Claiming His Wife

by Diana Hamilton

  Her arms still looped around his neck, Cassie stared up into the strong planes of his heartstoppingly arresting features and electrifying, bone-melting ex­citement made her sway on her feet, her breath com­ing rapidly, shallowly.

  She tried to say his name but her mouth couldn't form the word; her lips parted uselessly. Ever since they'd arrived here this morning she'd been more and more sexually aware of him, trying to deny it because she hadn't wanted a repeat performance of their wed­ding night.

  She knew now that wouldn't happen. During the last year she had finally grown up.

  'Por Dios!' Roman muttered beneath his breath. Swiftly, he lifted his hands to remove hers from around his neck where her fingers had begun playing with the soft dark hairs at his nape.

  Then, without any effort at all, he swung her round, found the zip at the back of her dress and pulled it down. The tiny rasping sound seemed un­naturally loud. Cassie held her breath, her heartbeats thudding wildly as deft fingers slid the fabric from her shoulders, down her arms, loosing the garment to let it pool at her feet.

  Her need for him was so hot and heavy now, she could barely stand.

  When he unzipped the back fastening of her bra and released her throbbing breasts Cassie felt she might expire on the spot from the wild clamour of sexual excitement, and a husky moan was dredged from deep inside her when he slid her brief black lace panties down the length of her trembling legs.

  She made to turn, her mouth running dry, wanting to undress him, to touch her nakedness to his, but he propelled her forward with one firm hand, the other pulling down the thin, silky bed-sheet.

  'Sleep it off, Cass,' he advised grimly. 'You ob­viously decided to get drunk—' he laid cruel em­phasis on the word '—to help you through the night. Well, I've got news for you, mi esposa. I find that a definite turn-off.'

  He marched back to the door, then paused, his tone dry, 'I'll join you later, if only to make sure you don't raid the wine cellar for more Dutch courage. But, never fear, I won't touch you. So sleep well.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cassie stirred fretfully and came awake. And wished she hadn't. Asleep, she didn't have to relive the scene of her humiliation, the way her red-hot antic­ipation of the night ahead had been so effectively doused by the ice of his parting words.

  Drunk.

  It was still only the middle of the night and the room was in total darkness. She'd been too busy cry­ing herself to sleep to think about anything practical, like turning off the bedside lamp.

  Roman must have done it.

  For the first time amid the internal racket of her clamouring waking thoughts she heard the sound of his breathing. And held her own breath, her naked body going tense beneath the fine silky sheet.

  He had joined her. He had said he would.

  But the bed was huge and he was lying as far away from her as he could get without falling off the edge.

  He had said he wouldn't touch her.

  Because he believed she'd deliberately got drunk so that when it came to keeping her side of his Machiavellian bargain she would be too fuddled to take any notice of what was going on! Well, it had sort of started off that way, she admitted honestly, but somewhere along the line it had changed.

  Quite when she had realised that she still loved her husband, always had and always would, she couldn't really recall.

  It hadn't hit her like a bolt of lightning, but had been gradually unfurling inside her, like the newly opening petals of a rose, becoming more certain with every breath she took.

  She loved him so.

  Her heart leapt, twisted, and ended up somewhere in her throat.

  Her life with Roman, before she'd gathered enough courage to leave him, had been liberally spat­tered with mistakes. Far too many mistakes, the greatest of which had been her inability to commu­nicate with him and explain her feelings.

  Never again!

  Whatever the future held—and as far as she knew he wasn't looking beyond three months—she owed it to both of them to be open and honest. Starting with telling him that if she'd given the impression that she was about to sink into an alcoholic heap, it had only been because the thought of spending the night with him had intoxicated her!

  She hoisted herself up on one elbow, gingerly nar­rowing the distance between them. Her eyes were growing more accustomed to the darkness now and she could see the outline of his dark, beautifully shaped head against the white pillow. The sheet was tangled around his hips, and the shadowy sweep of his tautly muscled back was a temptation too far.

