to be your moveâyour choice.â
âMyâchoice?â
The words made no sense. Couldnât he see? Couldnât he feel ?
âYou have to tell me, querida â¦â
The low, husky voice had dropped an octave or more, becoming rougher, thicker, harsher and those deep-set eyes burned like molten metal, searching her face, probing deep into her soul.
âThe bedroom is upstairs. Do I take you there, or do we stay here and make polite conversation?â
Yes! The word burned so fiercely in her thoughts that she was sure he must see it in her face, read it in her eyes, etched there in letters of fire. Yes, yes, yes! But somehow she couldnât get the sound past the twisting, constricting knot of emotions clogging up her throat.
âDo you want me, gatita ?â
Did she want him? Ridiculous question! Impossible, preposterous, unnecessary question.
Of course she wanted him! She yearned for him, ached for him. Her body was one complete scream of hunger for him. Butâ¦
And then as suddenly as if a light had been switched on, illuminating the clouded darkness of her thoughts, she knew what was wrong.
âDo I want you?â she managed, a thread of weak near-laughter running through her words. âBut who are you? I donât even know your name. All I know is Ricoâif in fact that is the truth.â
Looking into the darkness of his eyes she saw the swift change there, the move from frowning uncertainty to a new understanding and it was like watching the sun come from behind a cloud, lighting his face from within. The transformation took her breath away.
âThe truth, gatita ?â he laughed. â Si . Oh, yes, I told you the truth. My name really is Ricoâshort for Ricardo. Ricardo Juan Carlos Valeron at your service, señorita .â
It was like a slap in the face.
Ricardo Juan Carlos Valeron.
The words pounded into her senses like cruel blows, making her heart stop, her breath die in her lungs.
Ricardo Valeron.
If it hadnât been for the hard strength of his body pinning her to the wall she knew that her legs would have given way beneath her and she would have sunk to the floor in a limp, lifeless heap. As it was, her eyes had hazed over,seeing nothing but an out-of-focus blur, vague, indecipherable shapes that made no sense at all. And in her head was the fierce, whirling buzz of a thousand angry bees, drowning out all thought, all sense, all feeling.
âTake your hands off me!â
She said it blind and was thankful for the fact that she couldnât see his face. It was a small mercy not to be able to look into his eyes and see now, at last, the real truth. See him as he truly was, with the lies, the deceit, the pretence stripped away.
This man, the man who had kidnapped her, carried her away from her family and friends, from her one hope of putting right all her fatherâs mistakes and repaying the money he had embezzled was Ricardo Valeron! This man on whose mercy she was totally dependent for her safety, her security, maybe even her life, was the one man she knew she should fear above all others. The one man who had the power to make an appalling situation even worse.
And now it seemed that he had done exactly that.
CHAPTER FIVE
I T WAS all her worst dreams come true at once.
Rico was Ricardo Valeron.
It was the only thing her battered, bruised mind could fasten onto. The only thing that made any sort of sense in a world gone suddenly mad. But the only form of sense it made was shadowed by such horror, such devastation that she could only think of it in snatched, fleeting seconds before her anguished brain flinched away again, unable to bear the pain.
Rico the brigand was gone, vanished for ever, destroyed by a few carelesslyâeven smuglyâspoken words. And she couldnât believe how her foolish, desperately deceived heart cried out in distress at the thought.
She actually missed him. Rico the brigand had been a villain,
âMyâchoice?â
The words made no sense. Couldnât he see? Couldnât he feel ?
âYou have to tell me, querida â¦â
The low, husky voice had dropped an octave or more, becoming rougher, thicker, harsher and those deep-set eyes burned like molten metal, searching her face, probing deep into her soul.
âThe bedroom is upstairs. Do I take you there, or do we stay here and make polite conversation?â
Yes! The word burned so fiercely in her thoughts that she was sure he must see it in her face, read it in her eyes, etched there in letters of fire. Yes, yes, yes! But somehow she couldnât get the sound past the twisting, constricting knot of emotions clogging up her throat.
âDo you want me, gatita ?â
Did she want him? Ridiculous question! Impossible, preposterous, unnecessary question.
Of course she wanted him! She yearned for him, ached for him. Her body was one complete scream of hunger for him. Butâ¦
And then as suddenly as if a light had been switched on, illuminating the clouded darkness of her thoughts, she knew what was wrong.
âDo I want you?â she managed, a thread of weak near-laughter running through her words. âBut who are you? I donât even know your name. All I know is Ricoâif in fact that is the truth.â
Looking into the darkness of his eyes she saw the swift change there, the move from frowning uncertainty to a new understanding and it was like watching the sun come from behind a cloud, lighting his face from within. The transformation took her breath away.
âThe truth, gatita ?â he laughed. â Si . Oh, yes, I told you the truth. My name really is Ricoâshort for Ricardo. Ricardo Juan Carlos Valeron at your service, señorita .â
It was like a slap in the face.
Ricardo Juan Carlos Valeron.
The words pounded into her senses like cruel blows, making her heart stop, her breath die in her lungs.
Ricardo Valeron.
If it hadnât been for the hard strength of his body pinning her to the wall she knew that her legs would have given way beneath her and she would have sunk to the floor in a limp, lifeless heap. As it was, her eyes had hazed over,seeing nothing but an out-of-focus blur, vague, indecipherable shapes that made no sense at all. And in her head was the fierce, whirling buzz of a thousand angry bees, drowning out all thought, all sense, all feeling.
âTake your hands off me!â
She said it blind and was thankful for the fact that she couldnât see his face. It was a small mercy not to be able to look into his eyes and see now, at last, the real truth. See him as he truly was, with the lies, the deceit, the pretence stripped away.
This man, the man who had kidnapped her, carried her away from her family and friends, from her one hope of putting right all her fatherâs mistakes and repaying the money he had embezzled was Ricardo Valeron! This man on whose mercy she was totally dependent for her safety, her security, maybe even her life, was the one man she knew she should fear above all others. The one man who had the power to make an appalling situation even worse.
And now it seemed that he had done exactly that.
CHAPTER FIVE
I T WAS all her worst dreams come true at once.
Rico was Ricardo Valeron.
It was the only thing her battered, bruised mind could fasten onto. The only thing that made any sort of sense in a world gone suddenly mad. But the only form of sense it made was shadowed by such horror, such devastation that she could only think of it in snatched, fleeting seconds before her anguished brain flinched away again, unable to bear the pain.
Rico the brigand was gone, vanished for ever, destroyed by a few carelesslyâeven smuglyâspoken words. And she couldnât believe how her foolish, desperately deceived heart cried out in distress at the thought.
She actually missed him. Rico the brigand had been a villain,
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