by Marinelli, Carol; Hayward, Jennifer; Stephens, Susan; Anderson, Natalie
“Not to worry,” she said stiffly. “I won’t disappoint you. I’m channeling madly in love as we speak.”
A slow curl of heat unraveled inside of him. He shouldn’t engage—he should keep this thing sane between them—but he was too annoyed to heed his own advice.
He pulled her to a halt in the hallway that led to the terrace, just before they stepped outside. Resting a palm against the wall, he eyed her. “What’s wrong?”
A tilt of her chin. “Nothing.”
He hated that calm, even tone of voice. “Is it the show tomorrow? Today’s news?”
“I’ll deal with that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing.” She stared at him. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been a bear all afternoon. You keep impressing on me how important tonight is, how much these friendships mean to you, then when I try and focus and be what you need me to be, you look annoyed.”
“I am annoyed,” he growled. “You’re driving me crazy.”
Her eyes widened. He stepped closer, the first time he’d allowed himself anywhere near her in weeks. Noted the fine lines of strain bracketing her mouth, the wary cast to those blue eyes. “If you are stressed,” he murmured, “you need to talk to me. You used to talk to me. Why can’t you do that?’
A flicker in those blue eyes. “I—I don’t know.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t going to work unless you let me in. Unless you start trusting me.”
Confusion, indecision, wrote itself across her face. “I’m trying. Alejandro, I—”
A thread inside him snapped. He took the last step between them, flattened his palm against the wall. Color rode her high cheekbones, her pupils dilating. “What are you doing?”
He cupped her jaw in his fingers and lowered his head to hers, their breath mixing in a seductive, heady heat. “Solving this impasse.”
She didn’t move away. He considered that progress. Slanting his mouth over hers, he took her lips in a leisurely, persuasive possession designed to melt those icy defenses. She didn’t move for a moment, frozen it seemed, then a sigh tore itself from her throat as she relaxed beneath his hands. Soft and pliant beneath his, her mouth was heaven. Her response—that particularly rare combination of innocence and passion that had slayed him from the very beginning nearly brought him to his knees.
She moved closer, her soft curves brushing against the length of him. Unable to resist temptation, he curved his fingers around a bare stretch of toned, sexy thigh and pulled her even closer, his teeth catching the tender flesh of her lower lip in his.
Santo Deus, he wanted her. Had wanted her for weeks. Ever since he’d had that first taste.
“I would say ‘get a room,’” a low voice intoned behind them, “but since you already have one, perhaps you should use it.”
Cecily stepped back so fast, she tripped over her heels. Alejandro wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, directing a grin at Stavros. Dressed casually in a white shirt and gray pants, an attractive, black-haired woman at his side, his friend’s dark eyes were dancing with amusement.
“Then I would not be here to greet your passably handsome face,” Alejandro drawled, slapping him on the shoulder. “Ola.”
Stavros was, in fact, more than passably handsome. Swoon-worthy as some women liked to call his surly, dark good looks. Alejandro wasn’t a fan of how he turned that charm on his fiancée now—darkening Cecily’s cheeks to a deep shade of rose.
And that was new. Considering his good friend a threat. Particularly since Stavros’s new wife was standing at his side.
He studied her as his friend introduced them. Calli wasn’t his usual type. Stavros dated worldly, vivacious women who matched his colorful personality. Calli was quiet and unassuming. Pretty—yes. A killer figure, absolutely. But what was it about her that had convinced Stavros to take the plunge into marriage?
It claimed his thoughts as they found Antonio and his new wife, Sadie, on the terrace along with their hosts Sebastien and Monika. Antonio he could understand. You find your son, you claim him—much like his own situation with his unborn child. Stavros, however, had chosen to marry this woman from the vast array of females he had at his beck and call in what he suspected might be a convenient marriage. Something about her must have stood out.
And maybe, he acknowledged, as the four couples sat down for dinner together on the torch-lit terrace, this was just him trying to understand his preoccupation with the woman on his arm. How Cecily had defied his usual rules of detachment from the very beginning.
He watched her carefully over dinner to make sure she was comfortable, but amidst the good conversation and laughter at the table she relaxed and was much more herself. He relaxed then too and made a good study of Antonio and his new wife.
It was clear the Greek was enamored with the elegant English brunette. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, he thought Antonio might be in love with her their connection was so strong.
He caught Cecily’s gaze drifting to the newly married couple more than once during the evening, a wistful expression in those sapphire eyes. Guilt gnawed at his edges. He cared about her, he knew that, but he could never give her that love she craved. He’d known it from the very beginning—why he’d been content to walk away. He’d buried that knowledge when he’d persuaded her to marry him because she was having his child. Sacrifices were necessary.
He sat back in his chair and swallowed a mouthful of the legendary Tuscan Cabernet Sebastien was serving. His inability to forge open, loving relationships was something he’d long ago acknowledged. Somewhere along the way, he’d flipped a switch inside of himself, one of self-preservation. Love wasn’t something he was ever going to expose himself to—as unreliable as it was intransient. It wasn’t something he could reverse engineer for Cecily’s sake even if he wanted to. He was just going to have to find other ways to give her what she needed.
