by Day Leclaire
“Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Possibly...” His suspicion grew and with it his certainty that she was concealing something from him. “Or is there another reason, one you prefer to keep from me?”
Her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat, capturing his attention. “There’s nothing,” she whispered, a hint of despair flitting across her delicate features. “Not any more.”
Then it came to him in a white-hot flash. “Madre de Dios! There is more.”
“No—”
“Don’t lie to me! You were planning to marry this evening.” He caught her shoulders in a bone-crushing grip. “Weren’t you?”
For a moment, he didn’t think she’d answer. Then her chin tilted and she looked him square in the eye. “Why so shocked? Wasn’t that your plan, as well? You’ve suggested as much.”
He forced himself to ease his hold, to caress the bared shoulder beneath his palm instead of crushing it. Something felt off kilter, but he couldn’t seem to work through his fury to discover what. “Why, Ella?” he questioned gently. “Why would you do such a reckless thing?”
“Reckless? The Montagues’ daughter meeting the man of her dreams at the Cinderella Ball isn’t reckless.” An impenetrable calm encased her as she spoke, an icy reserve he felt compelled to breach. “I find it quite appropriate.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Anger flashed within his silver gaze. “There’s nothing at all appropriate about marrying a man you’ve only just met this evening. And you damned well know it. If I had my way there would be no more Cinderella Balls.”
“I’m well aware of that. I’m also well aware that you’ve done everything within your power to bring an end to them.”
A humorless smile cut across the angled planes of his face. “Not everything, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“What do you mean?”
He sensed her alarm, but did nothing to ease it. “I mean there were one or two methods I chose not to implement.”
“You mean you choose not to implement them...yet.” He inclined his head in agreement and her mouth compressed. “I’m surprised you were willing to show such restraint.”
“I prefer to employ less absolute options,” he retorted. “Unfortunately, they haven’t worked. Which leaves me with a small dilemma.”
Ella lifted a dark eyebrow. “Is that so? You amaze me. In the past you never would have hesitated to do your worst. Don’t tell me you’ve learned compassion or forgiveness in the past five years.”
He tugged her closer, bitterly amused when even that failed to intimidate her. But then, why should she fear him? No matter how angry he became, he could never harm her. She had to know that. “If I’m a man without compassion or forgiveness, you have only yourself to blame.”
A surprising softness glistened within the tawny depths of her eyes. “I don’t believe that anymore than I believe you’d carry through with the various threats you’ve made over the past few years.”
“That may prove a costly mistake on your part.” He allowed a grim warning to infuse his voice. “The fact that I have not exercised all the options at my command shouldn’t be mistaken for weakness, mi amada.”
She laughed at that, the sweetness of the sound quenching a lengthy drought. Once upon a time he’d lived to hear her laughter. But he’d purged that need long ago. His mouth compressed. Too bad abstinence hadn’t purged his other needs as well—the ones that demanded a more physical expression.
“Trust me, I’ve never considered you weak. Far from it.” Her amusement faded, replaced by an apprehension he was hard-pressed to resist. “Why have you come, Rafe? Why have you really come?”
It was time to reach a decision. His choices were clear. He could carry through with his original plan—extract a revenge that would put a fast end to any further Cinderella Balls. Or he could achieve the same result while satisfying the need burning between them. By his presence alone, a fire had been set. As he’d danced with her, the sparks had fallen to dry kindling. It wouldn’t take much to fan it, one kiss and the flames would rage out of control.
From there he knew the progression well. Once the fire had been fed for a time, it would settle into a delicious, hot flame. Too bad it couldn’t last, but such was the nature of fires. From hot flame it would slowly burn down, dying to warm embers before the inevitable fade to cold ashes.
The choice before him took little thought. The final outcome would be the same regardless—tonight would see the last Montague ball. As to how he went about it... His hungry gaze feasted on Ella. He’d be a fool if he didn’t take that which would fall so easily to his grasp. She wished to marry. He could save her from such foolishness. And he could prove to her, as well as to her parents, that the Cinderella Ball was a dangerous illusion.
“Why have you come?” she repeated. “What do you want?”
His decision made, he tugged her into his arms. “I want a wife, mi alma. And you shall provide one for me.”
CHAPTER TWO
ELLA stared at Rafe in disbelief. He was destroying her. Bit by bit, piece by piece he dimmed the light of hope she’d guarded with such care—the hope that she’d experience a love as eternal as the one her parents had found. Did he really expect her to provide him with a wife? How could he, after the past they’d shared? He must have some idea of the pain that would cause. Or was it that he didn’t care?
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, praying she’d misunderstood. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious.” He continued to hold her in an embrace that made intelligent thought a sheer impossibility. The one time she attempted to pull free, his hand settled on her hip, anchoring her more firmly in the harbor between his thighs. “I want you to find me a woman.”
“And how do you propose I do that?” Stress added a husky edge to her voice, but if Rafe heard he didn’t let on. “Scurry from room to room, making an announcement?”
