The Heart of a Stranger (8 page)

“Look at me,” he said.

She shifted her gaze and met his.

“Will you let me? Will you let me put my mouth there?”

Her heart pounded against her ribs. Was his pounding, too? She glanced at his chest, at the ripple of muscle.

“Lourdes?”

She glanced lower, at his fly, the bulge barely contained beneath his zipper.

“Will you let me?” he asked again.

“Yes.” Please, yes, she thought. She wanted him to do wicked things to her.

He grinned, his lips tilting in a bad-boy smile. Maybe he did have a bit of a wild streak, but at the moment, so did she.

“I'm not very good with these,” he said, tugging at her panty hose. “I might ruin them.”

She removed her boots. “It doesn't matter.” She didn't care if her nylons ran.

“Good.” Quite deliberately, he pulled them down. They snagged on his callused fingers, and he gave up and tore them from her body.

When he scooped her up and carried her to his unmade bed, excitement rushed through her veins.

The sheets were warm and inviting, soft and fluid against her skin. He opened her legs and pressed his mouth against her panties, kissing her through the wisp of cotton.

Finally, he discarded her underwear, and she waited for his next move, her pulse skipping to an unsteady rhythm.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Open yourself up for me.”

Stunned by his request, by the sheer raciness of it, she froze.

He took her hand and encouraged her to do as he bid, to give him what he wanted.

Feeling much too shy, she caught her breath.

He flashed that bad-boy smile again and lowered his head. He licked through her fingers, teasing her, making her moan, making her desperate for more.

For the wickedness, she thought. The forbidden.

She whispered his name and lifted her hips, too aroused to think straight.

He didn't stop. Not once. Not for a second. He kept kissing, tasting, swirling his tongue.

Lourdes slid her hands into his hair. Who was he? This man driving her crazy with need? This man who'd made a commitment to her? Who'd promised to secure their future?

Was it an impossible dream?

No, she told herself. It couldn't be. They felt too right together, too—

Her climax hit like a crack of thunder, like a bolt of electricity, like rain slashing through her body.

He deepened each intimate kiss, and her mind spun. Color blurred before her eyes, a prism, a kaleidoscope, a spiraling rainbow.

When it ended, she reached for him, and he held her in his arms. Strong, protective arms. The embrace of a lover. Of someone who cared.

Juan brushed his mouth over hers. He wanted her to taste her own desire, the aftermath of her orgasm.

Her lips parted under his, and he closed his eyes. She was everything he'd imagined. Everything and more.

She cuddled against him and made a soft, mewling sound. He opened his eyes and smiled.

“Sweet cream lady,” he said.

She moved even closer. “What?”

“
Sweet Cream Ladies.
It's an old song. From the late sixties, I think. I'm not sure what it means.” But she was sweet and creamy and it seemed to fit. He could barely wait to slip inside her, to feel her caress his loins.

He shifted to straddle her, and she looked up at him.

“You're still wearing your jeans, Juan.”

“I know.” He glanced down. “But I'm nearly busting out of them.”

“So I see.” She toyed with his zipper. “I can do to you what you did to me.”

“Not this time.” He would never survive her mouth on his—

“Next time?”

“Yeah.” His body pulsed. “Next time.” He removed the condom from his pocket, and she unzipped his pants. Together they stripped off his jeans and boxers, leaving him hard and thick and eagerly aroused.

So damn ready.

She closed her hand around him, and he kissed her. He liked the idea of her being the first woman he could remember, the first sexual encounter that truly mattered.

He nudged her thighs apart, and they both went a little mad.

As she scraped her nails down his back, he fumbled with the foil packet, secured the protection and battled to sheath himself.

He knew this would happen fast, but he didn't care. For now, he wanted it fast and furious.

Desperate and dizzy.

When he entered her, he thrust to the hilt. She wrapped her legs around him, and they moved in unison.

The bed was too small and the mattress springs squeaked, but the penetration was warm and wet and creamy.

Their mouths came together, and they couldn't stop kissing, caressing, making each other crazy.

They rolled over the bed, and he chained her wrists
with his hands, holding her captive, claiming her as his mate.

