ARDEN slept dreamlessly, secure in the curve of Conor’s arm, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Just before dawn she stirred. Her hand crept across his chest and she clung more tightly to him in her sleep, her subconscious mind already anticipating—and lamenting—his imminent departure.
But Conor only drew her closer.
‘I’m right here, querida,’ he murmured, pressing a light kiss against her temple.
‘Mmm.’ She sighed, burrowed against his warmth, and kissed his throat. ‘It’s almost sunrise,’ she whispered sleepily.
He smiled. ‘That’s wonderful news.’ He rolled towards her, settled her firmly against him, and yawned. ‘Now, go back to sleep.’
Arden started to shake her head, to remind him that the household would be awakening soon and it was time for him to leave her...
And then she remembered.
She’d lost their wager. Conor wasn’t in her bed; she was in his, and she’d promised to stay the entire night.
She thought of Inez, who would surely see them come down the stairs together, of the maid who would see her untouched bed and know it hadn’t been slept in, and she stirred uneasily.
‘Conor,’ she whispered, ‘I know we made a bet, but—’
‘We did.’ He kissed her mouth gently. ‘And you lost.’
Arden sighed. ‘I know I did,’ she said slowly, ‘but—’
‘Querida.’ He rose on his elbow and gazed down at her, his face shadowy and mysterious in the pale grey light of early morning. ‘I promised we would talk, and we will, at breakfast. Then, I think, you’ll feel better about spending the night in my bed.’
She snuggled closer to him and smiled as she stroked the dark hair back from his brow. ‘Are you going to offer me another wager I’m certain to lose?’
‘Neither of us will lose this time,’ Conor said. He cupped her breast, then slid his hand possessively to her hip. ‘Unless you think spending the rest of your life here, in my arms, is a penalty.’
Her heart felt as if it were turning over. She’d been right, then. He’d fallen in love with her and he was going to ask her to marry him.
‘We could talk now,’ she said softly.
‘No. Not now. This isn’t a time for talking.’ Conor’s voice roughened as he moved over her. ‘We have much better things to do than talk. Isn’t that right, mi amor?’
Arden caught her breath. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘oh, yes...’
And then the hurricane of their passion engulfed her, and she gave herself up to it.
When she awoke again, sunlight was streaming into the room and she was alone. The smile that had been blooming on her lips faded. She had dreamed of greeting the morning in Conor’s arms, dreamed of kissing him awake.
Her glance shifted to the bedside clock and she shot upright against the pillows. Was it really that late? No wonder Conor was gone. You didn’t keep late hours on a ranch, she’d learned that much during the time she’d lived at the finca.
And today he’d want to finish his chores quickly, she thought, so he could propose to her at breakfast...
Her smile faded. And so he could be ready to greet Linda, when she arrived this afternoon.
Arden sighed, pushed back the blanket, and got to her feet. In her happiness, she’d almost forgotten about that. Well, it was probably for the best. If there were going to be a confrontation, they might as well get it out of the way. Conor would know how to soothe the girl and make her understand that Arden represented no threat.
She sighed again as she stepped into the shower. Linda would never be her best friend, but surely they could work out some sort of co-operation—especially once Linda knew that she was going to sign over El Corazon to the man who should have been its rightful owner.
The thought brought a smile to her lips. What would Conor say, when she told him she was going to give him the finca? She could hardly wait to see the look on his face.
‘Conor,’ she’d say, before he had the chance to ask her to become his wife, ‘I love you with all my heart, and I want you to have El Corazon. It could never belong to anyone but you.’
Just as she could never belong to anyone but him, she thought as she wrapped herself in an oversized towel. A pink flush rose on her skin as she glimpsed herself in the mirrored wall opposite. The long, loving night in Conor’s arms had left its mark on her. Her mouth was pink and swollen; her eyes were luminous and soft with pleasure. There was a light bruise on her throat from his teeth and her colour darkened as she thought that she had probably left the same marks of passion on him.
No, she thought, and her heart lifted, no, not just passion. She had given Conor all the love she possessed, and he had given her his in return. She closed her eyes, thinking of how he had caressed her, of how he had whispered to her, called her his love. Mi amor, she thought, and she smiled; mi a