arm around her waist felt hard and male and utterly implacable. Dear God, it was just like her dream.
No, it was nothing like her dream. No dream could ever be like this!
Carly shifted in the saddle, her nipples growing hard and sensitive where they pressed against the Spaniard’s solid chest. She felt his hand on her breast, kneading it softly through her blouse, making the nipple peak and distend. He cupped it, molded it, charted it with his fingers, then slid his hand upward till he touched the bare skin swelling above the low-cut neckline.
“Ramon,” she whispered, “please…”
A deep growl erupted from his throat. He kissed her again, hot and hard, then tore himself away. He was breathing too fast, staring at her with eyes so dark they looked almost black.
She wet her kiss-swollen lips, unable to stop the small hot shivers racing through her body. “I didn’t think you wanted… you weren’t supposed to… you said I would be safe.”
A muscle bunched in his jaw. “Si, querida.You are right. I was not supposed to do this. It was a foolish, dangerous thing to do.” Turning her around, he settled her in front of him in the saddle then rode wordlessly back to the women rumbling along in the cart.
“The senorita has convinced me to let her ride with you,” Ramon said shortly. Bending over, he helped her slide to the ground, then backed the stallion a few steps away.
Her cheeks were flaming, she was sure, her heart still pounding so loud they could probably hear it, but she lifted her head and squared her shoulders. Walking purposely to the cart, she climbed into the back with the other women. They said nothing as the bay horse pulling the cart perked up its ears and swung once more into motion, hauling the heavy wooden conveyance along the narrow trail that served as road.
Neither did Carly. But her insides still fluttered and her heart continued its unsteady beat. When she glanced at the don, careful to be sure he wasn’t watching, she saw that he rode grim-faced, his expression dark and inscrutable.
Was he angry? If he was she hoped his fury would be short-lived. As long as she remained at Llano Mirada, Ramon de la Guerra held her life in his hands. He could set her free, or he could see her dead.
Or he could take her. Any time he wanted. Any way, anywhere. In a few short moments, he had made that perfectly clear.
A tremor ran down her spine, this one cool and not at all pleasant. She hadn’t forgotten the brutal man he could be, hadn’t forgotten his ruthlessness, his cruelty.
She hadn’t forgotten the way she’d felt when he had kissed her.
Dear God, if she gave in to her passions, her uncle would never forgive her. She would no longer be a virgin, and Uncle Fletcher would be ashamed. He might even send her away. She had no place to go, no one to turn to. She couldn’t bear the thought of more years of loneliness, yearning for a home or at least someone who cared.
More than ever before, she longed to go back to Rancho del Robles, to the safety she knew she would find there, to the new life she had started.
For the first time Carly realized how badly she needed to escape.
***
Careful that Caralee would not discover the way, Ramon saw the women safely back to the compound. Sanchez said little on the ride back home, his scowl of disapproval was enough.
“You do not need to say it,” Ramon told him, once they were alone. “I meant only to teach her a lesson. Instead I learned something myself.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“That where thegringais concerned I cannot trust myself.Sangre de Christo,Pedro, I cannot remember wanting a woman so badly.”
The old vaquero just laughed. “The Americana has fire,verdad?She has beauty, courage, and strength. If I were twenty years younger, even I would be tempted. You must decide what to do with her, Ramon.”
“If I wish to keep my freedom, there is nothing I can do—except be certain that she remains here.”
“Perhaps if you explained things… told her the truth. There is always a chance that you might sway her.”
Ramon just scoffed. “The woman is agringa.She will never take the side of a Californio over her own flesh and blood.”
“Perhaps you are right, I do not know. But I have seen stranger things in my many years of living. I have learned that the truth is a means of persuasion that can often pierce the boundaries of race or religion.”
Ramon just shook his head. Sanchez must be getting old. To believe the woman would listen—that he could trust her to keep his secret—it was insane to even consider it.
Yet the thought began to plague him. He left the next day to return to Rancho Las Almas, determined to keep his distance from the girl. But each night he remembered what it felt like to kiss her, imagined what it might be like to make passionate love to her. And each day he remembered what his old friend had said.
