The Spaniard's Untouched Bride

CHAPTER TWO

CAMILLA COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time she’d had a chance to shower. It was an awful thing, but there was no shower in her personal quarters. She had to make do with the shared one in the stables, and it always felt a bigger risk than was strictly necessary.

Still, she was dying for one, especially after spending all day working in the intense heat. She had worked with Fuego until they were both nearly exhausted. But it was the happiest she had been since her father died. Being on the back of that horse again. Riding through the olive groves on the property, the hot, dry wind burning its way across her cheeks.

If her mother could see her now, she would truly despair of her. Reddish face, chapped lips, her hair cut close to her skull and just long enough now to stick up at strange angles when she ran her hands through it in frustration, from when the horses failed to do what she asked of them.

She did indeed look like a boy, and it was easy to feel fully immersed in the role. Until she needed something like a shower, in which case she became terribly aware of her body.

The other time she became terribly aware of her body was when Matías would stride across the grounds, wearing those problematic breeches. It made her feel hot, and it made her feel strange. And so much of the feeling centered on the parts of her body she tried to disguise, that it was impossible for her not to hyper-focus on them.

It was late, the sun having gone down a good half our earlier, a chill starting to wrap itself around her body. Hot days like that always left her skin feeling tight, as though there were an invisible layer of dust over every last inch of her.

Most of the staff had gone home, very few of them living in residence as she did, and the others either had private bathroom facilities or would be showering in the morning. At least that was what she was going to go ahead and bank on tonight.

She scampered into the stable, moving through to the tack room, and heading into the shower. She locked the door behind her and stripped her clothes off quickly, unwinding the precautionary medical wrap that she had around her chest.

It was such a slight chest, she probably didn’t have to bind herself, not really. But it was a precaution that she took seriously. Along with these clandestine showers. Just in case. Just in case someone had a key to the room she was in. Just in case somehow, right after her shower, having just been naked, she looked somehow more female.

That was the one good thing about the dirt. It provided an extra layer of coverage. She smiled at that, stepping beneath the hot spray of water and scrubbing each inch of her body as quickly as possible.

That was one asset to short hair, as well. The fact that it took much less time to manage. To wash. And in the morning, she did nothing with it at all.

She hummed as she scrubbed and then shut the water off, much sooner than she would like. But really, she didn’t have the luxury of lingering.

She dressed into the fresh clothes she had brought inside with her—nothing more than baggy sweatpants—and was just about to pull her tank on when the doorknob rattled.

She froze, her heart fluttering like a frightened bird trapped in her chest.

“Occupied,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice low and husky while panic raced through her.

The doorknob quit rattling. She wrapped her chest quickly with the bandage and then gathered up her dirty clothes, taking care to hide the old bandage that she had been wearing.

She unlocked the door, fortifying herself for who she might see on the other side, and stepped out. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words dying on her lips as her eyes made contact with Matías Navarro’s.

“Sorry,” she said again, mumbling.

“I was taking a walk,” he said, his voice hard. “And I saw that there were lights on in here and I came to check.”

“I just needed a shower,” she responded.

“There is no crime in that.”

She shook her head and then attempted to scurry past him. But she ran into the edge of that heavily muscled arm, stumbling forward and dropping the armful of clothes in her hand.

“Easy,” Matías said.

Then, much to her horror, before she could act he bent down and collected her clothing. And that pale, taupe-colored medical bandage had somehow risen to the top. Obvious, she thought.

Matías frowned. “Are you injured?”

“I...” She cleared her throat, her head spinning, her cheeks hot. She was grateful that he had supplied that question. Because of course that was the much more logical thought to have. Not that she had been binding her breasts for the past two and a half months to conceal her gender. “My wrist was feeling tender. Just... Fuego pulled a little bit harder and in the opposite direction than I expected when I was lunging him earlier.” It was amazing how easy the lie came. Camilla had never been put in a position where she’d had to lie.

She had always done exactly what her father expected. Which had suited her just fine as it had all centered around the rancho.

