The Spanish Outlaw (6 page)

He stroked the side of her face, his fingers trailing down her neck. “We have talked enough tonight. Now it is time for some passion.”

His mouth dropped to hers and pecked, encouraging her lips to open, but she remained uncooperative. As much as she wanted to welcome the passion budding inside her, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t! He held her face and tilted his mouth over hers, but she still did not open up for him.

“
Vivian, please.”

She kissed him with her closed mouth, then pulled away and moved to the seat across from him. “Anton, I don’t want to be seduced.”

He let out a grated sigh, running his fingers through his wavy hair. Silence lasted in the conveyance for a few minutes while his gaze swept over her. His lips were tight, his eyes narrowed.

“Why?” he asked.

She couldn’t tell him the real reason. If he knew what kind of mother she had, he’d certainly believe she’d welcome his advances. “Because, I’m not ready.”

His gaze narrowed on her. “
Vivian? Have you ever
been
with a man?”

She rolled her eyes. “What an imprudent thing to ask. Of course I’ve been with a man. Am I not with you now?”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “No, my dear, I mean in the Biblical sense.”

She held her breath. What a
n improper question! How dare he assume… How dare he even think of such a thing? She should scream at him, slap his face—or something. Women didn’t go around telling men of their exploits. That was a man’s duty. There was no way she could answer something so personally. Absolutely not!

Yet...gaining his trust remained
first and foremost on her mind. Curses! Once again, she couldn’t be herself around him and needed to act like a different person. She must talk to him about this no matter how ill-mannered and appalling it was!

* * * *

Anton focused on Vivian, waiting for her answer. Inwardly, he prayed she wasn’t innocent. He didn’t seduce those types of women.

Strangely, though, he wanted to make an exception in her case.

From the way her gaze dropped to her lap and her unsteady fingers twisted the material of her dress, he sensed her fright of being alone with him. Twin spots of pink highlighted her cheeks courtesy of veiled moonlight filtering through the shadows of the coach, indicating her attraction to him—and her innocence.

“What an improper topic of conversation. Of course I
’m a…um, you know… I have never been touched.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “And I shall remain that way until I’m married.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Fine. I will not touch you again.”

After he made the promise, emptiness invaded his chest and arms. He didn’t want to release her to another man so soon. Although he should never touch her, something about her kept his interest, and he yearned for more. He’d never tried this hard with any other wom
an. Most females fell easily for his charms, and as he had expected, they only wanted him because of his wealth and fame with the opera. However, Vivian was different, and he liked the challenge.

“Is your wedding day forthcoming?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I have yet to meet the man with whom I’d like to share the rest of my life.”

“
Forgive me for inquiring on such a delicate subject, which is obviously uncomfortable for you to talk about.”

“I’m not uncomfortable. We can discuss this if you
would like.”

“Maybe after this case is over, you will be free to start looking for the right man to fill your life?”

“Perhaps.”

Silence lagged for another few annoying minutes, driving Anton to distraction. He glanced at her.
Vivian made it evident from her creased forehead and sulky, pursed lips that conversing with her would do no good.

Obviously, she didn’t want his touch. The thought appalled him. He wasn’t used to rejection.

He turned and focused his attention out of the slit through the curtains. The rider was farther back than before, but keeping in time with their tracks. Anton slumped in the corner of the seat and closed his eyes. Why couldn’t he tempt the beauty sitting across from him?

Shaking his head, he tried to push her from his mind, but the harder he tried, the more he remembered
her softness against his frame as he held her tight, and especially the way her mouth fit perfectly with his. Her sweet taste was like honey nectar from the Gods.

Growling softly,
he adjusted himself on the seat. How could he get these images of her to leave his mind? Especially when her jasmine scent lingered in the air, teasing him, tempting his every thought.

He blew out a gush of air and opened his eyes. Her wide, luminous gaze rested upon him, but she quickly turned her head. The glimpse of interest he detected in her expression didn’t lie. Why did she fight her feelings?
Good grief, she was just as attracted to him as he was to her, so why couldn’t she admit it?

In a way, she had confessed her feelings. She’d said his singing had hypnotized her at the opera. An idea rooted in his mind, making him straighten in his seat. Maybe he’d change his
charming tactics a bit.

He moistened his throat and prepared to sing one of the Spanish love songs he’d performed in the opera. To begin, he hummed the tune.
Vivian’s head turned slowly in his direction, her expression guarded, but she remained silent. When he started singing, he kept the volume low, even though he knew their follower would not be able to hear. He detected a hint of question in her wide eyes, but she didn’t speak.

As
he sang the Italian aria, he held her gaze prisoner. He put all of his feelings into the song as he tried caressing her with each word. His mind drifted to the place where men couldn’t hunt him and where he could be free...and where one special woman wanted to love the real Antonio. Once again, music soothed his soul.

Soon, her expression softened into a smile, and her body relaxed. Eyelids drooping, the lines of her forehead smoothed out. The song came to a low finish. To the corner of her eye, she touched a finger, removing a tear.

“What was that song about?” she questioned. “I’ve heard you sing it for two weeks, and although it’s very beautiful, I don’t understand Italian as much as I’d like.”

“As you know from the opera, my character is leaving for war. He is promising his true love he will return to renew their relationship. He swears he will marry her upon his return.”

