by Lynne Graham
‘No, I didn’t, but then you didn’t tell me at the time,’ Alejandro countered levelly. ‘Naturally I realised that you were unhappy but I assumed that was because you were unwell. I would’ve thought that by now you would have put any bitterness behind you on that score.’
Jemima regarded him with seething resentment. ‘So you get a clean slate while I get reminded of my every mistake?’
‘Alfie is not a mistake, Jemima. He is most probably the best thing that ever happened to either of us,’ Alejandro proclaimed in an undertone of driven emotion that was rare for him, his stunning golden eyes unusually eloquent.
Her eyes suddenly stung with prickling tears. ‘I didn’t mean that he was a mistake…’
‘Then what did you mean?’
‘You see, there you go again…thinking the very worst of me!’ Jemima launched accusingly, the swimming moisture in her eyes overflowing.
‘No, I don’t.’ Alejandro reached for her slim shoulders in a sudden movement that took her by surprise and he pulled her up against his lean, powerful body. ‘But it’s hard for me to understand how you can love Alfie but still regret his conception.’
Jemima quivered with awareness as the heat of him penetrated her dress. ‘I don’t regret it any more.’
‘Yet you’re still blaming me for a moment’s forgetfulness when you could equally well blame yourself.’ His stunning dark golden eyes flamed over her upturned face.
As she met his gaze head-on a kind of crazy lethargy gripped Jemima. She could feel the slow pound of her blood through her veins, the racing beat of her heart in her ears and in the pit of her stomach the pull of that electrifying, shockingly strong craving that only he could ignite. He lowered his head and kissed her with unashamed hunger, his lips demanding, his tongue probing with ravishing skill, his teeth nipping at the soft underside of her generous lower lip in a way that made her release a long, shuddering moan of helpless response.
He kissed her until her heart hammered, until she was breathless and hot and no longer thinking straight. She felt the zip of her dress going down. She felt the garment shimmy down her arms and simply slide to her feet. As he lifted her up she kicked off her shoes and let him bring her down on the bed. She loved his strength, his unhesitating self-assurance. She knew that she couldn’t pretend that she was being seduced against her will. She knew she wouldn’t be able to tell herself that he had caught her in a weak moment. What was driving her was the almost painful clawing heat of sheer sexual hunger and the awareness shocked her.
‘We shouldn’t,’ she told him weakly, even as her hand rose to his face and her fingers traced the splendid angle of one high cheekbone, her thumb stroking along the edge of his beautiful mouth, which was capable of giving her so much pleasure.
‘Let’s not go back to the games we used to play before we got married, mi dulzura,’ Alejandro husked in sensual reproof.
Utterly bewildered by that comment, Jemima dropped her hand and stared up at him. ‘What are you trying to imply…?’
Chapter Six
‘NO COMMITMENT, no sex,’ Alejandro paraphrased huskily. ‘You utilised the most basic feminine weapon of all.’
‘That wasn’t a game or a weapon!’ Jemima protested in a pained voice, wounded that he could even think that of her. From the moment she’d realised just how strong a hold Alejandro had on her heart, she had tried her best to protect herself. Saying no to sex while he still had other women in his bed had seemed to be common sense rather than a form of manipulation.
‘Why pretend?’ Alejandro murmured, lowering his handsome dark head and letting his jaw line rasp softly along the extended line of her throat before he followed that trail with his mouth, lingering in places that became erogenous just through his touch and laughing when she squirmed beneath him. ‘It was highly effective. In the end I wanted you, only you. I wanted you so much that having you began to seem like winning the top prize. And I have to admit, you more than lived up to your promise in my bed.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘But it wasn’t a game. It might’ve been for you, it wasn’t for me. I was a virgin, for goodness’ sake!’
‘And I was duly appreciative of the fact. I married you,’ Alejandro reminded her doggedly.
