Summer Chaparral
San Jacinto Mountains, Southern California
Late summer, 1898
“Are you enjoying yourself, Señor?” She kept her voice low and husky. “You certainly attracted quite a bit of attention from the ladies here.” There—now that she’d said it so casually, he’d never guess at the irritation it caused her.
“No more attention than you yourself got from the men.” So he had noticed. “You were watching me, hmm? I got the impression you didn’t care.”
“Where would you get an idea like that?” She kept her tone as falsely casual as his had been. “You seemed to be ignoring me as hard as you possibly could.”
He smiled at that, the white flash of his teeth an echo of the moon’s glow behind him. “Now why would I ignore a lady who was obviously trying so hard to get my attention? Especially when she’s the prettiest woman in Cabrillo.”
She seized on the compliment, while ignoring the suggestion she’d appeared desperate. “If that’s true, why didn’t you ask me to dance?”
“How was I supposed to make my way through all those beaux you had by your side? I’d have needed a stick to fend off all those men.”
As if it were her fault she was so popular. “So you passed the time by dancing with every other woman in town. I see.”
His head lowered to hers. “Darlin’, I don’t think you do.” His voice was a velvet growl, softer than the evening air. “If I so much as glanced sideways at you, your pa would be on me like a coyote on a chicken. But I got you out here, didn’t I?”
She gave him her slow, sidelong look, her very bones vibrating with anticipation. “Only to ask for your handkerchief back, correct?” she dared him.
“I don’t want the damn handkerchief. But you wanted my attention.” He spread those large hands wide. “You got it.”
He admitted that she’d won the field, and in doing so scored a victory for himself. Such gestures weren’t in the rules of the game—she set the rules and the men followed. She was in fast-rising water with this man, but having his attention was a thrill too heady to relinquish.
“And what should I do with it, now that I have it?” she asked breathily.
“Well, a man does like a compliment now and then.” His smile gleamed again.
“Oh, I don’t need to tell a man like yourself just how strong and handsome you are. Or didn’t Margaret and Lily and Agnes tell you that already?” She pushed her inflection toward playful, to remind him that she would set the tone. “No, I suppose those silly girls botched the whole thing. Thankfully, I’m quite accomplished.” She took in the outline of his well-shaped head, the broad lines of his labor-hewn shoulders, his lean hips sliding into long, strong legs.
There was so much to compliment on this man; too much, really. An abundance of masculine riches.
I want more.
“Shall I tell you I’d love to run my fingers through your hair, to test if it’s as thick and soft as it appears? Would that do for a compliment?” She’d never in her life been so forward, so bold with a man. The kisses she’d stolen had been silly, giggling affairs, no more serious than a wink across a room.
“I think that’d do just fine.” His head dipped a fraction closer to hers, his voice lowering to a rough whisper. “And that could be arranged, if you’d like.”
Slowly, she threaded her fingers in his thick hair. Amazingly, it was even softer than it looked. She stroked gently, the strands entangling her fingers as if reluctant to release her, her fingernails lightly raking his scalp, in thrall to the moment and her own boldness at touching a man in this way.
In the silence of the rose garden, his breaths grew deeper and slower, her own breathing slowing in response, matching his. His head dipped, allowing her access to the warm, smooth skin of the back of his neck. As she caressed this new frontier, his head moved lower, as if compelled by her touch to crowd closer to her lips.
With one last dip he was there, his mouth brushing hers, his mustache tickling her upper lip. His lips were smooth, warm and firm—very different from the bristly mustache above them. The contrast sent those delicious shivers running up and down her spine.
But it wasn’t enough.
I want more.