The Spanish Outlaw — Marie Higgins

Ladies' man Anton Romero is smitten with Vivian Wentworth from the very beginning. He wants nothing more than to get to know the stiff Miss Wentworth -- and perhaps make her so she's not so uptight -- until he learns she's investigating him for a crime he didn't commit.

Innocent and naïve, Vivian is convinced Anton is the outlaw her superiors have painted him. But her over-zealous determination places both of them in danger and he is forced to play the honorable rogue.

Sweeping her away to Padre Island off the coast of Spain seemed like a clever idea at the time. But how can he protect them both from his uncle's murderous games when Anton's heart falls victim to a woman as full of independence as she is desire.

****
As Margaret searched for her mask, a large, very masculine hand appeared in front of Vivian, reaching out to help.

“May I offer assistance?”

“Yes, thank y -- ”

Vivian sucked in a quick breath and fell back on her buttocks, staring up at the dark-haired man with the charming smile. Even though shadows played across his face, she would know him anywhere since she'd dreamily stared at his profile and gazed upon his magnificence for the past two weeks at the opera.

The very man she snuck into the party to find. The thief, Señor Antonio Romero stood in front of her…offering his hand, no less!

With her heart beating frantically in her ears, she scrambled for something intelligent to say. Now she must slip into character.

She cleared her throat, preparing her British accent that took her weeks to practice. “Thank you, kind sir, but I fear my friend and I have lost our -- ” She scanned the area around her partner who still sat on the ground, staring with wide eyes at the man. Margaret's mask lay on the ground.

“Oh, there it is, Margaret.” Vivian cheered as she picked up the mask and handed it to her friend.

“Um...yes.”

Margaret took the mask and settled it over her eyes. It tilted haphazardly on her face, and Vivian bit her lower lip to hold back an embarrassed groan.

The man chuckled, his deep voice sending ripples of warmth over Vivian. She scooted to stand, and he took her hand, helping her up. Since she had not put on her mask, she decided to introduce herself...what she wanted him to know, anyway--even if it was a lie. “My name is Miss Vivian Harring, and this is Miss Margaret Smithers.”

The Spanish God bowed. “Buenas noches, señoritas. Have you been at this party long?”

Vivian shrugged. “Long enough to lose a mask.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I admire your quick humor.”

“We have introduced ourselves, but you, sir, have not told us to whom we are speaking.”

“Forgive me. I am Anton.”

She arched a brow. Could Anton be a nickname for Antonio? “Anton? Just Anton?”

He nodded. “That is my stage name, and we are at a soirée for the opera, are we not?”

“Indeed.”

He held out his hand to Margaret, but kept his gaze on Vivian. “Will you permit me to escort you and your companion inside for a drink? I am certain you both are in need of refreshment after such a grueling search.”

“Certainly.”

Margaret took his hand, stood, and brushed her other hand over her attire to remove the broken twigs and leaves. Vivian swept her hand over her own gown and hair. Hopefully, she looked better than she felt.

So far, things had not gone her way. She needed to right the wrong, or else how could she prove herself a professional?

Anton proffered his arm to Vivian. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” She slipped her hand around his elbow, and immediately his body heat radiated and melded into her palm. Delightful shivers danced over her, and she silently cursed her reaction to the attractive man.