Royally Claimed (15 page)

Spectators perched on high walls and grassy areas. “This is where they bring the bull? This tiny space where you can't even fit two cars across?”

“This is it.” His eyes were sparkling and he spotted an empty space behind a fence. He boosted her over despite her increasingly loud protests. “Stay here unless the bull's coming at you.”

She called his name but he waved and trotted toward the large wooden pen at the end of the street. Someone set off a firework rocket and the bull exploded out of the pen to the cheer of the crowd.

The bull was glossy and black with blunted horns, a rope knotted around its neck. Julia's gaze followed the rope to see four or five men in traditional flat-brimmed hats and white long-sleeved shirts holding the other end. She hoped they knew what they were doing. And that the rope held.

Frank let the other men on the street dart close to the bull and then sprint away as the animal wheeled to chase them. He was probably gauging the bull's reactions and temperament. After a minute or so, he was in the thick of it. Julia bit back scream after scream as he ran toward the bull and circled away at the last second. Once he even affectionately touched the angry animal's snout, almost as if it were his pet.

“You maniac,” she muttered, her nails digging into
her palms. He probably did this at home at his
fazenda
for fun, minus the rope.

A younger man, probably still a teenager, slipped and went down right in front of the bull. Frank was there in a flash to distract the animal, grabbing both of his horns and yanking him away so he was forced to step sideways. The bull snorted in anger and tossed his head, lifting Frank off his feet and bouncing him back down on the ground. That time she did scream, a short cry she muffled with her hands. She wouldn't forgive herself if she distracted him and he was hurt. Or even killed.

For a second Julia thought he would slip under the bull's hooves, but the men holding the rope pulled the bull back just enough for Frank to vault past the bull like some kind of circus acrobat.

The crowd roared its appreciation for Frank's bravery and fine bull-handling skills. He gave a cheerful wave without glancing around, still focused on that damn bull.

If he hurt Frank, Julia would make him into hamburger.

Now that the bull was wearing out, some of the older men took their turn and Frank gracefully stepped back.

He came toward Julia and easily leaped up to where she gripped the fence. “What did you think,
meu bem?
”

“Franco Duarte, you just took ten years off my life with that stunt. If you think I'm going to—mmmph!” She broke off as he grabbed her and kissed her.

A cheer went up around them as he claimed her mouth, claimed
her,
with his blatant, masculine power.
Julia yelped and he took advantage of her open mouth to deepen their kiss, his tongue teasing hers briefly.

Her fingers crept into his dark, silky hair and she pressed against his hard chest. Now that he was out of danger she could admit that watching him challenge the dangerous animal had excited her.

She ran her hands down the strong shoulders and arms that had lifted him safely around the bull.

He lifted his head with a jerk, realizing they had an audience. Julia caught someone murmur “Duke of Santas Aguas,” and Frank grinned ruefully. “My secret bullfighting identity is blown. If only I had a cape.”

She laughed at his joke, and he pulled her into his side to greet the people around them. As always, he was friendly and cheerful, introducing her as
Senhorina
Julia, who had lived on the air base as a child. That made the local Terceirans even more appreciative and it was several minutes before Frank and Julia could move toward a quieter part of town.

“That was crazy.
You
are crazy.” Julia shook her head.

“I told you I'd done this before.” He raised their linked fingers and kissed her knuckles. “I know bulls.”

“You're full of bull,” she accused him. “But you saved that boy from being trampled, so I forgive you for putting me through that.”

“Thank you,
meu bem
. I'll treat you to lunch to make up for scaring you.”

“And dessert.” She wasn't a pushover.

“Certainly. I booked us a hotel room here so we wouldn't have to hurry back to São Miguel for the night.”

She smiled. “Hopefully our room is far from the main water pipe.”

He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I made sure of it.”

 

T
WO DAYS LATER
, J
ULIA
stretched in bed, the early morning light reflecting off the mercifully taupe walls. Frank was gone, but he never went far. They'd worked hard getting the master bedroom back into a civilized appearance.