Guilt pushed aside, he focused, then, on the excellent conversation between old friends and the entertaining night it turned out to be, but the woman at his side continued to claim the lion’s share of his attention.
There was a connection between them tonight, an invisible barrier that had fallen with that kiss they’d shared. An energy that drew him like a moth to a flame. That he told himself, was what was going to sustain them, because he couldn’t imagine that chemistry fading anytime soon.
He kept an arm across the back of her chair, fingers toying idly with her silky blonde curls as darkness fell across the English countryside and the torches burned bright into the night.
When dinner finally concluded, the women elected to turn in early given their eight a.m. breakfast with their hostess. Alejandro tucked Cecily into his side for the walk back to their room, a chill permeating the late-night air. She shivered and moved closer. Heat stoked low in his belly. Snooker—a late night ritual with the men—was not what he had in mind.
The suite was cast in shadows when they entered. Alejandro flicked on a lamp, his eyes never leaving his fiancée.
“Can you help me with my dress before you go?” she requested huskily, turning her back to him.
Her delicate scent wrapped itself around him, filling his head. He moved his fingers to the hook at the top of her dress. Tiny, almost invisible, he managed to undo it then slide the zipper slowly down her back. He thought it might be the most exquisite form of self-torture invented as he uncovered inch after inch of perfect creamy skin, right down to the dip at the small of her back, his second favorite spot on a woman.
His body hardened as he remembered that night in Kentucky. How he’d made her come apart with his hands and mouth on that perfect skin. This time, he knew, he wanted her just like that on that bed, his arm beneath her hips, but with his aching body buried inside her instead in an animalistic possession that matched his mood.
He set his mouth to her nape.
“Alejandro—” she murmured, a strangled note to her voice.
He turned her around in his arms, reading the conflicting emotions in her eyes.
“One step at a time,” he said softly. “That’s how we do this, querida.”
Indecision wrote itself across her blue gaze. He was leaning down to kiss her when Stavros pounded on the door.
* * *
“Ouaou.” Wow. “You are in a filthy mood.” Stavros gave Alejandro a sideways look as they made their way downstairs to the billiards room. “Doesn’t that ring on her finger mean you get guaranteed sex, because you resorting to hallways is a desperate measure my friend.”
“We weren’t in the hallway,” Alejandro countered. “We were in our bedroom. And I was on the way.”
“No you weren’t,” Stavros said complacently. “I was merely helping you along.”
Alejandro scowled at him. “Instead of us talking about your bad timing, why don’t you tell me what’s going on with this marriage of yours?”
A deceptively innocent look back. “Meaning…?”
“You come back from Greece with a wife? How does that happen?”
“The same way you arriving here with a fiancée does.” Stavros lifted a shoulder. “I married her for custody of my company. As good a reason as any.”
His friend’s response was just a bit too casual, a bit too blasé for him to buy it. It was a surefire sign there were things smoldering beneath that dark façade of his. Did he have feelings for his wife?
“What about you?” Stavros gave him a pointed look as they hit the marble mezzanine and headed toward the entertainment wing. “I need to be married…produce an heir. Antonio has a child. What’s your excuse for breaking the eleventh commandment?”
“Have you looked at her?”
The Greek pursed his lips. “Am I seriously allowed to answer that question?”
“No.”
“Just like I thought,” Stavros murmured, pushing open the door of the billiards room. “You are in trouble. Deep trouble.”
Alejandro could have told him he was wrong. That a couple nights of hot sex, the transformation of his relationship into the rational, civilized union he’d envisioned would cure what ailed him. But the ritual of opening a seventy-year-old bottle of whiskey distracted him as Sebastien made a toast to the three of them winning the bet.
His usual cryptic self, the Englishman acted as if he’d won the wager, making Alejandro even more sure their challenges had never really been about subsisting without their wallets.
Antonio, looking far more introspective than he had earlier, waded in to suggest his had been about finding his son. Sebastien only inclined his head, saying that had been a bonus, but he needed to look deeper than that.
The Italian laughed it off, as did they all because who knew where Sebastien’s head was really at? Who cared as the evening devolved into a series of bloodthirstily competitive games of snooker.
Deep into the fifth frame, Sebastien stood by Alejandro’s side, eyeing the table while Stavros and Antonio refilled their glasses.
“How was Kentucky?”
“Successful.” Alejandro lined up a shot in his head. “Your cover was brilliant, obrigado. My grandmother will be happy now.”
“And your soon-to-be wife?” Sebastien lounged back against the table. “I like her, Alejandro, a lot. She’s exactly what you need—a woman strong enough to stand up to you…to challenge you.” He lifted a brow. “Are you really prepared to detonate your relationship over an ancient feud?”
“I’m working on a solution to that.” Alejandro took a sip of his whiskey, tilted his head back to absorb its mellow burn.
“And if you don’t find one?”
“I will.” He pointed his glass at the Englishman. “Why did you send me to Kentucky? It wasn’t about the wallets, I get that.”