But Jemima had just had an unsettling glimpse into how he viewed those months prior to their marriage. Evidently he had always believed that it was the power of lust for her long-withheld body that had stoked his desire to the point where he offered her a wedding ring so that she was always around, always available. With that shallow basis, was it any wonder that their relationship had failed? There was nothing lasting about lust, she told herself, even as she lifted her hips in a helpless circling motion beneath the pressure of his weight on hers, every skin cell singing with eagerness.
Alejandro shimmied down her body to let his mouth travel across the pale hillocks of her breasts encased in turquoise silk and lace cups. He released the catch on her bra and tugged her up against him to enjoy the warm soft weight of the sensitive flesh that spilled into his hands. She gasped as he entrapped the straining peaks between thumb and finger, rubbing the swollen pink tips until she leant back into him with an uninhibited moan of response.
‘I love your breasts,’ he husked. ‘Such a delightfully lush surprise on that tiny frame of yours.’
Jemima strained back against him, her spine arching as the feeling of pressure and awareness low in her pelvis increased. He twisted her round and down again and found the delicate rosy buds he had already massaged into prominence with his devouring mouth. It was as though her breasts were a hotline to her groin, for the surge of heat and moisture between her thighs was instantaneous. A finger stroked along the taut damp band of fabric at her crotch and she flinched, letting her head fall back as a low moan of encouragement was wrenched from her throat. She wanted him so much it hurt to wait.
‘Have you any idea how often I’ve fantasised about this moment in the last few weeks?’ Alejandro asked her thickly, peeling off her panties and using a knee to part her legs. His dark golden eyes glowed with sexual heat over the naked expanse of her delicate curves.
Jemima was trembling. The temptation to revel in the depth of his desire had died on the reflection that lust had no longevity and lying willingly naked for his appraisal only made her all the more conscious of the things she didn’t like about her body. She had always thought that her legs were too short and the extra weight she carried at breast and hip too much for her height. As she began to curl away from him he bent down and crushed her lips under his with a passionate urgency that burned through her like a flaming brand. The plunge of his tongue affected her like a chain of firecrackers sparking through her taut length and her hips rose pleadingly, her whole body singing with sharp urgent need.
‘Oh, please,’ she said shakily, impatient, needy, wanting more than she could bear.
‘I want to enjoy you first…I want to wait,’ Alejandro framed with ragged ardour, playing with the delicate pearly folds between her thighs while he worked his skilful passage down over her quivering body, watching her expressive face as she fought to stay in control.
‘Don’t watch me,’ she urged unevenly, suffering sweet torment from the hunger he was stoking.
He touched her with such infinite finesse, knowing the perfect spot, the exact amount of pressure, the ideal pace. She cried out loud, eyelashes sliding down to screen her eyes as the pleasure raced and screamed through her twisting length. He licked the skin of her inner thigh, following the trail to a more intimate place and dallying there with sensual expertise until she thought she might pass out with the intensity of her response. Her climax took her like a roaring storm, demanding every ounce of her energy and throwing her up to a breathless height of excruciating pleasure as she writhed in sobbing satisfaction.
He pulled back from her when she wanted him to hold her close. The world was a thousand miles away from her at that moment when she was still lost in the cocoon of all that breathtaking pleasure. Th
en she heard the slide of a drawer, the sound of foil tearing and a moment later he was back with her. After what she said earlier, she registered that he would not risk her falling pregnant again.
Jemima felt wanton, because when he came back to her he was hugely aroused and her body thrilled anew for she could hardly wait for that final act of possession. Orgasm hadn’t satisfied that deep driving need to be with him again in the most basic way of all. He slid over her and she lifted to him at the first probing thrust of his bold shaft. He felt so big, so good when he plunged into her long and hard and deep and she gasped, violet eyes flying wide, raw excitement licking through her like flames.
‘You really want me,’ Alejandro growled with all-male satisfaction, surging into her receptive body with sudden driving urgency.
