She flashed him a quick look and saw his lips curve into that ridiculously incredible very brief, faint smile. Her stomach reacted with the same earlier slow-rolling somersault.
“I am getting the distinct impression of someone, who looks suspiciously like you, sewing my mouth closed with a needle and thread. Could I possibly be interpreting your thoughts incorrectly?”
Marguarita tried her best to look innocent. Perhaps we could communicate more accurately if you gave me back my pen and paper. That way, we wouldn’t have these little misunderstandings. Surely that wasn’t a lie. And if nothing else, it might keep her out of trouble.
“I doubt a pen and paper has that much power,” he remarked.
She really wished he’d stay out of her head. I need to sit down, Señor De La Cruz. She hadn’t realized she was swaying. Shock maybe, but suddenly the room was spinning.
He caught her arm and lowered her onto the sofa. “Would you like a glass of water?”
Anything for a reprieve from his overwhelming presence. She nodded her head, trying to look like the fainting type. She was fairly sturdy, so maybe he wouldn’t completely believe it, but he was so feudal it was just possible she had a good shot at it.
His mouth did that slight curving twitch that indicated a faint smile. He shook his head and handed her a glass of water. “You are not very good at censuring your thoughts. Tell me what your normal day is like.”
She shrugged and ran through her days in her mind. Bath. Brushing hair. Cleaning her room. Breakfast. Cleaning the house. Ordering for the homes on the ranch. Checking horses and cattle for illness or injuries. Making lunch. Taking hot coffee and sandwiches to Julio. Riding with him while they chatted . . .
The air in the room turned heavy. The walls expanded and the floor rolled. She scowled and grabbed at the sofa. What’s wrong? You asked me to tell you a typical day. I do get free time for lunch and riding.
“Who is this man you laugh with?”
Marguarita frowned. You don’t know Cesaro’s son? When he continued to stare until she swore she felt a burning sensation in the region of her forehead she sighed. I need a pen and paper. I can’t send correct impressions.
“I think I understand your impressions very well. You will not be riding with this man again. Proceed.”
Marguarita rubbed her head. She had the beginnings of a headache. She was exhausted and too confused to be afraid anymore. One moment she was angry with Zacarias and the next amused. She had absolutely no idea how to handle him. The connection between them seemed to be growing stronger the more she was in his mind. She didn’t want him in her head, and the more she communicated with him through telepathy, the easier it was for him to slip into her mind without her knowledge. The sensation had become so natural in such a short space of time, she could no longer feel anything but warmth.
I visit any of the ranches that need help, take care of any medical issues that crop up when the men are working, fix dinner and eat . . .
“I cannot tell if you eat alone.”
He sounded so grim she glanced up at his set face. He looked like stone. She pressed her fingers to her head. Most of the time. I clean up the kitchen, bake sometimes, bathe and read before I go to bed—alone.
He reached down and settled his fingers on her temples. “Close your eyes. I think you have had enough for the night. You need to rest. We will continue this conversation at sunset tomorrow. We shall call a truce between us. Tonight, you will sleep and be unafraid. I have provided strong safeguards. Should a servant of the vampire come, he will not be able to gain entrance to my home.”
Her heart jumped. He’d said “my home.” She had never heard of any of the De La Cruz family refer to a place as their home. The thought slid away from her before she could hold on to it, the warmth replacing the ache in her head making her slightly fuzzy.
Zacarias bent and scooped her up, carrying her through the house to her room. The bedroom door was perfectly intact. Her bedroom was immaculate, she noted in passing. Her eyelids felt heavy, her body not wanting to move. He laid her on her bed and smoothed back her hair, his touch almost a caress.
She couldn’t remember why she thought him overbearing and arrogant and feudal. He tucked her in and reassured her that she was safe. She felt safe. She even smiled at him before she let her lashes drift down. She liked the idea of a truce. She could totally manage a truce.
6
Inside the dark hacienda, beneath the heavy four-poster bed, buried deep in the rich soil, Zacarias’s eyes snapped open simultaneously with the first beat of his heart. A shadow passed over the house, barely there, but still, he was an ancient warrior and he felt that subtle disturbance. The sun had sunk from the sky and night had dropped like a heavy curtain over the ranch. The night had brought spies with her.
He normally would have welcomed the hunt. It was what he did. All he knew. He was comfortable in that role. He was a loner. He had no idea how humans lived or worked and he had never wanted to know. They were certainly fragile creatures. Now he had—her—the beautiful lunatic who had somehow crept into his life and had no idea how to even protect herself from an eagle’s claws.
He had known it was only a matter of time before his enemies would seek revenge. By the very swiftness of their search, he knew a master vampire directed them to each of the De La Cruz haciendas. He had been in existence for far too long to think it might simply be a coincidence. They were hunting him. Ordinarily he would let them know exactly where he was and he would have welcomed the battle—but this time there was too much at stake. He waited until the flock of shadowed birds had passed overhead, circling the ranch several times before moving on.
And then he reached out to touch—her. The woman. Marguarita Fernandez. He reached for her before he thought, before he could stop his mind. He wanted—her. She should have been sleeping peacefully in her bed waiting for him to wake her. But of course she wasn’t. He sighed, no longer surprised by anything she did.
He waved his hand to open the soil, clothing himself as he rose, careful not to disturb even the air so she would not know he had risen. Emni kuηenak ku aššatotello—disobedient lunatic. Did she not realize he would kill for her? She didn’t seem capable of learning, no matter how hard the lesson. His enemies were already searching and if they found her, if they knew about her or even suspected . . . He closed his mind to what could happen and ignored that peculiar and very unfamiliar need to smile at the thought of her continual ignoring of his every wish. She really did have to be dim-witted, there was no other explanation.
How strange that this woman could arouse even a small interest on his part. His reaction to her enforced the nagging idea that she could be his lifemate. Before stopping his heart at dawn, he had gone carefully over the details each of his brothers had shared with him about the moment they had recognized their lifemate. They had known instantly on contact. There had been no doubt. Emotions had poured back into them. Colors blinded them.
Even after centuries of existence, Zacarias didn’t understand the key to unlocking the mystery of lifemates, but if Marguarita Fernandez was actually his, the universe was playing a joke on him. The woman was positively maddening.
He strode through the master bedroom out into the hall. The scent of her filled the house, an intensely feminine fragrance. He realized she had occupied his home for years, even as a child, her father had lived here, in the main house. The house wasn’t stark and bare as were most of his lairs. Marguarita lingered in every corner. She had made this dwelling her home. There was warmth here, the warmth of a woman who cared about her home and took care of it with loving attention to detail.