  Her heart lurching, her mouth running dry, she reached out a hand and touched him. Just gently. From the warm nape of his neck her fingers slipped between his shoulder blades, loving the warmth of his skin, the slick texture, and down, down the ridge of vertebrae, sliding across to the hard prominence of his hipbone, exploring him as she had never dared to do before.

  The arm he wasn't lying on was flung upwards, covering his face, giving her tenderly roving fingers access to the lower part of his chest. And lower, trail­ing down the washboard flatness of his stomach, her fingers stilling as they tangled in crisp, thick body hair.

  Her heart was beating wildly, clamouring beneath her breast, her breathing difficult to regulate. She could touch him if she wanted to, and she did want to, but it would be an invasion of his personal pri­vacy, wouldn't it? While he was asleep?

  Forcing her hand to stay quietly and exactly where it was, she pulled in a ragged breath and bent forward to put her lips against the oiled satin skin of his shoulder, her throbbing, almost painfully aroused breasts meeting the hard plane of his back.

  She wriggled against him, pressing closer; she couldn't help it. Her mind had gone on holiday and she was acting on instinctive, primitive need. Being so breathtakingly close to him, skin to burning skin, felt so right, so natural. She couldn't begin to imag­ine why she'd ever been unable to respond to him.

  A small mew of pleasure escaped her throat, her whole body so sensitised now she knew she was about to wrap herself round him, make him wake, force him to bring her the release that only he could give.

  But if he didn't want to give it?

  The thought cooled, her like a dash of icy water. If he rejected her, as she had formerly rejected him, pushing him away whenever he came near her after the awkwardness of their wedding night, she would be utterly devastated, humiliated...

  She sucked in a savagely painful hiss of breath, realising for the very first time exactly how he must have felt and why, after a time, he had stayed away from her so often.

  Sudden tears burned behind her eyes. How could she have done that to him when she'd been so much in love with him? How could she have been so self-centred, never giving a thought to how he must have felt, absorbed in her own immature hang-ups?

  A tear of bitter regret fell on his shoulder blade. Unthinkingly, she bent her head and lapped it away with the tip of her tongue. And heard him moan softly, deep in his throat.

  Awake? For how long? When had the rhythm of his breathing altered, become shallower, more rapid? Cassie's body went still. Waiting. Tense with the dread of having the tables turned on her. And he said, his voice husky with need, 'Touch me, Cass.'

  Relief drenched through her. He wasn't going to take his revenge by telling her to keep her hands to herself. Relief and something stronger, wilder, had her pressing her naked body to his, fitting her thighs beneath his, her hand dipping lower.

  Fully aroused, he was sensational. She shuddered with deep, spiralling ecstasy, her head spinning wildly as he groaned raggedly and swept round to­wards her, crushing her in his arms, parting her legs with a strong hair-roughened thigh.

  'Wait—' She freed her trapped hand and raised it to gently touch his face, the heel of her palm resting along his tough, stubbly jawline, her fingers against one jutting cheekbone. 'I want to tell you—I promise you it wasn't just that I'd had a bit too much to drink. It was the thought of tonight that intoxicated me...'

  If
he believed her, he didn't say so. But perhaps the way his mouth took hers was answer enough. The hungry mastery of his kiss made her feel as if she were drowning; the hands that caressed and tor­mented every inch of her body sent her into a state of delirium and there were no words spoken when he finally plunged into her willing, receptive body.

  But who needed words when two desperately needy bodies, two loving souls were communing in the darkness of the warm, sweetly scented Spanish night?

  'If I didn't know better, I'd say you were not the woman I married.' Roman's slightly accented voice was soft and sultry and Cassie smiled dreamily into his smoky eyes.

  The tone of his voice told her that he liked the woman she had become in his bed far better than the woman he had married. She wasn't going to spoil the magic they'd created together by reminding him of why he'd chosen an immature, biddable little thing .to be his wife.

  Around dawn they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms and, moments ago, his light kisses on her eye­lids had woken her. Last night had been spectacular; they hadn't been able to get enough of each other, like starving people suddenly coming across a ban­quet.

