He was as lean and well muscled as a jaguar. She knew now he’d honed that gorgeous body with hard work in the villages.
She reached out to touch him.
He drew her close, but instead of kissing her again he swept her off her feet and strode to the bedroom. The whole way she nibbled at the strong column of his throat and the proud jut of his chin until she felt the tremors in his strong arms.
“You will be treated in kind,” he said in a voice rasping with passion.
“I’m counting on it.”
He dropped her on the bed and followed her down, covering her in one long, lean stretch that set her senses on fire. God how she’d missed this man, this feeling of oneness.
She inhaled his spicy scent, her legs parting instantly to accommodate him, her hands glorying as they swept up his strong back to latch onto his powerful shoulders.
The kiss was far too brief. He heaved off her and she made a moue of protest.
“Clothes,” he said, and made short work of removing her jeans.
He hooked his thumbs under the lacy edge of her knickers and she lifted her hips so he could rip them off as well. But he seemed in no hurry while her body was screaming for him to come back to her and ease this ache.
He stopped, his eyes widening marginally. She knew he’d seen the scar right above the hairline, the mark of a hasty surgery that had done more damage than good.
She wanted to hide from the awful truth, feeling ugly inside. But then he bent to press kisses along the scar and her heart nearly stopped. Tears stung her eyes, but the heat of passion soon dried them.
He lifted his head, his eyes ablaze with desire and compassion so strong her breath caught. His thumbs grazed her mons in one slow, possessive caress before sliding over the damp folds of her sex to make her squirm and reducing her world to this moment. He teased her with one finger, and a jolt of heat rocketed through her to bring her hips bucking off the bed.
“Have you forgotten how?” she asked when he continued to touch her until she was ready to scream from want.
“Are you insinuating I’m taking too slow?” he asked, his voice thick and his accent more pronounced as he dragged the knickers down her legs in slow, tantalizing seconds, the pads of his fingers skimming her flesh until she trembled so deeply she shook the bed.
“Yes!” To prove it, she wrapped her fingers around his sex.
She didn’t want slow or easy, but fast and hard. She wanted him inside her. Now. Filling her. She didn’t want him staring at her, concerned he might hurt her, for the waiting was painful enough.
He managed to hike one eyebrow, but he did as she bid.
“Now,” she said, spreading her legs wider to accommodate him.
“Not yet.”
He shifted his body and ran his tongue up her thigh. She bucked and felt her own dampness. Her sex throbbed, her breasts tightened into aching mounds.
Her breath escaped her in short, restive pants until she thought she’d die. His first intimate kiss was so deep and so commanding she came in a heartbeat.
Too fast, too fast. But she couldn’t form the words as he covered her body with his.
His gaze searched hers, the carnal need in his making them black. His sex probed her opening once before pushing into her in one swift, conquering thrust. She gasped at the exquisite power pulsing within her and locked her legs around his waist, her fingers digging into his corded arms.
This was what she’d mourned, too, far longer than anything else. She bowed into him and buried her face in his neck, aroused by his musk that drugged her senses, reveling in the salty tang of his skin.
For a heartbeat they stayed like that, joined in body, but not moving, not breathing. She let her body say what her pride refused to let her voice, words that would separate them again and deprive her of this closeness.
If she could just contain her emotions when passion overtook her again, but she couldn’t control herself around him. That much had never changed.
His long, strong fingers skimmed down her sides to cup her bum, lifting her. “Mi amanate, mi esposa,” he whispered roughly, his expression as fiercely possessive as his hold on her.
Like the night of their wedding, his vow was the same. Hearing it again after so long brought tears to her eyes, for though she was both his lover and wife this night, it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t, for there was too much pain between them to go back to those days. But if they could…
He rocked his lean hips, thrusting into her in another deep, long stroke that thrummed her heart and numbed her mind. The pain and emptiness that had been her companion for so long vanished, replaced by a sense of oneness that defied the odds facing them.
His mouth closed over hers, his tongue awakening a host of new sensations. That he could make love to her mouth with the same finite care as his sex did to hers splintered her control.
Her hands feathered down his sides and held on tight as the pressure built inside her until she feared she’d explode. Still he adored her with hands and mouth and sex until she splintered in his arms, screaming his name.
Her own name echoed around her, his voice deep and husky as he rocked into her one last time and stiffened. She clung to him, her body quivering inside and out as ripples of pleasure rocked through her, carrying her along the aftershocks of his own explosive climax.
It ended too soon. She lay there, unwilling to be the first to move and break the spell. For this closeness was glorious and freeing and she wanted far more.
She wanted to make love with him again.
She wanted forever with him.
He shifted, his weight lifting off her, his hair-roughened legs teasing skin sensitized by his touch, his possession. She soaked up the sensations, desperate to brand new memories on her mind, ones that would last her an eternity.
“Now we will go slow,” he said, and matched action to words by capturing her mouth in one long, languorous kiss that sang through her blood, stealing any protest she’d dare make, tempting her to give herself over to him again.
