One Tough Cookie (13 page)

"Talk to me," he whispered into her hair. "That one lousy tear and your silence are making me damned uncomfortable." He drew in a breath and added, "Not what you expected?"

"It was better."

"You mean 'nice' is better than what you expected? Obviously you weren't expecting much and I lived up to it."

"Are you fishing, good lookin'?"

He laughed lightly. "Yeah, maybe I am, but not for compliments. There're worse things than
'nice'
lovemaking."

Her own lips curled into a smile. "Oh? Like what?"

"There's okay, satisfactory, adequate, or that all-time buzz killer,
pleasant.
Nice is a definite step up from that." He combed her hair with his fingers. It was delicious. "But there are other descriptions."

She traced a finger through the springy curls on his chest. "Such as?"

"Sensational." He kissed her forehead. "Spectacular." His lips brushed over her cheek. "Staggering." He kissed her throat. "Or my personal favorite, indescribable." He nibbled her earlobe.

Willy swallowed. "Hm-m. Maybe I should think about this. After all, I'm new at this sex business. I should get it right.' She ran a finger across his nipple, relishing his sharp intake of air. "No doubt in my future affairs inquiring lovers will want a more apt adjective."

"You're an authentic brat. Did you know that? I can see I have my work cut out for me." He rose up on one elbow and looked down at her. "Can we talk about those tears now?"

"No." Willy hooked her arms behind his neck. "Because right now, I think you should practice. Let's start with sensational and work our way to indescribable."

Taylor lifted an eyebrow. "Would that I could."

Willy gave him a questioning glance.

"Shall I get you a calculator?" he added dryly.

Knowing nothing, she nodded knowingly. "Oh. Too much, huh? Well, do the best you can then." She smiled into his darkening green eyes. "I'm sure whatever you can manage will be very nice."

She heard the word 'brat' again as his mouth closed over hers. Maybe indescribable wasn't out of the question after all.

Chapter 7

Taylor sneezed, woke, and brushed a long strand of hair from under his nose. Willy was lying on her stomach with her head on his chest. The rest of her sprawled tantalizingly uncovered across the bed with one foot dangling over its edge. He grinned—an ultra satisfied grin—and stretched.

Willow stirred long enough to pull her knees up and fling a hand loosely over his shoulder, but she didn't wake. He wasn't surprised. Both of them had tested their endurance last night, and she needed rest.

The Iberian sun poured morning warmth into the room and a golden light over the tangled bed sheets. One dancing ray streamed across her blond hair, highlighting it in tandem with the breeze-tossed curtain on the window.

Beyond beautiful…
Beyond anything,
anyone, I've ever known before.

Their lovemaking had touched him on a level he was unfamiliar with. A thickness lodged in his throat, and for a moment, a strange but welcome weight rested near his heart. He looked down at the sleeping woman on his chest. While the sun played its golden game with her hair, something shifted deep inside him, gave way, as if his spirit was making room for something new—and permanent.

Willy opened her eyes and quickly closed them again in defense against the morning light. Letting one eye blink partially open, she gazed sleepily at Taylor.

He tousled her hair. "Good morning."

"How far did we get?" she mumbled.

"We put a run on staggering but fell asleep in the home stretch."

Willow's lips curled into a pleased smile before she closed her eyes and promptly went back to sleep, but not before he managed to extricate himself from the bed. He pulled on his pants and headed for the kitchen, wishing he'd learned how to whistle. It was a day for whistling.

The coffee was brewing when he heard a knock on the door. Probably Rosa, Dan's landlady, he thought, with another message from Danny saying he wouldn't be able to make it until the year 2020. The thought didn't bother him. All he wanted now was a few more uninterrupted days with Willow.

He opened the door.

"Buenos dias, Senor."
It was Rosa. "The
senorita
, Willee, she is here?"

"Here but sleeping at the moment. Shall I wake her?"

"No,
Senor.
You will tell her,
por favor,
to call her mother. Is not, how you say,
urgente,
her mother say."

He nodded.

"Gracias, Senor."
She smiled and was gone.

Taylor had barely closed the door before he heard Willy's voice. "What was that all about?" she asked. "And do I smell coffee?"

He watched her come through the bedroom doorway, pulling the sash of Danny's well-worn robe firmly to her narrow waist. It was short, showing her long shapely legs to maximum advantage.
Much better on her than on me.
She gave him a wide smile before letting her gaze briefly slip to the floor.

Not so brash and cool as you pretend.
Which for some unaccountable reason lifted his already soaring spirits higher.

He walked toward her. "Yes, you smell coffee, and that," he nodded toward the door, "was Rosa. Your mother called. She wants you to call her, but she says it is not
urgente."
He slipped his arms around her and pulled her to him, planting light kisses on her throat. Willy's arms locked behind his neck, and the soft rush of her breath warmed his ear.

"Are you aware, by saying that word in New York Spanish, you've set a very romantic language back a hundred years," she teased. "Spanish should roll from your lips not drop like sawn-off boards."

He kissed her one more time before lifting his head. "I guess you'll just have to help me with my pronunciation."

"I hate to tell you this, Monroe, but you don't
have
any pronunciation."

"I know how to say one thing." He took her face in his hands and captured her eyes.
"Gracias, muchas gracias,
Willow. Last night was perfect. The most perfect night of my life."

Willy swallowed, and mesmerized by his touch, the sincerity of his quiet words, barely managed a nod.

He brushed her lips with his and asked, "Do you want to call your mother now or wait until after breakfast?"

"Coffee first," she said. "If I called now, she'd hear... last night in my voice and ask a thousand questions."

