In the end, he chose one of each, and they shared the meat and raisin turnover, the stuffed tortilla, and the fried corn and cheese cake to the last crumb.
‘Good?’ Conor said.
Arden grinned. ‘Better than good. What’s next?’
Glasses of tamarindo were next, a drink made from the fruit of the tamarind tree that was tart and delicious, and then there were more treats to sample, along with bottles of local beer. The hours slipped by quickly as they moved through the happy crowd and blended with it. Conor stopped at a silversmith’s stand and bought Arden a pair of beautiful hoop earrings that she put on immediately.
‘Pretty?’ she asked, turning her head so they caught the light.
‘Beautiful,’ Conor said, and the way he said it made her flush with pleasure.
In early afternoon, a mariachi band set up just in front of the church and began to play. The music was sweetly primitive and very fast, and when Conor drew Arden into the circle of dancers that had formed, she laughed in protest.
‘I can’t dance to this,’ she said, but it turned out she could, that in the warmth and security of Conor’s arms her feet could fly over the old cobblestones with grace and speed—and then, suddenly, a roar went up ahead.
‘What’s that?’ Arden said.
Conor smiled and put his arm around her waist. ‘The bullfight is starting.’
Her good humour faded. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said, hanging back as he began leading her forward. ‘Conor, listen. I don’t want—’
But it was too late. The crowd was surging around them, laughing good-naturedly, carrying them forward whether she wanted it to happen or not...
... and there it was, the bull ring—only it wasn’t a ring at all. It was a wooden-fenced pen, and inside it were a smallish black animal looking sleepy in the late afternoon sun and a couple of young boys grinning impishly and waving red cloths.
‘Oh,’ Arden said, and Conor laughed and put his arm around her waist.
‘Noble,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘and poetic. And what was that other word you used?’
‘All right,’ she said, tossing her head, ‘so they start with something light and funny. But when the matador comes along—’
‘Those are the matadors,’ Conor said with a chuckle. ‘The boys will wave their capes at el toro until either they get tired or he does, and then the rancher who brought him leads him home.’ He turned her towards him and smiled. ‘The boys will boast of their courage to the girls, and the bull will boast of his courage to the cows, and everyone will be happy.’
. Arden smiled. ‘Truly?’
‘Truly, querida. That’s the way we fight our bulls in my country.’
She giggled. ‘I like it.’
‘I thought you would.’
‘And I’m sorry I was so silly.’
Conor lay his hand against her cheek and lifted her face to his. ‘I’m not,’ he murmured. ‘Have you forgotten our wager?’
Their eyes met. Heat sizzled deep in her belly, raced along her veins and set fire to her body.
‘Conor,’ she said shakily, ‘Conor—’
‘Soon, we will go home, querida,’ he said, and his arm swept around her in a gesture of possession so complete that it stole her breath away.
Now, the hours began to drag. The fiesta was still fun, but Arden could think of nothing but what would happen when they reached El Corazon. She had lost the bet they’d made; she was obliged to spend the entire night in Conor’s room.
But why had he made the wager? He knew it would embarrass her.
Unless. Her pulses quickened. Unless it was his way of telling her that he was going to mention the word neither of them had used, the word that implied permanency and a life together. Unless, tonight, he was going to tell her he loved her, that he wanted her not only for now but for the rest of his life...
Yes, she thought, oh, yes, that was it! Of course!