Читать книгу Spring Bride - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 8

EMPRESS of the Caribbean was hardly the ship of anyone’s dreams. And autumn, with its potential for storms and rough seas, was not the best time to cruise the Caribbean.

But Kyra was having the time of her life.

It wasn’t as if this was her first trip away from home. She’d skied in Switzerland, gone to horse shows in Ireland, and Charles had even let himself be convinced that she could spend her last semester at Denver’s finest private school for girls as an exchange student in England.

But always, in her travels, there’d been her father or a chaperon at her side. And now here she was, thousands of miles from home, on a trip she’d planned, start to finish, all by herself.

Actually, no one even knew about this tnp. She’d thought of calling her brothers and telling them she was going away, but what for? Did Cade or Grant or Zach phone her when they were heading off somewhere? Of course they didn’t.

Then, why should she?

Stella, the housekeeper, knew. And Ted West, who oversaw the stables, had to be told, but that was it.

Kyra zipped up her white cotton skirt, then drew a pale yellow T-shirt over her head. For the first time ever, she was responsible to absolutely no one but herself.

Maybe that was why the Empress seemed such a dream ship, despite her dated accommodations. She had chosen the ship on impulse, from an advertisement in the Sunday paper.

Adventure! the ad had shrieked. Excitement! Romance on the High Seas!

All those capitals and exclamation marks had to mean something.

And they did, she thought, smiling as she slipped on a pair of white thong sandals. For her fellow travelers, adventure meant visits to sites of pre-Columbian settlements and museums. Excitement was wondering if the wheezing old tour buses that greeted the ship at each port would be able to get to the top of the next hill, then betting that their brakes were better than their engines as they rocketed back down to the harbor through one hairpin curve after another.

As for romance…it was sweet to watch white-haired senior citizens dancing cheek to cheek. It was also about as close to “romance” as she wanted to get, Kyra thought briskly as she screwed a pair of small gold hoops into her ears.

As far as she was concerned, the cruise advertisement had put things into exactly the right perspective. Adventure and excitement came first. There’d be plenty of time for romance somewhere down the line, but not for a long, long time.

Some women didn’t agree, and that was their privilege. Lots of girls she’d grown up with were engaged to be married. She knew that most of them hadn’t led lives as restricted as hers, but even so, as far as she could see, they’d simply traded their new freedom for chains of their own making.

Kyra brushed her hair, then put a white baseball cap on her head and adjusted the brim low over her eyes. Men—even her brothers—just seemed to be proprietorial as a breed. Of course, none of the men she’d ever known would be anywhere near as proprietorial as that good-looking Spaniard.

She could imagine what he’d be like! Expecting a woman to drop everything and come running if he crooked his finger, demanding her total attention be centered on him, jealous every moment she was out of his sight.

Not that there wouldn’t be compensations. Kyra’s breath hitched as she remembered the banked fires smoldering in his blue eyes, the harsh, almost cruel sensuality of his mouth. A man like that would know how to please his woman when she was in his bed at night. She’d lie beneath him eagerly, her lips parted, waiting for the brush of his lips, the touch of his hand…

Color poured into Kyra’s cheeks.

“Honestly,” she said, scowling into the mirror, “what on earth is wrong with you?”

Weeks had passed since that embarrassing night at the Arts Center. Why should she waste even a minute thinking about that horrible man? He certainly wasn’t anybody to fantasize about, not unless you were interested in setting feminism back a couple of centuries.

She swung briskly away from the mirror, looped the strap of her white purse around her wnst, and made her way out of her cabin.

Mr. and Mrs. Schiller, the elderly couple in the cabin next to hers, were just locking the door. Mrs. Schiller looked up and smiled.

“Good morning, dear. Don’t you look charming!”

Kyra smiled back at the white-haired woman. “Isn’t this exciting?” she said. “We get to spend almost a whole day in Caracas!”

Mr. Schiller nodded. “Excellent city, Caracas.”

Mrs. Schiller took her husband’s arm as the little group started toward the elevators

“Won’t you join us for breakfast, Kyra? There’s still half an hour before the bus leaves.”

“Thank you, but I’m not taking the tour. I thought I’d see the city on my own.”

Mrs. Schiller looked uncertain. “Are you sure you’ll be all right alone in a strange city, dear?”

“Big city, Caracas,” Mr. Schiller said, shooting Kyra a look from beneath his bushy white brows. “Got to keep your wits about you, young woman.”

