Spring Bride Page 5

  “Shut the door, please.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly at his tone but she did as he’d asked.

  “I think I owe you an apology,” she said, this time even managing what she hoped was a smile.

  “Indeed,” he said coldly.

  All right, so he was going to extract his pound of flesh. Well, let him. She would do the right thing anyway.

  “Yes,” she said. “You risked your neck for me, and-”

  “Believe me, señorita, there was never any danger to my neck.”

  Damn the man anyway. How could he sound so infuriatingly smug?

  “Nevertheless,” Kyra said calmly, “I should have thanked you. And—”

  “You did. As I recall, you were effusive with your thanks—until you realized who I was.”

  “Yes. Well, perhaps I™”

  “How unkind fate can be, señorita, to think that you should find yourself beholden to me, of all people.”

  “Look, I’m trying to be polite. You did me a favor and-”

  “A favor?” His lips drew back from his teeth. “You will forgive me if I am blunt, but I believe the appropriate phrase is that I saved your ass!”

  Color flew into Kyra’s cheeks. “Well, what would you like me to do about it? Grovel? Let me assure you, mister, if that’s what you’re waiting for, you’re going to have to wait until hell freezes over!”

  They glared at each other for a moment and then Antonio rose to his feet.

  “You have spirit, señorita. I have to admit that.”

  “Why not admit that you’ll also accept my apology?” She marched toward him, her hand outstretched, determined to get it over with. “My name is Kyra Landon, and I’m grateful for what you did.”

  He looked at her hand just long enough for her to wonder if he was going to disregard it, and then he took it in his. For an instant, she wondered if he was going to raise her hand to his lips. Her heart did a racing dance in anticipation of feeling his mouth against her skin—but he only shook her hand before letting it go.

  “I am Antonio Rodrigo Cordoba del Rey,” he said stiffly. “I assure you, I only did what any man of honor would have done in the same situation. As for gratitudeit was Consuelo who heard the fuss outside and decided you were in need of assistance.”

  “Yes, she told me. I’ve already tha—”

  “What on earth were you doing in La Guaira, señorita?” Antonio leaned back against his desk while a smile, as phony as a counterfeit bill, curled over his mouth. “Did you think it would be amusing to take a walk on the wild side?”

  Kyra’s head came up. “You’ve already asked me that,” she said coldly. “And I’ve answered it.”

  “Well, whatever your reason for venturing into this area alone, I would advise you that in the future—”

  “I don’t need your advice, señor.”

  Antonio sat down behind his desk, tilted back his chair, and folded his arms over his chest. It was a posture as patronizing as it was infuriating—and so was the smile he gave her.

  “You certainly need someone’s.”

  Kyra’s eyes flashed. “For God’s sake! I should have known having a civil conversation with you would be impossible!”

  “On the contrary, Miss Landon. If we were not having a civil conversation, I would tell you that you behaved like a fool today and almost paid the price for it.”

  “That’s it! Goodbye, Mr. del Rey. I’ve no intention of standing here while you—”

  “You Americans never fail to amuse me, señorita. You would not think of strolling the streets of your own cities without knowing where you were going, yet you pretend the rest of the world is a playground where you can do as you wish and never have to pay the consequences.”

  Kyra’s spine stiffened. His tone was as condescending as his manner, and it hadn’t escaped her notice that he’d not asked her to sit down.

  Did he expect she would stand here like a child called to the principal’s office, while he lectured her on her manners?

  She smiled. “You’re right, of course,” she said pleasantly. “Unfortunately, I gave up reading National Geographic years ago. Otherwise, I’d have remembered how primitive your continent can be.”

  It was a lie, of course. All she’d seen of South America was Caracas, and it was as modern a city as any. But the taunt had struck home. Señor Antonio Rodrigo Whatever del Rey looked as if he’d like nothing so much as to slug her, which meant she’d finally managed to get in under that handsome hide of his.

  The realization brought joy to her heart.

  “Thank you so much for that sincere apology, Señorita Landon,” he said sarcastically as he reached for the phone. “Now, if you will tell me the name of your hotel, I will call a taxi for you and send you back where you belong.”

  Back where she belonged…Kyra’s smile faded. She’d almost forgotten.

  Damn, she thought, oh, damn.

  “Actually—actually, I’m not staying at a hotel”

  “The address of your friends, then. What is it?”

  Kyra looked at his hand, hovering over the telephone. Now was the time to tell him the truth, that she had no money, no credit cards, no passport…

  Tell him that the only person she knew on this entire continent was him? No. Uh-uh. Not if she had to sleep in the street!

  “I see no need to give you the address, Señor del Rey. I’m perfectly capable of telling it to the taxi driver myself.”

  Antonio smiled, though it made every muscle in his face ache. What was this Landon woman afraid of? Did she really think he would follow on her heels like a dog after a bitch in heat?

  “As you wish,” he said. “But you needn’t worry, Miss Landon. The only interest I’d have in knowing where you are staying is so that I can be sure to avoid that part of the city.”

  “What an excellent idea.”

