California Royale Page 8

  Shea jerked the Honda to a stop, backed up quickly, and drove into the inn’s lot.

  Inside, the bar was dark and opulent, with touches of Mendocino’s Victorian style in the ornate woodwork and stained-glass lamps. The jukebox in one corner of the dance floor made a weird modern contrast to the surroundings. The bar’s patrons were a mixture of tourist and local, young and old. At the moment many of them were dancing. On the jukebox Elvis sang “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You.”

  Duke spotted Shea at almost the same second that her intense violet gaze came to rest on him. He felt a jolt of energy surge through him as yearning and anger fought for control of his emotions, but he remained as he was, leaning nonchalantly against the bar. His hand tightened around a glass of beer as he noted that most of the men in the bar turned their heads to look at her, at the sleek symmetry of lithe body and unique face and shoulder-length blond hair.

  She wore gray flats, gray leather pants, and a wide-necked blue top that slipped off one golden shoulder. Come on, Palomino, come on, he told her silently as she made her way through the crowd toward him. Let’s tangle, lady. Let’s stop pretending that we can control this. She returned his gaze with challenge, sweeping her eyes over his boots, jeans, and white knit pullover. Duke smiled at her undaunted attitude.

  She stopped only inches from him.

  “I went AWOL from the estate,” he told her bluntly, confirming the accusation in her eyes. “Just for tonight.”

  “And you don’t give a damn if you set a bad example.”

  “I’ve never tried to set a good example for anyone. Let’s dance.” To hell with polite chitchat.

  He put his beer aside and quickly took her arm. She tried to pull away, but he resolutely dragged her onto the dance floor.

  “Alejandro, this is ridiculous!” She spoke in Spanish, her voice low and full of tension. “Stop! I don’t want to dance. I just stopped to tell you how I—”

  “You’re dancing. It’s too late.” He wrapped her in a tight embrace.

  The sudden, unexpected closeness of their bodies silenced them both. Shea felt warm currents of sensual response flow through her. Her breasts were snug against his chest, her pelvis tight against his. She grasped his shoulders and the sheathed contours of his muscles moved beneath her hands like bands of flexible steel.

  They danced without speaking, communicating their anger and sorrow through the rigid set of their bodies. His hands clasped her lower back with harsh pressure; she knotted her fingers in his thin sweater as if she wanted to shake him. Shea stared straight into his dark eyes, trying very hard and without success to unsettle the strength she saw there. The song ended and another began, Chicago’s achingly sensual “Color My World.” Shea shut her eyes and sagged a little. The song was Duke’s ally.

  “What will be, will be,” he reminded her in a troubled and sardonic voice.

  “If things were different.”

  “Sssh. Live in the moment.”

  Her hands knotted tighter in the material of his pullover, and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. He hardened with arousal, and without thinking Shea pressed her stomach into that hardness. She tilted her head back and looked up into his face. His eyes were half-closed, sensual, compelling, with sadness gleaming in the dark depths. She had never shared such conflict and such need with another human being. A soft groan escaped from her throat.

  He bent his head beside hers and brushed her ear with his lips. “You and me, Palomino. What’s between us is all that’s important. Nothing else. I won’t let any problem drive you away from me.”

  His arms tightened around her and she felt him tremble. That vulnerable response made her bones melt. With another soft cry. Shea burrowed her face into the smooth, dark hollow of his neck and kissed the warm skin beneath his ear.

  “Oh, Lord, I don’t believe this,” she murmured in a choked voice. “Thirty minutes ago I was at dinner in Mendocino, warning Jennie Cadishio and some of the other staffers about your intentions, and now here I am …”

  “Where you belong. You worry too much.” He drew his head back slightly and brushed his mouth over hers. They clung to each other, swaying in time with the song, and she began to cry very softly.

  “If you hurt the estate, you hurt me, Alejandro. I want you to know this.”

  “Shea, querida, don’t cry,” he said in a husky voice as he stroked her cheek. “Whatever final decision I make, I won’t change things so much. You’ll still be happy with the estate. You can run it almost as you please. Forget your fears. Love me, querida. Love me.”

