by RACHL THOMAS
She shook her head, backing away from him as if he was evil itself, her beautiful face ashen white, her eyes wide with disbelief. Oh, but she was a good actress. He almost believed it. Almost.
CHAPTER TEN
THE FIRST MARRIED SON to produce an heir.
No, she screamed in her head, whilst outwardly the shutters came down, cocooning her behind a safe barrier.
‘How long have you known this?’ How could he stand there so calmly and tell her that? He might as well say her whole plan had been a waste of time. He’d lied all this time, but she couldn’t see a trace of remorse.
‘Long enough.’
His words sent a shiver down her spine.
‘So what were you hoping for? A honeymoon baby?’ She wanted to close her eyes against the pain of shattered dreams as they splintered around her. For just one night she’d thought she could sample that dream. She hadn’t expected her attraction for him to turn into something deeper. Now it was spoilt by his admissions. His deceit. ‘No wonder you were so—what was it?—unusually relaxed about contraception.’
‘That’s absurd.’
His eyes looked dark and hostile but she stood tall, remaining as defiant as she could manage.
A ray of sunlight speared the gloom and she glanced out at the clearing sky, glad that at least one storm was over.
‘Not absurd, Santos.’ She looked directly at him, something akin to anger and disappointment flitting through her. ‘Not when you consider the clause of the will and that you knew Carlo wanted to get married. He loves my sister. Just by marrying he was a threat to you—because not only would he be the first married son, but probably the first married son to have the required heir.’
It was like a puzzle, and finally she was putting it together. She still had a few pieces to find, but it was all beginning to make sense now.
‘Why are you so against Carlo?’ She felt frustrated by those missing pieces. ‘When you could have married any one of the women you’ve dated in the past and inherited everything you believe is yours.’
She watched as he paced the room—long, lean strides that drew her attention. As if needing escape, he opened the doors to the terrace and strode out. The fresh smell of dampness after the rain rushed into the room as he left. For a moment she stood and watched him, saw his pain, his frustration, with every move he made, and something deep inside her tugged at her emotions.
She knew that kind of pain, that kind of emptiness.
She walked to the door. Santos stood looking out to sea, his broad shoulders tense and the muscles in his arms taut as he leant on the balustrade. She longed to go to him, to touch him and soothe his pain. But sense prevailed. This was all of his making. She couldn’t let him know how she felt—not when he’d used everyone as pawns in his power game.
It rushed at her so hard she almost stumbled. All her breath momentarily left her body and her heart raced like a wild horse fleeing captivity.
It couldn’t be true—it just couldn’t.
She loved him. Completely and utterly.
She pressed her fingertips to her lips to stifle a cry of distress. She didn’t want to love anyone. She couldn’t love anyone. And certainly not Santos Ramirez. Since the day her father had turned his back on them she’d watched her mother take a path of self-destruction. Her parents’ actions proved beyond doubt that love was all-consuming, but also that it hurt, left you alone and killed all joy in life when it went wrong. It was a gamble she’d never wanted to take, so how had it happened? How had she fallen in love with Santos?
‘I’m not against Carlo.’
His harsh words dragged her mind back from the pain of her past.
‘Just the marriage.’
She sensed his vulnerability as he remained with his back to her, looking out to sea, at the sky clearing and brightening after the storm. Knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to stop herself, she crossed the terrace and stood by him, her shoulder almost touching his arm as she stood surveying the view.
‘Why did your father put such a clause in his will, forcing you to marry?’ This was something that had niggled at her since Emma had first mentioned it. She’d imagined two young boys vying for their father’s attention. A man who didn’t deserve any from either of them as far as she was concerned.
‘It’s a family business, started by my grandfather—my mother’s father. I suppose he assumed that as I was older by nine years I’d marry and have a family a long time before Carlo did.’
He sounded resigned and it tugged at her heart to hear him, almost as if he was admitting defeat.
‘He must have thought he was being fair to us both, putting that clause in his will.’
‘So why didn’t you marry?’ The question just had to be asked. He’d never been short of female company. She’d very quickly learnt that.
He turned to face her and she held her breath as he looked down at her. His eyes searched her face as if looking for answers to questions he didn’t even know. She watched as his face set into hard lines, shutting her out.
‘To avoid the mess we are in now.’ The angry words all but barked out at her.
She shivered despite the sun. ‘It’s easy to sort out.’ Her words were curt as she lifted her chin in defiance and challenge, the softer emotions quashed by his frozen expression. ‘I leave and you file for divorce.’
In one swift stride he came towards her, his hand holding her arm firmly. ‘You are not going anywhere unless I do—and as for a divorce...’
He spoke with a voice so stern and disapproving she blinked in shock.
‘There will not be a divorce. Your meddling has made sure of that.’
‘But—’ she began, wondering what she wanted to try and tell him, even what she didn’t. ‘There isn’t any reason to remain married—not now.’
‘You are forgetting, mi esposa, that an heir may yet still be needed.’ He let go of her, keeping her where she stood with just the fixed glare of his dark eyes.
