Spring Bride

His gold teeth were impressive, but so were his tattoos. A snake sporting huge fangs writhed on one arm; a pierced heart dripped crimson blood down the other.

Kyra cleared her throat. “I—I…”

I, what? Why was she stammering? So he had gold teeth. So he had tattoos. So what? She was on her own now; she wasn’t in a place where she’d be rubbing shoulders with men in tuxedos. Gold teeth and tattoos, she thought firmly, did not mean he was a bad person!

And so she smiled politely. “Yes,” she said, “I am. Could you tell me where I can find the American Embassy?”

“Ah, but the embassy is closed at this hour, señorita.” Gold Teeth frowned. “Is there some difficulty?”

Kyra nodded. “I’ve been robbed.”

Gold Teeth gasped. “Robbed? By one of my countrymen?” He clucked in sympathy. “That is most unfortunate. You must report this to the policía at once.”

Kyra managed a slight smile. “I would, if I knew where to find the nearest station. I don’t suppose you’d know…”

He turned and pointed toward a dark alley. “Of course. It is right through there.”

Kyra peered over his shoulder. The alley wasn’t just dark, it was almost black She couldn’t see more than a couple of feet into it.

“Where?” she said. “I don’t see…”

“Ah, you must go to the end, señorita. And then there is a right turn, and a left, and another left…” Gold Teeth looked at her. “Come, señorita. I will take you there myself.”

Kyra looked at the alley, then at her would-be rescuer. Suddenly, old Mr. Schiller’s voice rang in her ears.

Got to keep your wits about you…it said.

She took a step back. “No,” she said politely, “thank you very much for offering, but—”

”Señorita.” Gold Teeth smiled slyly, shuffled closer, and breathed cheap whiskey into her face. “You have no money, yes? An’ no man to help you.”

“I’ll be fine, señor. I am grateful, but—”

His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

“Be nice,” he said, “an’ I be nice, too. Otherwise—”

“Let me go,” Kyra demanded, twisting furiously against him.

Gold Teeth laughed as if she’d made a wonderful joke. “Sure. I let you go. But first—”

“I would suggest you take the lady’s advice, compadre.”

The voice came from behind her. It was male, deeply pitched, and though it was almost lazy in tone, there was no mistaking the authority in it.

Gold Teeth almost snarled with annoyance.

“This is not your business, man.”

“I have made it my business. Let go of the woman and I will permit you to leave here in peace.”

Gold Teeth threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I am shaking with fear.”

The stranger’s voice hardened. “For the last time, let her go.”

“Why?” Gold Teeth’s smile twisted into an obscene grin and he nodded his head slyly. “Now I unnerstand. You want her for yourself.” Kyra stumbled as he shoved her aside. “Come and get her, then,” he said, and suddenly there was a knife glinting in his hand.

The man shot past Kyra with the swiftness of a jungle cat. There was a blur of motion, a thud, a groan. The knife went flying and Gold Teeth fell to his knees, swayed there, then sprawled flat on his face.

Twice in one day, Kyra thought hysterically, twice in one hour something incredible had happened too fast for her to see!

Her rescuer bent, lifted Gold Teeth to his feet. He said something in Spanish Kyra couldn’t understand but Gold Teeth certainly did. Even though he was swaying unsteadily, he gulped, nodded, and took off.

Kyra dragged air deep into her lungs and took a step toward her rescuer, who was standing with his back to her and his hands on his hips, watching her assailant as he vanished into the alley.

My God, she thought with admiration, he wasn’t even breathing hard.

With a shaking hand, she took off her baseball cap and ran her fingers through her hair.

”Señor,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ”Señor, I am so grateful…”

”Señorita,” the man said sternly, “this man was a—a marrano…” He shook his head. “Do you speak any Spanish?”

Kyra went very still. No, she thought, no, it couldn’t be.

Her heart rose into her throat. She watched as her rescuer dusted off his hands and then turned toward her.

“He was, you would say, a pig. So you will understand when I tell you—”

Cristo!

Antonio Rodrigo Cordoba del Rey stared at the woman. No. No, it couldn’t be!

His sapphire eyes turned almost black with shock as he stared at her, at the face he had not managed to forget, despite the weeks that had gone by since he had first seen it.

He saw her throat work convulsively.

“No,” she whispered, “no! I don’t believe it”

Antonio rubbed his hands over his eyes but it didn’t help. When he looked again, she was still standing there in front of him, dressed in a skirt and sandals and a T-shirt instead of in a little slip of black silk, but there was no mistaking her identity.

This was the woman who had reduced him to such foolishness that night in Denver. He had thought of her a dozen times since then, never without his gut knotting with anger, always assuring himself that the only saving grace in the whole damned scenario was that he would never, ever, have to see her again…

Yet, here she was. Por Dios, how could such a thing have happened?

He took a step toward her, his fists knotted as he fought for self-control.

“What in hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

The woman’s head snapped back as if he’d struck her.

“What am I doing here?” she said. Her voice was breathy, as if she’d been running. She moved closer, her head tilted up, her eyes locked on his. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?”

Antonio’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot believe this. What have I done that the gods should drop you into my lap a second time?”

Kyra stared at him. The arrogant, insolent, self-centered jerk…

“My sentiments precisely,” she sputtered. “Suffering through one encounter with you was enough for a lifetime. No woman should have to endure your presence twice!”

A dark flush crept across his face. “You should count yourself fortunate for this second test of your stamina, señorita. Had it not occurred, you would have found yourself involved in a much more interesting adventure with your charming friend!”

“That—that creature was not my friend!”

A chill smile curved over Antonio’s mouth. “You should choose more carefully when you decide to ‘play with the natives’.”

Kyra’s eyes turned from silver to smoke. “I do not have to stand here and listen to these insults!”

“You most certainly do not.”

“Fine.”

She spun away, but the memory of his disdainful little smile, even of the way he was standing, with his arms crossed over his chest, enraged her. All that smug male superiority…how dare he? She took a breath, turned, and faced him again.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are, without question, the most…the most insufferable human being imaginable?”

One midnight black eyebrow rose in lazy amusement.

“And to think that moments ago you were almost on your knees to me with gratitude,” he drawled.

Kyra’s color heightened. “You only wish!”

The smile faded from his lips. “My only wish is that I awaken in a few seconds and find out that you have once again been nothing but a bad dream!”

“Really?” Kyra purred. “Have I been in your dreams, señor?”

Antonio flushed. Dammit, why was he letting her draw him into this ridiculous battle of words? As it was, he had made a stupid slip. He had been dreaming of her ever since that night they’d first encountered each other; incredible, X-rated dream

s that were ridiculous when you considered that he was not a man who needed to waste his sexual energies in fantasies and that this tart-tongued, mean-tempered American was the last woman he’d ever want in his bed.