Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set (53 page)

“Then, what is?”

He shrugged his shoulders. "I figure I'm entitled to something extra."

"More money? I haven't got any, Rogan, not here..."

"I don't want money," he said roughly. "I want something else."

Her pulse began to pound. "I... I don't understand," she whispered.

He gave her a smile so dazzling that it made her heart turn over. "Sure you do, Elena," he said softly. "You're my wife. My dutiful wife."

“
I'm not," she said quickly. "You know I'm not."

"I have a piece of paper that says you are, Princess. Mr. and Mrs. Blake Rogan—that's us."

Her mouth fell open and then closed again. She curled into the corner of the seat, wedging herself tightly against the door, and looked at him. His eyes were hidden behind the mirrored lenses of his glasses, but she knew how they must look right now, the midnight-blue irises glinting with amusement at her expense. Her gaze drifted across the high cheekbones that gave his face a mysterious cast. His jaw was thrust forward aggressively, and she could see a muscle ticking in his cheek. She looked at his hands, lying lightly on the wheel of the car, and suddenly she remembered the strength of them when they had held her to him.

They were married. Her father had called it a legal maneuver, but in the end all that mattered was that she was Rogan's wife. The piece of paper—the license that was to have ensured her safety also gave him certain rights, certain privileges. Especially here, she thought, especially in San Felipe, where married women had no rights except those that their husbands permitted.

She felt an unbidden rush of excitement sweep through her. He could do almost anything he wanted to her. She belonged to him. He could stop the car right now, along the side of the road, and turn to her and... and...

But he wouldn't. Blake Rogan might be a lot of things, but he wasn't a man who had to force himself on a woman. Her glance drifted to his mouth and lingered there. His lower lip was full and sensual. Everything about him was sensual. He had the darkest, thickest lashes she'd ever seen. And she could still remember the taste of him, and the touch of his hard hands on her.

Heat raced through her blood.

Desperation made her speak.

"I've... I've got a boyfriend in Miami, you know. Did my father tell you?"

Rogan
nodded. "No," he said politely, "actually, we didn't have time for much chit-chat."

She felt her cheeks burning with color. "We're engaged to be married."

It wasn't really a lie, she thought. Jeremy had proposed to her twice. The fact that she'd turned him down, the fact that she couldn't imagine him as anything but a nice man and a good employer, was nobody's business but hers. But it might work, she thought, watching Rogan's face. The man had a sense of honor. She knew that much. He'd saved her from those men in the marketplace, hadn't he?

"Now, how could that be, Princess? You're already married—to me."

"We're not," she said again. "You know that. And... and Jeremy, my fiancé, would be very angry if you... if you and I..."

"Miami's a thousand miles from here," he said bluntly.

So much for honor, she thought, closing her eyes. "You can't really mean that you... that you expect me to…to..."

"I not only mean it, Elena, I demand it." His voice was suddenly cold. "I expect you to obey me without question."

Her eyes flew open. "Obey you?"

He nodded. "Yes," he said curtly. "I know it's an old-fashioned concept, but it's what I want. You'll do exactly as you're told, when you're told, without argument or questions." He glanced at her and then back at the road. "In other words," he said softly, his voice taking on a hint of cool amusement, "you'll be the ideal wife."

The ideal...
Hysterical laughter rose in her throat and she fought it back. Rogan had been talking about obedience, not...

"Can you manage that? Because getting out of San Felipe isn't going to be a picnic. The last thing I need is to spend every minute explaining my actions to you." He gave her a quick smile. "Besides, I'm an old-fashioned man—I like sweet and compliant women."

It was impossible to prevent herself from snorting. "I'll bet you do."

He grinned. "I haven't had a complaint yet, Princess."

Elena fell back against the seat and sighed. "All right," she said finally. "We'll do it your way."

"Good. Now, open that glove compartment and see if there's a map in it. I want to be off this damned road by the time the sun is over that peak."

"OK."

"What's that?"

"I said, OK, Rogan, I heard you."

"Blake," he said pleasantly. "Remember? You want to get in the habit of calling me that, Elena. Who knows how many more times we'll have to convince somebody that we're husband and wife?"

"But that's silly. Who'd know the difference?"

"I would."

"Yes, but that doesn't make sense—"

"Elena!"

Her head snapped up at the sharpness in his voice. "Yes?"

"We're five minutes into our deal and you're reneging already. No questions, no arguments. Wasn't that the agreement?"

"Well, yes, but you can't mean..."

"Sweet and obedient, remember?"

"This is ridiculous. I agreed to do as you ask when we're in a situation that requires it."

"Why is this so difficult for you, Elena? I thought all
senoritas
were raised to be dutiful wives."

"I am not your wife, dammit!
”

“
Don't curse, Elena. I don't like it. My wife..."