  Untutored as she was, her responses to him had surprised her. She'd been quite shameless, very much more than merely willing, wanting to give to him as much as he had given to her.

  'Same beautiful hair,' he murmured, running his fingers through the long silky strands that were splayed out over the pillow, burnished to copper by the sunlight that filtered through the partly opened louvres. 'Same eyes—like the finest topaz—but with a light behind them that was never there before.'

  The tips of his fingers slid across her cheek, found her parted lips and she reached up, looping her hands behind his head, pulling him down to her, and the kiss was like a drug, sending her spinning out of control and when he broke it she gave a tiny sob of denial.

  'Shh—' he murmured, his eyes wicked, his sultry mouth curving. 'Patience, mi esposa. I have not yet finished my inventory. Indulge me.'

  She placed a shaky hand on his broad, bronzed chest, her body trembling with sharp awareness, her voice thick as she protested, 'Do you like tormenting me?'

  'I love it.' His sensual mouth framed the words softly, liquid grey eyes gleaming beneath the thick black lashes. 'Almost as much as I love touching you, looking at you. Cassie, mia, you have matured beautifully.'

  A languid hand slid the silk sheet away from her body. 'Lie back for me; let me look at you,' he com­manded lazily as his hands swept over her engorged breasts, over her slender waist, following the femi­nine flare of her hips, then trailing inwards, to the apex of her thighs. Cassie reached for him, writhing with the burning fever of desire, parting her legs in wanton invitation, glorying in the release of knowing her feeble hang-ups were a thing of the past, that she could at last show him how much she loved him.

  Then briefly, like a shadow, she saw a frown gather between his eyes, his jawline tightening as he pulled in his breath.

  Something was wrong. Hadn't she pleased him as much as she'd thought she had? Despite what he'd just said, did he suddenly find her eagerness distaste­ful? Anxiety clouded Cassie's eyes as she lifted a tentative hand and laid it against the side of his face.

  'Roman?'

  At her touch, the sound of her voice, the frown disappeared and the stillness that had held his body rigid melted away. She saw dark colour streak his hard, jutting cheekbones as he gave a rough growl low in his throat and demonstrated the full power of his possession.

  She hadn't known it could be like this, Cassie mused one hour later as they exited the shower, wrapped around each other. The physical expression of love was so addictive.

  She felt so sated she could barely move, and closed her eyes as he reached for a fluffy bath sheet and gently patted her dry before mopping the mois­ture from his own superb body. Thankfully, whatever had briefly troubled him had been forgotten. Or per­haps she had simply imagined it...

  'The day is half gone,' he told her as he rubbed the towel over his hair, leaving it sticking up in en­dearing spikes. 'What would you like to do with the rest of it? Take a picnic to the beach? Or perhaps you'd prefer a restaurant?'

  'I'd rather stay here,' she admitted huskily, her golden eyes drenched with soft emotion.

  Roman grinned at her, his teeth very white against the bronze tones of his skin, his eyes glinting wick­edly. 'I hoped you'd say that. Far more interesting things can happen in the privacy of our own home.' He dropped the towel, closed the small gap between them and put a brief kiss across her mouth. 'I'll make coffee and find something to eat. Come down when you're ready. And Cass—' he was already at the door to their adjoining bedroom '—wear something easy to get out of!'

  Waves of love rolled over her, making her giddy. She wanted to stay here with him for ever, just the two of them.

  Just the two? She suddenly remembered that she'd forgotten to take her pill last night. They might al­ready be a threesome! She couldn't recall how many times they'd made love.

  But it didn't matter, did it? Surely now that the lovemaking side of their marriage had been put so magnificently right he would want her to stay, want to make their marriage work? He had never pre­tended to be in love with her, but after last night he would put their troubled past behind him and build on what they now had.

  Of course he would!

  And even if he didn't love her now, love could grow, couldn't it?

