Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

him now. Fernando was up to something with this marriage bit, and Jess was determined to learn what. But first, she needed to find an Internet connection and research Spanish marriage laws. Surely, things couldn’t be as bad as they seemed.

    Fernando hummed a love song and strategically angled the tray, rearranging its bud vase for maybe the tenth time. Ridiculous , he told himself. It was only a flower. But none could be as sweet as the delicate rose that had opened up for him last night. Fernando would be a liar to say he hadn’t wanted her— ached for her —for months on end. He’d never seen a face so lovely or known a mind so sharp. Hers was such an intoxicating combination, he might even have married her without the wine.
    Though he’d secretly imagined laying her in his bed at least a dozen times, he’d never envisioned the sheer ecstasy of actually being with her. She was so sweet yet tough, like a tiger in the wild. And her kisses were the nearest thing to heaven. If the bright Andalusian sun hadn’t awakened him from his slumber, he might have thought he’d fantasized the whole thing. He’d stirred early to find a sleeping angel beside him, then had quickly shut his eyes, lest she evaporate like an enchanted dream. The next thing he knew, she was moving beside him, carefully peering under the sheet to ensure he possessed the correct…accoutrements needed to fulfill his husbandly duties. Fernando sighed, thinking he’d be glad to perform those again and at any time his willing wife was ready.
    He stared toward the bathroom, noting the shower had stopped. This might not be the most standard way to begin a union, but it certainly couldn’t be the worst. Fernando was sure that Jessica would agree—once she got over the shock.
    Jess exited the bathroom with a combative air and made a beeline for the armoire.
    “Coffee this morning?” he asked, smiling sweetly over the rim of a cup. He extended it in her direction with the calm demeanor of a waiter at an upscale restaurant. She noted his lower region was still covered by a large feather pillow, the musculature of his tanned upper thighs exposed to the morning breeze fluttering in through the window. His toned olive chest sported richly dark hair which tapered in perfect symmetry down the line of his taut abs and plummeted toward the breakfast tray balanced on his lap.
    She hesitated a moment, then decided she’d think better after the java. “Fernando,” she said, cinching the oversized towel around her and cautiously inching forward. “You and I have something to discuss.”
    He handed her the coffee, then nonchalantly dipped a bit of pastry in his own cup. “I never discuss business before breakfast,” he said, slurping loudly. “Mmm. This pan dulce is delicious. You ought to try it.”
    “I’m not hungry,” she said, steadying the cup in her hands.
    “Ah yes, that’s right,” he replied with a knowing wave of his finger. “Fairly well satisfied last night. Eh?”
    Jess felt her face flash hot as his impish green eyes danced with mirth. “I don’t find any of this very amusing.”
    “I’m sorry, Jessica,” he said sadly. “I suppose I was a fool, hoping that you’d be just as excited about this as I.”
    She took a slow sip of coffee, studying him all the while. “You claim to be a fool, Fernando. But you’re certainly not fooling me.”
    He raised his brow, perplexed.
    “Come on,” she said. “Give. What’s in this for you?”
    “My new wife has cut me to the quick," he said, bringing a hand to his chest.
    “Argh!” She spun toward the armoire, clumsily setting down her cup down on a nearby stand. Porcelain clattered against itself with the effort.
    “You’re getting too upset about this,” he said.
    “I…don’t…think…so,” she said as she furiously tugged her clothes from huge wooden hangers, then strode toward the bathroom.
    “ Querida ,” Fernando said softly, “please wait.”
    She stopped walking, her pulse pounding. It picked up as she felt him behind her, his warmth drawing near. Instinct said that Fernando hadn’t carried the pillow—or anything else—with him. “Perhaps it was…impetuous, unexpected,” he said, palms pressed to her bare upper arms. Goose bumps rose on her flesh as the heat of his breath warmed her neck. “But you can’t completely believe it was wrong.”
    But it was wrong, worse than wrong. Marrying Fernando had to be the most terrible decision she’d ever