Spanish Sonata- ISBN# 978-1-4199-11026 

An Excerpt:

"What am I to do, sir? Oliver was my life. Now he's gone." Oliver had been her only friend, he remembered. Gil witnessed her anguish spill over, the emotion catching her hard in the chest. And when it seemed too much for her, she sought relief with a long, deep breath.

"Why did he..." She was fighting against herself.

"Why what?" His voice was very soft, deliberately so.

"Why?" She seemed unable to gather her thoughts and just looked at him for help. "Just tell me! What did I do wrong?"

Gil knew the memory of his kisses was lost. She was so very close to tears and still she fought them, swallowing a sob and frowning as though a frown could ever be a bulwark against tears. And of course, as a balm it failed miserably. So she simply closed her eyes.

"I want to hide, sir and never come out again. I know that if I gave into it, I would want to die as well. Because what else is there for me?" That question caught him by surprise. She raised her eyes to him, those tears threatening. Yet she did not cry. "It hurts, sir. And I-I don't know how to stop it."

He had hoped for this, that she would feel the betrayal so deeply she'd never walk that road again. Yet, he again felt as though he had committed an indecent act, especially since he had not figured on her despair. Anger, fury, tears. Yes. But this dependence on the man? That he had not known about.

And why did she not cry?

Somewhere between the last kiss, this plea for understanding, this plea for help, she had become a complication. He sighed and leaned into her, resting his forehead against hers, feeling a sudden tenderness for her.

"Give it time, Sara. He betrayed a friend in the most terrible way. So you do have a right to feel...all those things. But you will not die. Trust me." And gently he took her face and kissed her, wanting nothing more than to ease her anguish. He breathed in and then out, pleased. More than pleased, actually. He sighed, perversely satisfied. He pulled her off the seat, took her in his arms and eased her head into his shoulder.

She should cry and get it all out, he thought as he wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her hair and murmured something - or was it a groan, his own prayre for strength?

Eventually she did cry, quietly, the shaking of her shoulders the only clue and then only for a few minutes before he heard her fight it again. When she was done, she  pulled away to look around for a tissue.

"Better?" he asked, not certain it was.

She nodded and moved to lean back in the seat, dabbing at her eyes. But he would not let her. He held her trapped. He had his own way of relieveing anguish, a distraction of sorts and exactly the kind she needed. Correction, the kind I need.

"How about we focus only on this singular moment? Hmmm? It does wonders for hurt feelings."

"What do you mean?"

He smiled as his arms went around her waist, pulling her into him again. He held her for a moment, breathing in the smell of her. Filling his senses with the softness of her body, the tenderness of her, a woman. His hands slid under the edge of her shirt, calloused hands gliding up her ribs, around to her back.

"Ah," she breathed and clung, for his touch had ignited her nerves. He knew he had stolen her thoughts, his weapons of choice, a long kiss, charged hands and the warmth of his body. He knew what he wanted...her total, unthinking, surrender. To him. Long practice and good teachers had given him the touch of the devil with hands that delivered fire. His touch was slow, smooth, a charged sliding down her legs, up her thighs around to the small of her back. He traced her ribs, igniting inner fires and sperading nerve shattering chills through her body. He knew what he wanted...her total, unthinking surrender. To him. Long practice and good teachers had given him the touch of the devil with hands that delivered fire. His touch was slow, smooth, a charged sliding down her legs, up her thighs to the small of her back. he traced her ribs, igniting inner fires and spreading nerve shattering chills through her body. She sank into him, a soft willing female she now was, unable to deny him.

"Aaah! Sir! Please, stop for a sec. This is torture."

"But such a pleasant torture.Yes?"

"Aaa-lord!" she gasped as she tried to push away from him. She could not and settled for just resting her head on his chest and sighed.

"What is it?" He suspected she had thought of him, that bastard Jamieson. Why else had her passion cooled?

"What will happen to him when he is caught?"

"Jamieson? Everyone will want a piece of him.The Dutch, the Venezuelans, your people. Me." A suspicion leapt to his mind and caused him to lift her chin, a little too roughly, so he could see her face, study her eyes."Would you go back to him now that you know what he is?'

"No."

"So forget him."

Beautiful grey eyes, so appealing, so trusting. And two very small tears spilling down her cheeks.For some reason, a foolish one no doubt, Gil felt a triumph.And then reality hit, dousing any half-baked plans he might have had. Because this was wrong.Very wrong. He had a job to do, for Christ's sake. And she was hurt and definitely a mistake.After Christmas, he'd send her home with her Uncle Will. He promised himself that

"Tell, what was the basis for your decision to marry?" he asked, wiping away those tears, feeling the need to find some rationale for his endeavor - whatever that was.

"We were comfortable together." She looked away, chagrined. "At least I was."

He supposed comfortable could qualify as "safe" in her mind. Which made him "dangerous"? He smiled a wicked smile and promptly forgot his resolve and resumed his dangerous enterprise of seducing Miss Sara Gordon, beginning with that spot at the base of her throat.

Sara pulled back, eyes wide and breathing hard. Watching him. Wary.

"You don't like it?"

"This is a seduction, isn't it?"

Gil almost laughed. Of course it was. But he assumed a look of innocence. "Why do you ask?"

"Because every man I've known - except Oliver - has had but one thing on his mind. I guess I ought to be flattered but it's so tedious to always be one's guard."

"Jamieson's lack of interest in you, as a woman, is not something to be used as a standard." He nuzzled her ear. "So why not just go for being flattered. And enjoy?"

She looked into his face, an openly shrewd study of him. "Oh, I see what ye're doing, Mr. Loudoun. Ye're takin' advantage of a captive lass."

"Captive? Damn is she isn't right. But he was caught up in his game and pulled back, his eyes sweeping down her soft, round breasts, the small curving waist. He admired her full hips-conveniently trapped in the circle of his arms. "I think not, senorita," he replied smoothly, arms tightening around her. "I believe it's the other way around. That I'm your captive."

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