He nodded. ‘And there has been no engagement? No close brushes with marriage?’
Her heart squeezed because his interrogation felt painful for all kinds of reasons. It made her feel like a failure and it made her feel like a bit of a freak. ‘No.’
‘Ever lived with anyone?’
‘No again.’
‘In that case, I will be doing you an enormous favour, Emily.’
She screwed up her face in genuine confusion. ‘How do you work that one out?’
Did she imagine the flicker of pleasure which lifted the corners of his lips and the glint of triumph which sparked in the depths of his green eyes?
‘A man who has never married is seen as something of a catch. As sexy and elusive,’ he murmured. ‘Unfortunately, it is not the same for a woman since she loses her appeal with each year that passes.’
It was a good thing she wasn’t still holding her glass of water because Emily honestly thought she might have hurled it at his patronising head. But at least his outrageous comment propelled her out of the numbness caused by his shock proposal of marriage. ‘Did you decide to throw all the feminist textbooks onto a bonfire of your own arrogance?’ she hissed at him, the serenity of her yoga pose forgotten. ‘Or are you just going out of your way to insult me—as I suspected from the beginning?’
‘Please don’t shoot the messenger. I am merely telling it how it is,’ he said calmly, with an expansive shrug of his broad, bare shoulders. He pillowed his ruffled black head back against crossed arms and studied her reflectively. ‘But if you were a divorcee,’ he mused, ‘and a rich one, to boot...that would immediately make you attractive to all kinds of men. Which means you’d have a lot more chance of finding yourself a suitable partner in the future.’
Even though she knew her reaction was deeply irrational, Emily found herself hurt by the things he was saying. But why shouldn’t he talk about her long-term future so objectively and with no role for him to play in it, when that was the reality? Yes, he’d had sex with her and, yes, he was offering her a bizarre kind of marriage—but he wasn’t doing it because he had feelings for her. And although she could see the undoubted benefits of him taking a temporary bride—hadn’t she suggested it herself?—she sensed he wasn’t telling her the whole story.
‘I’m getting a strong suspicion that your desire to bed me and wed me might be motivated more by revenge than a quest for respectability,’ she said slowly.
Alej almost smiled, until he reminded himself that her sometimes uncanny ability to read his mind was something he should be wary of. It was certainly nothing to admire. Yet her words rang true, didn’t they? A marriage of convenience would undoubtedly put paid to the rather tedious description of playboy, which always followed him around. But more than that, it would place her uniquely in his control. They would be living together and sleeping together. What greater opportunity would there be for him to have his delicious fill of her before casting her aside, as once she had done to him? ‘It is true that my feelings towards you are mixed, Emily.’
‘Because I was the only woman to have ever walked away?’ she guessed.
‘You think my ego overrides all other considerations?’
‘Possibly.’
‘I cannot deny your words and yet it is a little more...complex than that, querida.’ There was a pause. ‘You never really gave me a reason for your sudden change of mind, did you, Emily? You went from screaming ecstatically in my arms to condescending ice maiden within the space of hours. You walked away from me as if we were strangers who had just met. You gave me your virginity, then you told me that you didn’t love me and that you wanted other men. And you never really explained why.’
There was a pause while Emily’s mind spun with possibilities and she stared down at the swirly patterns on her trousers, unwilling to meet his piercing gaze. Surely it was best to just brush his question aside and leave the past where it should be. But then she wondered who she was trying to protect—surely not a man who had ruled her mother’s life with a rod of steel before leaving his stepdaughter a sick horse as a final mark of contempt. And wasn’t there a part of Emily which wanted to redeem herself in Alej’s eyes—who wanted him to stop looking at her with that thinly veiled scorn?
‘My stepfather threatened me,’ she said slowly as she lifted her gaze to his. ‘He told me he would never forgive me if I continued to see you.’
He gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head so that the dark waves of hair dangled around his neck. ‘And, of course, he was such a worthwhile individual that you desperately needed his approval? Forgive me if I don’t buy that, Emily, when I know how much you hated and feared him. Perhaps you were more concerned he would cut off all your money.’
She sucked in a deep breath as she lifted her gaze to him. Had she stupidly underestimated his intelligence? That he would just suck up any story she was prepared to give him? ‘No, you’re right. It wasn’t just that,’ she admitted and she swallowed the lump which had risen in her throat. ‘My mother begged me to listen to him and to do as he said, because he threatened to divorce her if I got involved with someone like you.’
‘Someone like me?’ he repeated. ‘What exactly does that mean?’
The lump in her throat wasn’t shifting but Emily knew she couldn’t avoid the question burning from his green eyes. ‘You were poor and had no father and that didn’t sit well with his inflated ideas of his place in society. My mother was terrified of what her life without him would be.’
‘Without his wealth, you mean?’ he suggested softly.
Emily bit her lip. No, not just his wealth—although that had obviously been a big attraction. But her mother had been one of those women for whom a life was not complete without a man. Her first husband had been poor and after being widowed, she had devoted all her energy to finding a rich replacement and, when she’d succeeded, had clung onto him like a limpet.