  Shea composed herself quickly and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to fall in love with you,” she said in torment. “We’re too much alike, Alejandro. Both stubborn.”

  “I think you’ve already fallen in love with me,” he said very softly. “As I have with you.”

  “People don’t fall in love this way. Things like this don’t happen to me. I don’t trust what I’m feeling. I’ve never gotten much love.…”

  “And I’ve never offered much love,” he interjected. “So we have to practice. Together. The estate and its problems will take care of themselves.”

  They looked at each other, and Shea spoke words that she instantly regretted. “You’re a betting man,” she blurted. “Let’s play poker for the estate.”

  His eyes hardened and he arched one brow at her. “You never give up. The estate’s all that matters to you.”

  Shea looked at him sadly for several seconds. She’d hurt him without intending to. And it was too late to turn back. “If it belonged to me, then our problems would be solved. I’m not asking for a gift. I’m asking for a chance. You like to take chances.”

  His eyes narrowed as he assessed her, and she held his dark gaze calmly. “You’re an amazing woman,” he said in a low, thoughtful tone. “So determined to protect what you love. The estate, that is, not me.”

  “Alejandro,” she began, her eyes troubled, but he cut her off tensely.

  “And if we played poker for the estate, what would you bet of equal value?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “A month,” he interjected. “A month with me. Doing whatever I ask you to do, going wherever I ask you to go with me. And sharing my bed, of course.”

  Shaking, Shea pushed herself away from him. “That’s a despicable suggestion,” she said in a low, fierce voice. “When I make love to a man, it won’t be because he won me in a poker game.”

  “I never expected you to take me up on the suggestion.” He let go of her as she took another step back. “I want both you and the estate,” Duke told her bluntly. “And I’m patient.”

  Shea gave him another tormented, sorrowful look. “You want too much,” she said hoarsely.

  Duke simply shook his head. She turned and made her way toward the exit. His eyes never left her.

  The next day after lunch Shea returned to her office to find Glenda waiting in the reception area. “I really must speak to you,” she told Shea excitedly, smiling.

  “Well, of course.”

  They went into the office and Jennie closed the door behind them. Glenda grasped Shea’s hands. “It’s the most amazing thing. I’m a new person.”

  Shea pointed to a settee by one window and they went to it. “You’re feeling better?” she asked when they were seated.

  “Yes! You know, I was in a horrible state the other day, but after my hives cleared up, I thought, ‘Why, Glenda, you did do an amazing thing by going to Dan’s room. You proved that you could be assertive and survive the consequences.’ ”

  When Shea didn’t comment, she added, “It’s just as Duke said. You must try something, he said, and if it goes wrong, then you must try something else. But you must never blame yourself for failing, when you’ve done your best.” She smiled. “I still feel embarrassed that Dan refused my … uhmmm … advances, but I’m elated that I had the … the guts to give it a shot! Duke was so right!”

  Shea leaned back on the
settee and shook her head numbly. “You’re sure you feel better about the incident?”

  “Why, my dear, I feel better about my whole life!”

  After Glenda left the office, still bubbling about how wonderful Duke’s advice had been, Shea sat back down and pressed her hands to her face. “Okay, Somerton,” she said aloud, “you misjudged him. He’s right about Glenda Farrar. What else is he right about?”

  She went to the intercom and called Jennie. “Check Duke Araiza’s schedule for the afternoon and tell me where he is, please.”

  “He’s gone riding. I sat at his table during lunch. Overheard him tell Chip Greeson that he needed to ‘clear the cactus out of his mind,’ so he was going for a long ride. A man who looks like Duke Araiza shouldn’t be out in the woods alone. A female Bigfoot might carry him off.”

  Shea thought firmly, Not if I carry him off first. To Jennie she said, “Call the stable and have someone saddle a horse for me.”