Her mother had never required a lie. She was disinterested in her only child and did not care what Camilla was up to so long as it did not interfere with, or embarrass, her.

She had never known whether or not she was a good liar, because the opportunity had never presented itself. Apparently, she was proficient.

“The swelling has gone down now,” she said. “And I’m feeling fine. I was afraid it might be sprained, but it is not.”

“That’s very interesting. Because I went over the logs earlier and did not see that in there.”

“It didn’t matter to me,” she said, feeling the heat mounting her cheeks. “I mean, it didn’t bear noting to me.”

“Do not mistake me, boy. It is not your health that concerns me. If Fuego is not responding to training...”

“He is,” Camilla said hurriedly.

Matías shifted, rubbing his thumb across the bandage. Something in her stomach grew tight, and then the whole thing flipped over. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy. Even bound beneath the fresh tape as they were.

“If he is a danger to you...”

“He isn’t,” she insisted, reaching out and snatching the clothing out of his hand. She couldn’t bear him touching it. She didn’t know why. It made her skin feel warm.

Idiot. That’s because you just took a hot shower.

“As long as you’re certain.”

She nodded. “I am.”

Matías nodded once in return, those well-sculpted lips turning down slightly. She felt...immobilized by them. Just for a moment. She didn’t think she had ever seen such a handsome man. Not in her whole life. And here she was, dressed as a boy. And even if she wasn’t, he would never look twice at her.

No man ever had. Matías Navarro would hardly have been the first. But even if there had been a possibility, it was rendered completely impossible by two things. He thought she was a boy, and he was engaged to his counterpart in beauty.

Liliana was the human version of a meringue. A confection of a woman. All light, airy and pastel. Sweet and beautiful.

Standing anywhere near her made Camilla’s bones feel heavy. Made her shoulders feel broad, and her height absurd.

The sad thing was, she had a feeling that even if she was presenting as a woman she would show much the same way in the petite American’s presence.

Her one consolation was that Liliana’s Spanish was fairly atrocious.

Though, Matías never seemed to indicate that he thought so. And he often spoke to her in English, which Camilla thought sounded lovely and cultured coming from his lips. She had grown up with both languages, because of her mother, and she was familiar with the way native speakers sounded.

She preferred it from Matías’s lips.

“Be careful,” Matías said before turning away.

And Camilla was left standing there, her heart thundering hard. And she knew that it was not beating quickly because of adrenaline anymore. That it was something else. Something impossible and terrible. Something that had to be ignored at all costs.

Fernando Cortez was going to have an introduction to Fuego today. Matías had arranged to watch the meeting, and he had also managed to get Liliana to agree to come watch, as well. They drove in an air-conditioned truck across the property to the arena, and then he set them both up in the shade at the edge of the arena.

Liliana’s blond curls tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, half of her hair caught up in a row of pink flowers. Her cheeks were a pleasing, matching pink, as were her lips. She wore no makeup. Liliana often did that. He had a feeling it was, in many ways, to highlight just how beautiful she was.

She would make a beautiful wife. A very suitable wife. One that would make him the envy of many men. Certainly of his brother.

But Diego was disgraced, and he was on the verge of being disinherited. He would never marry in time to fulfill their grandfather’s will, and, as a result, it would leave Matías in charge of everything. The whole of the Navarro rancho, and all the stock.

Plus, it would eliminate the opportunity for his brother to get his hands in Matías’s business. That was actually his primary concern. That Diego would end up part owner of Matías’s company, even if it was a minority share. Because when Matías had started his retail empire, it had been with money from the Navarro family trust. Which would technically be half Diego’s were he to find a suitable bride.

But his brother was a villain. And out of the country after the death of his first wife, with rumors swirling around him.

He had gone on to amount to...nothing much. Gambling and whoring his way through Europe, managing to amass a fortune via misdeeds as far as Matías could see.

He and Diego had never been close, but after their mother’s death they had only gotten more distant. His older brother, growing darker, had withdrawn into himself. He had begun to act out, destroying furniture and art pieces. Setting fire to a shed on the property. For his part, Matías had built a taller wall up around himself.

