Read Online Stronger Than Passion by Sharron Gayle Beach - Free Book Online

congratulate him on his bravery.” Even as the words were spoken, the man slipped into the foyer and out the front door.
    “What is his name?” she whispered.
    “Michael Brett. He once considered buying an interest in my silver mines. He was my guest for several days.” He gave her arm a pat before he released it. “Young Espelata is talking to you, chica. You could at least look at him.”
    Then Luis moved off, believing he left Christina safely occupied with her court of young men.
    Lips barely moving, she excused herself from them and was away before anyone could stop her.
    All she could think of was that she must follow Brett! Nothing else penetrated her mind yet, thanks to the incredible jolt of shock which allowed her to erect shields against any further thought.
    She instinctively charted a course through the company which led her into the foyer, and then she rushed onto the gallery, and down the front steps onto the lawn.
    Where had Brett - or Malone, she was certain now - disappeared to? She spun around, uncaring that servants and guests alike stared at her. The mariachi band played off to her left, and couples danced a fandango out in the flower-perfumed air, beneath the stars. Curving in front of her was the brick drive, lined with carriages and gossiping grooms. A lone diligence had detached from the distant rear of the drive, and was coming forward. To pick up someone? Who?
    Then she saw the dark figure of a man standing off to her right, beneath a large, spreading tree. He appeared to be watching the approaching diligence.
    She walked towards him, her steps soundless in the grass. But he must have sensed her. He turned, slowly, to observe her as she drew near.
    Unafraid, knowing only that she despised this man, that he had humiliated her and made a fool of her and all but assaulted her, that he had thrown her kindness in her face and run off with her maid . . . she went straight up to him in the darkness and said, “Señor Malone?”
    And then she raised her palm and slapped him. Hard, across the face.
    His hands shot out to grab her, pulling her deeper into the concealment afforded by the big tree.
    Are you crazy Señora?” he snarled angrily.
    She recognized the voice. Dios, it really was him!
    “I was crazy before, crazy not to have called for Santa Anna when you lay helpless in my house - and had you hauled off the prison!”
    “Lower your voice.”
    “I won’t! In fact, I . . .”
    His hands closed over her mouth, in a replay of that hideous night in her bedroom. “I don’t have the time to stand here making conversation, Señora,” he murmured into her ear. “I’m leaving. Leaving Mexico, in fact. Now, I don’t want to take you with me - or strangle you and leave you lying here beneath this tree. Will you cooperate for an hour or so, long enough for me to get into this diligence and go a few miles down the road, without raising any alarm? Or must I resort to drastic measures to keep you quiet?”
    I can’t let him escape again, she thought feverishly. He was obviously a clever spy of some sort; and he must have discovered something important here tonight while in the midst of all these loose-talking people, if he was leaving for America to report his progress . . .
    Her body was pressed against his, and now, as before, his closeness terrified her. How could she think when his arm was clasping her so tightly that she felt his breathing against her partially-bared back? How could she make any kind of rational plan, when the warmth of him was penetrating her dress, her skin, dominating her mind, pushing her into panic? If he would just let her go *
    “Well?”
    His hand eased off her mouth and slid down, grazing the exposed tops of her breasts in its descent to her waist. Involuntarily, she shrieked.
    The hand clamped back in place, cutting off her cry. She knew then he was taking her scream for an answer. She fought his grip, struggled against the strength which refused to give way and