Counterfeit Bride by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

start, aware that she had been dreaming, but not sure what the dreams were about. Until she turned her head slightly, and then she remembered.
    In his corner of the car, he was asleep, his lean body totally relaxed. Nicola felt herself draw a deep shaken breath as the memory of her dreams whispered enticingly to her mind. He had discarded his jacket, and his brown shirt was half unbuttoned, showing the dark shadow of hair on his bronzed body. The shirt fitted closely, revealing not an ounce of spare flesh round his midriff or flat stomach.
    Nicola moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue, conscious of a pang of self-disgust. She had never stared obsessively at a man like this, not even Ewan whom she had loved. Still loved, she thought.
    She looked back at him slowly, reluctantly. He wasn't her idea of a rancher, she thought. His shoulders were broad, but his body seemed too finely boned. Her eyes drifted downwards over the long legs and strongly muscled thighs—the result, she supposed, of long days in the saddle. Yet his hands were a mystery, not calloused and rough as she would have imagined, but square-palmed with long sensitive fingers.
    She caught back a sigh, as her eyes returned to his face, then gasped huskily as she realised too late that he was awake and watching her.
    She sat motionless, thanking heavens for the dark glasses which masked any betrayal there might be in her eyes, but her breathing was flurried, and she saw his eyes slide down her body to her breasts, tautly outlined inside her dress, the nipples hard and swollen against the softly clinging fabric. She saw the dark eyes narrow as they assimilated   this shaming evidence of her arousal.
    He said softly, 'You overwhelm me, querida. Shall I tell Lopez to drive further into the hills and lose himself for an hour or two?'
    She felt the hot rush of colour into her face. She wanted to die.
    She said icily, 'You are insulting, señor.'
    'I thought I was being practical.'
    'Your vile suggestions are an outrage!' she accused, her voice shaking.
    'Of course.' He smiled slightly. 'What a lot you will have to tell Don Luis—when you meet him.'
    'You can even think of him?'
    'I have been thinking of him a great deal,' he said coolly. 'And always with you, naked and more than willing in his arms, querida. A disturbing vision, believe me.'
    Her lips parted, then closed again helplessly. Nicola couldn't think of a single word to say, but she knew she had to say something, for Teresita's sake. Although there was no way Teresita would have ever got into this situation, she realised despairingly. She couldn't really believe that she herself had done such a thing.
    She said haughtily, 'Please do not speak to me again, Don Ramon.'
    It was weak, but it was the best she could manage. She turned her back on him resolutely and stared out of the window, totally unseeing, praying that the blush which seemed to be eating her alive would soon subside.
    She couldn't think what was wrong with her. She wasn't completely unsophisticated. He'd made a verbal pass that was all. It wasn't the end of the world. It had happened to her before, and she'd demolished the perpetrator without a second thought. She was Nicola Tarrant, the Snow Queen, who could cut a too ardent male down with a scornful look. She had never fluttered or flustered in her life, and especially not over the past year. And it wasn't enough to tell herself that her outrage was assumed, part of the role she was playing. She was shaken to the core, and she knew it.
    When the car finally stopped, she almost stumbled out of it, barely aware that they were at yet another motel, but smaller this time and far less luxurious. She knew that Lopez was watching her curiously, and tried desperately to pull herself together and act normally.
    Ramon came to her side. 'Will you have dinner with me?' His voice sounded constrained.
    She avoided his gaze. 'No—I have a headache. I'll ask for some food to be sent to my room.'
    'As