It was like being caught in the eye of a hurricane. A kind of stormy wildness pulsed through her to stoke the rising rush of crazy excitement already leaping high with her anticipation. Alejandro settled on a potent pagan rhythm. He was rampant, irresistible and her heartbeat thumped faster and faster in tune with his strong movements. Gasping, she rose under him, her body moving of its own accord as the feverish, hot, stimulating delight of his possession gave her ever-increasing pleasure. Somewhere towards the end of that ravenous ride she screamed, writhing as the ecstatic convulsions of a second climax seized hold of her. The sheer intensity of the experience almost made her black out and she lay shell shocked in the aftermath.
‘Dios mio. That was amazing,’ Alejandro husked above her head, his arms still anchored round her to keep her close. ‘To think that I was afraid I might not be able to get it up with you because of Marco. You deliver such an erotic buzz I would have to be made of stone to resist you.’
Jemima tensed and stiffened defensively. Her lips parted and almost simultaneously a long brown forefinger nudged against her mouth.
‘No more denials, querida. Every time you deny what you did I get angry again and it has been a very long and difficult day,’ Alejandro admitted heavily.
Prevented from stating her case by his wall of entrenched disbelief and distrust, Jemima suffered an immediate sense of alienation and she pulled free of his embrace to roll over into a cooler spot in the bed. She lay on her side and looked back at him, her violet eyes bright with antagonism below her wildly tumbled strawberry-blonde curls. He looked so relaxed, black hair tousled by her fingers above his bold bronzed profile. Her fair skin was tingling and probably pink from the burn of the stubble he hadn’t got to shave off before taking her to bed, but deep down inside her there was a well of indescribable physical satisfaction that had been running on empty ever since she had left Spain previously. Their marriage had always been a blazing success in the bedroom. But she knew it would be a long time before she got over the embarrassment of having revealed just how much she had craved his touch.
Alejandro turned his handsome head on the pillow to look at her with spectacular dark brown eyes semi-veiled by lush ebony lashes. ‘Surely you can see that we cannot make a success of living together again without an honest acceptance of the past?’
Her generous mouth took on a mutinous slant. He had already travelled from refusing to believe her to refusing even to listen to her denials so what hope of exoneration did that give her for the future? His belief in her infidelity was unshakable.
‘Shower, then dinner,’ Alejandro instructed arrogantly in the smouldering silence, closing a stubborn hand over hers to drag her across to his side of the bed while he tossed back the sheet and vaulted upright.
‘Where were you today? What happened that you had to leave a message for me?’ Jemima asked abruptly as he propelled her into the spacious bathroom with him.
‘Pepe, one of the vineyard workers, had a tractor accident. He was badly hurt,’ Alejandro told her, his mouth compressing into a bleak line. ‘I stayed at the hospital to support his wife. Their only child lives abroad and the other relatives are elderly. I’m afraid Pepe didn’t make it and by the time I got his wife home again and offered my condolences to the rest of the family…’
Jemima was aghast at what he was telling her. ‘Yes, I can imagine how awful it must have been. I’m sorry, if I’d known I wouldn’t have said anything—’
‘But you didn’t know so you were entitled to complain.’ The speed with which he dismissed the matter told her that he didn’t want to discuss it further. He had not exaggerated when he had said what a difficult day he’d had.
In the spacious tiled shower with the water streaming down over his big bronzed body he leant back against the wall for a moment or two, his eyes closing, and she finally appreciated just how tired he was. Her conscience smote her and she resented that feeling because when they were first married Alejandro had often contrived to make her feel that way. So often he’d had something more important, serious or meaningful to do with his time than be with her. She had often felt guilty, undeserving or selfish for just wanting to see more of him. Pepe’s wife and family, however, would have found his presence a source of great comfort and support because he was that kind of a guy: strong and reliable in times of crisis.
Knowing that, she had often wondered why he had let her down so badly when she needed him. Or as his unsuitable and unhappy wife had she simply been yet another burden and source of worry for him, one he’d been relieved to be free of again? It would be foolish for her to forget that he had only taken her back so that he could have his son living with him in his home in Spain.