“You seem arrogantly sure of yourself,” she murmured against the full curve of his lips when the kiss finally broke and they’d both dragged in air.
He dropped a line of wet, hot kisses down her throat, pausing at the pulse point. For one moment she felt his heart beating in tandem with hers.
“Do you doubt my prowess?” His mouth opened on her right breast, his tongue swirling the taut nipple into an aching peak.
“Never.”
She arched against him, her fingers sliding through the silk of his hair to grip his head and hold him tight. Her hips lifted as well in invitation to the hard length of his sex pulsing against her belly.
He shifted, cupping her face in his big hands, his eyes twin embers of coal that burned so hot she felt the heat sear her soul. “You are mine, querida.”
But for how long?
She ran a shaky finger along the strong line of his jaw, skimming chiseled lips that filled her with love with one rare smile, brought her to ecstasy with kisses that muddled her mind, or broke her heart with one damning scowl.
She made to pull away, but his mouth swooped down on hers, stilling her protest. She wanted to resist him, but she couldn’t. Wanted to hate him for controlling her body with a look, a touch, a kiss. Wanted to find closure and end her own inner torment, but she knew that would never happen until her memory finally returned.
The pleasure was too great in his arms, and she was helpless to resist him.
Miguel sprawled on his back in bed, an arm thrown over his eyes. Allegra snuggled beside him, having surrendered to exhaustion hours ago.
But sleep eluded him.
Before her return, he’d convinced himself that he could romance her, steal her heart again, tease her with dreams of starting over and then desert her as she’d done him. He was prepared to lull her into a false complacency if he must as a means to his end. He’d wanted her to hurt as she’d hurt him.
But he hadn’t known both t
heir families had schemed to keep them apart. How uncanny he’d been out of the country on a mercy mission for his people at the time of the accident.
He’d had no idea of the tragedy awaiting him at home. While he was risking his life with the Médecins sans Frontiéres to help the campesinado in the hinterlands of Guatemala, his family was being ripped apart.
It was no wonder that Loring whisked Allegra back to England when three weeks passed and Miguel had failed to make any contact with his desperately ill wife. He suspected if the truth be known, his own madre had suggested it.
For she’d have decreed Allegra more of an unfit wife than she had before they’d married. She’d have expected him to produce another heir, and that probability was dismal with Allegra.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, disgusted with himself for believing the lies and half-truths. Most of all, he hated that he’d failed her.
The sleeping woman at his side stirred, releasing a moan that was soft as a whisper yet raised the hairs on his arms. Did her subconscious replay the accident?
Miguel reached out to brush back the strands of hair from her pale face. Her cheeks were wet and hot from the silent tears she held back when she was awake.
His chest felt too tight to draw a decent breath. He’d been ill-prepared when he’d come here, for he’d done so in the heat of anger to prove to Allegra that their future had been foremost on his mind.
Now that she’d seen it, now that he had her promise she was staying with him, it was time to move in fully.
But, he still had an obstacle to clear up. Before the day was out, he’d know why his madre lied to him. He wanted her to look him in the eye and tell him why she’d set out to destroy his marriage.
He rose from the bed and strode into the sala. Now that he’d set his mind on a course of action, he wanted this over with. He rolled his shoulders against the impatience that worked his muscles into knots.
He stood there a moment as the first glimmer of morning brushed orange swaths across a pink horizon. The blush of dawn inched through the windows and across the tile floors, bringing the terra cotta to life.
The day would be bright without clouds to shadow the truth.
“You’re up early,” she said.
He turned to find her standing in the bedroom doorway, the sheet gathered round her for modesty’s sake. Her hair was mussed—sexy.
Her chest rose and fell too fast. Her gaze left a burning trail from his chest to his groin.
Her mouth parted slightly as her tongue darted out to wet her sensuous lips. This was the look of carnal hunger that he remembered well of her.
Lust bolted through him. His blood heated and raced. His sex sprang awake and thickened.
He didn’t attempt to hide his evident desire for her. “We need to return to Hacienda Primaro soon.”
“I—I’d like to shower first.”
He smiled and started toward her. “Then we shall do so together to save time.”
One delicate eyebrow lifted in question, a knowing smile teasing the lips he longed to ravish. “It never did before.”
He paused before her to loosen her grip on the sheet. “Are you complaining?”
“No.”
The sheet slithered down her body, unveiling her curves like a curator would a prize statue. Though her skin was the delicate hue of fine porcelain, she was a warm, willing woman.
His woman.
But the emotion in her eyes before she lowered her gaze turned his throat dry.
It was adoration.
The same emotion he’d seen on her face countless times when she’d professed her love for him.
He’d been arrogantly amused by it when their relationship was young and full of promise. He’d never expected his own heart to swell with love for her, or break when he learned she’d been unfaithful. He had been determined to reject love for that very reason, and now he knew the pain of loss.
He’d never given that much of himself to another before—he’d never lost control of his emotions except with her.
