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And unexpected, she thought. She knew how surprised he’d been when she’d told him they couldn’t share a bed. It was the day they’d become lovers, almost two weeks before. They’d stayed in the little clearing in the cloud forest for hours, lying in each other’s arms, touching and kissing and talking about a million different things, and then Conor had made love to her again, so long and so passionately that it had seemed an eternity until she’d come tumbling back to earth again. Finally, as the sun painted the forest with vermilion, they climbed into the Bronco and headed back to the ranch.
Once inside the house, Conor had gathered her tightly into his arms and kissed her.
‘I’m going to tell Inez to move your things into my room,’ he said softly.
‘No,’ Arden said quickly, ‘no, don’t do that.’
Conor’s eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Very well, querida. If you prefer to give her the instruction yourself —’
‘You don’t understand.’ She pressed her hands lightly against his chest. ‘I—I can’t share a room with you.’
‘What do you mean? Of course you can.’
‘I’m telling you, I can’t. If I did—if I did, everyone would know that—that...’ She stumbled to an embarrassed silence.
‘That we’re lovers,’ he said, his eyes on hers.
Arden nodded. ‘Yes. Servants-servants talk, Conor, they talk about what people do, and—and they make judgements. The people they work for don’t realise it, they—they seem to think servants are part of the furniture, but—’
‘Is that how you think I treat Inez and the rest? As if they belonged to me?’
‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘oh, no, I wasn’t accusing you of...’ She drew a deep breath and rested her forehead against his chin. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but that’s how I feel. Please don’t try and change my mind.’
He gathered her even closer in his arms. ‘All right, then, querida. We’ll do it your way.’ He lowe
red his head and brushed his lips gently over hers. ‘I’ll come to you in the darkness of the night and leave you before the sun rises.’ A slow, sexy smile curved across his mouth. ‘You won’t object to that, will you?’
Arden hadn’t trusted herself to answer. Instead, she’d touched her hand to his cheek and Conor had kissed her again, this time with slow, sweet care.
‘Wanting you is like wanting a dozen different women,’ he’d said while he held her. ‘You’re never quite what I expect you to be-and yet you’re always what I want.’
Now, watching as he sipped his morning coffee, she thought of those whispered words and wondered, as she had many times during the past days, what he’d meant by them. She would want him forever, she knew that without question, but what did ‘forever’ mean to a man like Conor Martinez? Surely there had been women, perhaps lots of women, before her. No man who looked the way he did, who pleased a woman the way he could, would have lived the existence of a saint.
An even darker thought had come to her late last night, as she lay drowsing in Conor’s arms. Listening to his slow, steady breathing, she’d suddenly wondered if his wanting her had anything to do with his wanting El Corazon.
But that was foolish. There’d been a fever of need between the two of them from the start, even though they’d both done their best to suppress it.
Besides, according to the lawyer she’d contacted, nothing either of them did now would—or could—change the will. Even if she’d wanted to renounce Felix’s bequest, she couldn’t. The finca was legally hers, at least, until the lawyers or the court decided otherwise.
She didn’t want El Corazon, she thought suddenly. In her heart, she’d known that from the start. Hadn’t she almost said that to Conor when she’d first learned of Felix’s incredible bequest? But anger had kept her silent.
What Felix had done was wrong. And cruel. He’d given her the ranch not out of kindness but out of his desire to hurt Conor. She, too, was hurting him, denying him El Corazon when, in truth, it should be his. He was tied to the land by blood, by sweat, by love...
‘Hey.’ Conor was leaning towards her across the table, his brow creased. He gave her a little smile, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. ‘Ate you OK?’
She stared at him. Why had it taken her so long to see the truth? But then, the truth had been a long time coming to both of them about a lot of things. She had lumped Conor in with the rich boys and men she’d grown up despising, men who’d seen women like her as servants or playthings. Conor had been blind, too. He’d let circumstance and a handful of lies convince him she was a woman who preyed upon men.
Neither of them had mentioned the will since they’d become lovers. She knew Conor must feel as she did, afraid to allow the impossibility of the situation to intrude upon the fragile world they’d created. But she could change all that. She had only to turn to Conor, to tell him it was he who deserved El Corazon, that she would make things right.
She smiled, laced her fingers through his, drew a deep breath. She felt light, carefree, as if some awful burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
‘Conor,’ she said, ‘we have to talk.’
He laughed softly. ‘Felix was right,’ he said. ‘You talk more than any woman I’ve ever known.’
‘It’s Felix I want to talk about, Conor. About—’ She took a breath. ‘About his will.’
His smile vanished instantly. ‘No:
