After Their Vows

by Michelle Reid

  Self-preservation kicking in, she assumed, as she glimpsed signs of civilisation appearing in front of her, and only a few minutes later she was joining the main highway. Relief was a feeling, she acknowledged as she heaved out another sigh.

  It was only a short second later that a red Ferrari flashed up beside her, then shot past, only to pull in front of her two metres away from her front bumper.

  ‘Is that you?’ she gasped in surprise.

  ‘Sim, it is me,’ Roque responded.

  ‘But—what are you doing here? ‘

  ‘I am here to make sure that you don’t get lost again before I have had a chance to throttle you, meu querida,’ he explained, so smoothly Angie almost missed the threat threading through his silken tone.

  ‘Just—go to hell, meu querido,’ Angie said, and switched the phone off, preferring to finish the rest of the journey following his car without having to listen to him at the same time.

  She hated him, she remembered. He was a lying, cheating, self-seeking playboy. The minute she got back to the house she was going to pack her things and leave. Her head was aching. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. She had a stupid pregnancy test lying on the seat beside her, and he had his mistress waiting for him not far away.

  The first strangled sob tore from her as she followed him through the quinta gates, then into the tunnel of trees. By the time she came out again into hot bright sunlight the tears were trickling down her cheeks.

  She stopped the car behind his at the front steps, then reached up to wipe the tears away with one hand while the other fumbled to unlock her seat belt. Reaching for her things from the seat beside her, she was about to open the car door when it suddenly flew open, and Roque stood there, looking less than his usual immaculate self.

  Angie allowed herself a brief flickering glance at him. His hard-edged face was marblelike, the golden skin across the curving sweep of his cheekbones pulled tight. He stuck out a long-fingered hand in a grimly silent offer to assist her to alight from the car, but she ignored it, preferring to slide her long legs out over the high sill to land on slender heels the length of five-inch spikes.

  The hand stretched out again, as if to steady her just in case the slender heels would not support her, and Angie quivered. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she whispered, then brushed around him and ran up the steps to the house.

  Ramming his rejected hand into a fist, Roque watched her almost twist off one of the ridiculous shoes in her rush to get away from him, and bit back a colourful oath. ‘For God’s sake, Angie, be careful—’

  For God’s sake, Angie turned into For God’s sake, Nadia in her head, and her spine shot erect with a jerk as she strode as fast as she dared into the house

  She’d already crossed the vast empty space of the grand hallway and was running up the stairs by the time Roque reached the front door. Her white and green dress clung to every slender curve and her hair hung in a rich river of fire between her taut shoulderblades. The shoes were too high. The marble staircase was unforgiving to anyone who should fall on it. He’d seen the tracks of tears streaking her pale cheeks before she’d pushed past him, and—

  ‘Slow down before you break your neck!’ he roared as he strode after her. ‘You are not going to shake me off, Angie, so you might as well stop trying!’

  Angie had reached the graceful curve of the upper landing by then, and she spun round and leant over the banister. Halfway up the marble staircase Roque paused and looked at her, and that unfair, totally unyielding crash of attraction she always felt when she looked at him caught Angie full-on. The way he was standing there, with one foot elevated to the higher step, one long-fingered hand resting lightly against the banister rail sensually—as if he was caressing the rich dark colonial wood. Everything about him was sensual, from the untidy state of his jet silk hair to the striped shirt hanging open at his throat. The unsmiling taut mouth, the slightly flaring nostrils, the deep, dark bottomless eyes looking at her with.

  ‘You are a total womanising rat.’ She broke down on the first helpless sob. ‘If—if I had a knife handy I would be jumping over this rail so I could plunge it into your chest!’

  Roque released a sigh. ‘I can explain about Nadia—’

  ‘Don’t you dare use that woman’s name in front of me!’ she choked out. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t marry her, since you obviously can’t live without h-her.’