Sebastien set his dark gray gaze on him. “There’s more to life than proving you are a better man than your father, Alejandro. Justifying your net worth every single second of the day. Sometimes I think you get so caught up in that you forget who you are. What you are capable of.”
His skin bristled. “I’m not trying to prove I’m a better man than my father, I am.”
“No one would argue that.” Stavros inserted himself into the conversation as he and Antonio returned with their drinks. “Far too serious a topic,” he reprimanded Sebastien. “I leave for five minutes and look what happens. Tonight is about the game.”
Alejandro couldn’t disagree. Stavros had dragged him away from his room at the worst possible moment. He was damn well winning this match.
He did. His luck, however, had run out when he clambered up the stairs in the early hours of the morning to find Cecily, her silky blonde hair splayed across the pillow, curves plastered into a tantalizing piece of cream silk, fast asleep.
CHAPTER NINE
ALEJANDRO WAS UNCHARACTERISTICALLY still asleep when Cecily woke the next morning for her breakfast with the ladies. Still singed from their encounter of the night before, she averted her eyes from all the toned, olive-skinned muscle exposed right down to where the sheet cut across her fiancé’s lean hips and pointed herself in the direction of the bathroom instead.
That would not help her composure, something she needed today. The pretty rose-colored dress she slipped on would. She did her hair and applied a light coat of make-up, then left Alejandro to sleep and descended the intricate, hand-carved, dark wood staircase to the main floor of the manor.
Besieged by the sights and sounds of today’s festivities, her new-found composure was rattled before she’d even reached the bottom step. Horse caravans emblazoned with the rider’s names were arriving in the yard, sound systems crackled as they were tested and caterers flitted throughout the house, preparing for the lunch Monika and Sebastien were hosting for the riders and dignitaries—a lunch she and Alejandro had been asked to attend.
Event day buzz had always energized and excited her. Today it tightened her stomach into a ball that refused to unwind. It felt as if the world, her world and everything in it was passing her by and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to be out there walking the course, thinking through strategy, chatting with her fellow riders. Instead she would merely be a spectator.
Determined to master the day in spite of its wobbly start, she pasted a smile on her face and entered the Rose Room. She was the last to arrive, Calli looking lovely in a floral print dress while Sadie was elegant in yet another print that hugged her slender curves.
Never the best at these feminine gatherings, she was happy to play with a piece of toast she didn’t really want and drink her tea while Calli regaled the table with an amusing tale of Stavros ending up in the pool the night before recovering a priceless bottle of sauterne Sebastien had tossed in.
Monika laughed softly. “That’s the sort of thing they do. They thrive on challenging each other. Of course, this most recent challenge takes the cake.”
That was when Cecily realized it wasn’t just Alejandro who had been undercover. So had Antonio, posing as a mechanic in the garage where Sadie had worked and Stavros, dispatched as a pool boy to the villa in which Calli had lived. The assignment, Monika reported, clearly assuming they’d known all about it, had ostensibly been for the men to go two weeks without their wallets, but Sebastien’s wife seemed sure there had been a deeper meaning to each of the individual challenges.
To ruin her family. Cecily set her cup down with a rattle. This had all started as a game? She was too dumbfounded to speak. Guessing from the looks on the other women’s faces, she wasn’t alone.
“What were the stakes in the bet?” she asked Monika.
“If Sebastien won, the men would give up one of their most prized possessions. Alejandro’s private isl
and, for instance. If Sebastien lost, he promised to donate half his fortune to charity.”
“And all three men completed their challenges?”
Monika nodded. “Sebastien will be making the announcement of the donation in a few weeks’ time. He plans to set up a global search and rescue team with it, something that’s close to his heart given his near miss last year.”
Cecily’s head spun as Monika told the story of how Stavros, Antonio and Alejandro had dug Sebastien out of an avalanche. It was a gut-wrenching story, a noble endeavor Sebastien was embarking on, to be sure, but her brain was still caught up in the wager that had brought Alejandro to Esmerelda.
She was trying so hard to get past what he’d done, how he’d deceived her. Had just begun to trust him, them, again. But to find out this had been part of a silly bet as her life fell apart at the seams? It made her head want to explode.
* * *
Alejandro eyed his fiancée over lunch on the terrace. She looked like some kind of pink confection in the dainty little dress, one he wanted to consume inch by inch. The smoke coming out of her ears, however, suggested the idea of a trip back to their room might not be well received.
Biting back his impatience, he bent his head to hers, keeping his voice low given the dignitaries at their table. “I know that look. What are you so angry about?”
“Your bet came up as a topic of conversation over breakfast.”
Ah. He took his sunglasses off. Eyed her. “I didn’t tell you about it because it only complicated an already complex situation.”
“You don’t say.” Her eyes flashed a brilliant blue fire. “Do you know how blindsided the three of us were? I felt like a fool.”
He rubbed a hand against his pounding temple, the after effects of the whiskey lingering. “I should have told you. But it changes nothing about us Cecily—everything I’ve told you is the truth.”
“The truth,” she derided, “is a subjective state of being for you, Alejandro.”