“Nothing that drastic,” he replied in amusement. “I would think after all these years, you’d have some idea of how to go about it. Isn’t the purpose of your Cinderella Ball to play matchmaker to a host of lonely individuals?”
“Well, yes. But—”
“Then be my personal matchmaker. How do the other guests find their mates?”
“I don’t know.” At his skeptical look, she insisted, “Really, I don’t. I’ve never participated in the process.”
He didn’t take the hint. “You will tonight. Now answer my question. How is it done?”
“I suppose the guests introduce themselves to each other,” she told him. “Most seem to have some preconceived notion of the sort of person they’d find compatible.” She searched her memory of past balls. “Some even bring lists.”
“A list? How... practical.” His eyes glittered like raindrops on a windowpane. “Is that the way you intend to find a husband, by making a shopping list?”
“Not exactly.” How had she gotten herself into this conversation? “I have certain qualities and characteristics I consider important—”
“That sounds like a list to me.” When she started to contradict him, he added, “But if that’s what it takes, who am I to argue? You have far more experience than I.”
This was ridiculous! “Rafe, please—”
“No, no. We must do this right. If a list is necessary for a successful pursuit, than a list it is. What shall we choose as our first requirement?” He snapped his fingers, the retort as sharp as a hunter’s rifle. “I know.”
“She has to be of the female persuasion, right?” Ella interrupted, the glib remark escaping before she could prevent it.
His only response to her baiting was a slow smile. “Not just any female. She must be special, amada. Very special.” His thumb swept the arch of her cheekbone and his voice softened, the faintest of accents giving his words a seductive lilt. “One with eyes like a desert sun.”
Anger kindled as she fought to throw off the spell he wove with such skill. Did he t
hink her without any feeling at all? He held her in an unbreakable hold, subverting her already fragile defenses with every look, word and touch until her emotions were in a state of total chaos. And then he had the unmitigated gall to describe the woman of his dreams in that calm, rational manner of his? A woman she was expected to find for him?
“Desert sunshine?” Ella questioned dryly. “You expect me to run around and see if any of the women here have hot eyes? That should make for an interesting evening.”
His mouth twitched. “I have every confidence in your ability.”
She released her breath in a silent sigh. Why did she bother goading him? She’d never won such a contest in the past. It seemed unlikely that she would now. “Is that it—a hot-eyed woman? Or is there more?”
His arms tightened a fraction, realigning her smooth curves to fuse with his sharper angles. “I have quite a few requirements. She should also be elegant and warmhearted. She should have a bite to her, tempered with compassion for those less fortunate.”
“This is a woman we’re talking about?” Ella asked dubiously. “Because it’s beginning to sound an awful lot like you should get yourself a dog, instead.”
This time she did get a rise out of him. A hint of annoyance gave his reply a grating edge. “Your attitude isn’t helpful,” he informed her. “You wish to find a husband tonight, yes?”
“Yes.” Maybe. After seeing Rafe again, she wasn’t as certain as she’d been this afternoon.
“Until I find a wife, you won’t be free to do so. Now, I suggest we get on with this.”
Ella gritted her teeth. She’d love to tell him to go to hell. But she didn’t dare ignore his earlier warning—that if she didn’t cooperate he’d choose his own way of settling their differences. There was still time for her to find a husband, she tried to console herself. Not much, but some. All she had to do was locate the wife of Rafe’s dreams. The woman had to be around here somewhere. Surely it wouldn’t be that difficult to find her. Once Ella had unearthed this paragon for Rafe, she’d be free to give her heart to another. She bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling.
Assuming she had a heart left to give.
“You’re right,” she conceded. “Let’s get this over with. What else do you want in a wife?”
“Let’s see... She must be intelligent. And strong.”
“So, you want a muscle-bound genius with the attributes of a dog.” She offered a guileless smile. “Have I got it right?”
“Amada,” he said dryly. “You’re not getting into the spirit of things.” He tilted his head to one side, fixing her with eyes capable of piercing clear to her soul. “Or don’t you believe the Cinderella Ball can provide me with an appropriate woman? What’s happened to your faith? Don’t you believe anymore?”
“Of course I do!”
But his question had hit with pinpoint accuracy and she prayed that he didn’t suspect the truth. Had he any idea how close she’d come to giving up? Did he know that she considered this her last chance to experience the magic of the Cinderella Ball?
“I still believe,” she insisted, as though the mere act of speaking the words aloud would give them validity. “I do.”
For a heart-stopping moment his eyes narrowed. Then he inclined his head. “I never doubted it.” His hand crept upward, brushing the wispy curls from her temple. “Let’s see... Where were we?”
He continued to hold her far too close, his touch making it more and more difficult to breathe normally, let alone respond in a natural fashion. “We were discussing the qualities you’d like in a wife,” she prompted, fighting to conceal her distress.
“So we were. I wonder what else we should add to our list?” He paused to consider and his hand drifted from her temple to stroke the side of her throat. Supple fingers slipped beneath the sleek knot at the nape of her neck, sending a riot of sensations shivering through her.
She drew a short, panicked breath. “I think your list is long enough,” she managed to say.
