Chapter 8
Grace stirred sleepily and rolled over in bed, her eyelids flying open when a familiar voice catapulted her into wakefulness.
‘You’re finally awake. I’ve never known a woman sleep as deeply as you,’ Javier greeted her dourly.
‘It’s because I have a clear conscience,’ she told him sweetly, feeling her pulse rate accelerate as she absorbed the sight of him, lean and dark and toe-curlingly sexy in black jeans and a matching fine-knit jumper. ‘I take it you didn’t enjoy such a restful night?’
‘True, but it was not my conscience, or lack of it, that prevented me from sleeping, querida,’ he said silkily as he strolled over to the bed. ‘My disturbed night had more to do with your delectable body curled so temptingly against mine, which fuelled my fantasies.’
‘I did not curl up against you,’ Grace protested, unable to meet his mocking gaze. Having stated that she wouldn’t sleep a wink, she was startled to realise that she didn’t remember a thing about the previous night, other than feeling warm and relaxed and strangely secure in Javier’s huge bed. She hadn’t really spent the night snuggled up to him, had she? She glanced at him warily, her suspicions aroused by his bland expression. ‘Is it too much to hope that you were a gentleman?’
‘I behaved impeccably,’ he assured her with a grin. ‘Trust me, you would remember if I had given in to the urge to explore your tantalising curves that your nightgown does little to hide.’
Before she could move, he leaned over her and took her mouth in a brief, hard kiss that left her lips tingling and wanting more. Her cheeks grew pink when he straightened and glanced down at her, his eyes focused on her dusky pink nipples clearly visible beneath the sheer lace of her negligee. ‘When I make love to you, you will be wide awake and fully aware of the numerous ways I pleasure you, querida.’
Grace forced air into her lungs and tore her eyes from him, her fingers shaking slightly as she pleated the bed covers. It was impossible to control her quivering awareness of him when he said things like that. ‘Didn’t you listen to a thing I said last night?’ she snapped. ‘I won’t have sex with a man I don’t love.’
He gave a low chuckle and moved towards the door. ‘I’ll just have to make you fall in love with me, then, won’t I?’
He couldn’t, of course, she reassured herself as her heart lurched in her chest. It was impossible. ‘I thought you don’t believe in love.’
‘I don’t—but I do believe in lust. To be honest, I don’t care what you call this chemistry between us, but we both know how fiercely it burns. I shall enjoy wearing down your resistance,’ he told her with his usual arrogance. ‘But right now it’s time you got up. Consuela will be here in a minute with your breakfast, and then we’ve got a plane to catch.’
‘Why…where are we going?’
‘I’ve arranged for us to spend a week in the Seychelles.’ He opened the door and was about to step through it when Grace spoke.
‘Do you mean you have business there?’ she asked, her confusion evident in her sapphire blue gaze.
‘No, it’s purely a pleasure trip,’ he replied, a wicked gleam in his eyes. But before Grace could question him further Consuela arrived with her breakfast and he disappeared.
‘You must be so excited,’ the young maid said, smiling broadly as she set the tray on Grace’s lap. ‘A honeymoon in the Seychelles—it’s so romantic. El Duque, he has a stern face but a warm heart, I think,’ she continued cheerfully, unaware that Grace was struggling to express her opinion of her new husband.
‘It’s a pity that your roses will die before you return,’ Consuela went on as she collected up the few petals that had already fallen onto the dresser. ‘Señor Herrera was determined to pick them for you from the gardens of the castillo, but the thorns scratched his hands until they bled.’ She smiled at Grace. ‘Is there anything else you need, Señora?’
Just a key to the Duque de Herrera’s mind, Grace thought silently. She shook her head and stared down at her breakfast, suddenly finding that her appetite had deserted her. Who was he, this man she had married? She had believed him to be cold-hearted and ruthless, but he had taken great trouble to pick her favourite flowers for her wedding bouquet, and now he was whisking her off to one of the most romantic destinations in the world for their honeymoon—when she had assumed that he would be impatient to take his place as head of El Banco de Herrera. The bank was the only reason he had married her, after all.