  ‘What you overheard on the terrace this morning was—’

  ‘Do I look as if want an explanation?’ Angie tossed down at him like an electric thunderbolt. ‘And anyway, it’s too late. I know all about Nadia and her baby. I know you have them neatly stashed away inside your stupid Lisbon apartment.’

  His expression changed. She saw the guilty flicker. ‘Angie—’

  ‘Don’t you dare come up here,’ she said as he started walking again. ‘If you come up here I will kill you, I promise. I don’t want you near me ever again!’

  And with that she leapt away from the rail and ran to shut herself in their suite. She wanted to throw herself down on the bed and sob her eyes out, but knowing he could only be a few seconds behind her she locked herself inside her bathroom instead.

  When she came out again she was wrapped in her bathrobe, having spent ages just standing beneath the fierce shower jets, pale as milk. The need to shed tears all over the place had gone now. In fact she felt horribly hollow and flat.

  There was no sign of Roque, though she did not go looking around the rest of the suite to check. Instead she walked over to the centre island unit, slid open one of the drawers, then lifted out the tissue-wrapped parcel and laid it down gently on the top.

  Perhaps it was fated that Roque should approach her right then, with the silent stealth of a mugger. The first Angie knew of his presence was when his hands came from behind her and settled on the top of the unit, effectively trapping her within the circle of his body and his arms. He’d showered too, she noticed as she picked up on the clean scent of his soap. And he was wearing a matching bathrobe to the one she was wearing.

  ‘Let us get a few things straight while we have some calmness here,’ he murmured, bringing his dark head low enough that his breath brushed her cheek. ‘Nadia is not my mistress.’

  With her head dipped, Angie responded with an inelegant sniff.

  ‘Her baby is not my baby. She does not live in my apartment. She lives in the one below, with the man she married several months ago. He is her baby’s father. He is Brazilian, very rich, quite old, and just out of a nasty divorce in Rio in which Nadia was cited as the adulterous cause—hence their swift move here, away from the hostile backlash.’

  Angie hunched her shoulders inside the white towelling and said not a word.

  Roque inhaled a deep breath. ‘I know I should have told you about Nadia before now,’ he continued. ‘But I am stupid and arrogant. And three weeks ago I wanted to keep Nadia as a weapon to use against you if you—if you hurt me again. Also, I did not see why I should be forced into defending myself for something I did not do. Since then there has not seemed to be the right moment for me to tell you she is here in Lisbon, so I kept the information to myself—like a coward.’

  When Angie still held her silence, even with the deliberate provocation he’d offered her with the coward confession, he invited, ‘Will you say something? Even if it is only I hate you, Roque …’

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ Angie whispered.

  For a few wretched seconds she thought he hadn’t understood her, because he remained so silent and still.

  So she tried again. ‘I said I am pregnant.’

  ‘I heard you,’ he husked.

  ‘I w-went to Sintra to buy a testing kit, and I am positively, properly p-pregnant … again.’

  The last word came out all wobbly. She tried swallowing and found she couldn’t. She tried blinking the moisture out of her eyes but it just swam back in. Behind her she could feel the throbbing power of his tension. Lifting her hands off the white tissue, she
closed them into fists.

  ‘Explain the again part,’ he said finally.

  Angie tried again to swallow the trembling lump in her throat, then just let it all pour out. He did not move a single muscle. He wasn’t even breathing as far as she could tell. When she faltered to a halt, the final thing to tremble from her lips was, ‘Now I’m scared the same thing is going to happen again …’

  Trying to drag himself out of the dark place his mind had gone into, Roque blinked his eyes. The one small chink of light he could see in what she had just confessed to him was that at least this time she was standing here telling him, instead of running away to hide.

  And she had every right to feel scared. He felt scared. And the same damn issues that had torn their marriage apart twelve months ago were still hanging around, threatening to do the same thing again.