  Of course, Duke wouldn’t stick to the marked trails, Shea mused with grim humor as she guided her stocky gray gelding up an incline flanked on both sides by deep forest. Being a maverick and an expert horseman, he’d explore territory where other guests would never dare venture. She was startled by how well she knew him, a man she’d met less than two weeks ago. Deep, unshakable intuition told her where he might be found.

  A narrow deer trail branched off to the right, winding through the forest like a temptation to leave safety behind. Shea’s horse followed it until they entered a grove of large redwoods, where the silence deepened and the light grew shadowy. The forest floor was clear of underbrush and the big trees stood like monuments in a well-kept park.

  When they reached a boulder beside the trail, Shea turned her horse left and urged him up a hill so steep that she had to lean forward to keep her balance in the saddle. They topped the hill and followed a ridge for several minutes. The forest parted and Shea reined her horse to a stop.

  An old gazebo stood in the center of a small, grassy clearing. Spring water trickled from a pipe on the far side and made a slender channel that disappeared into the forest. Grape vines draped the gazebo in festive greenery, and flowers surrounded the little structure.

  Duke straightened beside the spring pipe, water seeping unnoticed from his cupped hands, his dark eyes studying her calmly. It was as if he’d expected her.

  Leading her horse behind her, Shea walked toward Duke. His shirt lay across the gazebo’s railing; he wore only jeans and boots. His face and torso glistened where he’d recently splashed water on himself. A large black gelding, its gear removed, was tied to a tree at the other side of the clearing. The trail horses always wore halters and tie ropes under their bridles.

  “I suspected that you’d find this place,” she told him quietly as she came to a stop in front of him. “Somehow I knew.”

  “You come here too, then.” His voice was low and husky. “I thought so.” He pointed toward a patch of shrubbery by the steps to the gazebo. “Roses.”

  “I planted them.”

  “I figured. Did you put the gazebo here?”

  “No. I came across it one day when I was exploring. It must have been built by the person who owned the estate before Sir Nigel. It needed repairs, but I didn’t want anyone else to know about it, so I lugged paint and materials up here and fixed it myself.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “Don’t study it too closely. I’m a terrible carpenter.”

  “Looks like the work was lovingly done.” His eyes were troubled, but respect flickered in their depths. “This is your special spot. I’ll be going.”

  Shea shook her head slowly. “No. I came to find you. To apologize.”

  “Hmmm. Is that so?”

  “I’m sorry for saying that you had no delicacy or diplomacy when you gave advice to Glenda Farrar.” She briefly related her conversation with Glenda. “You helped her. I was wrong. What you told her to do was very wise.” Shea looked away, a little embarrassed. “I’ll trust your intuition more, after this.”

  He put one hand under her chin and turned her face toward his. “Maybe I’ll be more careful with my advice to our guests,” he promised.

  Our guests. She smiled tentatively. “Maybe the estate would benefit more if I worked with you instead of against you.”

  His eyes gleamed at that remark. “Stay,” he urged in a soft voice. Duke nodded at their surroundings. “Enjoy the scenery.”

  “All right,” she agreed just as softly. He took her horse and led it over to the side of his. Together they removed the gelding’s gear, then tied the horse’s lead to a sturdy sapling.

  “There,” Duke noted. “Now he’ll be able to eat some grass, like my horse. They’ll stay happy and quiet.”

  “It must be nice to be happy and quiet.”

  “It’s an acquired skill. Come on, let’s practice.”

  They walked back to the gazebo and sat down on the lowest step. Duke stretched his long legs out and leaned back, propping his elbows on the step behind him. Shea hugged her knees and inhaled the rich scent of the forest. It mingled with the musky fragrance of Duke’s body, so close beside hers.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

  “What are you afraid of. Shea?”

  She turned her head and gave him a bittersweet look. “That I’m going to make love to you regardless of what you do about the estate. That nothing’s more important than being with you.” She paused, shivering a little. “I’m not accustomed to feeling that way.”

  He sat up, then closed his eyes for a second, as if offering a silent prayer of gratitude. Afterward he looked at her with gentle mock rebuke. “I hope you haven’t ever felt that way before. I want to be the first. And the last.”