She didn’t bother getting dressed again. Clad in a blue nightdress and satin wrap, she joined Alejandro in the reception room adjoining their bedroom where a meal was served in spite of the late hour. Casually clad in jeans and a black T-shirt, he looked younger and more approachable as well as heart-stoppingly handsome. A big vase of fresh white daisies adorned the round table and she remembered how his mother had once summarily dumped one of Jemima’s own amateur floral arrangements. In those days she had been naïve, easily hurt and upset. She had barely had the maturity to be a wife, never mind a mother, and she had made more than one stupid decision, opting for the wrong choices and what had seemed like the easy way out when life got tough.
Alejandro studied his reclaimed wife intently across the table. Even with her pale hair in an untidy riot of curls and without a scrap of make-up, she was so beautiful with her fragile features, flawless skin and unusually coloured eyes that she commanded and held his full attention. The sex might be even more amazing than he recalled but he wasn’t yet fully convinced that he had her where he wanted and needed her to be. The memory of her three-month proviso outraged his sense of justice. His polar opposite, she was impulsive, capricious and, as he had cause to know, wildly extravagant. It would be a challenge to predict her next move.
Once again he was at war with himself, Alejandro recognised angrily. It was a familiar predicament where Jemima was concerned. How could he have so compromised his convictions that he took back an unfaithful wife? Moreover, an unfaithful wife who still refused to admit her guilt? And an unrepentant gold-digger who had undoubtedly only survived in England for so long without his financial support because she had already carefully bled him dry of thousands of euros before she’d left him. Her escape fund? What else? It was a galling suspicion for a male once accustomed to female adulation and pursuit. Only his wife had run in the other direction.
But what right had he to the moral high ground? He had used their toddler son as a weapon and blackmailed her into returning yet, amazingly, he didn’t feel guilty about what he had done. Had he not acted in his son’s best interests? Dealing with such a woman demanded extraordinary measures.
He sipped his wine, savouring the vintage while his keen intelligence continued to present him with truths he would have preferred to ignore. Jemima might make him burn with desire but she was bad news for him. A man should aspire to a decent woman with standards, not stoop to the level of a dishonourable and deceitful one. But the instant he’d been subjected to the sight of the men p
anting after her skirts in that little English village his libido and territorial instincts had flamed to unmanageable heights. The prospect of leaving her free to take such men to her bed in his place had sentenced him to sleepless nights and repeated cold showers, for his blood ran hot.
Jemima was his and, undeniably, a weakness. Every man could afford an indulgence as long as he practised damage control, Alejandro ruminated, his lean, strong face hard with self-discipline. And she couldn’t hurt him because he didn’t love her. He had never been in love and was proud of the fact, he reminded himself with innate pride. Men in love were fools with women while a man in lust knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it.
Uncomfortable with the lingering silence, Jemima finally spoke up. ‘There were reporters and cameras at the airport when I arrived for my flight out here today. They seemed to be waiting for Alfie and me, expecting us…’
Alejandro was frowning with annoyance. ‘Someone must have tipped them off. How else would they have known you would be there?’
‘Well, it wasn’t me—’
‘Are you sure of that?’ Alejandro prompted cynically.
Her eyes widened in surprise and consternation. ‘But why would I tip off the paparazzi?’
‘Either because you were paid for the information or because you revel in the attention of the press.’ Alejandro tossed his napkin down and rose to his full impressive height. His devastatingly handsome features were grave. ‘Whichever it is, be warned: I don’t like that kind of publicity.’
‘Where are you going?’ Jemima pressed tautly, already reeling from the accusation he had just made.
‘To bed. I’ll look in on Alfie first. Buenas noches, querida.’
A faint surge of pink illuminated her delicate bone structure. Her hands clenched into fists of restraint below the level of the table but she passed no further comment. After their passionate lovemaking in what had once been the marital bed his departure for the night to a separate room was like a slap in the face. It was a reminder that appearances were deceptive and that neither the expensive gift of a new wardrobe nor the meal eaten à deux meant that they were engaged in a genuine reconciliation.