‘No,’ she snapped, and backed away from him, bumping against the chair she’d sat in to call her sister earlier. ‘Even you’re not so cold and callous that you’d bring a child into the world just to inherit a business.’
‘I had hoped not even to marry to inherit. When you so kindly offered yourself I believed it would be enough, that I could find a way out of the clause long before Carlo married. But your meddling has changed everything.’
His eyes glittered furiously at her but she held her ground, squared her shoulders and met his accusation head on.
Her meddling? ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t play the innocent with me.’
His eyes glittered dangerously but she refused to be intimidated, refused to back down.
‘Not when you’ve led me on, driven me wild with need for you since the night of the party.’
‘I did not lead you on.’ Indignation flared to life in her and she almost stamped her foot in frustration.
* * *
Santos knew he was losing his patience, reaching the boiling point that very few people managed to push him to. All he wanted was to prevent her from leaving. He needed her, yes, but he wanted her more.
‘So what was our wedding night if not to divert my attention and keep me out of the way?’
She gasped at him, a blush creeping over her cheeks, and she looked as if she was struggling for words.
‘You must have been delighted when I took you to the yacht. What better place to keep me out of the way?’ Humiliation burned through him like a forest fire. He’d been used, played for a fool, and it wounded him even more to think that he’d relaxed. He’d wanted to open up to her, wanted to be who he really was, when all along she’d been as fake as snow in the desert. ‘You flirted yourself at me in an attempt to stay longer on the yacht.’
Her brow furrowed and pain and confusion swirled in her eyes. For a moment he wanted to reach for her, wanted to kiss it all away. But kissing had got him into this mess. Kissing and much more had left
him emotionally exposed and vulnerable.
‘If that’s what you think, Santos, it would be much better if you just let me go home. Alone.’ Her words were firm and devoid of any emotion.
‘That,’ he snapped, instantly reining himself back, ‘is not negotiable. You will stay here with me now I know where Carlo and Emma are.’
‘Where they are?’ She spoke rapidly, shock sounding in her tone. ‘You mean they’re not in London?’
Was it possible he’d got it all wrong? That she’d known nothing of their marriage plans?
He moved away from her—away from the intensity of her eyes and the questions deep within them. Maybe sending her back to London alone would be for the best, enable him to think clearly. Because his need for her had increased since they’d spent the night together and each time she came close his body remembered, even if his mind refused to acknowledge what he was beginning to feel for her.
‘Perhaps you can tell me.’ He tossed the words across the terrace as he made his way back inside the villa. ‘You can explain everything to me on our way out this evening.’
‘There’s only one place I’m going this evening and that’s the airport—with or without your help.’ He knew she had followed him inside. He could feel her, sense her.
He sat down on the sofa, stretching his arm along the back of the black leather, and watched as she stood, fury blazing from her, in the centre of the room. A smile twitched the corners of his lips despite the bitter taste of humiliation. She looked stunningly sexy, a little fireball of passion.
‘Tonight we are expected at a party my cousin has arranged for us and I have no intention of arriving without my bride.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Santos, but your bride is leaving. Right now.’
He clenched his jaw as his mind raced. ‘You can’t. You signed the agreement. You have legally agreed to live as my wife for twelve months.’
Her eyes widened in shock. ‘I don’t believe you actually put that in. You’re barbaric.’
‘I need an heir, Georgina.’
Right there in front of him she seemed to deflate. All the fire and fury drained from her and he sat forward, his elbows on his knees. Was she actually going to faint?
‘I can’t give you what you want.’
The anguish in her voice alarmed him and he leapt up and stood before her.
‘I can’t have a baby—I can’t.’
Can’t have a baby.
He hadn’t considered this. He’d assumed that, like almost every woman, she’d want to become a mother.
‘Why not?’
This threw everything into turmoil. If Carlo and Emma returned from Vegas as parents-to-be he would have lost everything—exactly what he’d promised his mother he’d never do the last time he saw her. Although he still didn’t know what kind of misguided loyalty made him want to keep that promise.
Large tears welled up in Georgina’s eyes. One broke free and ran down her cheek. Santos didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t considered the possibility that she couldn’t have children. She’d been so adamant that she’d do anything to enable her sister to marry. He’d seen her as a viable back-up plan—a marriage of convenience to a woman who would be the mother of his child, should that drastic step be needed.
‘I can’t...I just can’t,’ she croaked in a whisper, tugging at something deep inside him so much that he wanted to hold her close, to soothe her.
Instead he clenched his hands into fists and marched away from her. ‘This changes nothing. You are my wife. You agreed to it for one year and I’m not going to allow you to publicly humiliate me any further. I don’t need my wife deserting me within days of our supposed whirlwind romance. It’s bad enough that Carlo and Emma have run off to Vegas...’
‘Vegas?’ Incredulity made her tear-laden eyes widen and he steeled himself against the need to hold her.
‘As if you didn’t know.’
Attack was the only way he could control the myriad of strange new emotions running riot inside him. He wanted her with him, yet he didn’t. Above all he wanted to punish her for her part in deceiving him, but even he wasn’t so callous that in the face of what she’d just told him he’d actually do that.