Their methods for surviving a childhood with a violent father who tended toward insanity had been vastly different. For his part, Matías had kept his head down. He had stayed the course that no one had set out for him. But one he had set out for himself.

Diego, meanwhile, had seemingly drunk his father’s poison. He moved through life delighting in his wickedness. In his depravity.

Matías would not allow him to have control here. This land had seen enough suffering and cruelty.

Matías would marry Liliana and that would be the end of it all.

“He’s a beautiful horse,” Liliana said, leaning back in the cushioned chair that had been brought up to the arena for her comfort. She picked up the glass of lemonade that had been delivered for her, as well, and took a delicate sip, her pink lips on the straw captivating his attention.

He suspected his future bride was an innocent. Either that or she was quite good at acting the part of virginal maiden. It made no difference to him, in all honesty. But it was the reason he held himself back from her now.

“He is,” Matías agreed. “But a temperamental one. So far, he only responds to that stable boy.”

Liliana wrinkled her nose. “Well, that seems rather inconvenient, considering the stable boy can hardly compete in a race. Age limits, I should think.”

“Yes. But that’s why Fernando Cortez is coming today.”

As if on cue the jockey strode out of the barn and into the arena. He had a brief exchange with the stable boy, who seemed somewhat agitated. But then, the boy was easily excitable when it came to the horse. In many ways, Matías appreciated that. The boy was passionate about the horses, it could not be denied, and while he found it somewhat unorthodox to have one who must be quite inexperienced handling such things, he could not deny that the horses responded to him.

Fernando took the lead rope out of the boy’s hand, and Matías gripped the sides of his chair, sitting upright and leaning forward. “I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Matías said.

“The boy or the jockey?” Liliana asked.

Matías glanced over at the boy, who was looking downright angry now. “Either one.”

The boy crossed his arms and watched as Fernando approached Fuego, and abruptly swung himself up onto the horse’s back.

Before Matías could react, the boy was crossing the arena, flinging himself into the path of the horse, who was beginning to panic.

“Dios mio,” Matías said, moving as quickly as he could.

The horse threw Fernando, and then his hoof clipped the boy in the side of the head. It opened up a gash on his forehead, and he went down to the dirt.

Liliana was standing, a look of horror etched across her lovely features, her pink lips gone waxen.

“Stay back!” he shouted back to his fiancée. The last thing he needed was for her to get in the path of that animal. It was certainly not good for a boy to be anywhere near that animal when it was in a rage. He was not going to allow a woman in there, as well.

Fernando was already standing, backing away from the angry horse. Matías was going to fire the man, and make sure everyone knew he was irresponsible. But first, he had to make sure his youngest employee was alive.

He bent down, holding his hand in front of the boy’s nose. He was breathing. So there was that. But he was bleeding, and he was unconscious. Matías tore his shirtsleeve and pressed the cloth up against the boy’s forehead, lifting his slight form into his arms and carrying him toward the truck.

“Medico!” he shouted, putting the boy inside the truck.

Liliana had mobilized, and he knew that she was ensuring that a doctor was called.

Then he began to drive back to the house, hoping that his initial prediction of the horse killing the boy did not prove to be true.

CHAPTER THREE

CAMILLA FELT WOOZY, and when she came back to herself, she felt first a shot of anger, followed by one of pain. She groaned, putting her hand to her forehead. “What?”

“You were kicked,” he said. “Not fully.”

She opened her eyes and the light hurt. But she saw that she was in a truck, and Matías was driving. “Well, yes. I imagine my head would hurt even worse if the horse had gotten me directly.”

“What’s your name?” he asked, his tone infused with urgency.

She could hardly process the question. He had never asked her that before, and somehow it made her feel...warm. But then she realized he wasn’t asking her.

At least, not her, Camilla Alvarez. He was asking his stable boy. And still, it felt significant. Even though he was only asking to make sure she didn’t have a traumatic brain injury.

“Cam,” she said, giving the name that she had given to everyone else here.

“Well, do your very best to stay awake, Cam. It won’t do to have you falling asleep and not waking up, right?”