"I just told you, I'm not your wife."

The brakes squealed as he pulled the car to the shoulder of the road. He took off his sunglasses and turned towards her. There was something in the taut angle of his body, something in the midnight-blue darkness of his eyes that made her panic. She moved quickly, but not quickly enough. Her shoulders jammed against the door as his hands caught her.

"Lesson one," he said roughly.
He pulled her towards him, his fingers curling in the dark mane of her hair. "I've tried reasoning with you."

"Rogan, I didn't mean..."

His eyes bored into hers. "No," he said softly, drawing her closer, "no, you didn't."

"Dammit, listen to me!"

"If a marriage license can't convince you, maybe this will."

"Don't," she said desperately. "You can't. You..."

He smiled in a way that made her heart stop. "I can," he whispered. "And I damned well will."

His hand clasped the back of her head and brought her to him. Elena twisted against him, trying to free herself, but it was impossible. His mouth swooped down and caught hers in a kiss that took the breath from her.

She whimpered against his lips, and her hands rose between them, but Blake caught her wrists easily and drew her arms harmlessly to the side.

"Don't fight me, Elena."

"You bastard," she hissed. "I'll kill you!"

He laughed softly as he drew her tightly against him and then his mouth covered hers again. She closed her eyes against what was happening, against his kiss. It spoke of ownership and of power, just as his body spoke of strength. She was helpless against him, he was telling her, and she knew it...

And then, suddenly, the kiss began to change. Blake shifted in the seat; his hand fell from her wrists and his arm slid around her, bringing her so closely against him that she could feel her breasts flatten against the hard muscles of his chest. His lips moved over hers, seeking, urging, and then she felt the heated brush of his tongue against her mouth. She murmured something against the silken intrusion and then her lips began to open slowly to his. Her hands slid up his arms, up his shoulders, to his neck.

"Say my name, Elena," he whispered against her lips, the words searing her like the heated breath of the jungle.

"Please," she begged, and his mouth closed on hers again.

"Will you say it now?" he murmured a lifetime later.

Her eyes fell closed. "Yes," she whispered.

His hands moved down her neck, spreading along her shoulders. "Say it."

She felt the sting of tears beneath her closed eyelids. "Blake," she murmured.

He brought her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating beneath her ear. A shudder went through her; his heart was racing as rapidly as hers.

"And will you do as I tell you?"

She could feel the heat of his hands burning through her cotton shirt, feel the strange, fiery weakness that seemed to have captured her soul. Her mind struggled against his words.

"Answer me, Elena."

He cupped her head again and raised her face to his. "I hate you," she said in a broken whisper. "I hate you
!"

He laughed softly. "Do you?"

"Yes," she said. A shudder went through her as his mouth touched her throat.

"Hate me all you like," he whispered, touching his tongue to her flesh. "I don't really give a damn. All I want is your word that you'll obey."

What would he do if she refused him? The thought sent her blood surging.

"Will you let go if I say I will?"

His voice was thick. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

For an instant, time seemed to stand still. She felt his arms tighten around her and her heart turned over. She could never fight him off, not if he were determined to have her. What would happen if he began to kiss her again, if he began to touch her? Something quickened and began to uncoil deep within her.

She blinked as his hands fell away from her. "OK," he said roughly, jamming the sunglasses on his nose again, "let's get moving. Where's that damned map?"

Elena bl
inked again, like a dreamer surfacing from a deep sleep. She watched as Blake put his hands on the steering wheel and flexed his fingers. He was staring out of the windscreen as if he could see something beyond the road arrowing towards the distant mountains.

"The glove compartment."  His voice was husky, and he cleared it before he spoke again. "Go on. See if there's a map in there."

Her own voice was barely a whisper. "A... yes, a map..."

Her dark hair, the strands cool against her heated skin, swung forward and brushed against her cheeks as she bent towards the dashboard. What in heaven's name had happened just now? There wasn't much question about why Blake had kissed her. It had been a lesson, just as he'd said, a reminder of how vulnerable and dependent upon him she was.

At least, that was how it had started. But it had ended as something quite different, and now her mind was busily skittering away from the possibilities like a nervous horse from the edge of a precipice.

The glove-compartment door was jammed, and she had to slam the heel of her hand against it before it fell open and revealed a dark, littered interior. Half a pack of chewing gum, a pair of sunglasses with one lens missing, a comb, a book of matches and finally, in the very rear of the compartment, a bulky, folded piece of paper. Her fingers closed around it.

It was a map, torn along most of its fold, but  was usable. Elena opened it and spread it across the dashboard.

Blake nodded. "Terrific. Let me take a look."