  ‘I bought the apartment from Nadia’s husband this morning. They have decided to move to Spain.’ he said, not surprised when Angie quivered in front of him. He’d hurt her by ignoring the import of what she’d said. But he was not ignoring it. He was cleaning it. ‘When I explained to him the predicament I was in due to our past dealings with Nadia he was not pleased. He had no idea that she’d done to another marriage what she had done to his own. The difference for him is that he did have an affair with her. She did conceive his child—his only child. His son. And …’ His voice wavered ruefully. ‘He loves her. I saw the evidence in his face because I know how it feels to love someone so badly you are stuck with that one true love for life.’

  ‘Badly?’ Angie squeezed out.

  ‘As in bad for me,’ Roque confirmed. ‘I did not want your brother nudging in between us. I did not want your career commitments to take precedence over mine. That kiss with Nadia on the dance floor was me behaving badly. When the result of it blew up in my face and you walked away from me I got what I deserved. I gave you nothing but hassle and heartache.’

  ‘No …’ At last Angie stopped just standing there, still hiding from him, and swivelled round to wrap her arms tightly around his waist. ‘I was a lousy wife to you. I let Alex nudge in between us. I drove you into Nadia’s arms. I was wildly in love with you but didn’t know how to love you. I’m so sorry,’ she finished helplessly. ‘I should have told you about—about the baby. You had a right to know. Instead I hid away.’

  ‘Because I let you down.’

  Angie shook her head. ‘I let you down. I sh-should have given you the opportunity to explain about Nadia.’

  ‘I let you down,’ he repeated grimly. ‘I let you down because I was not there when you needed me more than you had ever needed me. I think that makes me a lousy husband, Angie. If you want to stick that knife in my chest I will let you.’

  He was not joking. ‘I think I’ve already done it,’ Angie murmured contritely.

  ‘Sim,‘ Roque agreed. ‘Now you say you are pregnant again.’

  ‘And I’m scared,’ she repeated, in case he had missed that bit when she’d said it earlier.

  He hadn’t. Without the slightest of warning he gathered her up into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. Dragging back the covers, he deposited her on the bed, then came down beside her and enclosed her in his embrace.

  ‘You are going to stop thinking about the worst-case scenario, okay?’ he instructed.

  ‘Okay.’ Angie nodded.

  ‘Let me do all the worrying for you.’ He lifted a hand to stroke her hair away from the side of her face. ‘You just think pleasant thoughts from now on, and we will deal with this together—as we should have done the time before.’

  Angie nodded again.

  ‘No more running around in high-heeled shoes. No more getting lost in hills. And no more fights about stupid Nadia,’ he added. ‘In fact, no more fights at all.’

  ‘Okay,’ Angie agreed.

  ‘First thing we do tomorrow is go and see a doctor. If necessary we will fly over to London and consult with a—’

  ‘I hope you feed me before then,’ Angie posed wistfully. ‘I haven’t eaten a thing today and I’m starving to death.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’ He was already trying to get up when Angie grabbed hold of him and brought him back to her.

  ‘No, don’t go,’ she breathed tautly. ‘I like it when you hold me. It makes me feel—safe.’

  ‘Loved,’ Roque said with a faint edge of tension as he came back into her embrace. ‘The word you hesitated over using is loved.’

  ‘Loved and safe, then,’ Angie extended, then her beautiful green eyes misted over and her soft mouth trembled. ‘I love you so much,’ she whispered softly. ‘I was so miserable when I thought I’d lost you.’

  That edge of tension left him, and he gathered her closer so he could cover her mouth with a slow, incredibly tender kiss.

  Of course the kiss didn’t stay slow and tender. It never could for them. As the passion intensified and their legs tangled together and their breathing quickened, Angie was not in the least bit amused when he suddenly drew back.

  ‘We can’t,’ he groaned out hoarsely, flinging himself flat onto his back. ‘We have to think about the baby now.’

  He was oh-so right, and Angie just didn’t know what so say. Sorry seemed appropriate, because she just couldn’t imagine how they were going to manage for long months without indulging their desire for each other—if she carried this baby through to the end.

  ‘I could always …’ She fed a hand down his long tense body, only to have Roque snatch it away.

  ‘I wasn’t complaining,’ he said frowningly. ‘Don’t even think like that again.’

