Master of El Corazon

‘Undress me,’ she whispered.

His eyes turned to green flame. He took her hands, kissed her wrists, her palms, then drew her up and stripped off her shirt and bra, and her breasts fell free.

‘So perfect, querida’ he said, his voice a broken whisper. He cupped her breasts in his hands, lowered his face to them, moving his cheek over first one sensitive peak and then the other. The faint shadow of his beard lay just beneath his skin; the abrasive feel of it against her nipples was exquisite. Arden moaned softly. ‘Shall I kiss your breasts, querida?’ he said, and slowly, slowly, he lowered his head until she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin. The first touch of his tongue made her cry out, and when his mouth closed around the aroused centre she felt her soul burst free.

‘Conor,’ she said, the word a little sob. Her hands trembled as she slid them under his shirt. She heard the sharp hiss of his breath as she touched his hot skin, and then he drew back and yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

‘Now, touch me,’ he said fiercely, and she did, her fingers tracing the dark hair that whorled over his muscled chest, her mouth tasting his nipples as he had tasted hers. He whispered something, first in Spanish, then in English, something that turned her cheeks to flame.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Oh, yes.’

Quickly, he stripped off the rest of her clothing, and then he lay her back against the grass and looked at her.

‘I’ve waited so long to see you, Arden.’ His voice was husky and thick. He reached out and ran his hand lightly along her body, from her throat to her breasts, across her belly and down to the soft, feminine delta between her thighs. His fingers dipped into the warm, moist darkness and the breath hissed from his lips. ‘I want you,’ he whispered, ‘I want you so much—’

‘Then take me,’ she said. She saw the change her soft plea brought to his face, saw the sudden tightening of his mouth, the darkening of his eyes, and her body tightened in anticipation. ‘Conor,’ she whispered, and she held out her arms to him.

He rose and stripped off his clothing. Arden’s breathing quickened when she saw how perfect he was, how magnificently and proudly male.

‘You’re beautiful,’ she said, and then her voice broke. ‘Please,’ she sighed, ‘Conor, please...’

He knelt above her, bent, kissed her mouth until it was as soft and swollen as a rose bud beneath his.

‘Arden,’ he said, ‘mi amor.’

She clasped his face and drew him to her. His mouth covered hers again; he kissed her, nibbled at her bottom lip, then stroked it with his tongue, and then, whispering her name, he thrust deep into her.

Arden cried out, not with pain but with the joy of fulfilment. Conor hesitated, his maleness still sheathed inside her, and looked down into her eyes.

‘You are mine now, querida,’ he said fiercely, and just before he began to move within her, before that moment when she shattered and became a million spinning suns, Arden knew, with wrenching certainty, that he was more right than he could possibly know, for the simple truth was that she loved Conor Martinez with all her heart and soul.

CHAPTER TEN

ARDEN took a brightly coloured ceramic mug from the dining-room sideboard, filled it with coffee, and added a dollop of cream. She strolled through the French doors to the glass-topped table that stood on the terrace and sat.

What a beautiful morning! she thought, with a smile of pleasure. Her smile deepened. That was nothing unusual, of course. Mornings in this part of Costa Rica, especially at this time of the year, were invariably lovely, but lately there was a special buttery cast to the sunlight, a soft perfume to the breeze. Was it because the seasons were changing? The dry months of summer were ending, and the rainy days of winter were fast approaching. She would have to ask Conor if that was the reason for the difference, have to ask him, too, if the shifting seasons were responsible for the sudden, unbelievable variety of butterflies she saw everywhere she looked, their wings iridescent and glinting with all the wondrous colour of the rainbow.

Two warm, strong hands dropped to her shoulders and clasped them tightly.

‘Good morning,’ a deep voice whispered. ‘Did you sleep well, querida?’

Arden looked up. Conor was standing just behind her, smiling. With a swift, almost fierce joy she realised that it wasn’t the weather that was changing, it was she. With each passing day, she fell more deeply in love with this man who had once been her hated enemy. That was the reason the sun seemed brighter, the creatures more exotic, because she had been caught up in a love so intense it made everything else all the more wonderful, but there was no way to tell him all that, not without giving him even more of her heart than he’d already taken, for Conor had not yet said he loved her.

The bittersweet realisation made her answering smile tremble on her lips as she put her hands over his.

‘You know I did,’ she whispered.

His smile tilted. He bent, kissed her mouth, then came around the table and sat in the chair opposite her.

‘It was hard to leave you this morning., querida,’ he said softly. He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the palm. ‘I wanted to stay with you, make love to you one last time before the day began.’

Arden flushed. ‘But you did, don’t you remember? You kissed me awake, and then—’

He smiled when she hesitated. ‘Yes, sweetheart, I do remember. But there was still another hour until dawn.’

‘Conor, I know you think I’m silly, asking you to leave my room before anyone’s awake, but—but you know how I feel. I’d be embarrassed if the servants thought—if they knew—’

He leaned forward and silenced her halting eatplanation with a kiss. ‘It’s not silly,’ he said, his eyes on hers. ‘It’s old-fashioned and charming.’