LITMIR.BIZ

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“It seems the señorita wants another kiss to prove my claim on her.”

      Isabella wanted another kiss for no other reason than the joy the last had given her. Of course, a man could kiss a woman, swear his undying love, then turn around and betray her without as much as a second thought or a first regret. “Tell me what you know of my family. How many sisters do I have?”

      He leaned away. “There are more who are cut from the same cloth as you?”

      “How many, señor?”

      “Allow me to consider the matter.” His expression grew thoughtful. He curled one finger after the other into his palm with each digit supposedly representing a sister.

      The moment he ran out of fingers and glanced at his booted feet, presumably to count his toes, Isabella laughed. “There are surely not so many.”

      “Are you quite certain?” He frowned. “It was my belief you had at least twenty of—”

      “No more than three.”

      Despite the greatly reduced number, he still seemed wary. “Three you say. Do they resemble you?”

      “Not in the least. My sisters are exquisite. All have flawless complexions more radiant than the finest pearl. Each has auburn hair threaded with gold. Two have warm brown eyes, the youngest the purest green. Their natures are sweet, their—stay where you are.”

      He kept coming, forcing Isabella to scoot back until a mulberry tree stopped her. With her palms pressed against the trunk, she looked at him.

      He offered a roguish smile as he eased close. “Exquisite, you say?” He rested his hand against the trunk near her head. “Skin to rival the finest pearl?” He leaned into her. “Hair the color of an Andalucían sunset, yet also threaded with gold?” His voice had grown even huskier. “And demure in the bargain?”

      His breath whispered against her. It was a moment before she recalled his questions and was able to answer. “Sí.”

      His attention dipped to her lips before returning to her eyes. “They lack your inner fire and headstrong manner?”

      The world dipped and swayed. She found it difficult to breathe. “Sí.”

      “Then it would seem I simply have to tame you.”

      She stared. “No.”

      “Be still.” He angled his mouth over hers and plunged his tongue inside.

      Isabella mewled. It was the only sound his ruthless kiss allowed. His tongue demanded she suckle it as he pressed close. Her knees buckled, forcing her to dig her fingers into his shirt for support. The day grew even warmer despite the constant breeze. When he cupped the back of her head, imprisoning her, a wanton moan caught in her throat. Her lips parted even more, inviting him inside. He deepened the kiss, and she yielded, suckling his tongue greedily. Wanting more, she pushed his tongue aside to thrust hers into his mouth. He growled in delight.

      How she enjoyed kissing him, despite how wrong and mad her actions were. What if he wasn’t Fernando? What if he was? What did his true identity matter? He wasn’t her betrothed. This had to stop. She pulled in her tongue. His quickly filled her mouth. A helpless whimper poured from her. This was too much and truly had to stop.

      With all the strength she could summon, Isabella tried to wiggle away. The moment Fernando lowered his hand from her head she tore her mouth free.

      He breathed hard. “Why do you resist me?”

      “Why do you assault me?”

      “Assault you?” He lowered his mouth to her ear.

      She trembled at his sweet breath and imposing size. He pressed closer. “How can you say such a thing and deny what’s rightfully mine? I am Fernando de Zayas. You want proof? I can offer you this. My father is a grandee and count. His cousin, Manuel, married your papá’s sister. I have one sister, Catarina, and five brothers. Enrique, Pedro, Alfonso, Gabriello, and Tomás. Pedro and Alfonso are twins. Our betrothal happened despite our fathers’ rivalry, or perhaps because of it. They both claimed to be the better chess player. My father won the match and delighted in besting your papá at every turn, until your father proved far abler in riding Arabians. Although our fathers were never friends, they respect each other and proved it by arranging our union.”

      Her shoulders slumped. The tale was true. She’d heard her papá complain about this man’s father many times, proving Fernando did belong to Sancha.

      Because he was blissfully unaware of the situation, he trailed kisses from Isabella’s ear to her cheek. She lost all coherent thought and sagged against him. His muscles bunched, arousing her even more.

      “Now that you have your proof, you know what must be done.” He pressed his lips to her neck.

      Her pulse pounded. “What must be done?”

      His breath skipped over her flesh. “You need to be fully satisfied, as do I.” He kissed the base of her throat.

      A yearning sound flowed from her.

      He sighed. “Given our betrothal, there is no reason to wait for pleasure.”

      Her heart jumped. “There is every reason.”

      He eased the robe off her shoulder and left a path of kisses across her naked skin, finally covering her breast with his hand.

      She locked her knees to remain standing. “Stop that at once.”

      He kissed, aroused, tempted.

      She moaned, the sound more delighted than frightened. “You must stop, I beg of you.”

      At last, he eased back until he could see her face. “Why must I?”

      She shook her head, unwilling to reveal anything of Sancha.

      The corners of his mouth turned down. “You still fear me. Why? When you faced being sold in the market you showed great courage, and yet with me you tremble.” He rested his fingers against her cheek. “Have I been such a brute? Do you believe I would take you with such force to cause you harm? Know this: in all the years we share, I will never hurt you. I give you my word.”

      His manner was sober, his gaze so unwavering it proved the veracity of his promise. She sensed he was a man who could love deeply and with more fidelity than most. How fortunate Sancha was to be his betrothed and foolish for not wanting him. Isabella wished she was Sancha and this day had never come. As terrifying as the slave market had been, she’d had the slimmest expectation of escape. Now, she had no hope. He didn’t belong to her. He would never belong to her. She tried to pull away.

      Fernando refused to allow her any distance from him. “Do you doubt my promise?”

      “No.”

      “And yet you continue to resist?”

      “I have no choice.”

      “Why?”

      She turned away before he seduced her into betraying Sancha. Each night she’d heard her sister beg God to keep Fernando at war so he’d never return. Sancha didn’t want him dead necessarily…she wanted him to continue his battle against the Moors until he forgot about her.

      “Did your captors harm you?” he asked.

      Surprised, she looked at him. “How can you question me on such a thing?”

      “As your betrothed I need to know.” He stroked her jaw. “Come now, you must tell me.”

      She shook her head.

      Fernando sighed. “To seek justice I have to know what occurred.”

      “Upon hearing it would you grant me solitude?”

      “No. Never.” He pulled her back within his embrace and held her with great care. “You belong to me. No matter what transpired, you will always belong to me.”

      Tears

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