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“No, but I still don’t know where Cook has put everything. I don’t understand why Senor Maximo renovated a perfectly good kitchen!”
Erin looked around the room—the kitchen was undoubtedly gorgeous—truly, the kitchen of her dreams. She was about to comment on it when, from a long way off, she heard the sound of Max’s steps as they became more rapid. She knew he was searching for her—the kitchen wasn’t one of her usual retreats. She could almost see him in her mind as he checked her normal places one by one.
“Marisol—” she heard him shout, some moments later.
“Yes, señor?” the housekeeper turned to ask as he appeared in the doorway.
Erin turned to look as well, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face because her hands were sticky.
His eyes met hers and all at once, the tension seemed to recede from his body. The expression on his face almost shattered her—it looked a lot like relief.
“Señor?” Marisol prompted.
Max snapped his gaze away from her to look at the housekeeper. “Never mind,” he said as he turned and strode away.
****
A week later, Erin was trying to relax in ‘her’ sitting room, gazing out the window, her emotions in turmoil.
The clothes and accessories had come on the fifth day after her arrival. Boxes and boxes had been unloaded from the delivery truck and carried up to their suite and into her dressing room. She’d opened them one by one, amazed that Max had, once again, seemed to peg her tastes so perfectly. Clothes of all kinds, too many for her to wear if she wore something different for a year—all suiting her tastes and size perfectly. There was make-up as well. Lotions, toiletries, all in brands and scents that she preferred. It was freaking uncanny.
It didn’t make sense—none of it did. Yes, the week had been . . . strange. Max was acting—well, Max was Max and she really couldn’t even begin to analyze how his brain worked. One minute he would stare at her, harsh and exacting, the next moment his features would turn molten—as if he couldn’t wait to strip her naked.
And strip her naked, he did. Every night. And every night, the sexual experience was so intense that she felt all manner of emotions. She wanted to laugh out loud at the sheer joy of being in his arms, but the next minute she wanted to cry—and damn her sorry, silly hide if she hadn’t done that very thing not once, but twice. Twice in a matter of a week she’d allowed Max to see her cry. And she never normally cried, not really. It was the fact that he screwed her up so badly; he’d rise above her on the bed and take her with a dominating strength that made the breath catch in her throat. And when it was over, he’d apologize for being too rough—as if!—and then he’d hold her so gently and tenderly, but always, with at least one arm locked around her as if he’d never let her leave his side.
Thinking about it now, she sighed in confusion. She heard Marisol softly clear her throat, breaking the spell she was under. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Erin smiled at the woman, “How are you today?”
The housekeeper returned her smile pleasantly and said, “Very well, gracias. Nora Navarro is outside. She wants to know if you’ll join her?”
A bolt of pleasure chased through Erin at the thought of making a friend in Argentina. “Bring her inside, will you?”
“I tried, but she says her boots are too muddy. I told her that was nonsense but she won’t budge.”
Erin came to her feet and within moments stood on the front drive as the other girl sat behind the steering wheel of an ATV, watching her approach.
“Good morning. You could have come in!” Erin invited.
The other girl laughed. “No way.” She lifted one booted foot to display what appeared to be wet, caked-on mud. “Can you come play with me?” the girl asked in jest.
Nora’s playful antics pleased Erin. “Sounds great. I totally need to get away from the house for a while, but I don’t have any boots—will I need them?”
“Tennis shoes will be fine.”
Five minutes later, after Erin changed shoes and grabbed her cell phone, the girls took off.
“Max won’t want me to go far—”
The girl made a scoffing noise. “Max won’t want you to go fifty feet—too damn bad, though. Men are ridiculous. Freakin’ Rafael tries to hold me under his thumb as well, and we’re not even married. He’s going to go insane when he figures out I left on my own.”
Not even married? It seemed an odd way to describe their relationship or lack of one, but Erin stored the question away for later.
As they passed the stables and continued down a dirt path, Erin casually waved to three ranch managers fully expecting them to try to stop her from leaving the immediate area. But thankfully, they only opened the gate as they tipped their hats respectfully, even though they seemed to watch her with sharp eyes. Having made it past them, Erin relaxed a bit and decided it couldn’t hurt to question Nora. “That seems kind of strange that you’d mention marriage at all—Rafael’s your family, right?”