The lights shone dim, and her long, sun-streaked hair melted across the pillow in a honeyed stream. Her body was smooth and lush, ripe with feminine curves.

He released her wrists. “Promise you'll stay with me tonight. That you'll sleep here.”

“I promise.” She slid her finger down his stomach, circling his navel, drawing imaginary swirls.

Although her hands were work-roughened, her touch was soft and tender. Suddenly he wanted to slow his pace, to make the moment last, yet he couldn't.

His climax was rising, and it felt too good to stop.

Much too good.

Unable to hold on, he threw back his head and let himself fall.

 

A lavender streak of predawn color filtered through the blinds. Lourdes had been awake for almost an hour, watching Juan sleep.

A strand of his hair fell in a brownish-black line across his forehead, and the fading bruises under his eyes played across his face like distant shadows, memories of the moment she'd first seen him in her barn.

Unable to help herself, she touched his jaw. His beard stubble abraded her fingers, but she liked the rough, masculine feeling.

They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms last night, their naked bodies pressed close.

Juan was still naked, but Lourdes had slipped her bra and panties back on after a trip to the bathroom this morning.

A tangled sheet covered him from the waist down,
but she could still see a glimpse of the hair that grew from his navel to his sex.

She bit back a girlish smile. Cindy, her man-crazy friend, called it the “happy trail.” And today, Lourdes had to agree.

He stirred and opened his eyes, sending her a sleepy grin. He looked like the most perfect man on the planet. Tall, strong and protective.

“Hi,” he said, his voice as rough as his beard stubble.

Suddenly she wanted to relive every sweet shiver, every climatic thrill he'd given her. His mouth, his tongue, the long, thick length of him.

She gnawed her lip. “Hi, yourself.”

“Is it morning already?”

“Almost.” Tempted to trace his “happy trail” with her nail, she grabbed hold of the sheet instead. She didn't have time to indulge her fantasies, to take him inside and never let go. “I have to leave soon.”

“Already?” He glanced at the window. “It's not even light out yet.”

“I know. But I should get home before my family wakes up. I left a note for Cáco, telling her I'd be back in time for breakfast.” And she didn't want to come traipsing into the house, looking like she'd just tumbled the sheets with a gorgeous man, even if that's what she'd done. “My daughters are young and impressionable, and fifteen-year-old Amy certainly knows what's what. It just doesn't seem proper.”

Juan took her hand and held it. “I understand.”

“Are you going to come by for breakfast later?”

He shook his head. “Not this morning. I'm afraid I'd give us away.”

Already her heart was giving her away. She kept
wondering when the commitment he'd offered would happen, when they could admit to the rest of the world that they belonged to each other.

“Are you still worried about the future?” he asked.

She released an audible breath. “Does it show?”

He nodded. “Yes, but it's okay. You don't have to apologize for the way you feel.”

She snuggled closer, wishing she didn't have to leave. He stroked her hair, and she put her head on his shoulder. Would everything be all right once he regained his memory? Would they truly fit into each other's lives?

Lourdes closed her eyes. She knew she was falling in love with him, that he'd stolen her fear-choked heart.

Did he love her, too?

She opened her eyes and drew back to look at him. This man whose past was still a mystery.

“Tell me that we can make it work, Juan. That this isn't a dream.”

“It's real, Lourdes.” He stroked her cheek. “And we can make it work.”

Then she would stop panicking, stop worrying that Juan Guapo was a figment of her imagination, that she'd conjured him in a fairy tale.

“I better go.” She inhaled his scent, the alluring combination clinging to his skin: wood smoke, spice and the muskiness from their lovemaking.

He slipped his tongue into her mouth, kissing her hard and deep. He tasted of everything she wanted, everything she craved. She could feel his penis pressed between them. He wasn't fully aroused, but he was darn close.

“I'll see you at work,” he said.

“Okay.” She climbed out of bed. Her clothes were still strewn on the floor, her panty hose torn to shreds. She noticed the condom box and grabbed a few.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his lips tilting in a crooked grin.

“Getting prepared for later.”

