Marry A Man Who Will Dance. Ann Major

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      The mare tore a mouthful of grass out of the ground. Watching him, she began to munch warily.

      In long graceful strides, Roque moved through the grass toward her.

      “What are you going to do?”

      “Get lost, kid. You’ll only get in my way.” He paused. “If Daddy catches you with me, he’ll beat me. Is that what you want?”

      Caleb went so white every freckle stood out. His thin shoulders sagged. Roque was stunned when his own dark heart twisted with remorse.

      “Get,” he said.

      “Who wants to catch a dumb old horse anyway,” Caleb said.

      Roque really felt chagrined when Caleb turned his back on him and started walking home.

      “Caleb…”

      Roque forced himself to let it go. “I’m a real jerk, kid,” he muttered to himself. “Just like Daddy! The sooner you get that, the better for all three of us. When I go home this time, I’ll stay there. I’ll forget I ever had a gringo brother. I will! If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will!”

      Catching her horse soon distracted him from his guilt trip. It wasn’t long before Roque had the reins and was stroking the mare’s dark nose with the flat of his hand. She was leaning her head into his every touch, nuzzling his open palm.

      “Friends?” he whispered when he mounted her.

      A dazzling white smile crept across Roque’s lean, tanned face. He made a clicking noise. “Where’s your sexy mistress, girl?”

      If only she would be as easy to seduce as her horse.

      Ritz was running down the caliche road when she heard the violent thunder of hooves thudding behind her.

      She turned. Roque Blackstone was galloping Buttercup straight for her, stirring up thick clouds of white dust. His hair streamed like wet black ink back from his dark face. His wet shirt was plastered against his lean body. His eyes flamed a savage, incandescent green.

      With a yell, she tried to run faster. Just when she thought he’d surely trample her or grab her up by the hair and scalp her, the furious pounding stopped. Then Ritz was enveloped in dust so thick, she had to put her hands up over her tear-filled eyes as she began to cough.

      Buttercup snorted and stomped the earth.

      When she could breathe again, Ritz sprinted for the gate.

      “Whoa, girl! Whoa!” yelped a harsh, male voice. “You can’t outrun me or my horse.”

      She stopped. “My horse!”

      “Yours?” He laughed, the soft, velvety sound jeering her. “Who the hell are you?” His green eyes raked her skinny body.

      He was looking at her, his eyes burning, challenging her the way all those other boys challenged Jet.

      Oh, if only I were as gutsy as Jet—

      Roque Moya had a peculiar effect on her. Last night she’d felt all grown up and on fire. Suddenly she felt strange, almost gutsy. Almost pretty.

      “Ritz Keller! That’s who!” she snapped, pushing her glasses up her nose.

      “You really think you’re somebody, don’t you? A real princesa?”

      Up close his eyes were so fierce, she felt consumed by their unholy fire. “I’m not scared of you, Roque Blackstone!”

      Liar.

      “So, you know who I am?”

      She almost stopped breathing when he smiled. Jet would have smiled back and said something clever.

      “You’re a Blackstone—the worst of a bad bunch. You flunked…”

      His face twisted. “If you don’t like us, what the hell are you doing on Blackstone land, Meeez Know-it-all Keller? Where’s your pretty friend?”

      “Jet?”

      “Are you like her? Did you come to watch a meens swim naked and steal heez clothes?”

      “Man?” she corrected, tilting her nose in the air.

      He flushed.

      Sassily she put her hands on her hips. “You’re no man.”

      “Like you’re some expert—”

      “You’re just a stupid, mean boy nobody likes. Not even your father!”

      “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Last year he sent you home…to Mexico ’cause… ’cause…”

      Roque swore violently under his breath, first in Spanish and then in English. “’Cause a bad girl told my father she liked me…too much—Four Eyes.”

      “Well, I don’t like you.” Ritz stuck out her tongue.

      He laughed. “Most girls do. That gets boring after a while.”

      “You are too conceited to believe.”

      Another quick burst of his male laughter made her heart skitter.

      “I’m not boy-crazy…not like Jet.”

      “Jet.” He purred. “So, that’s her name. She is pretty, your boy-crazy friend. Older. She follows me.”

      The red sky burned green.

      “She’s only a year and a half older!”

      “More than that,” he said, peeling clothes from her skinny frame with his indecently bright, emerald eyes. “You’re a baby. She’s a woman. Last night she…”

      “Are you going to give me my horse or not?”

      He shook his head. “She’s mine now.”

      He pranced back and forth. “And you’re on Blackstone land.”

      A red sun slanted a kaleidoscope of rays behind him, giving him the devil’s own halo while keeping that pretty face of his in the dark. She had to squint to make out his well-shaped, glossy, black head and that hair that was so long it whipped against his hard, dark jawline and tangled with the ends of the scarlet bandanna he wore at his neck.

      With the sun at his back, he was mostly a black figure. Still, she got an eyeful of sleek, brown torso under that wet shirt that seemed made of nothing but ripply muscle. Indeed, even up close, every part of him seemed made of muscle, too—his squared-off shoulders…his arms…his lean waist and…his legs. He looked better by sunlight than by firelight.

      Black jeans clung to those powerful legs. Jet said boys who wore jeans that tight were too nasty for nice СКАЧАТЬ