“The song is very powerful. When you sing, you project deep emotion.” She dabbed a fingertip to the corner of her eyes again. “Is that all an act or did you have a childhood love to whom you can relate?”

He laughed softly. “In my youth, I had many infatuations, but they meant nothing.”

“Then how do you sing with such conviction?”

He moved from his seat and sat next to her,
laying his arm across her shoulders once again. “My character is not only going to war, but he is leaving the only family, the only home he has ever known.” He stroked her cheek. “I can relate to that. Although it was my choice to leave, I still miss my home, and I have not stopped mourning my parents’ deaths.”

“Forgive me.” She placed her hand on his chest. “I should have realized.”

With tender care, he took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Would you like me to sing you another song?”

Her smile widened.
“If you don’t mind.”

Keeping her hand in his, he began singing. Moisture collected in her eyes. Because she’d seen the opera every day for two weeks, he was certain she knew this song well. Emotion gathered in his chest, causing it to ache. She remained quiet as he sang, and just as before, he put feeling into his words. Tears fell down her cheeks, but this time she didn’t stop them.

When he finished, his heart swelled. “I take it you remember that song,” he whispered.

“That was the last song you sang to your true love before your character died. Every night when I sat in my box seat and watched you sing, I cried at that point.” She hiccupped. “In fact, I don’t think I was the only one. Everyone in the audience had been affected.”

He swiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You must have a very passionate nature to cry so easily.”

“No, just when I go to sentimental operas.”

“I will try not to make you cry ever again.”

She smiled. “If you continue to sing to me like that, you’ll break your promise.”

His chest tightened, and he wanted her more now than before. It wasn’t very often he witnessed a woman so affected by his performance, especially one that made him want to curl up like a kitten and long to have her stroke him with a loving touch.

“I am afraid you have tempted me to break another promise given to you.” He leaned closer and brushed his lips against hers. “Because I want to kiss you so much right now, it hurts.” He placed a brief kiss on her tender lips. “Seeing you like this has made me insane with wanting. Your presence has controlled my every thought and action, and I feel as if I could sing to you forever.”

He kissed her again. This time she welcomed his mouth on hers. His heart cheered with victory, yet the emotion was a different kind of triumph than before. Instead of just seducing her for the thrill of conquering, his feelings ran deeper, yet he couldn’t explain why. All he knew was that he wanted her to know the real Antonio.

The coach jerked to a stop, bringing him back to awareness. In silence, he cursed his wandering thoughts. He must be insane to feel this way about a woman who didn’t trust him...and whom he had a difficult time trusting
himself.

Vivian
pulled away and looked out the window. She let out a heavy sigh. “We’re home
. Mí casa es su casa
.”

* * * *

Once Vivian stepped down from the coach, she hustled straight into her house and to her bedroom. She slammed the door, hoping Anton hadn’t noticed her burning cheeks. A wave of shame washed over her from head to toe. Why had she allowed Anton to kiss her the way he had? His romantic voice had hypnotized her. She would have allowed him to do anything—anything at all.

Good grief, something was indeed wrong with her!

She lit the lamp on her vanity and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Brushing her hair in a wild abandonment, she cringed at each punishing stroke. Pain she well deserved.

How could she have let passion control her thoughts? She didn’t want to be like her mother! Yet it seemed after meeting Anton,
longing for that feeling she had yet to experience had flowed through her faster than she’d ever imagined. The mere thought of succumbing to his advances frightened her to death.

Several brushstrokes later, she tossed the brush aside and stared at the mess she’d made. Heat still consumed her reddened cheeks, and her lips were puffy from Anton’s scorching kiss.
Why had being in his arms made her feel like a real woman?

Gritting her teeth, she balled her hands.
Heaven help her, but she wanted to feel his arms around her again. But that would go against everything she’d tried to accomplish these past several years. Could she become a strong, independent woman if she allowed a man to control her emotions?

Heavens no!

The front door closed with a bang, making her jump. Then a curse rented through the air.

“Why does he not leave me alone?” Anton
snapped from the next room.

Letting out a deep sigh, she pushed her fingers through her mess of tangled hair, trying to make it look halfway decent. She flattened the unruly locks away from her face, but the strands of
light brown hair bounced back, giving her appearance an untamed look.

In defeat, she sighed.
Too late to repair the damage now. She must talk to him, even looking like she’d just awakened from a sleepless night.

When she walked out of her bedroom, Anton stood in front of the window, peering between the draperies. He hadn’t lit the lamps, aiding the ghostly moonlight as the pale streams gave the
house an eerie feeling. With Margaret’s attire removed from his body, he was back to wearing the clothes from earlier. Heavens, he looked incredibly handsome.

“I’m assuming that man is
still out there?” she asked.

Anton
glanced her way, and by the small light coming from her room, she noticed the moment his angry look changed to passion. A quick breath released from his opened mouth, and an out of control rhythm pounded in her chest. His mesmerizing gaze made her want to run and launch straight into his arms.

That
, she would never do again!

Could his response be due to her tangled mess of hair? She should have left it alone. Her father had always told her proper ladies kept their hair styled, but brazen women left it unbound. Was she brazen like her mother? Could that be the reason she’d been
so difficult and unruly as a young girl? She prayed it wasn’t.

Anton moved away from the window and to her side with the grace and elegance of a panther. His gaze never left her face as if
he drank in her features. He lifted a lock that had fallen over her shoulder and caressed it.