Stronger Than Passion Read Online Free Page A

replies, all of which would only anger her. But what did he care? He was angry too. He decided to commence conducting an investigation of his own.
    “Come closer, please, ma’am.”
    She approached him cautiously, probably suspecting that a Gringo was capable of anything yet knowing he was too sick for such.
    She bent over him, and the subtle rose scent of her was in his nostrils. This haughty female seemed even more intrinsically proud than the English misses he had grown up with, whom he despised; yet there was something exotically attractive about her that was different enough to pique his interest. That, and the possibility she had once belonged to Santa Anna . . . the one man in the world whom he most hated. His mind toyed cynically with revenge and its many forms.
    “Yes, Señor Malone?”
    He did it before she had time to react. The brief kiss brushed her pink-toned lips and caused him a sharp spasm of pain when he rose, but it was worth it simply for what he learned from her reaction - as well as the fleeting pleasure.
    She jerked away and stepped back, dragging the back of her white hand across her lips, her face twisted in disgust. “Por Dios, I don’t know what is the matter with you?” she cried in Spanish.
    “I only wanted to thank you for all of your trouble, ma’am,” he drawled. “In Texas, we say thank you with a kiss.”
    He knew it was wrong to mock her, yet her violent distaste was annoying.
    “It is not necessary for you to thank me further, and certainly not in that uncivilized manner.” Her voice shook. “I have done my duty by you as I would by any worker on my estate who was injured, or anyone else. Please do not consider yourself favored.”
    She picked up the lantern and stepped toward the door. Just then the short woman was back, carrying an elegant crystal decanter that contained a colorless liquid he was gratified to see. His wound was now hurting like hell.
    “Juana, leave the tequila with him. He is quite capable of serving himself. Goodnight, Mr. Malone.”
    She turned to leave. But before she passed through the doorway, he couldn’t resist asking her. “Are you going to lock me in?”
    Her gaze was an angry, green-gold glare.
    “Yes.”
    *
    “He is a devil, niña,” Maria Juana prophesied as she readied her mistress for bed. “A devil! I knew it the moment I saw his pale eyes, and that little white scar on his forehead. He would like to do you mischief. He would like to kill us all, or worse . . .”
    “Juana, please!” Christina forcibly cut off her maid’s dramatics. “He is a very ill man who merely happens to be a Yanqui. He says he is in Mexico on business, business which is not military. We have no reason yet to disbelieve him. You must reassure all the other servants that we have nothing to fear from Señor Malone!”
    “I tell you, I do not trust him. For such a sick man, he thinks too much. I saw it in his face. At least you will keep the pantry door locked, I hope!”
    “Of course I will. Until Don Ignacio arrives to take the responsibility for him off my hands.”
    “He had better come soon . . .”
    Christina remembered that conversation even after Maria Juana had finished her duties and reluctantly left her bedroom. Now, Christina’s face, her entire body, burned with anger at her own unwilling defense of the man, whom she would instead have been pleased to vilify with as much vehemence as her maid!
    For one of the few times in her life, it seemed. Christina’s rational mind was at war with her instinct and emotions, and she was puzzled and furious at the upheaval within her own brain.
    She sat before her dressing table, staring at her reflection without seeing it, fingers touching the day’s correspondence which she had been unable to attend to that morning, and had brought up with her tonight to finally peruse. Yet the dark image of the man downstairs remained fixed in her memory, forcing out any attention to duty; and her thoughts would not let the