And didn’t it frighten Emily to think she might have inherited that sapping trait of mindless dependence? She’d been acutely aware of loving Alej back then, in a way which could never have been reciprocated—because what hope was there for a relationship between a man on the brink of a glittering international career and a teenager who was barely out of school? Wasn’t that another factor which had convinced her it would be better in the long run if she let him go, because that way she would avoid all the inevitable pain when he stopped caring about her? Once again, she dropped her gaze, not wanting him to see the fear in her eyes.
‘Something like that,’ she said.
Alej stiffened. She was lying about something, he just didn’t know what—lying in that smooth, natural way which came so easily to women. But, in a way, didn’t her duplicity bolster his intention to wed her? His mouth twisted. Wouldn’t it give him a kick to make a mockery out of the whole damned institution of marriage, while allowing him to enjoy legal sex with the woman who could turn him on like nobody else?
‘But they divorced anyway, didn’t they?’ he questioned.
She swallowed. ‘Yes.’
‘And your mother died soon afterwards?’
She paused for a moment, recounting the facts like bullet points—as if she was determined to avoid having to answer any more questions about it. ‘Yes. In a house fire. I was away at university and unable to visit her as often as I’d done before. She’d taken tranquillisers—more than usual—and obviously didn’t put out her cigarette properly. She didn’t hear the smoke alarm go off and by the time the fire brigade arrived, it was too late. They said she wouldn’t have known anything.’ For a long time afterwards she had been plagued by guilt. Guilt that she’d been unable to save her mother. And guilt at the relief she’d felt on being freed from the burden of care.
He spoke softly in Spanish, sympathising with her for her loss, and she inclined her head in acceptance.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
But
Alej did not allow the momentary air of reflection to detract him from his purpose as he forged on with his proposal. ‘Of course, if you married me—’
She shook her head. ‘Alej, let it go. It’s not going to happen. Why would it?’
‘Why, for sex and for money, of course,’ he continued softly. ‘Those are the main reasons why women marry rich and eligible men, aren’t they? We’re just being a little more open about it than most.’
‘And what about...’ she hesitated before plucking up enough courage to ask it ‘...what about love?’
‘What about it? I think it’s overrated.’ He saw something die in her eyes and felt a warm rush of pleasure. ‘Overused,’ he continued, with harsh emphasis. ‘And even if you feel it for a while—it’s soon over.’
‘But there are other kinds of love,’ she objected. ‘The kind which endures. What about the love a mother has for her child?’
Alej felt his skin grow cold. ‘You think your mother was such a shining example of maternal love, do you, Emily?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not naïve enough to think that, no. But maybe your mother—’
‘Let’s just change the subject, shall we?’ he interrupted. ‘I thought we were talking about my marriage to you.’
‘We were. And I’ve made my feelings on the subject clear.’
He got out of bed and he could see suspicion vying with desire as he walked over to the window seat and pulled her to her feet. And as soon as she was in his arms, all that instant chemistry was back. The moment they touched—even though he was naked and she was fully dressed—he became fired up with lust.
‘Would you like me to change your mind for you?’
‘That’s not...fair,’ she mumbled unconvincingly as he began to stroke his finger over her neck beneath the thick fall of unbrushed hair.
‘I think you would,’ he murmured. ‘That’s the feeling I’m getting, loud and clear.’
‘We’re...we’re standing right in front of the window.’
‘It’s reflective from the outside,’ he growled. ‘Nobody can see in.’
He silenced any further words with his mouth, finding her lips with an urgent kind of hunger, achingly aware of the low groan which seemed to come from deep inside him. She kissed with a passion which made him silently curse and wonder how she could make him feel this way. Like it was the first time all over again. As if he’d never had sex with anyone else. His groin grew rock-hard and he closed his heart to further analysis. It was what it was. Why knock it before he had fully exploited it?
His hands on her hips, he backed her towards the nearest wall and wondered if this might bring her to her senses. If she’d tell him to get his hands off her and announce she was going to break her contract, because they couldn’t keep having indiscriminate sex like this, as boss and employee. And didn’t part of him want that? Wouldn’t he have respected her more if she’d done that—shown some fire and spirit and strength—if she’d morphed back into the pure virgin he’d once known and respected? But she didn’t. She did what every woman who ever came near him did. Flung her arms around his neck and positioned herself with an effortless tilt of her pelvis, so that the removal of her trousers became almost seamless.
Her panties slid to the floor and she bucked as he touched her. He wanted to explode as he moved his hand away from her wet heat to fetch another condom, but the action wasn’t made any easier by the frantic way Emily was circling her hips. With a swift, delaying kiss he pushed her away and walked over to find what he was looking for, tearing open the foil as he reached her again. Bending his head to her peaking nipple, he slid one hand between her thighs. He wanted to instruct her to put the rubber on for him, but already he seemed so close to coming that he suspected her trembling fingers might end it all too quickly and the risk of that was something he wouldn’t tolerate.