  Giving up any pretense at civility, he snatched up the phone. “Consuelo? Please call a taxi for our guest. No, you may not tell the cab company where she wishes to be taken. Miss Landon is saving that information for the fortunate driver whose job it will be to take her back to Caracas. Yes. Thank you, Consuelo.”

  He frowned, drew some papers toward him, and picked up a pen. After a moment, he looked up and made a show of arching his brows in surprise.

  “Are you still here, Miss Landon?”

  It pleased him to see a flush rise in her pale cheeks. “I apologize,” she said coldly. “I hadn’t realized I’d been dismissed.”

  Kyra pivoted on her heel and walked to the door, slamming it after her hard enough so the pictures on the walls rattled.

  She was a brat, in every sense of the word! Antonio tossed the pen aside, pushed the papers away, and glared at the closed door.

  He’d been right that night at the Arts Center when he’d decided that what Kyra Landon needed was to be brought to heel by a man.

  But not by him. Hell, no. The job would be more trouble than it would be worth.

  Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the memory of how it had felt to hold her in his arms and kiss her. Her mouth had been as soft and sweet as the petals of a rose…

  Antonio cursed under his breath. He dragged the stack of papers toward him and bent over them. After a while, he even calmed down enough so that what he was reading began to make sense.

  Kyra let the taxi take her several blocks before she cleared her throat, leaned forward, and told the driver that she hadn’t any money.

  The cabbie stepped on the brakes and pulled to the curb.

  “But I’m not really broke,” she said quickly.

  She started to explain everything: she’d been robbed, she’d missed her ship, she needed to report the theft to the police and to seek help at the American Embassy…

  The driver managed to reduce it all to one simple essential.

  “Have you money to pay me for this ride, señorita?”

  Kyra hesitated. “Well, no,” she said finally, “not right now. But tomorrow…”

/>   “I am interested in today, not tomorrow.”

  Nothing she could say would change his mind. A couple of minutes later, she was standing in the road, watching the taillights of the taxi fade into the gathering darkness.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t help a little shudder of distress. The rain had stopped, but the promise of more hung heavily in the air. The road was desolate, and night was coming on quickly.

  She needed help. That was obvious. But she hadn’t the vaguest idea where to find it.

  The sound of raucous male voices floated toward her. Kyra swung around. A trio of drunks was moving up the center of the road, shouting and laughing as they passed a whiskey bottle back and forth.

  Kyra’s heartbeat stumbled. She stepped back quickly, flattening herself into the doorway of a building, and held her breath until the men had staggered past. She waited until the night was once again shrouded in silence and then she edged out of the doorway and started walking.

  Any place had to be better than staying here.

  The rain had started again and she quickened her pace. The street was still deserted. That was good. But if a car came along…

  Would that be any better? Wouldn’t it be stupid to be any more trustful of somebody driving a car than of somebody walking?

  Still, the first time a pair of yellow headlights pierced the gloom, she stepped out into the road, waving her arms.

  The car swept by her without even slowing down.

  Kyra took a deep breath and continued walking.

  The next time she heard a car approaching, she ran farther into the road.

  “Hey,” she yelled.

  Water splattered her skirt as an ancient pickup truck wheezed past.

  Kyra stood staring after it, and then she began trudging along again. All right, then. She’d just keep walking. Maybe she’d get lucky. Maybe a police car would come along, or another taxi. She wouldn’t be stupid this time; she’d wait until they got to Caracas before she told the driver she had no—

  Something, or someone, hissed at her from the darkness and a dark shape skittered past her toes. As it did, she heard the throaty roar of an engine. Without hesitating, Kyra raced into the middle of the road and jumped up and down.

  “Stop,” she yelled.

  Tires squealed against wet asphalt as the headlights picked her out. She danced back as the vehicle swerved, shot past her, spun crazily and finally came to a stop.

  She stared at the car. It was low and long—a Jaguar, perhaps. Not that it mattered. What did matter was the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as the driver’s door opened.

  No, she thought, please, no. Not again…

  “Mother of us all,” Antonio snarled. He stormed toward her and clamped his hands on her shoulders. “What are you trying to do to me?”

  Kyra’s chin tilted up a notch. “I had no idea it was you. In fact, had I known—”

  “Am I fated for disaster at your hands?”

  “Disaster at my hands?” Kyra tossed her wet hair from her eyes and glared at him. “I was not the one going a hundred miles an hour on a wet road, was I?”

  “What are you doing here? Are you trying to kill me? Or will you be satisfied simply to drive me insane?”

  “Isn’t it amazing?” Kyra wrenched free of his hands and folded her arms. “Men always think of themselves first!”

  Antonio felt his fingers twitch. No court on earth would convict him, he thought grimly, and jammed his hands into his pockets.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “You were in a taxi. You should have been out of this area—out of my life—by now!”

  Kyra shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” His jaw tightened. “What does that mean, you ‘suppose’?”

  She stared back at him. “It means,” she said, “that I need a ride into Caracas.”

  “You need a ride into…” Antonio took a deep breath. “What happened to your taxi?” He looked around as if it might be hiding in the shadows. “Did it break down?”

  “It left.”

  “Left? What do you mean, left? Taxis don’t leave, for God’s sake!”