“Oh yeah?” He sat up and braced himself against the back of the sofa bed. The sheet pooled between his legs. “How much later?”

“I don't know. As soon as we can manage it.”

“A ranch rendezvous? A secret romp in the hay?”

That sounded provocative to her. Wild. Thrilling. Almost too untamed to imagine.

She gathered her clothes, anxious to be naked with him again. Her hero. Her mysterious stranger.

The man she couldn't help but love.

L
ater that day, Lourdes gave Juan a lesson in foal imprint training. He stood near the mare, while she worked with the foal. The little paint, a filly registered as Raven Wing's Doll, handled with remarkable ease.

“Dolly's already responding to advanced halter training,” Lourdes said.

As far as Juan knew, he'd never raised a foal, but he hadn't expected a horse so young to be so relaxed and responsive. Old-time cowboys believed that newborn foals shouldn't be handled, but Lourdes followed a method that proved them wrong.

Dolly, born a short while before Juan had appeared on the ranch, led well and stood tied already, something most horses took much longer to master.

Lourdes stopped to reward the foal in a soft voice, praising the youngster for her efforts.

“So you've been working with her since the day she was born?” he asked.

Lourdes nodded. “While Dolly and her mother were getting to know each other, I desensitized Dolly by touching her face and head and rubbing her ears. It's a repetitive procedure. You can't overdo the stimuli with a newborn foal.”

Juan watched Dolly stand patiently while Lourdes handled the filly's feet. She was a pretty little girl, with her daddy's striking color.

Suddenly he wondered what it would feel like to be a father, to have a family of his own.

Lourdes's family, he thought. He wanted her children to call him Daddy.

She smiled at him, and his heart stirred. She was his best friend, his lover, the woman who'd given him purpose.

Yet, like her, he feared the future. The uncertainty associated with his true identity.

“I'll remember soon,” he said.

She released Dolly's foot. “What?”

“My memory will come back soon.”

“Are you feeling anxious?”

“A little, I suppose.” How could he expect her to marry him when he didn't even know his own name?

Marry him?

Was that what he wanted? To make her his wife?

Yes, he thought. He did.

But he couldn't ask her, not yet. First he had to find out who he was, find out if he had anything to offer her.

A bit scared, Juan jammed his hands in his pockets. He'd never been in love before, and then suddenly—
wham! It crashed over him like a ton of crumbling bricks.

He wanted a wife, children, a place to settle down.

Was that how it normally happened? Did a man just wake up one day and realize that he'd fallen in love? That the woman he hungered for had slipped into his soul?

Like a ghost, he thought. A beautiful haunting that could disappear at any given moment.

What if Lourdes sent him away when this was all over? What if she decided he wasn't the right man for her?

He wouldn't survive. The loneliness would destroy him.

Then maybe he should get out now. Bail before the boat sank.

“Are you okay, Juan?”

I'm not Juan, he thought. That's not my name. “I'm just missing you.”

“But I'm right here.”

“I know. But I want to touch you. Hold you.” Keep her next to his heart.

“Then let's put Dolly and her mama away and find a cozy spot in the barn.”

“Really?” He'd only been teasing her this morning about a romp in the hay, but now he was willing to risk the forbidden. And so, apparently, was she.

She stood, like an innocent vamp, a few strands of her hair coming loose from a hastily plaited braid. The late-day sun would set soon, turning the sky a brilliant shade of red.

As fiery as a fevered climax.

In the barn.

His body went hard, and less than ten minutes later,
he and Lourdes were alone in an empty box stall he'd cleaned a few hours before, the smell of horses, straw and hay permeating the air.

He nuzzled her neck. “We're not going to get caught, are we?”

She unbuttoned her blouse, and he assumed she'd brought the protection, that she'd tucked a foil packet into her pocket.

“No one's around,” she said.

“Your ferrier was here earlier.” The friendly fellow who shoed her horses. And so was her studman, the tough old cowboy who trained and exercised her stallions.

“It's just us now, Juan. Even the house is empty. Cáco took the girls to the movies.”

Yet somehow, this still seemed dangerous. So damn bad, he thought. So damn good.

