Of all men, Steve understood it most. Ginny, dancing with abandon, her heavy mane of bright red-gold hair framing her face, was the lure that kept him coming back.

“Little baggage, are you trying to start a fight out here?” His murmured comment only earned a wicked smile and careless shrug, and he grinned. “I should know better than to leave you on your own for longer than an hour. When will I learn?”

She danced close to him, her breasts brushing against his chest in a silken promise before she whirled away again. When the steps of the dance brought them back together, he grabbed her hands, held them above her head as his feet stamped against stones in a rapid staccato, his body so close to hers he could feel the dampness of her gown. Green eyes widened up at him.

As the music ended in a crashing flourish of guitars, he pulled her hard against him, one arm bent behind her back to hold her. He grazed her ear with his lips as he murmured, “Come upstairs with me, bruja.”

Ginny leaned into him, breath coming in little pants of exertion. A teasing fragrance emanated from her hair, all too familiar and tempting, her favorite perfume, a blend he had bought for her in France. Her hand splayed against his chest and she looked up with a faint smile.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The night air became sweeter, softer. Now that Steve was here, her worries and fears proved groundless. He had brought her jewels—fire opals, gleaming with lustrous brilliance in a velvet box, set into ornate silver filigree. A lovely bracelet for her wrists, and a magnificent ring for her hand, looking much too large but so very beautiful.

“Tears of the Moon, the Aztecs called it,” Steve said when she admired the artistry of the silver setting. “Now that Mexico has even more silver veins being discovered, I thought you’d appreciate some native ore.”

Delighted, and deliriously happy that he was back, she slipped on the jewelry, admiring the radiant gleam in the soft swaying glow of lanterns overhead.

“You spoil me, Steve Morgan.”

He smiled as he took her hand to guide her from the patio of the cantina, and they passed beneath fragrant vines and night-blooming flowers, huge white blossoms like full moons crowding heart-shaped leaves that tumbled haphazardly over walls and archways.

“Oh, Steve, I really did miss you,” she said softly.

Steve’s eyes, so dark blue and intent, regarded her with careful scrutiny. “You didn’t seem to miss me that much, green-eyes, or you wouldn’t have been dancing when I arrived.”

Her laughter was soft and teasing. “A lady must take her pleasures where she finds them, you know.”

Steve paused, pulling her to him in the shadowed alcove beneath the bower of moonflowers. “So must a man, my sweet.”