The smell of coffee wafted upstairs and she smiled to hear his baritone humming get louder. He poked his head around the bedroom door and grinned when he saw that she was awake. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” He carried in a dark wooden tray with two steaming cups and pastries on a plate. He wore his customary khaki shorts and unbuttoned white linen shirt that showed off his rich, dark skin.

She checked the clock, which had been flipped over at some point last night. “Nine o'clock? Why did you let me sleep so late? We have work to do.” She sat up in bed and wrapped the sheet around her.

He made an exasperated noise and carefully set the tray on the bed next to her. Rich pastries with powdered sugar and jellies made her mouth water. “Work, work, work. We have done the most important job, which was to cover up Benedito's awful experiment in color selection. The new mattresses and bedding are on their way and fortunately the floors are stone and not covered with wall-to-wall pink carpet. Everything is good.” He handed her a thick red-and-blue pottery cup. “Drink.”

Julia accepted gladly. He had put exactly the right amount of cream and sugar in hers, which made her
heart swell a bit. His coffee was deepest black, but she knew it always sweetened up a bit thanks to his habit of dipping a corner of his pastry. “If you don't want to work today, what do you want to do?”

His significant expression made her pink up a bit. “Besides that, Frank!”

“What?” He gave her an innocent look. “I thought we could go to the beach on this beautiful sunny day.”

“The beach,” she mused. “I haven't gotten much sun lately.”

“You see?” He pointed a pastry at her. “Good for your Vitamin D and your mood, correct?”

“Are you saying I'm moody?”

He held a pastry up to her mouth and she took a bite. “You are always in the perfect mood for me.”

She harrumphed but bit off a piece of…yum…pineapple-filled Danish. “Okay,” she said, once her mouth was empty. “You've talked me into it.”

“Great. We'll pack a lunch and eat at that little cove south of here. Swim, sun, whatever we want.” He settled next to her on the bed and chatted to her about weather patterns on the island, migrating birds and whatever he found interesting and thought she might, too.

It was soothing and domestic to watch him drink down his coffee and gesture with his pastry as he strewed crumbs across their bed. Almost as if they were an old married couple that had settled into an easy morning routine. She had never had that with a man before.

“More coffee?” He pointed at her empty cup and she shook her head.

“I should get up and get ready.”

“What's to get ready? Go to your bathroom and put your suit on.”

“Frank…” Really, he knew better after having four younger sisters, five if he counted Stefania.

“Fine.” He heaved a sigh and gathered the plates and cups. “I'll be downstairs ruining my hands in the dishwater if you need me.” The kitchen had a perfectly functional electric dishwasher.

“Your hands are fine.”

He winked and hopped out of bed. “That's what certain people tell me.”

She chucked a cabbage-rose pillow at his head and he darted out of the bedroom, roaring with laughter. She couldn't stop giggling as well as she dug out her swimsuit and headed for the bathroom.

 

F
RANK HELPED
J
ULIA OUT OF
the heavy-duty golf cart as they reached the dune above the beach. “Go down to the water. I'll bring the supplies.”

She slung her totebag over her shoulder and stepped into the sand, her white linen cover-up blowing in the breeze. Belas Aguas had beautiful soft white beaches, unlike some of the other islands that had dark, volcanic sand or rocky coasts. The sand was cool and damp against her feet as she sunk into the top few inches.

Frank had packed enough gear to cross the Sahara instead of one small Atlantic beach, so she left him to it and picked her way down the dune to the water's edge.

She stopped and stared at the horizon. Straight south of them was…nothing. Just cold seawater, until the ice of the South Pole. She shivered, not quite knowing why that bothered her. She quickly turned east, taking
some comfort that Portugal and Africa were there, if thousands of miles away.