* * *
Vegas. Emma had gone to Las Vegas to get married.
‘I didn’t know,’ Georgina whispered, betrayal rushing through her.
They must have planned it for weeks. Why hadn’t Emma said something? Taken her into her confidence?
He took her hand, his mood softened. ‘It seems we are both victims of their deception.’
His deep voice sent shivers of awareness down her spine, but she remained firm and resolute, not trusting him.
‘Have you spoken to Carlo?’ She pulled back, watching his face as she asked the question.
‘No, but the gossip columns are full of it. When we left for Spain they must have gone straight to Vegas. They must have left as soon as we’d left the party. Damn it, they knew all along.’
He let go of her as his frustration built again and she felt strangely alone. The touch of his hand had been grounding, somehow. He blamed her for what Emma and Carlo had done, that much was obvious, yet still she wanted his comfort, wanted to feel his arms around her.
If she was going to survive the next few days she had to push her emotions right to the back of her mind—had to ignore them before they exposed her to the biggest pain of all. One thing she was sure of: she couldn’t remain his wife for a year—not if it meant living with him.
Twice in her life she had trusted and loved a man and twice he had let her down. Her father, whom she’d adored, had walked away one stormy night without a backward glance, leaving her in tears, clinging to the front door. Then Richard, whom she’d loved in a gentle, appreciative way, had left her alone in the world—more alone than she cared to admit.
Now Santos.
She’d fallen in love with him so passionately and deeply she couldn’t even think properly any more. Her usual unemotional demeanour was smashed into icy crumbs.
‘Emma would never have done it if she’d thought it would end like this.’ She tried to think back to all they’d spoken off when they’d been getting ready for the party Santos had thrown. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘She just wouldn’t.’
‘It would seem your sister isn’t as loyal to you as you are to her.’ Santos’s voice was hard as he paced the room. ‘Whatever possessed them to run off and get married?’
‘Love,’ Georgina whispered.
Santos rounded on her. ‘Love is for fools. It destroys lives.’
‘How can you say that?’ Her frustration matched his fury and she glared at him, daring him to answer. ‘You must have loved once.’
An echo of a previous conversation filled her mind.
He closed the distance between them in long strides, dominating the room with his volatile mood. ‘Your father walked out on you, no?’ His accent was stronger than ever as he battled with his emotions.
Her breath caught in her throat as he brought up her past, made the memories of that night—already too fresh after the storm—rush back. ‘My father has nothing to do with it.’
‘If he’d loved you he wouldn’t have left. That’s what you think, no?’
His eyes locked with hers, holding her prisoner, forcing her to face things she didn’t want to face.
Before she could answer his harsh words came at her again, as if he no longer cared what he was saying. ‘It’s the same for me. Love will never be a part of how I think of my mother, or she of me.’ He whirled around and marched back outside, as if needing more space to vent his anger.
Cautiously she followed him outside. ‘What happened with your mother?’ Her words were a whisper as she watched him drag in a deep breath.
He turned to look at her once more, his face set in firm lines.
‘I was a mistake.’ He swallowed as if the words tasted bitter and her heart tugged for him. ‘A mistake that forced her to marry my
father. A mistake she always made me pay for.’
‘But your father loved her, didn’t he?’ She scanned her mind for the little snippets of his life he’d told her about, trying to piece things together.
‘And that love was rewarded with my being ignored as a young boy.’ Pain resounded in his voice and he sighed and turned to look out to sea.
He was turning his back not only on her but on the conversation. It was what he always did, she realised. Right from that first time in his office when he’d looked out over London. It seemed a lifetime ago instead of less than a week.
‘But your father moved on and you have a brother now.’
She heard him inhale deeply, saw his shoulders lift and then fall. She’d said the wrong thing again.
‘Half-brother.’ The words were grated out, and still he kept his back resolutely turned. ‘One who has just proved how little he thinks of me. Just as always, he’s got what he wants.’
Georgina thought again of all Emma had told her about Carlo. ‘I’m sure it’s not like that. In fact I’d go as far as to say he doesn’t want to inherit the business. He wants to do his own thing, make his own way in life.’
Santos turned round to face her, questions in his dark eyes. ‘You’re wrong. How could any man not want to inherit his father’s business?’
‘Not everyone is as motivated by power as you are, Santos. Carlo and Emma just want to make a life together—a normal life.’ Without thinking she reached out and touched his arm, her fingers heating as they felt the firmness of his muscles.
‘What is that, Georgina?’ He sounded drained and tired.
‘They want to be together. They’re in love, Santos. Is that so hard to accept?’ She moved closer to him, trying to quash the surge of love she felt for him as he opened up and let her see his pain.
He looked down into her eyes, his darkening. She thought he might kiss her as he moved closer, with his head dropping lower. But then he stopped, the abruptness of it sending a chill through her.
‘No, Georgina, no.’ He moved away from her and for the first time ever he looked at a loss for what to say.
