A DEAL AT THE ALTAR

by RACHL THOMAS

  She stood tall and resolute for a few more seconds, her gaze fixed to his, then she left, taking with her some of the pressure that dominated the room.

  He needed to contact his legal team. There just had to be a way out of that final clause. Satisfied he’d sorted the situation for now, he turned on his laptop. He had far too many emails to answer, but the first one snared his attention with such ferocity he dropped down into his chair.

  It was offering him congratulations on his marriage. Just what they had planned. But it was the last line that almost made his heart stop. He and Georgina weren’t the only couple to have got married.

  Blood pounded in his ears, the sound so loud it almost masked the first rumble of thunder as the storm finally broke.

  It couldn’t be true.

  Quickly he scanned the headlines and within minutes found confirmation that, yes, it was true. He’d been tricked, manipulated, and totally played for a fool. He wanted to rage and shout, but one thing life had taught him was that rushing in without first knowing all the facts could leave him in a weak position.

  No, this had to be approached with caution. He had to know what part Georgina had played in this. Instinct told him it was a very big part. He was angry he’d lowered his defences enough for her to see the man he really was. For the first time ever he’d felt the stirrings of something he’d shut out of his life long ago and had almost been fooled into opening that door.

  * * *

  Georgina slipped outside to the pool. The clouds were dark and heavy. It looked as if a storm was brewing, and she hated storms—she’d never shaken off her childhood fear of them. Despite the dark clouds that hung low in the sky she settled on a lounger by the pool, her need to speak with Emma greater than her desire to hide from the storm. She could hardly wait to hear her sister’s squeal of delight when she told her they could set a date.

  ‘Georgie.’ Emma sounded different somehow as she answered the phone. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m still in Spain, and you can get set a date for your wedding.’ She took a breath, putting on an air of jubilation—one she was far from feeling. ‘Santos and I—we’re married.’

  Emma hesitated, and a shiver of apprehension slipped down Georgina’s spine as the silence lengthened down the phone connection.

  Finally Emma spoke, sounding oddly far away. ‘I know. It’s all over town.’

  At least her plan had worked, Georgina consoled herself. All she could hope for now was that Emma would believe that she and Santos had married because of the attraction they had for one another, after the whirlwind romance that had started at the party.

  ‘Georgie...’

  Emma’s voice sounded nervous, and as the silence lengthened still further Georgina heard the first rumble of thunder. ‘Georgie, Carlo and I...we got married a few days ago.’

  Georgina almost dropped the phone with shock. Her quiet, biddable sister had gone against everyone and married in secret, without even telling her. Hurt lanced through her as she thought of the day she’d always imagined for Emma—a day when she would be there to see her married, not on a yacht off the coast of Spain.

  A flash of lightning made Georgina’s heart-rate accelerate wildly, but she tried to keep it under control. She didn’t want Emma to worry—didn’t want her to know of the ramifications her actions.

  ‘Georgie, are you still there?’

  She could hear the unease in her sister’s voice and tried to focus her mind. How could Emma have betrayed her?

  ‘I have to go, Emma, there’s a storm coming. I’ll call you later.’

  She cut the connection as the full implications of what this meant hit home.

  And Santos. What would he think?

  A low rumble of thunder followed by the first heavy drops of rain made her retreat to the safety of the villa. Her fear of the storm outweighed the fact that Santos was himself like a brewing storm—one she didn’t want to be around when it broke. From the doorway she watched the raindrops falling into the pool, disturbing its smooth surface. Deep down she knew she had more than a storm to fear.

  The temperature dropped and a cool wind picked up. The white curtains billowed into the room where she stood, watching the increasingly heavy rain. Lightning lit up the darkening sky and she shuddered in a breath, as tense as the air around her. The clap of thunder was so loud she had to suppress a scream as she beat a hasty retreat further into the villa, feeling as shaken by Emma’s revelation as by the storm itself. The trembling of her hands was very real.

  ‘Scared of the storm?’ Santos’s voice was clipped and hard. ‘Or is this another of your wonderful acting roles?’

  She frowned, blinking in confusion as he came to stand before her. His dark eyes were full of fury and as he folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her she saw visible tension in his neck and shoulders.

  ‘A little,’ she lied, and rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold, refusing to rise to the bait of his last comment.

  His gaze darted to the movement, watching through narrowed eyes, then moved back to her face. She fought the way her body responded to him, despite her apprehension about telling him what she’d just found out. She took a deep breath and tried to focus herself, curb her fear of the storm and deny the need to be held by him, to feel safe in his arms.

  He marched past her and closed the doors to the terrace. The curtains ceased their wild dance but the tension of the storm remained, wrapping itself around them, drawing them towards each other. His dark gaze met hers and defiantly she lifted her chin, straightened her back, determined not to show him her fear.

  There were two storms raging, she realised with a sinking feeling. Two storms she was going to have to ride out, no matter what. There wasn’t any escape from either now.

  ‘Your plan worked,’ he said as he stood with his back to the doors and the lashing rain.

  The dark clouds behind him only intensified the image of anger he projected.