Frank came up next to her. He wore an unbuttoned cream cotton shirt over snug black swim shorts, a light dusting of dark hair highlighting the smooth tan skin underneath. “That's the problem with island living. You look out to sea and think, ‘Here I am, alone on this rock, with nothing but water and birds around me.'”

She turned to him. “You feel that way, too?”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I told you I don't come here often. Maybe that's part of the reason—it makes me morose.”

“You? You're so sunny and cheerful.”

“I have my moments, like everyone.” He kissed the top of her head. “Here, sit.” He unfolded a low-slung beach chair and settled it into the sand. “I have to set up the cabana.”

She craned her neck. “You brought a cabana?”

“Of course. We always bring one so my mother and the kids can get out of the sun. My mother is deathly afraid of sun damage and wrinkles and the kids get fussy unless they can lie down to rest in the shade.” He knelt in the sand and unzipped a white equipment bag, pulling out what looked like a mass of poles and matching white fabric.

“Do you need help? That looks complicated.”

“Super easy.” He extended several poles and quickly raised a square-topped, open tent as if it were a giant umbrella, hanging weights from each pole. “All I have to do is put on the sides and we're good.”

Out came more white fabric and he snapped three sides to the top frame until they had a cozy little tent. He unrolled an area rug and set up a couple more chairs
inside. A small portable music player, food cooler and side table followed.

“This looks like a sheik's desert palace. Is this where the dancing girls come prancing in?”

He grinned. “Are you volunteering?” He took off his shirt and stood in front of her in only his short shorts.

“Maybe later.” She winked at him.

“Too bad.” He pouted. “I'll be here if you change your mind. Or maybe I can change it for you.”

“You probably could,” she muttered. “You're very persuasive.”

“Only with you, Julia.”

He had said that before. Despite the fact that he was one of Europe's most eligible bachelors and probably had women fling themselves at him regularly, she believed him. “Thank you, Frank.”

“No need to thank me for the truth.” He beckoned her into the cabana. “Here, come put your things inside and have some sangria.”

“Yum.” She didn't resist when he poured her a mix of red wine and fruit juice, full of chunks of pears, apples and oranges.

“Not too much, though,” he cautioned. “Sun and wine can be a potent combination. I don't want you to get a headache.”

“And I don't want one, either.” She settled into a lounge chair. “I haven't had one in several days, and I sure haven't missed them.”

“You see? The Azores are healing you—you should extend your stay.”

She shook her head and laughed. “You're incorrigible.” More likely it was Frank's presence healing her. Ever since she'd come to Belas Aguas, the weight that
had been sitting on her chest had lifted, only settling back briefly if she thought too much about what would happen when it came time for her to leave.

But it was too beautiful today to worry about that, even though she was a world-champion worrier. Frank lifted his glass of sangria in a toast and they clinked glasses.

She set hers down in the sand and yawned after she finished the sangria. “Let's get into the water before I fall asleep.”

He was up on his feet before she finished her sentence, tugging her up from the chair. “First, you have to ditch the cover-up. I want to see your suit.”

She grabbed the hem and slowly pulled it up and over her head, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as she revealed her yellow string bikini.

“Swimming's canceled.” He hustled her back into the cabana and made as if to close the front flap.

She wriggled away from him and dashed to leave.

He caught up with her in seconds and together they hurried down the beach and ran into the ocean hand-in-hand.

Julia screamed as the cool water splashed up around them. “Franco!” She hopped from foot to foot until either she adjusted to the temperature or went numb.

“Sorry, Julia.” He didn't sound apologetic at all. “This is the Atlantic, not the Caribbean.” He bent and splashed seawater up at her and she kicked some at him in return.

“Frank, I'm getting goosebumps all over,” she complained, crossing her arms over her middle.

“I happen to like your goosebumps.” His gaze was focused on her breasts. Even through the light padding
in the bikini, her nipples were visible peaks. He caught her around the waist and pulled her in close. Her legs automatically wrapped around him. “And can I tell you how much I like your bikini?”