Master of El Corazon

It was darker here; shadows dappled the aisle that stretched between rows of box stalls. Arden blinked, waited until her eyes adjusted to the change in light, then began to walk slowly down the aisle. Horses nickered softly from the stalls as she passed them and she paused often to pet a silken muzzle and distribute her sugar cubes.

The sound of the door swinging open, then slamming shut, shattered the silence. She whirled around, her hand to her heart.

‘Come to do an inventory of the livestock?’

Conor’s voice was gruff, his posture challenging. Everything about him looked challenging, Arden thought, and her heart tumbled with a strange double beat. He was dressed as she was, in a T-shirt and jeans, but the shirt moulded itself to his muscular shoulders and chest and the jeans were so old and faded that they delineated his maleness.

‘Or are you just here to do a general inventory?’

Colour flamed in her face. Her eyes swept up to his and she gave him a cold look.

‘I don’t appreciate having you checking up on me, Conor.’

He smiled coolly. ‘Is that any way to thank me, Arden?’

‘Thank you?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘For what? For following me like a shadow?’

‘I was on the far side of the stables, grooming Diablo—’

‘Diablo.’ Arden smiled sweetly. ‘Of course. What else would Senor Martinez name his horse except Diablo?’

‘I was grooming him,’ Conor said pleasantly, ‘and I looked up and there you were, trying to bribe one of our best mares with sugar.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! I was simply—’

‘And I thought, Isn’t that charming, the señorita’s going to the stable to count noses? Why don’t I go and help her?’

Arden tossed her head. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

‘You should have asked me for a list of our stock, Arden. I’d have been happy to oblige.’

She turned her back to him and made her way more quickly down the aisle. ‘Yes, I’ll just bet you would.’

He laughed. ‘Do I detect a touch of irritation in that soft voice? You’re really going to have to work on that temper, sweetheart. It won’t go over very well in the circles you hope to move in.’

‘Listen,’ Arden said, whirling to face him, ‘if I want advice—’

The words caught in her throat. Turning so quickly hadn’t been a good

idea. He’d been right behind her, closer than she’d realised. Swinging around had brought them face to face or, rather, face to chest. Her nose was inches from that tightly pulled T-shirt; she caught a sudden whiff of the aroma of the stallion mixed with Conor’s particular masculine scent, felt the heat emanating from his body.

A primal desire spread through her body with the swiftness of lightning; she swayed unsteadily and Conor caught her by the shoulders. Their eyes met, and suddenly she felt as if the ground were opening beneath her, as if any movement or mis-step would send her tumbling into oblivion.

She took a breath. ‘You were going to tell me about the horses,’ she said, her voice as cool as winter.

The muscle in Conor’s cheek twitched. ‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment. He brushed past her. ‘We raise Arabians,’ he said in a businesslike, almost brusque manner. ‘We did have Morgans, at one time, but the Arabians did better in this climate and so we—’

‘We?’ Arden’s lips curved into a tight smile. ‘Don’t you mean “Felix”?’

‘I mean precisely what I said. I have time and money invested in El Corazon, Arden, a great deal of both.’

‘And you’ll be damned if you don’t get the return you expect.’

The horse nearest them whinnied and Conor reached out and patted its arched neck.

‘You’ll have to watch your language, too,’ he said.

‘Temper, language—’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. Can you redo yourself, do you think?’