  ‘My plan was for Emma to think we were lovers so she wouldn’t question our marriage.’ Her voice didn’t sound as firm as she wanted, and anxiety made her stomach flutter. She had to regain her composure.

  ‘And why was that so important, Georgina?’

  The use of her full name hurt, somehow, and the light sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.

  ‘You openly admit to marrying for financial security once already—why would she question our marriage?’

  She watched his jaw tighten as he took in a deep breath, as if he was holding back what he really wanted to say. ‘She never knew I married Richard so that I could fund her education and give her a secure home. My first marriage isn’t part of this, Santos.’

  Thunder cracked overhead, the villa seeming to shake with the force of it. Georgina glanced anxiously around the room, thankful that she was no longer out at sea.

  ‘It damn well is when your reputation precedes you.’ His voice was hard and echoed the aggression of the storm. The expression on his face was as dark and brooding as the sky.

  ‘My reputation?’ Lightning lit the room and her heart thudded almost as loudly as the thunder. ‘If by that you mean that I married Richard, an older and unwell man, because he offered me lifelong security in return for a few years of companionship, then, yes, my reputation does precede me.’

  She glared at him, hardly able to believe they were discussing her first marriage when it was the marriage of his brother to her sister that should take precedence. That was the one that affected them both, whether they liked it or not.

  She had to tell him, but anxiously kept the conversation on its current course. As the next crack of thunder threatened to shake the foundations of the villa she stood her ground, glaring at Santos.

  ‘A companionship so loving that you were dating other men just weeks after his funeral.’ He practically snarled the words at her, so intense was his anger.

  ‘It was what he wanted,’ she said, softly but firmly, remembering how insistent R
ichard had been that she should move on in life, find herself a man she could love.

  She’d dated a few men just to do as Richard had wanted, to honour the memory of the man who’d given her a future. But she hadn’t enjoyed their company and very quickly gossip had started.

  After the initial shock of being at the centre of everyone’s speculation she’d soon realised it provided a wall to hide behind.

  ‘I found out very quickly that seeing a man once or twice only was the best way.’ Let him think the worst of her. She had other worries right now. Besides, if he believed that of her it would keep him at arm’s length—something she had to do now no matter what. She couldn’t dwell on the closeness they’d shared.

  Santos’s brow furrowed. ‘Best way for what?’ The words snapped from him.

  ‘For doing what you do,’ she flung at him as another rumble of thunder, just as intense, reverberated around the room. ‘For keeping the world at bay, keeping the gossips with something to get their teeth into, because ultimately it meant I could be on my own. I never wanted to be married the first time and I certainly don’t want to be married now.’

  She flopped down onto the sofa, unable to fight any longer. Remaining indifferent to what was being said about her and the shock of what Emma had done was finally too much.

  How could her sister have said nothing? How could she have sneaked away the moment she’d left for Spain? It was a complete and utter betrayal. Emma had as good as thrown everything she’d ever done for her back in her face.

  Santos walked across the marble floor. A hint of softness entered his tone as he crouched before her, forcing her to look into his eyes. ‘Then why offer yourself to me?’

  She swallowed down the urge to cry, to collapse into an emotional heap, and looked into his eyes. Their dark depths were almost unreadable. He was so close, and the spark of attraction passing between them was as strong as ever, but she mustn’t let that cloud her mind and muddle her judgement.

  ‘Why, Georgina?’ he prompted, his voice a little firmer, and she realised the anger she’d seen in him earlier was still simmering beneath the surface.

  She took a breath to tell him what she’d just learnt, but couldn’t. The look in his glittering eyes halted those words

  ‘For Emma,’ she began, trying to put off the moment just a little longer. ‘She believes in the dream of love, the happy-ever-after, and it’s Carlo—your brother—who is that dream for her. When she told me about the will it seemed the most obvious deal to make. I’d married for convenience for Emma’s benefit once before. I could do it again.’

  Georgina was emotionally wrung out, but she had to tell him. She didn’t want to—didn’t want to rouse his anger—but she knew she had to. She couldn’t keep it from him. He had a right to know.

  ‘They are already married.’

  The words were out before he had a chance to say anything.

  He studied her for a moment, crouching in front of her as if he was talking to a child, making her think he’d be good with children. An image of her holding a baby with Santos’s dark eyes and complexion rushed into her mind, not for the first time in recent days, but she pushed it harshly away. Marrying him was one thing, but she’d never have his child. She could never have a child, full-stop. She didn’t want to risk being as useless as her own mother.

  ‘When did you know?’ His words, although cajoling, still reverberated with anger.

  She looked down at the phone she still clutched in her hand and sighed. ‘Minutes ago.’

  Betrayal ripped through her again at the thought of what Emma and Carlo had done, but she knew Emma would never have done it alone—never.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispered, more to herself than Santos.

  ‘They married on Saturday.’

  He stood up and looked down on her, his height making her feel small, his words like hailstones raining down on her. Another rumble of thunder followed, echoing his anger.

