The Horseman. Margaret Way

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ heart skipped many dangerous beats. “A charming compliment, but the color of my eyes is genetic. Both Daniel and I inherited our gray eyes from our grandfather.”

      “Gray doesn’t say it,” he said, studying her face so intently he might have been trying to discover her whole history.

      She had half hoped closer contact might lessen some of his mystique, anything so she could regain her balance, but the excitement was fierce.

      They were moving in a dream, their steps melding and matching as though their bodies were no surprise to the other. Indeed she fit so perfectly into his arms she wondered if those strong arms would leave an imprint on her. It was so wonderful, so exciting, so scary, she grasped as she had never done before how attraction could overpower. And with such violent attraction came the potential to destroy lives and ruin reputations.

      The band segued into a haunting romantic ballad that struck a chord deep inside her. The blood coursing through her body was full of sparkles, hot sparkles from all the electricity that raced up and down her spine. She felt a dull heavy ache in the pit of her stomach as though she was about to start her period, which she wasn’t. She knew what it was: powerful sexual desire that acted like an erotic charge. It brought on a physical change in her, like deep contractions in the womb. She, who had been brought up to be a fluent conversationalist as befitting a cultured young woman, could say nothing. Excitement was growing inside her at a tremendous rate. She couldn’t shut it off. She was in thrall, so much less of herself, much, much, more of him.

      Once his cheek touched her temple as he whirled her away from another couple, also intent on each other. She felt the faint rasp of his beard on her soft skin. He was a beautiful dancer. She might have known that from the way he moved. Did they have golden pumas in Argentina? she wondered. She was taken by the image. He was beautiful as a man can be beautiful, with an undeniably exotic air, but she couldn’t see his Spanish heritage. His eyes were more a velvety brown than black. His hair so thick, and well-groomed, was a warm caramel softened by those sun-kissed streaks. If she hadn’t known he was Argentinian and heard for herself that fascinating hint of accent, she wouldn’t have known exactly where to place him. If Daniel had introduced an adventurous friend back from wandering the world, she would have accepted it readily. Suddenly there were many questions she wanted to ask him.

      Not a good idea, Cecile! Her warning voice struggled to get through again. He’ll only be here for a short time. Then he goes back to where he belongs. Much wiser to keep your distance.

      Too late to tell her that now. She had moved into a new, potentially dangerous dimension.

      Her grandfather had taken a strong liking to him—she knew her grandfather well—which meant lots of invitations would be issued to the visitor. Her own time in Darwin was short. When her vacation with her grandfather was over, she would have to return home to Melbourne to her work. For the past four years she had achieved her ambition, practicing as a child psychologist in a large private hospital that had excellent accreditation. It was work that was important to her, a career choice perhaps influenced by her own struggle in childhood. At any rate she had another life.

      But how to shut him out?

      Look on it as a brief encounter, the voice in her head instructed.

      One could live a lifetime in an hour.

      “So quiet?” he murmured. She had removed her lovely headdress, revealing a waterfall of raven hair that flowed straight and glossy down her back to her shoulder blades. From a central parting, the sides were secured behind her ears by two glittering leaf-shaped diamond clasps. It was a classic style that greatly appealed to him.

      “I’m not usually.” She allowed herself one roving glance across his face. His mouth was beautifully cut, firm but sensual. She wanted to reach out and touch it very gently with her finger, trace its outline. “You understand,” she murmured, “weddings are very moving occasions.”

      “This one in particular,” he agreed, drawing her, unprotesting, closer.

      Thousands of twinkling lights from the trees poured over them. There was a cry from a night bird somewhere close by. Two perfectly pitched notes, in a descending cadence.

      It was repeated.

      God! She could hardly bear it! Her heart was thudding so hard it had to be moving the bodice of her gown.

      The ache in her stomach wasn’t fading—it was growing. It tormented her she could feel this hungry for sex. It was no romantic longing and so relatively harmless. She wished for sex with a perfect stranger. The very thought threatened her ordered life and disassociated her from her engagement. She could have been one of her own patients: an adolescent whose hormones raged out of control.

      “One doesn’t always see such a true love match,” he remarked after a long pause. “It’s commonplace in Argentina and many parts of the world for material considerations to be put first. Fiona explained to me how your cousin came to be restored to his family. It’s an extraordinary story, though many families have dark secrets and tragic histories. Still…incredible to think it took all this time before his identity came to light. Your cousin deserves his great happiness.”

      “He does. Blood is very binding,” she agreed in a low voice.

      “No matter the separation.” Again there was a certain nuance that caused her to look up at him.

      “You sound as though you know all about the trials of separation.”

      “What gave you that idea?” He stared down into her eyes.

      “You do know though, don’t you?”

      He was silent a moment. “You’re obviously a woman of admirable perception. Separations happen all the time. Some perhaps in a way that others do not. Some separations bring misery and trauma, others make us, as they say, fonder. You and your cousin are very much alike. Anyone seeing the two of you together would assume you were sister and brother. You don’t have a brother of your own?”

      She shook her head with deep regret. “I’m an only child. I would have liked a brother, preferably brothers and sisters, but my mother had difficulty having me, so no more family! It was wonderful when Daniel came into our lives, and now Sandra. We’ve become good friends. And you, señor, you have siblings?”

      “Didn’t I beg you to call me Raul?” His tone dropped low into his chest. It was almost a deep purr. “After all, I intend to call you Cecile.”

      He pronounced it in the French fashion. It sounded… lovely. Like being stroked. Featherlike strokes all over her face and up and down her body. He was using his voice like the finest of instruments. One could fall in love with such a voice, she thought shakily, even if the owner were plain.

      That night bird called again. Was it serenading them? The scent of gardenias was heavy in the air, their waxy white flowers dazzling in the dark. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of each other, however.”

      “You say it like it cannot be,” he challenged. “Your distinguished grandfather has already invited me to a dinner party he’s giving Wednesday of this coming week. Perhaps you are wrong. I might be often on your doorstep. I understand you are staying with your grandfather for a month? There is much you could show me if you would only be so kind to a stranger to your country.”

      Kind? Kindness wasn’t what he wanted from her, of that she was sure. Though he mesmerized her with his charm, the idea that СКАЧАТЬ