She tried to shake her head, but it hurt. “Yes,” she said.

She tried to hold her eyes open for the rest of the drive across the property, and then he put the truck in Park, getting out quickly and rounding to her side of the vehicle, opening the door and grabbing hold of her, pulling her into his strong arms. Holding her against his broad chest.

She suddenly felt weaker, but it wasn’t because of the lack of blood, or from the hoof to the head. No, this weakness was squarely related to the fact that Matías Navarro was holding her close, like she mattered. Like she was special.

No, fool, he’s holding you close like you’re an injured child. Because that’s what he thinks you are.

“I sent for a local doctor,” he said, laying her down on the couch in the sitting room.

She took a moment to take in all of the details, as best she could. It was one way to try to keep her eyes open. One way to distract herself from the heat and strange tremors that were rolling over her.

Shock.

It had to be shock.

“Calling for emergency services would have taken too long. If we need to send you to a hospital, we can do that. But I would feel better if we brought someone directly to look at you now.”

Just like that, she felt suddenly much more awake. Because being examined by a doctor would be problematic, all things considered. And going to a hospital, even more so.

But she couldn’t say that. Anyway, she was in no fit condition to spring up off the couch and do anything. Much less run away and deny that she needed any medical attention.

She lay back, looking around the room. At the ornate scrollwork on the crown molding, at the way that it was mirrored in the wood carvings on the plush, pale blue upholstered chairs.

“Not my design choice,” he said. “My flat in London and my penthouse in Barcelona look different.”

“I...Nothing seems strange about it.”

“Of course not,” he said, his expression opaque. “Tell me, how long were you homeless?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t. I mean, I was certainly in danger of becoming homeless once Cesar died.” Her heart clutched with grief. Because, after all, even though she was playing the part of a stable boy from her father’s rancho, she was not. It was her father, and she still couldn’t speak of him without feeling pain.

“And before you came to work for Cesar Alvarez?” he asked.

She bit her tongue. Because she was simply going to have to fabricate from here. They had a boy that had worked at the rancho for a while before her father had paid for him to go away to school. His parents had died, and he had fallen through the cracks of child welfare. It felt wrong to steal his story, but it was also the easiest thing to do under the circumstances.

“I never knew my father,” she said, the line tasting like acid, particularly as she had just been thinking about the loss of her father. “My mother died when I was only nine. I was on my own for a while, but then I wandered onto Cesar Alvarez’s ranch. He gave me work. He gave me purpose. Education. But horses are what I love. They’re what I know. I followed the horses.”

Matías nodded. “I love them, too. It is in my blood. My family has had this rancho for generations. It means a great deal to me.”

“If this is your place, why don’t you redecorate?”

Matías crossed to the armchair across from her, picking up a crystal decanter full of sherry. He poured some into a glass. He did not offer any to her. But then, that was because he thought she was fourteen.

Well, probably also because he didn’t want her to fall asleep.

“It is not mine,” he said, taking a sip of the liquid, then swirling it slightly. He set it down on the table with a decisive click. “It will be. But as it is now, my grandfather is very ill and he has laid out terms. Depending on what my brother and I do before he dies, that is how he will decide who gets what. If both of us comply, we will split it down the middle. If only one of us does, then to the victor goes the spoils.”

“What are his terms?” she asked, blinking.

“It’s good that I’m keeping you awake with my story, but it might be a little bit too much information. Suffice it to say, I have low expectations that my brother will be able to complete said terms. My brother is not a good man.”

“They say...”

He tilted his head to the side, his expression no longer passive. “What do they say?”

Immediately, she regretted starting that line of conversation. “I know about your brother.”

Everyone did.

“Of course.”

“They say he was responsible for the death of his wife.”

“Yes, they do.”

She tried to straighten. “Do you believe it?”

“When it comes to Diego it is difficult for me to disbelieve much of anything. Except...” He frowned, hesitating for the space of a breath. “I don’t believe he murdered Karina. I will not say he didn’t have some level of responsibility for it. But he has also never tried to clear his name. Which is also just very like him. And difficult to apply a motive to.”