‘Stop it,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m not in the mood for...’
‘You’ve been in the mood for this from day one,’ he said softly, taking hold of her shoulders.
‘You bastard! You don’t—’
His mouth dropped to hers, cutting off the rest of her words. His kiss was expert and sensual, the kiss of a man accustomed to winning response from a willing woman, but Arden wasn’t willing. He drew back.
‘Go on, play hard to get.’ He smiled. ‘A little makebelieve- can be fun.’
‘Let go of me,’ she said coldly.
‘You don’t really want me to do that.’
‘You haven’t any idea what I want or don’t want!’
‘Haven’t I?’
‘No! You think—you’re so damned certain that I...’
Suddenly, to Arden’s dismay, tears rose in her eyes. She tried blinking them back but it was impossible; she felt them roll down her cheeks and she stared at Conor in horror, hating herself for this unexpected show of weakness, hating him for somehow bringing it on. She had not cried once throughout this whole hideous ordeal, not when Edgar Lithgow had attacked her, not when Conor had degraded her, not even when she’d found herself adrift in a strange country.
Conor drew in his breath. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘I’m not! I never cry!’
His thumbs lifted, skimmed her cheeks, smudging the tears against her skin.
‘No?’ he said softly. ‘What do you call this, then?’
‘Stupidity.’ The tears came harder and she closed her eyes. ‘All right, Conor, make the most of this moment. I promise you, you’ll never see me cry again.’
‘Hell,’ he said again, his voice rough. He took her face in his hands and lifted it to him. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry. I only wanted to—I only wanted to—’ His gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘I only wanted to kiss you,’ he whispered, and he bent to her, his mouth unrelenting in its search for hers and incredibly, indescribably tender in its capture.
There were a thousand reasons to deny him, a thousand more to pound her fists against his chest and tear free of the arms that were encircling her. But she did neither. A sweet, fierce flame burst to life deep within her; she gave a sob of acquiescence, rose on her toes, and wound her arms tightly around Conor’s neck.
He groaned her name and gathered her closer, kissing her again and again. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs moulded to his, their heartbeats merged and became one swift, galloping race of desire.
Arden put her hands into Conor’s hair, curling her fingers into that dark silk she had so longed to touch. What was the point in denying it now? He was right. She had wanted this for days, for weeks, perhaps for a lifetime, she’d wanted to touch him, to be touched by him, to hold him in her arms and feel his passion, know he wanted her.
It was impossible to get close enough to him. She wanted to feel every inch of his flesh against hers, she wanted to touch him everywhere and be touched in return.
It was as if Conor had read her thoughts. He shifted his weight and all at once she felt the hardness of his arousal press against her. Heat bloomed deep in her belly and filled her with desire. The sweetness of the kiss became the fire of passion.
Conor’s fingers tunnelled into her hair, tugged her head back. His teeth nipped sharply at her bottom lip and she made a little sound of pleasure and opened her mouth to him. He whispered against her lips, words in Spanish that needed no translation. His hands slipped to her buttocks and he lifted her into the pulsing thrust of his erection.
‘Querida,’ he murmured, ‘querida mia...’
His hands were under her T-shirt, tugging it impatiently from her jeans; his mouth was at her throat. He fumbled at the front closure of her bra and then her breasts were naked in his hands. She cried out as his thumbs skimmed across her nipples, cried out again as a flooding pool of warmth and dampness welled between her thighs.
‘Conor,’ she said desperately, as if the answer to what was happening to her might be contained in that one word, ‘Conor,...’
‘Cuidado!’
The warning cry sliced the air like the crack of a whip. Arden’s eyes flew open. She heard the beat of powerful hoofs and then the sound of her own scream as a huge black stallion came thundering down the aisle towards them, its breath hot and its eyes rolling.
Conor lunged for the animal’s halter, and the beast reared up on its hind legs, slashing at the air with razorsharp hooves.
‘Conor,’ she screamed, and he thrust her behind him. The back of her skull thunked hard against the stable wall.