He bent over the crumpled paper, his head close to hers. She could see the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes, the furrows beside his mouth. His shoulder brushed against her as he leaned closer to the dashboard. His hair, thick and luxuriant, was the color of chestnuts, except where the early morning sunlight touched it with gold. It would feel soft to the touch, she thought, her glance flickering to where dark tendrils curled lightly over his collar.

Blake jabbed his finger at a thin blue line. "This is where we are. And that," he added, pointing to the top of the map, "that's where we want to go."

"Mexico?"

He nodded again. "Mexico. That's the first stop where we can be sure nobody will make trouble for us just for the hell of it." He sat back. "But," he said thoughtfully, "we've got a problem."

Elena looked from the map to him. "Yes, I see. There's only the one road north."

"Right."

"And you don't think it's safe to stay on it."

"Right again," he said, peering at the map once more. Two vertical creases appeared between his eyebrows.  "But there's a secondary road ahead of us," he added, pointing to a
thready line that angled to the north-east. "It leads into the mountains."

Elena nodded. "
Las Montanas de la Luna.
The Mountains of the Moon."

"Yeah. And just the other side of the mountains, we can pick up the highway again. From there, it's a straight run to Mexico."

She looked at him warily. "Aren't you forgetting something? There's the border crossing into Mexico after the mountains."

Blake shrugged. "Piece of cake."

"And the mountains are supposed to be full of bandits."

"Maybe."

"And we'll have to cover a couple of hundred miles without any supplies or provisions or..."

"Have you got any better ideas?"

Elena sighed. "No," she said finally. "Not one."

"OK," he said as he folded the map, "then that's the plan. If the scale on the map is accurate, we should run into the turn-off in another couple of hours, and there's a town called Las Palmas just north of here. We can buy some food and fill the
gas tank."

Elena nodded. "I'll draw up a list of things we'll need."

"Perfume, lipstick, hairspray..."

She swung her head towards him. A rush of angry words were on her tongue, but the expression on his face stopped her. His lips were curved in a smile, but it held none of the mocking amusement she'd anticipated. After a second, she gave him a quick smile of her own in return.

"Quinine tablets, aspirin, insect repellent," she said. "Tinned foods, blankets. And a machete."

His expression was blank. "A machete," he repeated.

"That's rough country up there."

"Well, well, well," Blake said softly.

Elena looked up quickly, again expecting that cold look of laughter to be in his eyes. That it wasn't there confused her.

"What does that mean?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "I guess I'm surprised to find that you haven't spent your life pouring tea and attending debutante dances."

A flush rose to her cheeks. "You think you know everything about me, don't you? Has it ever occurred to you that you might have jumped to some conclusions that day we met?"

"Maybe." He started the car and pulled on to the road. "Of course, I might ask you the same question."

"I didn't jump to any con..." She broke off as he looked at her. "All right, perhaps I did. I thought you were...at first, I assumed you were trying to..."

Blake laughed. "Yeah, I know what you thought. I'm just surprised you didn't trot out your fiancé and dangle him in front of me right then and there."

"My fiancé?"

"Yeah, your fiancé." He grinned at her. "Don't tell me he's that forgettable, Princess."

Her fiancé, she thought.
Jeremy...
Dear God, she'd almost forgotten the story she'd told Blake only hours before.

"No," she said quickly, "of course not. I...I just forgot I'd mentioned him to you, that's all."

"You did more than mention him, Elena. You held him out like a talisman for protection."

"Don't be silly. I did no such thing. I simply told you that..."

"You told me he'd be very upset if I put a move on you." He glanced at the mortified expression on her face and laughed softly. "Oh yes, Princess, I know what was going through your pretty head. You thought I was going to demand my conjugal rights."

Elena felt a blush rise upwards from the very tips of her toes. "That's ridiculous."

Blake sighed as he shifted his long legs. "And you thought telling me about old Jeremy would turn me off." He looked at her again and a lazy grin spread over his face. "Don't try and deny it."

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," she said turning away from him.

"That's as good as an admission, Princess."

"
Would you stop calling me that?”

"Princess? Hell, it suits you."

"Why? Because you think I'm a spoiled little rich girl who's used to getting her own way?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't say that," he said mildly.

"But it's what you think, isn't it?"

He shrugged again. "You're Elena Esteban," he said slowly. "Your father is a government official in San Felipe. That means you've grown up like a princess in a fairy-tale kingdom, getting what you wanted whenever you wanted it, pampered by Daddy and everybody else." He glanced at her and then looked back at the road. "How's that for a thumbnail sketch?"

"Wrong," she said stiffly.

He smiled. "What part's wrong, Princess? The name? I know there's probably a whole bunch of Marias and Teresas and Lucindas in there, but..."

She opened her mouth and turned towards him, ready to point out that while his assessmen
t of her was wrong, it was also none of his business. But there was a strange look in his blue eyes, a questioning intensity that made her suddenly want to correct his impression of her. All the angry words that had been on the tip of her tongue melted into silence.