He watched Lourdes strip down to her bra and panties.

“You don't need to undress all the way,” she told him.

He removed his shirt and glanced down at his jeans. “I don't?”

“Nope.” She nudged him onto the straw bedding. “Just unzip your pants and push your boxers down.”

His pulse nearly shot out of his skin. “Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say.”

She knelt between his legs, and he knew what came next. So help him, he knew.

“It's been a while since I've done this.” She gave him a girlish look. A bit shy. A bit devilish. “But I'll try to do it right.”

Right was an understatement. She was already low
ering her head to lick his stomach, to dip her tongue into his belly button.

By the time she used her mouth on him, he nearly went mad. She took him so deep, he could feel himself hitting the back of her throat.

Sweet, sweet Lourdes.

He undid her braid while she stroked him, while she set an agonizing rhythm. As her hair tangled around his fingers, he tugged her closer and lifted his hips.

Straw needles scratched his back, but the sensation excited him. The rough bedding. Her warm, willing mouth.

Already moisture beaded at the tip. She flicked her tongue, tasting a drop of semen, and he feared he'd go completely over the edge.

Insane with blood-pumping pressure.

He dragged her up to brand her, to hold her body against his, to slide his hand under the leg band of her panties and thrust a finger deep inside.

She moaned, wet and eager for more.

He battled to remove her underwear, his emotions charging faster than a runaway train. She rolled the condom over him, and he released a desperate breath.

His Lourdes. His love.

Straddling his hips, she rode him.

In. Out. Deeper. Wetter.

Their gazes locked, their fingers twined. He could see the pleasure in her eyes, the thrill, the greed.

Then suddenly she slowed the rhythm, arching her body in a sleek, fluid line.

This wasn't a game, a race for the end. This was the beginning, he thought. The start of something new. The giving. The taking.

A man and a woman truly becoming one.

He shifted, rolling over onto her, pressing her into the abrasive bedding.

Straw clung to her hair, cluttering the long, wildly waving strands. She looked gloriously mussed. On the verge of an orgasm.

And so was he.

They climaxed at the same time, at the same lust-crazed moment.

When it happened, he knew he was lost, that his heart—his reckless heart—would always belong to her.

For Juan, it was too late to turn back.

Much too late.

 

The following afternoon, Juan talked Lourdes into taking a few hours off and spending some time at the park, picnicking with her family.

She couldn't recall the last time she'd eaten fried chicken and watched her girls enjoy a playground. Cáco and Amy had come along, too. The older woman pushed Nina in a swing, and the teenager pushed Paige, sending her swing just a bit higher.

Lourdes turned to look at Juan. He sat next to her on a blanket on the grass, sipping canned iced tea. Thankfully, fall in South Texas continued to stake its claim, the air warm but not blistering hot.

This was, she realized, the first time Juan had been away from the ranch.

“How does it feel?” she asked.

“To take a little time off? Good. How does it feel to you?”

“Wonderful.” She reached for her tea. “But I was talking about you coming into town.”

“It's still not familiar.” A light breeze ruffled his
shirt. “But I like Mission Creek. At least what I've seen of it so far.”

She agreed. The park was beautiful. The grounds green and well tended, the walkways paved with scrubs. “There's a country club in the area. It's very exclusive.”

“Really?” He squinted in the sun. “Have you ever been there?”

“No. But I've always wondered what it would be like to be the country club type.”

He adjusted his hat, an old Stetson that had belonged to her grandfather. “Do I seem like the country club type?”

“I don't know.” At the moment, he looked like a rancher who'd taken a day off with his family.

His family?

Lourdes's heart bumped her chest. When had she given Juan her family?

When she'd fallen in love. When she'd prayed their futures were meant to be.

“Do you think you're the country club type?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Who knows?” He glanced down at his frayed jeans, his callused hands. “Probably not. Then again, I must have had a car worth stealing. Why else would I have gotten robbed?”

She met his gaze. “Your bruises are almost gone.” The marks that had brought him to her, the beating that had left him half-conscious and confused. “You look good.”