  ‘Saturday?’ She blinked back tears as she thought of Emma getting married whilst she’d been flying out to Spain. Then it hit her. ‘That means Carlo married first.’

  He nodded, folding his arms across his chest once more.

  ‘So our marriage was for nothing. Carlo inherits the business and I miss the biggest day of my sister’s life.’ She wanted to jump up, to stand and face him, but her knees were too weak so she just buried her face in her hands.

  What was she going to do now? Santos probably thought she’d conspired with them to outsmart him. There was only one thing she could do. Go home. Get far away from Santos.

  ‘I’ll go and pack,’ she said, finally finding the strength to stand as another rumble filled the room, this time sounding as if it was finally receding.

  ‘No.’

  Santos grabbed her arm as she made to leave and she looked up into his face. A small part of her wanted to see the gentleness she’d seen on their wedding night. She wanted to feel as special as he’d made her feel that night. But instead his eyes were brittle with hardness.

  ‘You are my wife. You will stay here.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Santos, I can’t. Their marriage changes everything.’

  ‘Your scheming, meaning that Carlo married first, has changed nothing. We are still married.’

  He held her arm tight, pulling her against his body. She could feel the heat of it and, despite the anger and tension in the air, her body responded traitorously to his.

  ‘It’s all about the business for you, isn’t it?’ Accusation rang in her voice as she lifted her chin, finding her defiant streak once more, denying the burning need that raged inside her. ‘You can’t bear it that you’ve lost it.’

  He shook his head and his voice was hard. ‘I haven’t lost it. Not yet. And we will remain married.’

  ‘Why?’ Her breath was heaving in her chest.

  His eyes darkened, the brittleness of earlier replaced with hot desire.

  ‘Because of this.’

  Before she could question him further his mouth claimed hers in a hot, searing kiss. She gasped in a mixture of annoyance and pleasure as his hand cupped her breast, making her arch against him, only being held upright by the firm grasp of his hand on her arm. She had no escape. Neither did she want an escape. She wanted his touch, his kiss. Damn it, she wanted him. She wanted him because she loved him—and that was exactly why she had to go.

  She could hardly think straight, let alone put coherent words together, as he broke the kiss and looked down at her.

  ‘This undeniable attraction that exists between us. We can’t fight it for ever.’

  ‘No,’ she managed in a croaky voice. ‘But it can’t last for ever.’

  He shrugged, relinquishing his grip on her arm to hold her hand instead. ‘True, but we can explore it while it lasts.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’ Indignation at his knowing glance leapt through her.

  ‘Because we are man and wife,’ he said in a smooth tone that rippled over her heightened senses like velvet. ‘Truly man and wife.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not really, we aren’t. It was just a deal. Just a marriage of convenience.’

  ‘Was our wedding night on the yacht just part of the deal?’

  His self-satisfied smile made her blush at the memory of just how abandoned she’d been. He kissed her—a brief but intense one.

  ‘I thought not.’

  ‘No, Santos.’ She pushed at his chest, needing space to think. ‘This isn’t what I wanted. Neither of us did. And now Emma and Carlo have married there is no need for us to be together.’

  ‘That’s where you are wrong, because Carlo hasn’t yet inherited the business.’

  ‘Of course he has. He’s married—before you.’ She almost froze with shock. Some of his earlier words were now making sense, like his accusation of her acting. He’d been playing with her.

  ‘Yes, they are married.’ The smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. ‘But, querida, that doesn’t cha
nge anything.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Confused, she stopped pushing him away. She didn’t understand. Emma and Carlo had got married before she and Santos had even arrived in Spain, making Carlo the first son to marry. ‘Why doesn’t it change anything?’

  * * *

  Santos struggled with his conscience. Her act of being the wounded party was very convincing, just as her act of fear of the storm had been, but he didn’t believe she’d known nothing of their plans. Why else would she have asked so seductively to stay on the yacht longer, or even agreed to leave London with him, if not to make it as difficult as possible for him to contact the outside world? She’d practically thrown herself at him, used all that a woman could to snare his interest and keep him from going back to the villa. She’d made him want her, teased and dallied with his desire since that first kiss at the party, and there was only one reason as far as he was concerned.

  She’d planned it all along.

  True, she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. He’d have to be blind and stupid not to see how her body responded to his slightest touch. And each time he’d kissed her the attraction between them had intensified, until they couldn’t ignore it any longer.

  She’d deceived him, duped him, like all females did, with her body. And just like his father he’d ignored everything to be with her, to make her his. He’d been like a man possessed, unable to think of anything else other than Georgina. Thoughts of her had been all-consuming. He enjoyed being with women, but never had he been so completely under a woman’s spell.

  Even now, when her kisses tasted of deceit, he wanted her. Passion burned in her eyes as she stood and glared at him. How dared she look so wounded? There could only be one winner in this game of passion and deceit she’d started. And that would be him.

  ‘It isn’t the first son to marry who inherits.’ The words slipped out effortlessly. Finally he’d got her attention. ‘But the first married son to produce an heir.’

  He watched as his words slowly filtered through, like water permeating through limestone, until finally the expression on her face told him she understood the full implications.