  Rough-drying her hair with the towel he'd dis­carded, she wandered through to the bedroom, the prickle of excitement deep inside her beginning all over again as she wondered which of her many new garments would be the most flattering and the sim­plest to remove!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'You are certainly a different person now,' Roman commented smoothly. He looked at ease, one arm draped along the back of the bench seat, his fingers touching the tousled copper strands of her hair as it tumbled over her shoulders. But his relaxed smile didn't reach eyes that seemed, in the half-light of a misty dawn, strangely wary. 'Is it the year away from me, from Spain, that has made you so? Being back in England has made you happier?'

  Cassie glanced quickly away, swung her legs up on the upholstered bench seat that hugged the far side of the rose-smothered summer house and leant back against him.

  She really didn't want to think about that year of separation, or the two years that had gone before. What had started out as a cold-blooded, wicked bar­gain had turned into a truly wonderful second hon­eymoon. She didn't want anything to spoil it.

  Five weeks of wedded bliss, of lazy sun-drenched days, velvet, perfumed nights, wild bursts of passion in the most unexpected places, at the most unex­pected times—lovers getting to know every intimate detail of each other's bodies in their own secluded paradise. Being shut away from the outside world had left her feeling she inhabited a haven of magical unreality.

  But unfortunately reality was about to poke its nose in, she conceded reluctantly. Of course he would want to know why she'd walked out on their marriage. Only by raking over the past could they hope to put the future right. And if she looked reality squarely and bravely in the face she would have to admit that she still didn't know whether he wanted her to stay with him beyond the three-month limit he'd set.

  And she was almost certain she was pregnant.

  She dragged a sigh up from the bottom of her lungs. The cold breath of reality was definitely un­comfortable.

  Roman said, his voice controlled, 'It is a subject that interests me, even if you would prefer not to think about our misguided marriage.'

  'Misguided?' she echoed tremulously. After these last rapturous weeks, did he still think their marriage had been a mistake? How could that be, when they had become so close? Physically, at least, though there had been times when she'd been sure some­thing was troubling him.

  He snatched in an impatient breath. 'Look at me when I'm talking to you!' he commanded gruffly, placing strong hands on her hips and swinging her round so that her feet hit the
tiled floor and she was slewed across the cushions, facing him.

  Cassie could feel his anger and it made her want to weep. Something was wrong, very wrong, and she had to face it, not keep brushing it under the carpet, pretending it was all in her imagination. She asked, as calmly as she could, 'Roman, what's on your mind? Something is.'

  She met his brooding eyes, try­ing not to show her anxiety, her very real fear. 'We've been happy together, you know we have, yet there have been times when you've seemed to dis­tance yourself... times when you've looked at me with something like disgust. I want to know why.'

  He gave her a lancing look, his mouth tight round the words that suddenly poured from him. 'When we first married I thought I could make you content— happy, even. But after our wedding night together it became painfully obvious that I couldn't. You couldn't bear it when I touched you. Now it seems you can't get enough of sex,' he uttered darkly. 'So who taught you? You certainly didn't allow me that privilege.'

  'Oh!' She felt her face burn with sudden outraged colour. How could he think such a thing, let alone say it? The morning sun was beginning to break through the mist, the air shimmering with opaline colours; outside the summer house, a stand of euca­lyptus trees swayed gracefully in the slight breeze, their misty white branches and silver leaves ghostly in the growing light. But inside it was darker, Roman's face shadowed and suddenly somehow for­bidding.

  A shudder rocked her body.

  'You are cold? Or have I touched a nerve?' Roman asked drily.

  'Not cold, angry,' she framed vehemently. 'How could you think that of me, after the way we've been together? I don't sleep around! You're the only man I've ever made love with!'

  Even though she was only wearing a pair of brief turquoise cotton shorts and a matching bra-style top, the morning was warm. Too warm, really. She felt a band of perspiration form above her short upper lip and saw by the tightening of his mobile, utterly sen­suous mouth that her instinctive and truthful reply hadn't impressed him.