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Annabelle gasped. Her gentle hands brushed against his hair. “What are you doing?”
The whispers built in noise. The dancers halted on the dance floor. Even the musicians stopped playing their instruments.
Or maybe Stefano just couldn’t hear the music over the pounding of his own heart.
Closing his eyes, he pressed his cheek against her waist. Then he looked up at her.
“Annabelle, I love you.”
She bit her full, pink lip. Putting her hands on his cheeks, she looked down at him, her face bemused and uncertain. “Are you sure?”
Rising to his feet, he cupped her face, stroking her tearstained cheeks. “Look at my face. And ask if it’s true.”
She searched his gaze, then tears filled her eyes. “I love you, Stefano,” she whispered. “So much.”
Her lips trembled and it was too much for him to resist. He kissed her with passion so searing and pure it burned through his heart, and he knew his love for her would last forever.
He heard whistles and ribald comments from nearby guests. Pulling away, Stefano looked down at her beautiful face. Her eyes were still closed, her lips still swollen from their summer days of endless kisses. He wanted to kiss her forever.
But what he felt for Annabelle was private. Tucking her hand over his arm, he led her away from the gossiping, chattering, madding crowd.
Outside the white tent, the warm Spanish night was dark with illuminated stars like scattered diamonds. Stefano heard the distant call of birds and whinny of horses. He loved this land with all his heart.
No. It now took second place in his heart. His guiding star, his love, stood before him now in a white dress.
“I have a question for you,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
Beneath the night sky, she looked at him. She didn’t push. She just waited, her gray eyes glowing with trust and love. He stroked her cheek, tilting her head back beneath the dark canopy of stars. Her sweet, innocent, beautiful face held such love and promise that it brought tears to his eyes. He loved her more than life. He never wanted to be without her …
; “Marry me,” he said.
Her lips parted. She looked up, searching his face.
“Marry me,” he demanded, more forcefully. With a choked gasp, she threw her arms around his neck.
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.” Pulling away from him, she vowed, “I will cancel my assignment in Argentina. I will cancel everything. I never want to leave you again.”
But he frowned, furrowing his brow. “But photography is your passion.”
She pressed her cheek against his chest. “Fou are my passion.”
He stroked her hair softly, his heart aching with love. But he could not allow her to make the sacrifice. Looking down at her, he took a deep breath. “I will come with you.”
She looked up in shock. “But I’ll be away for a month.”
“So?”
She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “I can’t ask you to leave your home!”
“Oh, Annabelle.” Holding her face in his hands, Stefano looked down at her with adoration. “Don’t you understand? It’s you, querida.” With a low laugh, he shook his head. “You. you are my home.”
A month later, flying first class back from Buenos Aires to London, Annabelle was so nervous that she could barely hold still in the white leather seat.
“Champagne, Señora Cortez?” the flight attendant asked, holding out a silver tray.
Señora Cortez. She and Stefano had married in a simple ceremony at Santo Castillo, the day after she’d turned in her photo essay to Equestrian magazine. When the magazine’s editors had seen her pictures, they’d instantly forgiven her for missing the polo match and gala. They’d retitled the cover story to Stud Ranch Wedding: Stefano Cortez Elopes with Equestrian Photographer in Whirlwind Affair. The publishers had already ordered a double printing as they expected the gossipy exclusive to be their best-selling edition ever.