Five days later Grace still had no clear understanding of what made her husband tick. Since their arrival at their luxurious beachfront villa in the Seychelles, he had been faultlessly attentive and so charming that she could barely believe he was the same man who had set his dog on her when he’d caught her trespassing in the grounds of his castle.
What game was he playing? she brooded. Because a game it surely was, and it was entirely her own fault that she was slipping deeper and deeper under his spell. Although she tried to steel herself against his potent brand of masculinity, she couldn’t control her body’s traitorous reaction whenever he was near.
They spent their days swimming in the villa’s private pool, or in the clear aquamarine sea. The island boasted miles of white sandy beaches, and as they walked they talked about every subject under the sun—bar her father and the reasons for their marriage.
Javier was fiercely intelligent and possessed a razor-sharp wit. She now knew that he enjoyed a number of sports, including fencing. They discussed films and the arts, and he told her fascinating details about the many Moorish treasures housed in his castillo and said that Grace would be welcome to look through the handwritten catalogues when they returned to Granada.
But she had discovered nothing about the real Javier Herrera or the secrets he kept locked away in his heart. He never spoke of his childhood again, but she guessed that he had been lonely, even when his grandfather had taken him to live at the castle and she had a feeling that Carlos had shown him as little affection as his parents had done.
Perhaps it was for the best that his barriers remained in place, she told herself one afternoon, when for the first time they were spending a few hours apart while he went water-skiing. She didn’t want to like him. It was bad enough that he made her feel like a gauche schoolgirl whenever he smiled at her. And when he kissed her…
With a groan of despair, she wriggled out of her sundress and left it on the sand before running down to the sea. The water was cool on her heated skin and she swam until her arms ached, trying to relieve the tension that gripped her muscles. She was not suffering from sexual frustration, she told herself firmly. But her body remained unconvinced. Until she’d met Javier, she had always assumed that she was one of those people who had a low sex drive—it was galling to discover that just one look from his slumberous amber eyes was enough to set her senses aflame.
‘You have no right to continually…manhandle me,’ she’d told him crossly on their first day at the villa when he had tugged her onto his lap and kissed her with a sensual expertise that had left her breathless. ‘You said yourself—our marriage is a business contract, and nowhere in the small print does it state that I have to share your bed.’
‘But it’s so much more fun to break the rules, don’t you think, querida?’ he had replied with one of his devastating smiles that had made her long to ignore common sense and follow the dictates of her body. Since then he had kissed her wherever and whenever he liked, which seemed to be most of the time, Grace thought ruefully. And she seemed incapable of resisting him when he claimed her mouth with a hungry passion he made no effort to disguise.
She flipped over onto her back and floated on the swell, lulled by the beauty of her surroundings. Eventually she splashed through the shallows and strolled along the beach away from the collection of private villas, stopping here and there to pick up a shell. Caught up in her thoughts, she lost all concept of time, and it was only when a breeze sprang up and chilled her skin that she looked around and realised that dusk was fall
ing.
‘Grace!’ Javier stared along the stretch of empty beach and called her name again even though he knew she wouldn’t answer. Where was she? Her dress and sun hat were still in a neat pile on the sand, and one of the villa’s staff had confirmed that he had seen Señora Herrera walk into the sea several hours ago.
He had searched everywhere and now, as dusk fell, he was gripped with fear. She could not have drowned, he told himself sternly as he began to stride along the beach once more, re-tracing the path he’d already taken twice before. The tides around the island were not reported to be particularly dangerous, and if she’d got into trouble while swimming someone would have seen her and gone to help, surely?
But Grace was so small and so fiercely independent. Even if she’d been struggling in the water, she probably wouldn’t have made a fuss. It was possible she had simply sunk without trace. He quickened his pace and called her name again, over and over, until he was hoarse.