  She wore jeans and a pink T-shirt. When he put one broad hand on the center of her back and stroked, it was as if she wore no shirt at all. Her skin burned from his caress.

  “Come to me,” he urged in a husky tone. Her-soft moan told him that her last shred of resistance had just evaporated.

  “Alejandro, my hombre.”

  She turned toward him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply. His skin felt hot under her hands; the whole world felt deliciously hot and promising as his tongue thrust into her mouth. He drew back, breathing roughly, and nodded toward the grass nearby.

  “Now,” he murmured, his eyes burning into hers.

  Shea nodded. “Yes.”

  They lay down on the soft carpet, his arms around her, their legs entwined. Shea ran her hands over his bare chest with a greedy abandon she’d never felt before; he was all muscle and sun-baked skin, and his chest hair was a soft pelt that invited her fingers.

  “Here. Touch me here. I’ve dreamed about you doing this to me.” He put her hands on one of his flat brown nipples, and she smiled at him tenderly as she circled first it, then its twin, with her fingernail. He sighed. “You’re even better than the dreams.”

  He removed her T-shirt and tossed it aside, then bent his head to kiss her lightly and repeatedly, skimming her mouth and face, then moving down to her neck, her shoulders, and the delicate skin above the cups of her bra. He savored her as if she were fine white chocolate, too wonderful to be consumed hurriedly.

  She felt perspiration gathering on her skin. “You’re burning me up inside,” she said in a pleading tone. “And it’s magnificent.”

  He whispered several earthy words of praise in Spanish, and her back arched as if he’d stroked her. Shea looked up into his eyes to find admiration there. “I just wanted to see if you’d understand those,” he murmured, smiling tenderly.

  “I didn’t grow up sheltered, Alejandro. In my neighborhood, everyone knew those words.”

  “I meant them to be loving.”

  “I know,” she answered, her eyes never leaving his. She cleared her throat and complimented him in the same frank, gentle way, using words she never thought she’d hear from her own lips. But they were right, because civilized words would never do justice to this lovely, rough-cu
t diamond of a man. And as she whispered them to him, his eyes glittered and his breath came faster.

  “An amazing woman,” he said at last.

  They kissed again, and their hands traded explorations, sometimes slow, sometimes hurried, but always with a sense of wonder. He undid the fastenings that held her hair and ran his fingers through the rich golden strands, calling her Palomino as he did.

  Shea trailed her fingertips down the center of his stomach and then to the coarse material of his jeans. He shuddered as she traced the outline of his desire beneath the fabric. When she cupped him, his hips moved reflexively. Chuckling between clenched teeth, he pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed it.

  “Whoa, querida. Control is too important, and I’ve almost lost mine.”

  She burrowed her head against his throat and licked the hollow of musky skin between his collarbones. “You’re the man who’s chided me for being too controlled.”

  “Ah, I remember. And I need to do something about that right now.”

  Abruptly he pushed her flat on her back and kissed her roughly, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth, his lips grinding on hers with a calculated force that aroused her without causing pain. He anchored both hands on the straps of her white bra and tugged it to her waist, then reached under her and jerked the snap free.

  Shea gasped as he suddenly put his mouth on one of her nipples, his lips and tongue working in unison to delight her. He treated the other nipple just as well, then cupped her breasts in his hands and squeezed them rhythmically.

  The world was falling away from her, lost in a haze of emotion and desire that cleansed her of lingering doubts. She had been waiting for this man all her life. She raised her head and watched the intimacy taking place between his mouth and her skin. Shea sighed with happiness and tried to talk, to be more than a languid participant in the beautiful drama that was unfolding, but he gently pressed one finger to her lips.

  “Enjoy. Let yourself be pleasured. Let yourself be loved,” he crooned.

  Her head sank back, and she twined her fingers into his black hair. Her body was so heavy and limp that when he got on his knees and began removing her boots she wondered whimsically how he could lift her feet.