  ‘Sorry,’ whispered from her lips in genuine contrition. ‘I was being—impulsive.’

  ‘You were being adorable,’ he groaned, rolling over to gather her in close again. ‘We will just have to practise self-control, that’s all.’

  ‘Or … we could get up and drive into Lisbon to see the doctor now. Check out what’s safe for us and what isn’t?’

  Eyes like black caverns spun with hints of bronzed mockery captured hers. ‘You insatiable witch,’ Roque murmured.

  Angie just looked up at him and said nothing. He shifted his gaze to her defiantly pouting mouth. A lazy teasing smile spread across his own mouth, then suddenly died again.

  ‘Okay, let’s go,’ he announced.

  The water was glorious, all warm and silkily soapy. Angie lay in it, feeling like an exotic siren being pampered by her loving slave.

  ‘If this bump grows any bigger we will have to install a deeper bath,’ Roque complained as he stroked the flat of his hand over her tightly swollen abdomen.

  ‘You love this bump,’ Angie murmured lazily. ‘You love getting into this bath with me.’

  Water sloshed as he shifted his position and came to stretch out at her side, his long, lean bronze-skinned body the perfect contrast to Angie’s pearly white slenderness—not including the bump.

  ‘It works for us, my voluptuous one,’ he teased her, stroking his fingers around the soapy globe of one lush breast. ‘When I am ready, I can slide inside you with the minimum of effort required on your part—and don’t you just love it when I do?’

  The roaming hand slid lower, meandering away from her breast so he could replace his fingers there with his mouth. Angie stirred on a sensuous murmur of pleasure. The roaming fingers dipped between her thighs, sending her eyelashes fluttering upwards and her head turning on its waterproof pillow.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she begged.

  Her handsome slave complied. Her arms lifted up, then fell again around his neck, and he made the kiss mimic the sensuous action of his caressing fingers.

  It was all so gloriously beautiful she murmured, ‘Love you,’ against his lips.

  ‘Show me,’ he encouraged, and she did show him. She wasn’t so restricted by her advanced pregnancy that she could not indulge him as much as he was indulging her.

  The first few months had meant weeks of restraint and carefully controlled anxiety, until sh
e’d finally accepted that she was not going to miscarry this precious baby as she had their first child. These last few months had been filled with the most wonderful moments of pure happiness and exquisite lovemaking, with days filled with planning for their baby, and nights filled with perfect passion offered by the man who loved her more than she’d ever dared believe was possible.

  She loved to feel his senses quicken for her. She loved to see the burning heat of his desire for her blaze in his eyes. She loved it when he came over her, as he was doing now, and made that first slow drive with his hips that joined them. She loved to see the fierce depth of his desire for her strip everything but his love for her from his beautiful face.

  Reaching up, she touched his lips with her fingers, and smiled tenderly when he kissed them. Then she wasn’t smiling—she was drowning, in him, and in what he could make her feel.

  Later they lay together in their bed, with the winter moonlight tracing a path across the windows. Angie felt her baby give her a pummelling kick, and smiled when Roque soothed his son with a stroke of his hand.

  ‘To think,’ she said, ‘we almost lost all of this.’

  It didn’t seem possible they had come so close to the brink.

  ‘A esperança é a última que morre, ‘ Roque murmured.

  ‘You’ve said that before.’ Angie turned to look at him. ‘What does it mean?’

  One of those impassive smiles she found difficult to read passed across his face. ‘Hope is the last one to die,’ he translated.

  He had never lost faith.

  ‘Oh, Roque, come and look at this,’ Angie called softly.

  She was leaning on their balcony rail, looking down on the pool terrace below. Feeling the stroke of his hands as they claimed her waist, Angie indicated with her head to the sunny terrace, where her brother Alex sat on a sun lounger with their son sitting within the protective circle of his strong tanned legs.

  Alex was reading out loud from one of his course books, while six-month old Luis listened, his attention fixed on his uncle’s face and the melodious resonance of his voice.