"None of which you could answer. Right?"

"Right." She extricated herself from his arms, her expression wary and perplexed. He doubted her mother had any more questions than Willy had herself. That analytic mind of hers must be working overtime trying to make sense of last night—and the best way to deal with that was leave her to it.

"Then coffee it is. And how about we have it on Danny's excuse for a terrace."

* * *

An hour later, Willy turned down Taylor's offer of his cell phone, and went to Rosa's to call her mother.

He was coming out of the bedroom when she got back to the condo, snapping a crisp cotton shirt across his chest and doing up the buttons. Last night she'd run her hands all over that chest, through his silky chest hair. Her fingertips tingled at the thought, already itching for a repeat performance. She loved his body, loved exploring its planes and angles, its masculine secrets.

When I think of him inside me…

She let out a breath, sucked in another to her suddenly constricted lungs. Her head a little misted by her body's unexpected response, she willed her molasses' legs to keep her upright.

Watching him now, his hair still damp from his shower, freshly shaved, and exuding more sex appeal than any man had a right to, her knees damn near buckled.

When he saw her, he grinned, and tucked the buttoned-up shirt into his belt. That grin was enough to cause a heart stall, and she resisted the urge to walk over and wrap her arms around him. He was so arresting, so fascinating, so... resplendently male he dazzled her. Her insides turned out at the sight of him. One night with him and it was as if her world had shrunk, all of it now contained in his eyes, his smile, his strong body.

A frown played across her brow. Unsettling to be flooded by feelings and sensations she'd spent years avoiding. She wasn't ready for this—but here it was. Here Taylor was.

"You look concerned. Nothing's wrong with your mother, I hope?" he asked, misreading her look of consternation.

"No. At least I don't think so. She wasn't there. She'd just left for my aunt's place. Sounds a bit mysterious though. She left a message telling me to call her tomorrow for some 'thrilling' news."

"Good."

"What's good?"

"Thrilling news is good, isn't it?"

Willy laughed. "We're talking about my mother here. It could mean anything from the cat had kittens to a fire sale at Barney's." She stopped suddenly, a growing excitement lighting her mood. "Or it could mean Sammy's had her baby. It's early but possible."

"Who's Sammy?"

"A cousin. It's her first baby. The first for our generation actually. Amazing, isn't it? I have four cousins, all women, all older than me and not a niece or nephew among them. Too busy in the divorce courts, I guess." She smiled then. "Sammy's will be the first."

"You didn't tell me about your family success stories."

She gave him a questioning look.

"From what you told me last night, I thought there wasn't a happy marriage among them. Obviously Sammy beat the odds."

"I said she was having a baby. I didn't say she was married. Sammy's husband walked out on her three years ago. She was devastated. She's been on her own ever since, and from what she tells me, she plans to stay that way."

"And the child's father?"

"Her new guy. She says he's a friend with benefits—says it works for her."

"Sounds modern." He looked annoyed as he turned his attention to fastening his thin gold watch to his wrist.

"My family is nothing if not modern. Not for us the traditional, the conventional—the ties that bind," she joked.
And not for me the wounds that never heal.

He gave her a long look. "I don't know. I'd say that what we did last night was as traditional as it gets. As for the ties that bind, they take a bit more time."

She pulled up her mental boot straps. "About last night." She paused, firmed up her stance and her voice. "Don't get any unrealistic ideas, okay? I admit the earth moved, but earthquakes are temporary aberrations. Sooner or later things stabilize."

"Wrong again." He cupped her chin and smiled. "Now what are we going to do today? Do you feel like a drive?" His lips breezed over hers. "You can be tour guide. I'll go wherever you lead me."

Willy took a shallow breath—and softened.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well, what?"

"What's your pleasure?" He cocked one dark eyebrow.

My pleasure would be to go back into the bedroom and—

Dear God I've turned into a sex addict!
"Ronda," she blurted out. "Let's go to Ronda. It's just north of here. The road's a bit tortuous, but the scenery's worth it. And it's time you saw some of the real Spain."

"Sounds good. Ronda it is, sightseeing, dinner, then back here for... dessert." He kissed her. "And conversation."

* * *

Old Ronda, an ancient fortress and settlement, retained colorful traces of both its Moorish and Roman past. Tucked into the mountains on a plateau 750 meters above sea level, the small town straddled a
tajo,
a gorge, a hundred meters deep formed by the Guadalevin River. Once two cities, the towns on either side of the
tajo
were linked in the eighteenth century by a bridge. From the center of the bridge, you could see old
casas
clinging precariously to the steep walls of the ravine, an earth quiver away from the river and narrow swath of valley far below.

Taylor seemed fascinated, by Ronda's meandering maze of friendly streets, restful squares, and colorful Andalusian patios. Black wrought-iron window grilles and balconies overlooked gardens lush with geraniums and carnations. In the midday sun, their brilliance shocked against the glittering white of the houses. He quickly wore out Willow's scant knowledge of the town's history and geography and was buying every guide book he could find.

"Have you been to the Plaza de Toros? It says here the bullring is famous, one of the oldest in Spain." He skimmed a couple of pages. "Built in 1784. One of Hemingway's hangouts judging from this old photograph."

"Uh-huh. Only Seville's ring is older and not by much, so
I'm
told," she answered, rubbing lightly at her heel. Taylor's eyes caught her movement.

"You're tired. We'll stop now, have some dinner, and head home. I didn't mean to wear you out."

"No. The bullring is a must see and along with the view from the bridge one of Ronda's claims to fame. Let's go. It's only a couple of minutes from here."

"You're sure? We could rest a bit."