Slowly, her eyes downcast, she looped her arms around him. Her fingers brushed the thick, dark hair that grew low on his collar; it felt like the softest silk and she fought against the swift desire to bury her fingers in it, to turn her face to his neck and touch her mouth to his tanned throat…
Dios, Antonio thought, what had he done to himself?
There was no need to be standing here with Kyra in his arms. She had suddenly gone pale with exhaustion; she’d reached out to the railing for support All he’d had to do was take her arm and steady her.
Instead, he’d gathered her up in an embrace. It meant nothing, he’d told her. And now he was telling the same thing to himself.
But it was a lie.
He caught his breath as he felt the cool brush of her fingers against the nape of his neck. If only she would bury her hands in his hair, drag his head down to hers. He ached with self-loathing for wanting to possess her, but it didn’t change his need.
He bent his head so that his chin just brushed her cap of dark, shining hair. It felt like silk and smelled of lemons and he thought how strange it was that something as mundane as the scent of citrus should suddenly make his heart beat faster.
“Kyra?”
His voice was a sigh in the silence of the night. Her face tilted up to his, her eyes wide and so pale in the glint of the moon that they might have been starlight.
“Kyra,” he said again, and as her lashes drifted slowly to her cheeks, Antonio brought his mouth to hers.
Her mouth was satin. It was velvet. It was as soft as a flower and just as sweet. His arms tightened around her and he groaned softly as her hands did what he had dreamed they might, her fingers sweeping into his hair, her palms cupping the back of his head so that he might deepen the kiss.
He did, his tongue sweeping across her lips and into her mouth and now it was she who groaned with desire.
Antonio’s hand moved to the side of her breast. His fingers brushed upward, kissing the nipple with flame, turning it hard beneath her cotton shirt.
He whispered something in Spanish against her mouth, turned her closer to him, exulting in the wild leap of her heart against his and the moans that slipped from her parted lips.
“Señor del Rey?”
Antonio lifted his head. Light from the open front door spilled out onto the steps, blinding him. He backed down quickly into the shadows, while he fought to recover his senses.
“Dolores?”
”Sí, señor.” His housekeeper, a small, stocky woman in a long flannel robe, peered cautiously into the night. “I thought I heard the dogs, but no one came to the door.”
“Antonio,” Kyra whispered, “put me down. Please.”
“I apologize if I woke you, Dolores,” he said, ignoring her.
“No, no, señor. I was reading when…” The housekeeper’s eyes widened as Antonio stepped forward into the light. “Is that a woman?”
Antonio nodded. “It is.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “Is she ill?”
“She is tired.” He came up the steps and into the highceilinged foyer, his footsteps loud against the tiled floor. “She has had a long and very difficult day.”
“Ah, I see,” Dolores said wisely.
It was all Antonio could do not to smile for he knew she didn’t see at all. He had never brought a woman here before. Not that he was bringing Kyra here in the way Dolores meant. Not that she was staying. Not that he was really going to force her to keep their unholy bargain.
”Señor?” Dolores hesitated. “Shall I prepare something for her to eat?”
“A good idea. Some soup, perhaps. And a sandwich.”
“Of course And shall I bring it to the guest room or—or will she be sleeping in—in—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Kyra’s voice was rough with impatience. “I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself. And I am not a—a sack that needs carrying, thank you very much!”
Antonio frowned. “The stairs are long and you are tired. I was only—”
“Yes.” Kyra shoved her hands against his chest and glared at him. “I know You’ve already told me. You’re trying to keep me from tripping or slipping or doing some fool thing like breaking my neck so you don’t have to deal with a medical emergency” Her mouth straightened into an angry, thin line. “Will you put me down?”
“Ah, señor, if you do not need me.”
“Go on,” Antonio said, his voice clipped. “Make our guest something to eat. I will show her to her room.”
“I am not a guest,” Kyra said furiously She banged her fist on Antonio’s shoulder and raised her voice to a shout. “Where is that old crone? Why did she run away? Is she so accustomed to seeing you carry your victims into your lair that she thinks nothing of it when she sees a woman struggling in your unwanted embrace?”
She cried out as Antonio’s arms tightened around her.
“You were not struggling a little while ago, querida.” His voice was low and harsh, his face grim as he started up the wide staircase. “You were as soft and compliant as a rabbit, and if we had not been interrupted you would have let me take you there on the steps, with the moonlight on your naked body.”
It was painfully close to the truth. Whatever had happened outside in the courtyard was beyond Kyra’s comprehension. Antonio had touched her and suddenly she’d lost all connection to reality. That she hated him, that he had blackmailed her into coming here, that his contempt for her was matched only by her contempt for him, had become meaningless.
All that had mattered were his kisses. His touch. The feel of his strong, muscled arms around her, and the race of his heart against hers…
Antonio kicked open a door and stepped into a room dusted with moonlight. A huge, canopied bed stood on a raised platform in its center.
Kyra’s struggles intensified. “Put me down, you—you tyrant!”
“Watch what you say to me, woman.” His voice was icy as he shouldered the door closed behind him.
“You took advantage of me a few minutes ago. You know that you did! I wasn’t myself. I—”
The breath whooshed from her lungs as Antonio dropped her in the center of the bed. She scrambled back against the pillows, her eyes flashing.
“I warn you, Antonio, if you touch me you’re only going to make things worse. I’ll—I’ll go straight to the authorities on this island. I’ll tell them you abducted me, I’ll charge you with kidnapping. I’ll—What’s so funny?”
He was laughing at her, damn him, laughing at her, his hands on his hips and his dark head thrown back as if she had just cracked the funniest joke he’d ever heard.
Kyra reached for the first thing she could get her hands on, a small porcelain clock that stood ticking quietly on the beside table. She flung it at Antonio’s head but he ducked as it hurtled past him and smashed into pieces against the wall.
“Damn you, what is so funny?”
“You, querida,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Do you really think I am so desperate for a woman that I would force myself on such a sharp-tongued, skinny, bedraggled-looking creature as you?”
Color raced into her cheeks. “None of that seemed to be enough to stop you a little while ago!”
“As for your threats…you came to my island of your own volition.”
“You blackmailed me into coming here!”
Antonio leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed.
“I offered you employment.” A cool smile touched his lips. “I know the idea of exchanging work for money may be new to you but it is quite common, believe me.”
“Go on, say whatever you like.” Kyra glared at him. “When I file my complaint with the authorities—”
“Do you know how to fly a Cessna?” he asked politely. “Or were you planning on swimming to the mainland?”
“I’m talking about the authorities on this island. I’m sure you pay them all huge bribes to keep them in your pocket, but. .” Her nostrils flared. “What’s so amusing this time
?”
“You are looking at the authority on this island, Kyra.” He smiled. “There is no law here but the law I choose to impose.”
“But—but what about the others who live here?”
“What others?” He laughed. “Surely you do not think that my housekeeper or the others who work for me dispute my decisions?”
She turned the color of sun-bleached linen. That was fine, Antonio thought grimly. She deserved a taste of fear. If this little episode in his life accomplished nothing else, it would be good to know that he had taught Kyra Landon she could not get away with such dangerous games, seeking a man’s help only to condemn it when it was offered, teasing him with the promise of fire but turning to ice at his touch.
Not that he was blameless, he thought reluctantly. It had been stupid, letting his anger get the best of him so that he’d ended up bringing her here. As for the rest, she was everything he’d called her: sharp-tongued, bedraggled-looking, as impossibly stubborn and thickskulled as the new Arabian stallion down in the stables behind the house.