A Spanish Inheritance

‘Eh! Señorita!’

‘Enrique!’ Annalisa exclaimed with pleasure. ‘The trees…it’s a miracle!’

Baring his gums, the wily old villager lifted his shoulders in an expansive shrug. ‘El bon sol y agua!’

‘Just the good sun and water,’ Ramon translated.

‘I know,’ Annalisa said, watching Enrique’s pleasure when Ramon clapped the old man on the shoulder.

‘Nothing would have been possible without your expertise, Enrique,’ he said.

And Ramon’s water, she thought.

As Enrique returned to his work she turned to Ramon and said frankly, ‘It was nice of you to give him all the credit.’

‘I am nice,’ Ramon insisted, his dark eyes brewing up a storm as he gazed at her lips. ‘Given half a chance…’

As their eyes met her senses surged beyond the point where reason could dictate caution.

‘Welcome back, señorita!’

Snapping out of the trance, Annalisa turned to see Maria Teresa hurrying across the yard with a basket over her arm. Well, she did have thirteen children back home. She could hardly expect her to stay on indefinitely.

‘Fudge has been fed. Don’t let him fool you. See you tomorrow.’

‘Goodbye, Maria Teresa…and thank you.’

‘Dardo has earned a rest too,’ Ramon murmured, slapping his stallion’s neck.

‘Why don’t you turn him out in the field?’

‘OK. I’ll just go and wipe him down…find him a drink.’

‘Would you like a drink?’ Well, it was only polite.

He paused and looked at her. Suddenly the small distance between them seemed part of them both. ‘That would be good,’ he said, still holding her gaze.

As she watched him lead Dardo across the yard Annalisa could feel the familiar honey-sweet lethargy stealing over her limbs.

But the languor was ruptured the moment she opened the door and a small tornado hurled himself at her legs. With an exclamation of pleasure she knelt to fuss over the old dog. But Fudge was so confident of his hold over her affections that he seized his opportunity to scoot past her and scamper away towards the orchards. No doubt there would be plenty of lunch packs to share there, she mused wryly.

‘So, Annalisa—’

Her hand flew to her throat as Ramon walked into the house, ducking his head to avoid the garlands of herbs Maria Teresa had installed over the door.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘I’m always on edge after a long journey,’ she lied.

‘Coffee?’ he suggested, strolling over towards the range.

‘Make yourself at home.’

‘OK,’ he agreed, reaching for a jar of coffee beans from the shelf.

Her eyes fixed on his easy movements. Half new man, half unreconstructed male—most women would be drooling… OK, she was drooling.

‘You can help me if you like,’ he suggested, without turning around.

An offer to make coffee should come without any extras, she thought, trying to will her heart to slow down. ‘You seem to have everything under control.’

He set the water to boil on the range. ‘Come here,’ he insisted softly.

It wouldn’t hurt to find the mugs for him.

The moment she was within reach Ramon seized her waist and had her on the counter in front of him. She was still gasping with shock when he parted her legs with his hip and moved in close. His hands slid over her buttocks, cupping, controlling. A sound of pleasure and surprise escaped her lips as his large buckle chafed her and she heard him laugh…just a rumble of satisfaction down low in his chest. Ramon was all male, she thought weakly as his mouth brushed hers with a light and tantalising touch.

‘You missed me,’ he said. A statement not a question. And then his tongue drove her lips apart and he pressed hard against her, his body so big, so muscular and unyielding as he brought her into his arms. She groaned as sensation streamed through her body, erotic and extreme… The scent of him was curling around her, warm and evocative, the seductive lines of his hard frame beneath her hands. She heard herself moan and then beg as her fingers scored his back.

‘Gatito!’ he exclaimed softly. But it seemed to please him, for he only teased her more, whispering suggestions that made her writhe in his arms. Then, banding one arm around her, he allowed his fingers to trace the pulsing mound of her femininity beneath the fine lace thong, playing her skilfully and judging her responses while he murmured encouragement until she was all feeling, all passion, all need… And then, finding her hot and wet, he dragged off the scrap of lace and plunged his fingers in deep, so that she arched against him.