“You could be right.” Humor rippled through his satiny voice. “Though I confess I have a preference for dark-haired women. You will keep that in mind, won’t you?”
“I’ll do my best. Anything else?” she demanded. His touch grew bolder, more provocative with every passing moment. If he didn’t release her soon, she’d thoroughly disgrace herself by clinging to him and begging that he never let her go.
“I can think of just one more requirement.”
She closed her eyes in a mixture of relief and regret. “Which is?”
His fingers played a tantalizing dance down the length of her spine to cup the curve of her hip. “When I kiss her, her response must be as abandoned as... This.”
Before she realized what he intended, he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. The heat simmered between them, then exploded, consuming her in a fire she had no hope of containing. An instant later she realized she didn’t want to contain it. She wanted to feed the flames, burn higher and hotter and brighter until nothing mattered but the pleasure that could be gained from this timeless moment.
She caught his shirt in her hands, tugging him close, satisfied only when she could feel the swift, strong beat of his heart beneath her palms. His arms felt like corded steel, his hold as unrelenting as his nature. After all this time, she shouldn’t still want him so desperately. She should resist, fight the trap he’d sprung. But the truth was, she’d been waiting for this to happen since he’d first appeared in the entranceway to the ballroom.
It had been so long since they’d last kissed. To her amazement, she discovered she hadn’t forgotten a thing. Not his smooth, intoxicating flavor. Not the firm, warm feel of his mouth. Not the soul-jarring response of her body to his bold touch. She traced the tiny scar on the left side of his bottom lip knowing by his shiver that he found their embrace as affecting as did she. For a fleeting instant, it gave her hope.
“You understand now, don’t you?” he whispered against her mouth. “This is how it should be between a man and woman. How can you think of giving yourself to another when you still burn like this for me?”
His words ripped into her heart. “What about that perfect woman you described in such detail? You may object to my plan, but you intend to marry a stranger tonight, too.” Her regard turned caustic. “Or is it different for men?”
“For some men, perhaps.”
He didn’t say whether he was one of them or not. But the stark need in his gaze told its own story. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d had her. The knowledge became a certainty, leaving behind a disconcerting bewilderment. There was only one way he could satisfy that desire. Only one way she’d consent to giving herself to him.
As though reading her thoughts, he said, “Yes, amada. I know the price I must pay to have you.”
“But what about the woman you wanted me to find?” she demanded. “Remember? The hot-eyed brunette?”
His lids drifted downward, concealing the expression in eyes that had gone smoke-gray. “Ah, yes. Her.”
“Yes. Her.”
“Could you not tell?” When he looked up again it was with a lazy amusement that sent time tumbling backward. “It was you I described.”
It took a full minute for his meaning to sink in. “I’m the muscle-bound genius with the attributes of a—” She couldn’t say it.
He grinned. “Regrettably, yes. But I’m willing to be generous and overlook such obvious failings.”
Disbelief warred with an uncontrollable surge of hope. “You can’t be serious.”
“Very serious. You wish to have a husband. I wish for a wife. What could be more natural than we each fulfill the other’s desire?”
Ella felt as though she teetered on the brink of a perilous abyss, that to believe in Rafe would be the same as flinging herself over the edge into arms that might fail to catch her. If she misjudged him, she’d end up free-falling with nothing below to impede her plunging descent. Nothing to catch her before she hit the unforgivin
g chasm floor.
Her composure slipped, revealing the vulnerability beneath. “Are you asking...”
“I am asking you to marry me.” His soft, persuasive words filled the moonswept glade, adding to the magic of the setting. “Marry me, Ella. You know it’s what we both want. What we’ve wanted for years. We can’t look at each other, touch each other, without being torn apart by our need.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t possible. They couldn’t just start over. Not after all this time, not after the past they’d shared. “You don’t love me. You can’t. Have you forgotten—”
“I have forgotten nothing!” For an instant she caught a glimpse of rekindled fury, of a man still thirsting for vengeance. Then he visibly reined in his anger, banking the blazing fire storm once more—at least, for the moment. “What happened between us is in the past where it belongs. You must forget all that for a moment, Ella, and answer my question. Do you intend to marry tonight?”
“I’m considering it.”
He captured her face in his hands, his work-roughened palms sparking a delicious friction along the length of her jaw. “Your expression gives you away,” he warned. “However you choose to qualify your response now, your original plan was to marry. Admit it, Ella. Is that not true?”
“All right, yes!”
A dozen warring emotions swept across his countenance, too swift and confusing for her to follow, their passage like snowflakes driven by a savage winter wind. “Something has pressured you into taking such a desperate gamble. What is it?” he demanded.
In that instant her motivations crystallized and she hated him for forcing her to face the truth. For a split second she saw her decision through his eyes, recognizing the desperation that spurred her actions. Fear had driven her to take such drastic measures, not that she could admit that to him.
“I planned to fall in love this evening and marry,” she evaded the question. “Just like my parents. Just like a thousand other couples who have found happiness at the Cinderella Ball. Is that so wrong?”