He should never have left her alone, he told himself furiously. In fact he’d only been gone for a couple of hours. The water-sports facilities were excellent, but without Grace he’d been bored—and although it irritated him to admit it he’d been impatient to get back to her. For some inexplicable reason she’d got under his skin. Beneath her shy reserve she was bright and funny, and he could talk to her for hours rather than five minutes, which was his usual attention span with women.
Their sexual awareness of each other smouldered beneath the surface and at times, when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, it threatened to burst into flame. But he was rather enjoying the slow build-up of passion. Like a fine wine, it was better sipped slowly and each mouthful savoured. The anticipation of making love to Grace was a tantalising prelude made all the richer because, however much she tried to deny it, she wanted him too.
But now she had disappeared, and so far the team of island workers he’d asked for help had found no trace of her. He controlled his panic with the iron willpower that was one of his strongest traits, and strained his eyes along the shadowed beach. In the distance he could make out a small figure strolling in his direction—strolling, he noted furiously, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. His heart thundered in his chest and he began to run.
‘Where the hell have you been? Most of the islanders are searching for you!’ he said savagely when he reached Grace and stared down at her upturned face. Dios, she was so lovely. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her safe—and then shake her until her teeth rattled!
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the time,’ she murmured, plainly bemused by his simmering fury. ‘Why all the fuss?’ Her innocent query blew the lid on Javier’s temper, and with an oath he scooped her up into his arms and began to march along the beach.
‘You’ve been gone for over four hours. You weren’t wearing a hat, even though you left the villa at the hottest part of the day, and I don’t suppose you took sunscreen with you. You deserve to have sunstroke at the very least,’ he told her grimly, his tone warning her that he deemed hanging a far more suitable punishment.
They reached the villa and were greeted by the manager of the estate who expressed his relief that Grace was safe and well. Javier thanked the man and his staff, while Grace wanted to die of embarrassment for causing so much fuss. As soon as they were alone she attempted to struggle out of his arms, but he ignored her and carried her into the master bedroom where he dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed.
‘I was perfectly all right. I can look after myself, you know,’ she told him crossly.
‘I feared you might have drowned,’ he replied, his jaw tightening at the memory of the hours he’d searched for her. ‘You’d left your clothes on the sand and were last seen walking into the sea.’ He shrugged awkwardly, faint colour staining his cheekbones. ‘I know that our marriage does not make you happy.’
‘It might be a fate worse than death, but I promise I have no intention of drowning myself,’ Grace said flippantly. She caught the gleam of anger and another, indefinable, emotion in his eyes and realised too late that he had genuinely feared for her safety. ‘I’m sorry—that was a stupid thing to say,’ she faltered, her eyes widening when he leaned over her and trapped her against the mattress.
‘So being married to me is a fate worse than death, is it?’ he murmured silkily. ‘Let’s see, shall we?’
‘Javier—no, I didn’t mean…’ The rest of her words were lost beneath his lips as he swooped to claim her mouth in a searing kiss that was meant to punish rather than give pleasure. She twisted her head frantically until he tangled his fingers in her hair and held her fast while his tongue forced entry between her lips. He was hot and hard and dominantly male as he crushed her beneath him, and the throbbing force of his arousal pushing between her thighs sent liquid heat scalding through Grace’s veins.
The pressure of his mouth eased a fraction as his kiss became a flagrant seduction of her senses and, unable to resist his mastery, Grace curled her arms around his neck and clung to him.
‘Tell me honestly, Grace, do you find my touch abhorrent?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Do you despise the feel of my mouth on yours?’ His golden eyes gleamed with passion and injured pride, and Grace could almost believe that she had hurt him. Slowly she shook her head from side to side, and then gasped when he released the ties of her bikini top and peeled the clingy material from her breasts. ‘Do you hate it when I caress you here?’ He rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb and she whimpered as sensation racked her. ‘Or here?’ He stroked her other breast and then lowered his head and used his tongue with such devastating effect that she groaned and twisted her hips in an agony of need.