"The only part you got right was the name," she said finally. "Well, the Teresa, anyway. As for the rest..." Elena sighed and leaned her head back against the seat. "My father wasn't always an official. He was an archaeologist. He spent most of his time in the Yucatan Peninsula, digging at Mayan ruins."

"But you didn't. I mean, I have a hard time picturing you poking through piles of dirt and old bones."

She smiled and shook her head. "No, I stayed at home, on the ranch."

"With Mama."

"With
Pilar. And Ysabel. And Margarita. And..." She glanced at Blake's puzzled face and she began to laugh. "I stayed at home with an endless succession of housekeepers. My mother was a painter, Blake. She specialized in wildlife studies, so she went with my father. They were very much in love. I don't think they ever spent a day apart from each other."

Blake's eyebrows rose. "Your parents spent their time tramping through the jungle while you stayed home alone in that big house?"

"I wasn't alone," she said quickly. "I told you, there were housekeepers."

"Right.
Ysabel and Pilar—and Sleepy, Sneezy and Doc. But you were just a kid."

"They were all very kind. But they didn't spoil me, believe me.
Pilar thought
senoritas
should be seen and not heard. Margarita thought I should learn to remember the less fortunate among us by fasting once a week. And Ysabel, who was very devoted to my mother, convinced her that it would only make it more difficult for me if my parents came home for visits more than twice a year. So..."

"Twice a year? That's all you saw them?"

Elena shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sure they loved me," she said. "But they..."

Her words trailed off and Blake cleared his throat. "And then Daddy became a government official and life improved."

"And then the coalition government convinced my father to accept a post, and he and my mother came home, yes." She smiled at the memory. "It was wonderful. I'd never been so happy."

Her voice grew wistful and Blake looked at her. "
Then
they spoiled you," he said in a gently teasing tone.

"They spoiled me to death for six months. And then Mama talked my father into taking us on a trip into the mountains..."

"The ones we're heading for?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "not those. She wanted to do some sketches of a rare bird that nests in the crater of an extinct volcano. Papa didn't want to go, but she talked him into it. So we bought supplies..."

"Which is why you know what we'll need for the Mountains of the Moon?"

She nodded. "Yes. The terrain's very much the same." Her voice lapsed into silence and Blake glanced at her.

"And? Did you go to this volcano?"

Elena nodded again. "Yes," she said, and she took a deep breath. "We went. And... and my mother had an accident. Not while we were at the volcano; it was the day we were heading home. We were crossing the street outside the hotel—we'd stayed there the last night because our plane was leaving early the next morning—and there was a car. It was no one's fault. It just..."

Her words drifted away. Blake glanced at her and then his hand closed over hers.

"Hell," he said roughly, "I'm sorry, Elena. I'd never have brought it up if I'd known."

She made a quick little gesture with her shoulders. "I... I don't even know why I told you," she said softly. "I don't talk about it much."

"And that's when Daddy—when your father sent you off to boarding-school."

Elena nodded. "Yes. Between his official duties and his grief... It was the best thing, I suppose."

"And you've lived in the States ever since."

She nodded again. "Yes. In Miami. It was where I'd gone to school. And my mother's family is there..." She drew in a breath and blew it out. "This is the first time I've really been back in San Felipe in three years," she said, and she gave a quick, bitter laugh. "Three years, and I walked into this mess. Can you believe it?"

Blake squeezed her hand. "You're asking the wrong person, Princess," he said, flashing her a quick smile. "I'm the guy who'd always wanted to visit Mauna Loa."

Elena looked at him. "The volcano in Hawaii?"

"And finally I did—the day it erupted."

She sat up straight and eyed him warily, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "You're making that up."

He grinned and shook his head. "I wish I was. So you see, you're not the only one who has lousy timing."

They both laughed, and then Elena shifted sideways in the seat and looked at him.

"I'll bet you've been in a lot of interesting places."

"Well, I've been in a lot of places, that's for sure." He turned towards her and smiled. "Some of them aren't as great as they're supposed to be."

"But you like to keep moving," she said.

Blake shrugged. "I've never lived any other way."

There was a strange tightness in her throat. "Haven't you... haven't you ever thought about trying it?"

"Settling down in one place, you mean?" He chuckled softly. "There's a whole world out there, Princess, and I've only seen part of it. Why would a man turn down a chance to see it all?"

Elena nodded. It was all too easy for her to picture him drifting from country to country, from town to town, never staying in one place long enough to call it home. That was the kind of man he was; she'd known it from the start. But the image brought with it a curious sense of sadness—which was stupid, she told herself, watching Blake's profile as he concentrated on the road ahead. After all, the way he lived his life was none of her business.