Kyra smiled politely. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”

Like all the other ships that listed Caracas as a destination, Empress of the Caribbean actually docked at a port called La Guaira. It was grimy and unattractive, but no one—least of all Kyra—cared. A short ride in a taxi, and she was in the center of the bustling, modern capital of Venezuela.

She’d planned her day carefully, using a guidebook and the brochures she’d picked up on ship. A cable-car ride up Mount Avila first for a breathtaking view of the Caribbean coastline, and then brunch at the Humboldt Hotel. After that, she would head down into the city and pack as much sight-seeing as she could into the remaining hours.

By midafternoon, Kyra was weary but happy. She had zigzagged Caracas on foot and by taxi; she’d seen almost everything on her list, from the beautiful gardens and fountains of La Casona to the cobbled streets and tiled roofs of the old city near the church of La Pastora. She’d even managed to spy a slow-moving sloth in the trees at Plaza Bolivar.

Now, as the sun began angling across the sky, she glanced at her watch. It was getting late, but she had at least an hour to browse the shops, and to see what she could add to her growing collection of souvenirs. Just thinking of them made her smile. Nothing she’d bought had been costly and most of the things were probably foolish but each had been fun to choose and would forever remind her of this trip in a way that expensive items from faceless hotel gift shops couldn’t.

That was something her father had not understood, Kyra thought as she headed for a stretch of shops the purser had recommended. She still remembered the look on his face when she’d handed him a tiny replica of Windsor Castle that played “God Save the Queen” when you moved a switch set into one of its turrets after her semester in England.

“How…how nice,” he’d said.

She’d almost explained that it wasn’t “nice” at all, that it was tacky and funny and that was why she’d bought it—but then she’d thought that if she had to explain all that, it wasn’t worth the effort and so she’d smiled and said yes, it was, and actually, she’d bought it for herself.

“Oh,” he’d said with obvious relief, and Kyra had taken back the little castle, handed him the very proper cashmere scarf she’d bought at Harrods, and listened while he praised her for her good taste.

Nobody was liable to praise her for showing good taste now, she thought, smiling as she made her purchases. An oversize straw bag in the shape of a donkey for Stella, a papier-mâché parrot for herself, an assortment of silly T-shirts for her brothers…the gifts were fun to buy and would be fun to give.

And that was what this trip was all about, she reminded herself as she came out of the souvenir shop. Fun…

Kyra sucked in her breath as a clock in a window across the street caught her eye. Was that really the right time? She shifted her packages to the crook ot her arm and checked her watch.

“Damn,” she muttered, and hurried to the curb.

“Taxi,” she called, lifting her hand—the hand that so invitingly dangled the strap of her pocketbook. ”Hola! Taxi!”

Later, she would remember seeing it happen in a terrible kind of slow motion. The approaching motorbike, the grubby hand reaching out, the fingers closing tightly around the strap…

But at that moment, all Kyra knew was that a motorbike came whizzing past, something tugged sharply at her hand, and before she had time to react, it was all over.

The thief, the motorbike and her pocketbook were gone.

For a second, she couldn’t believe it. She stood staring after the bike while the sounds of the street faded; all she could hear was the thump of her own heart, and then she felt her knees turn liquid.

How could such a thing have happened? This was the middle of the day, the sidewalks were jammed with people…people intent on their own business, as they’d have been in any city back home.

Big city, Caracas. Got to keep your wits about you…

Kyra spun toward a woman coming out of the souvenir shop.

”Señonta,” she said in an unsteady voice, ”por favor…”

The woman smiled helplessly. “Sorry,” she said without breaking stride, “I don’t speak Spanish.”

Kyra stared after her. Well, neither do I, she thought wildly.

Calm down, she told herself, just calm down. You do speak Spanish. You can find a taxi, ask the driver to take you to the nearest police station, and report this.

Or was it best to head for the ship? It would be sailing soon; would anyone realize she wasn’t on board? And even if they did, would they hold up all the Empress’s other passengers just for her?

Of course they would, Kyra told herself, but the sinking feeling in her stomach said otherwise.

“Oh God,” she whispered, and she flew back into the shop where she’d bought the shirts and the straw bag. It took time to convince the clerk that she absolutely had to take all those things back, precious time Kyra didn’t have to waste, but finally she was out on the street again. She hailed a passing taxi and crossed her fingers.

She had just enough money to get to the docks. All she could hope now was that she’d also have just enough time to get to the Empress before the ship departed.

But she didn’t. The dock where the Empress had been moored was empty. All that remained of her was a windtossed brochure bearing the ship’s logo and the words, See Exciting Caracas blazoned across it in shrieking crimson.

