Master of El Corazon

‘The cloud forest.’ She shivered with delight. ‘What a wonderful name! It sounds magical.’

‘Look up, past the tops of the trees, and you’ll see why it’s called that.’

He slipped his arm around her waist and she tilted her head back, watching the clouds that rode the sky so low it seemed they might catch in the branches of the trees.

‘El Corazon boundaries encompass only a small portion of the forest.’ He grinned as he took her hand again and led her further along the path. ‘The first time I stood up to Felix was over those few hundred acres.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He had an offer to sell them. An extraordinarily good offer, as I recall.’

‘To whom?’

‘To a company that makes furniture of what they call “exotic woods”.’

‘And you stopped him? How?’

Conor smiled. ‘By threatening to contact the Friends of the Forest and every other environmental organisation I could find. He laughed in my face-until I pointed out that every last one of them would take him to court and it would cost him thousands upon thousands of dollars to defend himself.’

Arden laughed. ‘Good thinking.’

‘It wasn’t an empty threat. The legal profession can be like an evil juggernaut, destroying everything and everyone that gets in its path. The only people who profit are attorneys.’

‘So,’ she said, ‘you saved the cloud forest.’

‘Only a small piece of it,’ he said, twining his fingers through hers, ‘but, I must admit, an exceptionally beautiful piece. See for yourself.’

He stepped back so that she could move out ahead of him. She walked forward another few paces, then caught her breath. The dense wall of green had given way to a small clearing bordered by ancient oaks and tall p

alms, patched with vines and wild flowers, and bisected by a stream that tumbled down from the mountain.

‘You were right.’ Arden swung around to face Conor. ‘It is beautiful, Conor. It’s perfect.’

‘Yes,’ he said, very softly. ‘You’re right, querida.’ He reached out and stroked her hair back from her face. He smiled slightly, and his gaze fell to her mouth. ‘I have never seen anything more perfect than this.’

Electricity danced along her skin. ‘Conor,’ she said in an urgent whisper, ‘I don’t think we—’

He took her face in his hands. ‘You have the face of a madonna, Arden. Have I told you that?’

‘We should talk,’ she said shakily. ‘We-we’ve had so many misconceptions about each other, and—’

‘Do you remember what I said to you about what we should have done the night we met, querida?’ He bent and brushed his lips against hers. ‘If we had made love that night, there would have been no misconceptions. We would have known each other as we were meant to know each other from the day the world began.’

‘Conor,’ Arden whispered, ‘Conor, I think—’

‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ he said. He tilted her face to his and kissed her hungrily. ‘I think,’ he murmured, his mouth a flame against hers, ‘that I will die if I don’t touch your breasts again, that I must taste the silk of your skin...’ Her head fell back as he kissed her throat. ‘My blood beats out your name with each beat of my heart, Arden. I lie sleepless at night, imagining you naked and on fire in my arms, thinking of how you’ll tremble beneath me...’ Arden moaned softly, swayed forward, and Conor caught her up in his arms. ‘Tell me you want me with that same passion,’ he demanded. ‘I want to hear you say it.’

She looked into his eyes. How could she deny him this, when it was what she yearned for, too? She wanted him, she had always wanted him, and everything else—the anger, the quarrels—had not diminished the wanting, had even, in some strange way, intensified it.

‘Tell me,’ Conor said.

Arden sighed her surrender, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his throat.

‘I want you more than life itself,’ she whispered.

He gave a growl of triumph and his mouth dropped to hers, slanting over it hungrily as he carried her across the little clearing to a velvety bed of emerald moss that felt soft as feathers beneath her, and he came down beside her. She put her hands against his chest, the palms flattened so that the heavy beat of his heart thudded under her touch, and he bent and kissed her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, his hands driving deep into her hair.

‘You are more beautiful than any dream,’ he murmured. His hand slipped across her cotton T-shirt, tracing the outline of her breast, feathering lightly against her thrusting nipple, and she caught his wrist, cupped his hand to her flesh and held it there.