to her hips and the longlines of her magnificent legs. Along the outside of the right leg the fabric was torn, from thigh to ankle it gaped, revealing a section of bare skin.
His fingertips barely brushed her calf before she snatched her leg up. ‘It’s fine—a graze.’ With a dismissive shrug she tucked the limb underneath her and concentrated on the pain in her calf to stop herself thinking about how much she had wanted him to touch her.
Perhaps she had had a knock on the head?
Friday night it had been the glass of wine, or so she had told herself through the long, sleepless, guilt-racked night that had followed, and now it was a bang on the head—what excuse would she have the next time she found herself craving this man’s touch?
There isn’t going to be a next time
.
He arched a sardonic brow and shrugged. ‘If you say so.’ The doctor might have other thoughts. The groove above his nose deepened as he glanced down the track—where was the doctor?
‘I do,’ she said firmly.
As he replayed the phone conversation of moments before in his head the oddness of Ramon’s response to his request to call for a doctor struck Santiago for the first time.
‘Good idea,’ his half-brother had said without asking why or for whom medical assistance was required.
Hand on the back of her neck, she angled a cautious look at Santiago’s face. She knew the lull in hostilities would not last; this reprieve was definitely only temporary. Even when she hadn’t ridden off on his favourite horse he couldn’t open his mouth without being snide and cutting.
Now she actually was in the wrong the comfort of the moral high ground was a dim and distant memory …
Oh, God
. She took a deep breath and thought,
Take it like a man, Lucy. Bite the bullet and when you run out of clichés,apologise
. She closed her eyes and thought,
What the hell was I thinking?
She hated admitting she was wrong at the best of times, but admitting it to Santiago made it a hundred times worse. She could take his anger—it was the knowing she deserved it that she struggled with.
Crazily, with all the legitimate things she had to stress about, it was the irrational one that was giving Lucy the most problems. She knew he couldn’t read her mind—he just liked to leave the impression he was all-seeing, all-knowing—yet she couldn’t shake the conviction that he was going to look at her and know she had spent the last few nights fantasising about him.
‘Did Santana run home?’ she asked in a small voice.
Santiago’s head jerked towards her, his silent anger more articulate than a stream of abuse.
Unable to take her eyes off the errant muscle that was clenching and unclenching spasmodically in his cheek, in the face of his fury she leapt to the obvious conclusion. She began to shake her head in denial.
‘Oh, no, he isn’t injured …!’ The thought of being responsible for an injury to that beautiful and expensive animal … God, no wonder he looked as if he wanted to throttle her. ‘He’s …’ Her blue eyes widened in her milk-pale face as she whispered fearfully, ‘He’s not dead, is he?’
‘Would you care if he was?’
A sound close to a whimper emerged from her throat and Santiago, who never had been comfortable with kicking someone when they were down, took pity on her obvious distress.
‘I have no idea how Santana is,’ he admitted, before adding with a scowl, ‘But he was so spooked when I saw him that it will probably take a week for him to calm down andan army to catch him.’ He lied, well aware that the animal would have gone straight back to his stable.
‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘For stealing a valuable horse, for proving you can’t handle anything bigger than a donkey or for getting caught?’
Her blue eyes flew wide. ‘I didn’t steal anything!’
He arched a brow at the protest. ‘Tell that to the police.’
She regarded him in horror. ‘You wouldn’t call the police.’
He smiled and arched a
His fingertips barely brushed her calf before she snatched her leg up. ‘It’s fine—a graze.’ With a dismissive shrug she tucked the limb underneath her and concentrated on the pain in her calf to stop herself thinking about how much she had wanted him to touch her.
Perhaps she had had a knock on the head?
Friday night it had been the glass of wine, or so she had told herself through the long, sleepless, guilt-racked night that had followed, and now it was a bang on the head—what excuse would she have the next time she found herself craving this man’s touch?
There isn’t going to be a next time
.
He arched a sardonic brow and shrugged. ‘If you say so.’ The doctor might have other thoughts. The groove above his nose deepened as he glanced down the track—where was the doctor?
‘I do,’ she said firmly.
As he replayed the phone conversation of moments before in his head the oddness of Ramon’s response to his request to call for a doctor struck Santiago for the first time.
‘Good idea,’ his half-brother had said without asking why or for whom medical assistance was required.
Hand on the back of her neck, she angled a cautious look at Santiago’s face. She knew the lull in hostilities would not last; this reprieve was definitely only temporary. Even when she hadn’t ridden off on his favourite horse he couldn’t open his mouth without being snide and cutting.
Now she actually was in the wrong the comfort of the moral high ground was a dim and distant memory …
Oh, God
. She took a deep breath and thought,
Take it like a man, Lucy. Bite the bullet and when you run out of clichés,apologise
. She closed her eyes and thought,
What the hell was I thinking?
She hated admitting she was wrong at the best of times, but admitting it to Santiago made it a hundred times worse. She could take his anger—it was the knowing she deserved it that she struggled with.
Crazily, with all the legitimate things she had to stress about, it was the irrational one that was giving Lucy the most problems. She knew he couldn’t read her mind—he just liked to leave the impression he was all-seeing, all-knowing—yet she couldn’t shake the conviction that he was going to look at her and know she had spent the last few nights fantasising about him.
‘Did Santana run home?’ she asked in a small voice.
Santiago’s head jerked towards her, his silent anger more articulate than a stream of abuse.
Unable to take her eyes off the errant muscle that was clenching and unclenching spasmodically in his cheek, in the face of his fury she leapt to the obvious conclusion. She began to shake her head in denial.
‘Oh, no, he isn’t injured …!’ The thought of being responsible for an injury to that beautiful and expensive animal … God, no wonder he looked as if he wanted to throttle her. ‘He’s …’ Her blue eyes widened in her milk-pale face as she whispered fearfully, ‘He’s not dead, is he?’
‘Would you care if he was?’
A sound close to a whimper emerged from her throat and Santiago, who never had been comfortable with kicking someone when they were down, took pity on her obvious distress.
‘I have no idea how Santana is,’ he admitted, before adding with a scowl, ‘But he was so spooked when I saw him that it will probably take a week for him to calm down andan army to catch him.’ He lied, well aware that the animal would have gone straight back to his stable.
‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘For stealing a valuable horse, for proving you can’t handle anything bigger than a donkey or for getting caught?’
Her blue eyes flew wide. ‘I didn’t steal anything!’
He arched a brow at the protest. ‘Tell that to the police.’
She regarded him in horror. ‘You wouldn’t call the police.’
He smiled and arched a
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