Kyra stood in the deserted street, staring out over the oily water, telling herself there was no reason to panic.

Why should she panic? she thought, swallowing a hysterical laugh. Just because she had no money, no passport, no credit cards? Because she hadn’t the foggiest notion where to find a police station or the American Embassy? Because, now that the Empress was gone, she could see just how deserted these grimy streets really were?

”Buenos días, señorita.”

Kyra spun around. A man was grinning at her, his two gold-capped front teeth flashing in the late-afternoon sun.

“You are ’merican, si?”

His gold teeth were impressive, but so were his tattoos. A snake sporting huge fangs writhed on one arm; a pierced heart dripped crimson blood down the other.

Kyra cleared her throat. “I—I…”

I, what? Why was she stammering? So he had gold teeth. So he had tattoos. So what? She was on her own now; she wasn’t in a place where she’d be rubbing shoulders with men in tuxedos. Gold teeth and tattoos, she thought firmly, did not mean he was a bad person!

And so she smiled politely. “Yes,” she said, “I am. Could you tell me where I can find the American Embassy?”

“Ah, but the embassy is closed at this hour, señorita.” Gold Teeth frowned. “Is there some difficulty?”

Kyra nodded. “I’ve been robbed.”

Gold Teeth gasped. “Robbed? By one of my countrymen?” He clucked in sympathy. “That is most unfortunate. You must report this to the policía at once.”

Kyra managed a slight smile. “I would, if I knew where to find the nearest station. I don’t suppose you’d know…”

He turned and pointed toward a dark alley. “Of course. It is right through there.”

Kyra peered over his shoulder. The alley wasn’t just dark, it was almost black She couldn’t see more than a couple of feet into it.

“Where?” she said. “I don’t see…”

“Ah, you must go to the end, señorita. And then there is a right turn, and a left, and another left…” Gold Teeth looked at her. “Come, señorita. I will take you there myself.”

Kyra looked at the alley, then at her would-be rescuer. Suddenly, old Mr. Schiller’s voice rang in her ears.

Got to keep your wits about you…it said.

She took a step back. “No,” she said politely, “thank you very much for offering, but—”

”Señorita.” Gold Teeth smiled slyly, shuffled closer, and breathed cheap whiskey into her face. “You have no money, yes? An’ no man to help you.”

“I’ll be fine, señor. I am grateful, but—”

His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

“Be nice,” he said, “an’ I be nice, too. Otherwise—”

“Let me go,” Kyra demanded, twisting furiously against him.

Gold Teeth laughed as if she’d made a wonderful joke. “Sure. I let you go. But first—”

“I would suggest you take the lady’s advice, compadre.”

The voice came from behind her. It was male, deeply pitched, and though it was almost lazy in tone, there was no mistaking the authority in it.

Gold Teeth almost snarled with annoyance.

“This is not your business, man.”

“I have made it my business. Let go of the woman and I will permit you to leave here in peace.”

Gold Teeth threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I am shaking with fear.”

The stranger’s voice hardened. “For the last time, let her go.”

“Why?” Gold Teeth’s smile twisted into an obscene grin and he nodded his head slyly. “Now I unnerstand. You want her for yourself.” Kyra stumbled as he shoved her aside. “Come and get her, then,” he said, and suddenly there was a knife glinting in his hand.

The man shot past Kyra with the swiftness of a jungle cat. There was a blur of motion, a thud, a groan. The knife went flying and Gold Teeth fell to his knees, swayed there, then sprawled flat on his face.

Twice in one day, Kyra thought hysterically, twice in one hour something incredible had happened too fast for her to see!

Her rescuer bent, lifted Gold Teeth to his feet. He said something in Spanish Kyra couldn’t understand but Gold Teeth certainly did. Even though he was swaying unsteadily, he gulped, nodded, and took off.

Kyra dragged air deep into her lungs and took a step toward her rescuer, who was standing with his back to her and his hands on his hips, watching her assailant as he vanished into the alley.

My God, she thought with admiration, he wasn’t even breathing hard.

With a shaking hand, she took off her baseball cap and ran her fingers through her hair.

”Señor,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ”Señor, I am so grateful…”

”Señorita,” the man said sternly, “this man was a—a marrano…” He shook his head. “Do you speak any Spanish?”

Kyra went very still. No, she thought, no, it couldn’t be.

Her heart rose into her throat. She watched as her rescuer dusted off his hands and then turned toward her.

