Free Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance) by Kimberly Ivey Page A

meal, Antonio headed upstairs to bathe and prepare for his meeting with
Diablo Cortez.
    As he relaxed in a
steaming bath, Elena Costanza took a seat beside him on a gold velvet cushioned
stool next to the footed tub. Several uncomfortable minutes passed in relative
silence, the only sound in the room from a ticking clock on a shelf. Elena had
been patient—too much so. He was acutely aware she had studied his every move,
hanging on his every word, looking for signs of deception. He expected her
inquisition about the woman he brought with him might begin at any moment.
    “Have you gone
mad, Antonio?”
     Finally,
a response! Hell yes I am mad, he almost answered. He must be insane. Why
else would he have returned to Elena’s seeking respite, knowing all the while
he would be forced to deal with his demanding mistress’ questions? Attempting
to ignore her, Antonio dunked the pewter pitcher into the tub, filled it with
water and poured a steady stream over his head.
    Hoping to spare
himself the onslaught of her unfounded jealousy, he’d told her everything upon
arrival—how he found the woman near a creek, injured and unconscious. What he
hadn’t told Elena was he had dreamed of her for months, that his cousin’svision
also foretold her coming. What did Elena expect? For him to leave her behind to
fend off bears and wolves in her weakened state?
    Elena was a crafty
spider, always unrelenting in her pursuit of secrets. She wanted to know was if
he had bedded the woman. She was spinning her web, preparing to reel him in for
the kill. All he wanted at the moment was a refreshing bath and a moment of
respite before his meeting with his arms supplier.
    He slung his
shoulder-length, wet hair back, then dragged a weary hand down his face to wipe
the water away. Why was it so difficult to find to find peace?
    He turned to look
at her. In a word?  Elena. Clad in a red lace peignoir, she sat
poised on her stool. The bodice of the low-cut gown scarcely covered her
voluptuous breasts and the sheer garment provided a tantalizing view of Elena’s
lush, nude curves beneath. Not that he was particularly interested anymore.
    “So tell me
again,” she prodded. “Who is this woman you brought into my house?”
     He shrugged.
“Hell if I know.”  It was the truth. She had been evasive about the
details of her injuries and true identity.
    Elena’s rouged
lips turned downward into a pout. Large, expressive brown eyes became narrow
slits. “She is pretty.”
    Antonio dared not
agree.
    “But I do not
think her hair color is natural,” Elena commented, her gaze pinning his. “I
suspect she uses dye.”
    Antonio ignored
the question and glanced away. To answer would reveal the fact he had indeed
seen the young woman naked—that her hair indeed, wasn’t naturally red.
    “Do you think she
is former slave? Elena prodded.
    Actually, he had wondered
the same but hadn’t inquired. When he’d bathed her, henoted a
tattoo—four initials on her left hip. R.T.W.W. That could have been her
master’s initials. Her complexion was the color of coffee diluted with cream,
yet fair enough to pass for white, much like his own before years of wind and
sun had taken a toll. But what did it matter? He’d never cared to make such
distinctions between races or social classes.
    Then the reason
for Elena’s question dawned on him. Darker skinned, exotic-looking women were a
much sought after commodity in bordellos. Currently, she had none in her
employ.
    “She is not to be
sold.” His tone was a warning. From the look that crossed Elena’s face, he knew
she had been considering exactly that.
    “But she is very
lovely with her dusky features, yes?”
    Damn her. He tossed the sponge into the water, splashing Elena. “Give me your word that
she will not be sold.”
    Elena’s lips
turned into a pout as she blotted the soapy water with a towel.  “Very
well. She will be my special house guest.” She started to speak again, but
hesitated.