‘I’m waiting for your answer.’ The sound of his harsh voice forced her to open her eyes and meet his gaze. She wanted to reject him and wipe the arrogant smile from his face, but her body was on fire and she was desperate for him to continue his skilful ministrations.
‘I…don’t…hate it,’ she said thickly and saw the flare of hunger in his eyes before he took her mouth once more and demolished the last vestiges of her pride. She wanted him so much that she trembled with it. There was a nagging ache low in her stomach, and she could feel the heat between her legs. Would it really be so wrong to abandon her principles and give herself up to the pleasure of his full possession? she wondered feverishly.
She felt his hand drift down over her stomach and then lower, to caress the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. With consummate ease he nudged her legs apart and she held her breath when he slid his fingers beneath her bikini pants. At first he simply stroked her soft, downy curls but then slowly, inexorably, he separated the delicate folds of her flesh and eased into her. Instantly her muscles clamped around his finger and she gave a startled cry when he began to explore her, each pulsing stroke sending her higher and higher until she felt as though she was teetering on the edge of some magical place.
‘Javier…’ Overwhelmed by sensation, she dug her nails into his shoulders as if she needed to anchor herself to something solid. His fingers were now performing an erotic dance deep within her, and she sobbed his name as the first spasms of exquisite pleasure ripped through her body. It was so beautiful, but so wrong. She shouldn’t have been doing this—not with a man who had no respect for her and considered her his property because he had bought her.
‘Shh, easy, cara mia. It’s all right,’ Javier murmured huskily. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, but Grace pushed against his chest while tears streamed down her face.
‘It’s not all right—I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t love you,’ she told him wildly, shaking her head so fiercely that her hair fell forwards and covered her breasts. ‘I don’t hate your touch—that much is obvious—but I hate myself,’ she whispered brokenly.
‘But we’re married!’ Javier said explosively. ‘If you won’t make love with me when you’re my wife, what the hell would you have done if I’d only offered to help your father in return for you bec
oming my mistress?’
Grace shivered. ‘I would have done anything to save Dad from prison,’ she said honestly. ‘I was even prepared to have sex with you, although it went against everything I believe in, but I’d planned on getting drunk first so that I wouldn’t remember too much about it.’
Javier rolled onto his back and swore savagely in his native tongue. ‘You are so good for my ego, querida. Why don’t you just kick me between the legs and have done with it?’
Again Grace caught a raw note of pain mixed with his anger and she bit her lip. Was it possible that she’d hurt him? For some curious reason the thought made her want to cry. ‘I’m sorry, but you knew how I felt. For me, love and desire are inextricably linked, and one day I hope I’ll meet someone who values my heart as well as my body.’
‘You’re prepared to deny your body the pleasure it craves for the sake of a misguided belief in a fairy tale?’ Javier demanded scathingly. ‘Well, I wish you joy on your pedestal of self-righteousness, but if you ever decide to join the real world let me know, because however much you want to deny it I am the only man who turns you on.’
Chapter 9
Pale slivers of sunlight filtered through the curtains and slanted across the pillows. With a soft sigh Grace opened her eyes, the sight of Javier’s face so close to hers making her heart leap, as it had done every morning for the past two months.
Two months—the time she’d spent at El Castillo de Leon—had passed so quickly, but rather than hoping that the next ten months went as swiftly she found herself wishing that time would stand still.
What was he doing to her, this magician who had cast his spell over her? She stared at him, noting how his long black lashes brushed against his cheeks, softening his hard features. In sleep he looked more relaxed, almost boyish, and she felt her heart swell with emotion. When she’d first met him she had believed him to be in league with the devil, and had never expected that she could care for him. But during these first months of their marriage she’d learned that the Duque de Herrera did have a heart—he just kept it well hidden beneath a veneer of cold indifference.
The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride Page 11
