The Bride Tamer by Ann Major

Huicho kept shoving toward his head.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said, plopping the hat on his head with a scowl. “Why would I prefer your company to hers?”
    He pulled the absurd hat off and handed it back to the mustached man. “See—head too big. Feet too big for your sandals, too.”
    â€œYou’re supposed to take Isabela to the beach house,” Vivian insisted.
    â€œYou and I need to talk first.”
    Huicho held up another hat and Cash grimaced so fiercely, the young man skidded backward several steps.
    â€œDid you ever hear the term ‘Ugly American’?” she whispered.
    â€œIn that sissy hat I’d damn sure fit the bill.”
    She laughed, and the sound lit him up. Then she shyly hid her beautiful mouth behind her slender fingers so he couldn’t see she was smiling. “The hat messed up your leonine mane.”
    â€œMy leonine what?”
    â€œYour beautiful hair,” she said softly, reaching up and smoothing it.
    She likes my hair.
    â€œThere. That’s better,” she said as she tucked a damp raven lock behind his ear.
    He had a thing about his hair, and the instant she stroked it, he went rigidly still, his breath indrawn. Her fingertip against his ear had his blood zinging. His mood changed instantly.
    Then her hand fell away, but the zing got worse. She couldn’t seem to move either, and her hand hovered near his face, tempting him to touch her too.
    â€œFeels better,” he whispered, his voice tight.
    Slowly, but still staring at him in that funny, dazed way he found so appealing, she lowered her hand a little, her curled fingers helplessly digging into her palm.
    â€œThis is bad,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t— We shouldn’t—”
    â€œYes.” They were in this god-awful market. People like Huicho were watching. But Cash’s blood was on fire. He liked her body, her face, her eyes. He liked talking to her, being with her. Most of all, he liked the heat in her blue gaze when she looked at him.
    It felt like fate, and he didn’t believe in fate. But how could you not believe in something that was happening to you?
    â€œThis is very bad,” he repeated, even as he felt a powerful desire to taste her.
    â€œI never meant—”
    His hand closed over her wrist, and it was his turn to stroke her in reverent wonder. What was it about her? There’d been the occasional pretty woman that had made him zing. But he’dbeen busy. He’d had a life. Nobody had ever gotten to him like she did. Not this fast. Not this powerfully. And he didn’t trust it.
    â€œI mean I shouldn’t have touched—” She broke off.
    He knew what she meant, and he knew better than to touch her, too. Still, he continued to stroke her arm, lightly, ever so lightly because he couldn’t seem to stop. Her skin was soft and warm, just liked he’d known she’d be.
    â€œI’m glad you did,” he said. “Why did you stop?” He put her hand against his temple, and the heat of her splayed fingertips against his scalp made him feel like he was drowning in pleasure. She was becoming addictive. For a moment he couldn’t breathe.
    One minute parakeets were chirping, piñata vendors were yelling, and a little girl was weeping for fried candy. A bunch of rowdy kids in big jeans and T-shirts raced by carrying boom boxes.
    Then Vivian’s fingertips slid against his temple, and the sounds in the market died to nothing. The boom boxes shut down like clams. Traffic noises—honking, brakes squealing—all gone.
    He couldn’t hear a damn thing. Everything else seemed to slow down too. Mainly he noticed his sluggish, heavy breathing as well as the violent thudding of his heart.
    Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Or maybe it did and he just couldn’t hear. She had a beautiful mouth, and all of a sudden, more than anything, he wanted his lips on hers. He