  Kyra hesitated, but what was the point? It was night, it was raining, and she was too desperate to go on pretending. “They do when you haven’t any money to pay for them.”

  Antonio cocked his head. “What are you talking about, woman?”

  “My money was stolen,” she said bluntly, “I haven’t got a single bohvar.”

  “You mean, the cabdriver…?”

  “A man on a motorbike snatched my purse.”

  “I don’t understand. When did this happen? Surely not before that fiasco outside my office?”

  Kyra sighed “Look, I’ll answer all your questions—”

  “You most certainly will!”

  “But could we please continue this discussion inside your car?”

  Please? Had Kyra Landon really said “please”? For the first time, Antonio took a good look at the creature standing before him.

  If she’d looked like a half-drowned rat a while ago, then there were no words to describe her now. Her hair was plastered to her skull, water dripped from her chin and nose, and her skirt was splattered with mud.

  It was a sight that should have brought a smile of satisfaction to his lips. Instead, he had to fight back the sudden, unreasoning desire to gather her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right…

  Hell, he thought. What insanity was this? He’d sooner comfort a piranha than this woman!

  Irritably, Antonio wrenched open the door to the car.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Are you going to get in and ruin the leather or are you hoping I’ll toss you a life jacket?”

  Kyra stiffened. For just a moment, she’d almost thought she’d glimpsed a speck of human kindness in Antonio del Rey, which only showed how muddled you could get after a long, wretched day.

  “Spoken like a true gentleman,” she said sweetly, and she flounced past him into the Jaguar.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ACTUALLY, dripping all over the Jaguar’s leather seats sounded like a pretty good idea, but it turned out to be impossible. She’d hardly settled into the seat when Antonio reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief.

  “Here,” he said brusquely, tossing it into her lap. “Dry yourself off.”

  By the time she finished blotting the rain from her face, the handkerchief was soaked. What was protocol in this kind of situation? Did she hand this wet bit of linen back, or did she hang on to it? After a moment, she sighed, balled it into her fist, and sat back.

  “Put your seat belt on.”

  Her head swung toward Antonio. Dry your face, put on your seat belt…

  “Certainly,” she said. “Anything else you’d like me to do?”

  “Yes,” he said coldly. “Tell me where in Caracas I am to take you.”

  Nowhere. There was nowhere to take her, not in this entire country. She had no money, no passport, no friends. She knew no one on this continent, in fact, except the stern-faced dictator seated beside her.

  The thought sent a chill up her spine, and she gave a quick, inadvertent shudder.

  “Are you cold?”

  Kyra blinked. “What?”

  Antonio shot her an impatient glance. “I thought I saw you shudder a moment ago.”

  “Did I?” She forced a smile to her lips. “I hadn’t realized…”

  “There is a jacket behind you. Put it on.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  ”Por Dios, must everything be an argument?” He took one hand from the wheel, reached behind him, and snatched up the jacket. “Put it on, please,” he snapped, dropping the garment in her lap.

  Please? Who was he kidding? His tone made it clear that she had no real choice in the matter. Kyra’s mouth turned down as she slipped the jacket around her. It was soft and warm, and it smelled faintly—and pleasantly—of its owner.

  Kyra fro
wned and sat up straighter.

  “Your wish is my command, sir,” she said briskly.

  If she’d meant to insult him, she hadn’t succeeded. He laughed and looked across at her.

  “Keep thinking that way,” he said, “and we’ll get along very well.”

  Kyra looked at him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re living in another century?”

  A smile curved across his lips. “Ah,” he said softly, “a feminist.”

  “Only you would think so.”

  Antonio sighed. “You will be rid of me soon enough,” he said. “Where am I to drop you off in Caracas?”

  Kyra shifted uneasily in her seat. Now was the time to tell him she wasn’t visiting friends as she’d let him believe, that the Empress had sailed without her.

  But what then? Where could she ask him to take her? The thought of having to tell him that she didn’t know where to go or what to do was too embarrassing.

  “Well?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s—it’s not far now,” she said. “I’ll tell you where when we get there.”

  What would she say when they got into the heart of the city? Where could she ask him to let her off? More to the point, how had she gotten into such an awful mess? The Jaguar raced through the night as her brain proposed and discarded a hundred different ideas.

  She’d set off on an adventure meant to turn her life in a new direction; instead, she was broke, reduced to taking commands from a South American dictator—or had she been right in the first place? Was he Spanish? It was impossible to tell from his name, that long, rolling mouthful of poetic syllables. It was impossible to tell from his looks, either. That thick, inky black hair, the chiseled features, the golden-toned skin might have been Old World or New.

  But those eyes, those shockingly blue eyes. What were they? Gorgeous, that was for certain. He might have the heart and soul of a penny-ante tyrant but…

  “I am still waiting, Kyra.”

  She looked at him. “For what?”

  “For an explanation of why you let me put you into a cab without admitting you could not pay for it.”

  “I, ah, I…”

  “You what?”

  I didn’t want to owe you anything else, she thought, but she didn’t say it. If she didn’t come up with something clever soon, she was going to be in his debt again, she was going to have to ask him to lend her at least enough money to pay for a meal and a hotel room…