“He was, you would say, a pig. So you will understand when I tell you—”

Cristo!

Antonio Rodrigo Cordoba del Rey stared at the woman. No. No, it couldn’t be!

His sapphire eyes turned almost black with shock as he stared at her, at the face he had not managed to forget, despite the weeks that had gone by since he had first seen it.

He saw her throat work convulsively.

“No,” she whispered, “no! I don’t believe it”

Antonio rubbed his hands over his eyes but it didn’t help. When he looked again, she was still standing there in front of him, dressed in a skirt and sandals and a T-shirt instead of in a little slip of black silk, but there was no mistaking her identity.

This was the woman who had reduced him to such foolishness that night in Denver. He had thought of her a dozen times since then, never without his gut knotting with anger, always assuring himself that the only saving grace in the whole damned scenario was that he would never, ever, have to see her again…

Yet, here she was. Por Dios, how could such a thing have happened?

He took a step toward her, his fists knotted as he fought for self-control.

“What in hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

The woman’s head snapped back as if he’d struck her.

“What am I doing here?” she said. Her voice was breathy, as if she’d been running. She moved closer, her head tilted up, her eyes locked on his. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?”

Antonio’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot believe this. What have I done that the gods should drop you into my lap a second time?”

Kyra stared at him. The arrogant, insolent, self-centered jerk…

“My sentiments precisely,” she sputtered. “Suffering through one encounter with you was enough for a lifetime. No woman should have to endure your presence twice!”

A dark flush crept across his face. “You should count yourself fortunate for this second test of your stamina, señorita. Had it not occurred, you would have found yourself involved in a much more interesting adventure with your charming friend!”

“That—that creature was not my friend!”

A chill smile curved over Antonio’s mouth. “You should choose more carefully when you decide to ‘play with the natives’.”

Kyra’s eyes turned from silver to smoke. “I do not have to stand here and listen to these insults!”

“You most certainly do not.”

“Fine.”

She spun away, but the memory of his disdainful little smile, even of the way he was standing, with his arms crossed over his chest, enraged her. All that smug male superiority…how dare he? She took a breath, turned, and faced him again.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are, without question, the most…the most insufferable human being imaginable?”

One midnight black eyebrow rose in lazy amusement.

“And to think that moments ago you were almost on your knees to me with gratitude,” he drawled.

Kyra’s color heightened. “You only wish!”

The smile faded from his lips. “My only wish is that I awaken in a few seconds and find out that you have once again been nothing but a bad dream!”

“Really?” Kyra purred. “Have I been in your dreams, señor?”

Antonio flushed. Dammit, why was he letting her draw him into this ridiculous battle of words? As it was, he had made a stupid slip. He had been dreaming of her ever since that night they’d first encountered each other; incredible, X-rated dreams that were ridiculous when you considered that he was not a man who needed to waste his sexual energies in fantasies and that this tart-tongued, mean-tempered American was the last woman he’d ever want in his bed.

“Well?”

He looked at her. Her head was tilted at a slight angle and she was watching him with catlike intensity.

He took a step toward her. “I see that you are a woman who likes to live dangerously. But I must warn you, señorita, that it would be reckless to push a man like me too far. You might not escape as easily as you did a few moments ago.”

Kyra’s heart kicked against her ribs. He was right. Not about the incident with Gold Teeth but about what was happening now. You didn’t tease a man like this; you didn’t dangle bait and wait to see if he’d snap it up. She remembered all too clearly the way he’d watched her that night, the sexual heat that had smoldered between them.

“Perhaps it is I who should have asked that question of you, señorita.”

She looked up. He had moved closer to her; they were standing barely a whisper apart. She swallowed, then cleared her throat.

“What—what question?”

“About dreams,” he said. His smile was sexy and dangerous. “Have you dreamed of me, señorita?”

Kyra stepped back. “Never,” she said, her chin lifted. “Unless I’m in the middle of a very bad one right now.”

Antonio’s nostrils flared. He reached out and clasped her by the shoulders.

“Do you feel the bite of my fingers? I promise you, what is happening is no dream.”

Yes. Yes, she could feel the bite of his fingers, feel the heat of his touch. She could see that his eyes were the color of sapphires, that there was a small, almost invisible scar angled across his jaw; she could smell his scent, equal parts sun and sea and raw male anger.

He looked down at her, his eyes dark, and then he drew her forward against his hard body.

“We are both here. In the flesh—isn’t that what you Americans say? And just so there’s no further confusion m your mind, I will prove it to you.”

And before Kyra could stop him, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her.