It seemed to take for ever, but at last he was able to push deep inside her and the loud groan he heard reverberating around the high-ceilinged room was all his. He rocked into her—over and over—and it was hard and fast and elemental. He heard her choked sob as she began to come but his own orgasm was upon him almost immediately. Swamped by the pulsing tide of pleasure and fatigued by the lethargy which instantly swept over him, he slumped against her, his breath fanning her neck. Long seconds passed—or it might have been minutes—until he had the strength to lift his head to study her. To brush away her ruffled hair as he bent his lips to her ear.
‘So. Are you going to marry me, Emily?’
Emily told herself to say no. To protect herself from his powerful allure and from her own weakness and susceptibility to him. But no words came. Only a stupid rush of pleasure at the thought of being his wife. Something painful twisted deep inside her, because she realised that she had walked straight into a trap of her own making. She’d proposed a marriage of convenience because she’d thought it could help advance his political aspirations and, now that the chips were down, she couldn’t bear the thought of some other woman wearing his ring.
So could she risk marrying him, despite the fact that once she’d loved him and she suspected that a lot of that love was still there? Because if she agreed to become his bride it was imperative she keep that fact secret, or she would be at a tactical disadvantage. Far better to focus on the material advantages of becoming Señora Sabato and allow Alej to think she was motivated by nothing more threatening than avarice.
‘I guess it’s too good an offer to turn down,’ she said, injecting her voice with a deliberate note of greed.
As if on cue, a cold light flared in his green eyes. ‘Of course it is.’
‘How much are you offering me?’ she continued, forcing herself to play the game. ‘How much do you think I’m worth?’
‘The two things are not necessarily the same.’ A hard light came into his eyes as, slowly, he told her just how much he was prepared to pay.
Emily swallowed, the game momentarily forgotten. ‘Gosh,’ she said faintly. ‘I guess only an idiot would refuse that kind of money.’
‘Or someone with principles, perhaps—which have clearly bypassed you along the way,’ he responded cuttingly. ‘What kind of a wedding do you want, Emily?’
The kind where the groom is looking at me with love, not with a mixture of scorn and lust. The kind which is destined to last for ever.
But Emily pushed the hopeless thoughts away and shrugged, determined not to communicate the sudden hopeless ache in her heart. ‘If we’re going to go through with a meaningless ceremony, we might as well do it in style,’ she said briskly. ‘I mean, I think a church service would be a step too far, but there’s no reason why we can’t go the whole hog with a white dress and flowers and all the attendant razzmatazz. That’s the kind of story which the press love—and this is all about publicity, isn’t it? And in the meantime...’ She cleared her throat. ‘We really ought to have an engagement ring to add credibility.’
He nodded. ‘Have a look online in the morning and choose something you like the look of.’
‘Online?’ she repeated dully.
‘Sure. There must be some sort of design you’ve always lusted after. Carat size no obstacle, of course. We should be able to take delivery of it before the big race tomorrow, so that you can show it off to the world.’
Emily’s heart pounded. His words were the antithesis of romance but she told herself to be grateful for that. Because nothing could have emphasised better that this was simply a marriage of convenience than Alej’s emotionless statement about buying her engagement ring online.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE WERE FLOWERS EVERYWHERE. Massed white roses and tiny pale-blue forget-me-nots, which Emily quickly realised were the colours of the Argentinian flag. It was a nice touch from the Vinoly Hotel, she acknowledged—a luxury South American–owned hotel in London which Alej had taken over for the weekend and where their wedding was shortly
to take place.
She stared into the mirror at the unlikely vision of herself in a wedding dress, because, despite her groom’s sarcastic words about choosing the kind of engagement ring she’d always lusted after, she’d never had daydreams about what she might wear on such a day. There had been one very glaring omission to wedding-day dreams because it had been impossible to imagine such a day without Alej, which had obviously been a strictly forbidden fantasy. But fantasy had somehow become reality and a huge yellow-diamond engagement ring was sparkling at her finger, while a waterfall of tulle was held in place by a fragrant crown of creamy roses. Behind her stood Marybeth, though still with concern criss-crossing her face.
‘Are you sure?’ questioned her only bridesmaid, for the hundredth time. ‘It’s not too late to back out. I mean, are you absolutely sure you’re doing the right thing?’
Of course she wasn’t. But Emily certainly couldn’t blame her friend for her repeated questioning. Wouldn’t she have done exactly the same if the situation had been reversed? Brushing her fingertip over one of the antique roses in her bouquet, she forced a smile. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Because it’s been so fast—’
‘I know. But we were lovers years ago.’
‘Yeah. So you said. But marriage? Especially when you seemed so unsure about even taking the job. And now this. A big, fancy wedding in front of the Argentinian ambassador and all. It’s such a big step. Do you...?’ Marybeth shifted a little awkwardly on her mauve satin ballet pumps ‘Do you love him, Emily?’
Emily felt her heart twist. She didn’t want to answer this—not to herself and certainly not to her closest girlfriend. Because who wasn’t to say that the churning emotions she’d been experiencing for weeks weren’t just the result of hormones—of her body finally being sexually satisfied after all the arid years since Alej had last made love to her? Yet because she could see the fear on Marybeth’s face, she found herself uttering soothing words, which happened to be rooted in truth.
Bought Bride For The Argentinian (Conveniently Wed!) Page 10