“Thanks. I was messed up pretty bad, wasn't I? Speaking of which.” He smiled, his lips tilting to one side. “Why'd you call me John Handsome? Of all the
names you could have chosen for me, why'd you come up with that one?”

She widened her eyes. “That's not what I called you.”

“Juan Guapo. Same thing.”

“It is not.”

His smile cut into a grin. “Yes, it is.”

Unsure of how to defend the name she'd given him, she smoothed her braid, then recalled how he'd undone it yesterday when she'd lowered her head to his lap. “Guapo is a perfectly legitimate last name.”

“Maybe. But it still means handsome.”

She rolled her eyes, but he was still grinning. Still acting silly and boyish.

He was happy, she realized.

And so was she.

“This is working, isn't it, Juan?”

He nodded and moved closer. “I feel like I belong. For once in my life, I belong.”

To me, she thought. He belonged to her. Somehow, the stranger in her barn had become her lover.

She brushed his hand, and for a short while, they sat quietly, watching Cáco and the kids.

My family, Lourdes thought. His family.

“John Handsome,” she said.

“Yeah.” He looked at her, and they both laughed.

When their laughter faded, the sounds and sights from the park intensified—big, shady trees, picnic benches, squeals from the playground, birds singing afternoon songs.

“Tell me more about Cáco and Amy,” Juan said as he watched the old woman with her granddaughter. “Who are Amy's parents?”

“Cáco's oldest son and his wife.”

“They live in California, right?”

“Yes. They moved to Los Angeles when Amy was a toddler, and she's been visiting her grandma ever since.”

“L.A., huh? No wonder she's into vampires.”

Lourdes smiled. Amy was a nutty kid at times. A normal teenager, she supposed.

He sipped his drink. “When did Cáco's husband die?”

“A long time ago. Before she started working at the ranch. She's lost a lot of people she loved. Her other son, the younger one, died in the first Gulf War.”

Juan sat for a moment, just staring, a blank look on his face. Then he turned toward her, his dark eyes coming alive with a strange sort of recognition.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“I was there.”

“Where?”

“In the Gulf. During Desert Storm.”

Lourdes nearly spilled her tea. Her cowboy had been a soldier? “You were in the military?”

“Yes. The marines. The proud, the few…” His voice trailed. “I volunteered for a classified mission. Me and my buddies. But something went wrong.”

“What do you mean?” She watched bits and pieces of his memory unfold, saw a complicated past mirrored in his eyes.

“I'm not sure, but we were captured behind enemy lines.”

She reached out to touch his cheek. “You were a POW?”

“Yes.” He covered her hand with his. “But it's hazy. I can't grasp the details. Can't see anyone's faces. It's like a dream.”

Yet from the tone of his voice, she knew it was real. Juan Guapo had been a marine. A man who'd volunteered for a dangerous mission.

A man who'd spent only God knew how much time as a prisoner of war.

“I think we were taken underground somewhere. It was dark, and the enemy was unforgiving. Brutal at times.” Details started to filter in, started to make themselves a little clearer, a little sharper in his voice. “But we tried to stay focused, the way we were trained to do.”

“You really are a hero.” The kind of lover a woman could respect. A former soldier with integrity and honor.

He blinked. “What?”

“A hero.” More than a fairy tale.

“Do you think so?”

“Yes.” And she was falling deeper in love with each passing moment. “Can I stay with you, Juan? Can I sleep over tonight?”

He leaned toward her. “You can stay with me every night, Lourdes.”

Every night for the rest of their lives, she hoped. Every night with the hero of her heart.

 

Juan couldn't sleep. Lourdes lay beside him, sleek and warm against his body, but his head pounded with confusion.

Memories slammed in and out of his brain, like jagged pieces of a puzzle.

Nothing was clear, not completely. Yet the ill-shaped pieces continued to surface, trying to fit into a past that made no sense.

The things he'd begun to remember were odd. Creepy.

Ghostly.

What if he wasn't the hero Lourdes made him out to be?

He scooted away from her, sat up and rubbed his temples.

Desperate for help, to stop the pain, he slid his feet to the floor, then sat on the edge of mattress for a moment, wishing Juan Guapo were real. That his true identity didn't exist.