The Spaniard's Untouched Bride. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER TWO

      CAMILLA COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time she’d had a chance to shower. It was an awful thing, but there was no shower in her personal quarters. She had to make do with the shared one in the stables, and it always felt a bigger risk than was strictly necessary.

      Still, she was dying for one, especially after spending all day working in the intense heat. She had worked with Fuego until they were both nearly exhausted. But it was the happiest she had been since her father died. Being on the back of that horse again. Riding through the olive groves on the property, the hot, dry wind burning its way across her cheeks.

      If her mother could see her now, she would truly despair of her. Reddish face, chapped lips, her hair cut close to her skull and just long enough now to stick up at strange angles when she ran her hands through it in frustration, from when the horses failed to do what she asked of them.

      She did indeed look like a boy, and it was easy to feel fully immersed in the role. Until she needed something like a shower, in which case she became terribly aware of her body.

      The other time she became terribly aware of her body was when Matías would stride across the grounds, wearing those problematic breeches. It made her feel hot, and it made her feel strange. And so much of the feeling centered on the parts of her body she tried to disguise, that it was impossible for her not to hyper-focus on them.

      It was late, the sun having gone down a good half our earlier, a chill starting to wrap itself around her body. Hot days like that always left her skin feeling tight, as though there were an invisible layer of dust over every last inch of her.

      Most of the staff had gone home, very few of them living in residence as she did, and the others either had private bathroom facilities or would be showering in the morning. At least that was what she was going to go ahead and bank on tonight.

      She scampered into the stable, moving through to the tack room, and heading into the shower. She locked the door behind her and stripped her clothes off quickly, unwinding the precautionary medical wrap that she had around her chest.

      It was such a slight chest, she probably didn’t have to bind herself, not really. But it was a precaution that she took seriously. Along with these clandestine showers. Just in case. Just in case someone had a key to the room she was in. Just in case somehow, right after her shower, having just been naked, she looked somehow more female.

      That was the one good thing about the dirt. It provided an extra layer of coverage. She smiled at that, stepping beneath the hot spray of water and scrubbing each inch of her body as quickly as possible.

      That was one asset to short hair, as well. The fact that it took much less time to manage. To wash. And in the morning, she did nothing with it at all.

      She hummed as she scrubbed and then shut the water off, much sooner than she would like. But really, she didn’t have the luxury of lingering.

      She dressed into the fresh clothes she had brought inside with her—nothing more than baggy sweatpants—and was just about to pull her tank on when the doorknob rattled.

      She froze, her heart fluttering like a frightened bird trapped in her chest.

      “Occupied,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice low and husky while panic raced through her.

      The doorknob quit rattling. She wrapped her chest quickly with the bandage and then gathered up her dirty clothes, taking care to hide the old bandage that she had been wearing.

      She unlocked the door, fortifying herself for who she might see on the other side, and stepped out. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words dying on her lips as her eyes made contact with Matías Navarro’s.

      “Sorry,” she said again, mumbling.

      “I was taking a walk,” he said, his voice hard. “And I saw that there were lights on in here and I came to check.”

      “I just needed a shower,” she responded.

      “There is no crime in that.”

      She shook her head and then attempted to scurry past him. But she ran into the edge of that heavily muscled arm, stumbling forward and dropping the armful of clothes in her hand.

      “Easy,” Matías said.

      Then, much to her horror, before she could act he bent down and collected her clothing. And that pale, taupe-colored medical bandage had somehow risen to the top. Obvious, she thought.

      Matías frowned. “Are you injured?”

      “I...” She cleared her throat, her head spinning, her cheeks hot. She was grateful that he had supplied that question. Because of course that was the much more logical thought to have. Not that she had been binding her breasts for the past two and a half months to conceal her gender. “My wrist was feeling tender. Just... Fuego pulled a little bit harder and in the opposite direction than I expected when I was lunging him earlier.” It was amazing how easy the lie came. Camilla had never been put in a position where she’d had to lie.

      She had always done exactly what her father expected. Which had suited her just fine as it had all centered around the rancho.

      Her mother had never required a lie. She was disinterested in her only child and did not care what Camilla was up to so long as it did not interfere with, or embarrass, her.

      She had never known whether or not she was a good liar, because the opportunity had never presented itself. Apparently, she was proficient.

      “The swelling has gone down now,” she said. “And I’m feeling fine. I was afraid it might be sprained, but it is not.”

      “That’s very interesting. Because I went over the logs earlier and did not see that in there.”

      “It didn’t matter to me,” she said, feeling the heat mounting her cheeks. “I mean, it didn’t bear noting to me.”

      “Do not mistake me, boy. It is not your health that concerns me. If Fuego is not responding to training...”

      “He is,” Camilla said hurriedly.

      Matías shifted, rubbing his thumb across the bandage. Something in her stomach grew tight, and then the whole thing flipped over. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy. Even bound beneath the fresh tape as they were.

      “If he is a danger to you...”

      “He isn’t,” she insisted, reaching out and snatching the clothing out of his hand. She couldn’t bear him touching it. She didn’t know why. It made her skin feel warm.

       Idiot. That’s because you just took a hot shower.

      “As long as you’re certain.”

      She nodded. “I am.”

      Matías nodded once in return, those well-sculpted lips turning down slightly. She felt...immobilized by them. Just for a moment. She didn’t think she had ever seen such a handsome man. Not in her whole life. And here she was, dressed as a boy. And even if she wasn’t, he would never look twice at her.

      No man ever had. Matías Navarro would hardly have been the first. But even if there had been a possibility, it was rendered completely impossible by two things. He thought she was a boy, and he was engaged to his counterpart in beauty.

      Liliana was the human version of a meringue. A confection of a woman. All light, airy and pastel. Sweet and beautiful.

      Standing anywhere near her made Camilla’s bones feel heavy. Made her shoulders feel broad, and her height absurd.

      The sad thing was, she had a feeling that even if she was presenting as a woman she would show much the same way in the petite American’s presence.

      Her