Sí, he’d closed himself off from it before. But he couldn’t do that now. No, he’d have to deal with it this time.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS early evening by the time Miguel and Allegra arrived at the Hacienda Primaro. He’d made several phone calls as he drove, speaking in Spanish so rapidly she caught very little of the conversation other than mention of Riveras in a tone so vehement she shivered.
Whatever Miguel decided to do with the man couldn’t be punishment enough. Admitting that made her wonder if she’d become as ruthless as her husband, or if this was the closure she’d desperately sought and found.
“Tell Señora Barrosa I wish to speak with her now,” Miguel said to the housekeeper as soon as they walked in the door.
“She isn’t here, señor.” The housekeeper explained that Miguel’s mother had gone on a shopping jaunt to Merida with her daughter and wasn’t expected back until tomorrow. “Would you and the señora wish for something to eat?”
“Nothing for me, thank you,” Allegra said.
Miguel ordered a sandwich, and insisted Allegra at least have a plate of fruit and cheese to nibble on. Food didn’t appeal in the least, but she didn’t argue.
“If you don’t mind,” she said. “I’d like to rest.”
His eyes glowed a rich mocha that warmed her within. “By all means rest. You did not get much sleep last night, and tonight will be the same.”
She couldn’t stop the fiery blush from blazing over her face, no more than she could stay the languid desire that swirled within her. She gave his impressive physique an appreciative once-over and was rewarded with a deep, masculine groan of longing.
“Perhaps you should take a nap as well.”
He laughed, a liquid rumble that sounded free and wicked, like the man she’d first met on the beach what seemed a lifetime ago. “If we retired to our rooms to take a nap now,” he said, his expression conveying that he’d like nothing better, “I can promise you that we would not rest.”
She was more than aware of that, too. She actually wanted to lose herself in his arms, for then she didn’t have to face the uncertainty in her life.
She didn’t have to wonder how long it would be before the flames of their desire would die out. She wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of knowing one day he’d turn to another woman who’d give him children.
“Great sex never solved any of our problems, or even began to mend the differences that pulled us apart,” she said.
He cocked one dark eyebrow. “Are you weary of our arrangement so soon?”
“I’m just tired,” she said. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Our room,” Miguel said, looking more like a fierce Mayan warrior than a billionaire in soft faded denims and a black T-shirt that molded over his muscular chest. “I will join you in an hour, querida.”
He turned and strode off the opposite direction toward his office. He’d likely be there for an hour or more.
Her body quivering at the sultry promise in his voice she struck off down the hall toward the sleeping quarters. Her heels clicked a discordant beat on the tiles that mirrored her soul. Though Señora Barrosa wasn’t in residence, the casa felt cold and sterile. Try as she might, she’d never been able to imagine Miguel and his sister playing in this house, running down the halls, their laughter ringing off the warm plaster walls.
It was a showpiece. A casa built to impress. Even the altars devoted to the deceased family members lacked anything personal.
She paused at the small alcove that housed the altar devoted to Cristobel. Her heart swelled with love as she smiled at the framed photo of her beautiful newborn baby.
A tiny rosary hung from a corner of the frame with a pacifier and rattle lying on the lace cloth. She reached over and ran her fingers over the fleece ear of the stuffed bear she’d bought for Cristobel.
Unlike the exquisite porcelain doll reposed on the other side, her child could have played with
the stuffed toy. She could have been a child without a care.
Despite the fact she felt the pull of her mother-in-law even here, this tradition gave her such a sense of peace that she decided she’d create a similar one in the new casa. Even if she didn’t live there for long, perhaps it would offer Miguel peace. Perhaps he’d pause from his rat race of making more millions and share a quiet moment with the memory of his daughter.
With her spirits lifted a bit, she moved on to the master suite and crawled up on the big bed. She hadn’t slept in this room with Miguel since she was eight months pregnant.
Her cheeks warmed, for she doubted she’d get much sleep tonight. But for now she’d rest.
The slamming of a door deep in the house woke her. She stretched, feeling more rested than she had in days. And why shouldn’t she?
A glance at the bedside clock proved she’d slept several dreamless hours. She frowned. Why hadn’t Miguel joined her as promised?
She slid from the bed and went stone-still as the memory of Amando Riveras blazed across her mind. My God! She could see it clearly. She saw what he’d done. She had to tell Miguel.
Allegra left the bedroom and set off toward his office, suspecting he’d gotten involved in managing his empire and completely forgot about the woman in his bed. She burst into the room with a chiding retort poised on her lips, only to find the room empty.
“Miguel?”
No answer other than the soft hum of his computer. She wandered the room and paused to scan the bookshelves, but as the minutes ticked past and he didn’t return, her restlessness grew.
She rounded his desk with the intention of finding a pen and paper to leave him a note, giving the screen no more than a passing glance. The name bolded on the subject line of an e-mail made her blood run cold.
Why would her uncle Loring be the subject of communication?
She dropped onto his chair and read the e-mail, her stomach knotting as the meaning sank in. It was from Miguel’s attorney and it detailed everything that Loring Vandohrn owned, from his meager savings to the quaint cottage he lived in.
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