But her photographs didn’t lie.
Stefano had become the center of her whole world. The only man for her.
She loved him.
The bartender came over with their two drinks, and stared at her openly. She tried not to notice his knowing smirk before he left. He clearly thought she was Stefano’s newest easy woman, here today and gone tomorrow.
Which was exactly what Annabelle was. She blinked, hard.
With a quick sip of his beer, Stefano continued to turn through the digital images. Ignoring her own drink, Annabelle stared at him, fighting back tears.
Would he notice he was in every picture? Would he understand what it meant?
Please, God, she prayed. Don’t let him notice. If he did, her humiliation would be complete.
Finally, he looked up at her, and his dark eyes glowed.
“These pictures are perfect, full of passion and life,” he said with a smile, handing back the camera. “I see your love and appreciation for my ranch in every image. Well done,” he added softly.
Not just her love for Santo Castillo. She swallowed, her cheeks feeling hot. “Thank you.”
They show my love for you. All for you. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited in agony for him to say something more, anything.
Annabelle, why am I in every picture?
Annabelle—surely you have not been stupid enough to fall in love with me?
Stefano cleared his throat.
“There were some good pictures of Mrs. Gutierrez and the boys. Perhaps you could make copies and send them to the boys’ parents.”
She blinked. “Sure.”
His brow furrowed as he looked down at her, his dark eyes warm and tender. “Everything all right?”
“Yes,” Annabelle whispered over the lump in her throat. But it wasn’t all right. It would never be all right again.
He threw some money on the table to pay the bill and rose from his chair. “Let’s head home.”
On the drive back to the ranch, Annabelle stared out the window at the sunset shimmering in the west. The light turned the undulating green hills into silken ribbons of scarlet and coral and magenta.
Rolling down the window to lean her elbows against the frame, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the fragrant air, redolent of oranges and earth and the distant sea. She loved this beautiful, wild, half-arid landscape.
As they drove back, the simple brush of Stefano’s hand against her knee as he shifted the gears caused a thrill through her body, even as it caused a jagged pain through her heart.
Then he spoke.
“Don’t leave tomorrow, Annabelle,” he said in a low voice. “Stay here. With me.” She looked at him with an intake of breath.
“I wish I could.”
“Why can’t you?”
Because her heart was already breaking, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hide her love for him, love he would never return. “Because … I can’t.”
His eyes looked black, then he turned back to the road and switched gears, hard. She sat in stricken silence as they drove back through the gates of Santo Castillo.
The chaos at the ranch had only increased. He navigated past the delivery vans and horse trailers parked along his gravel drive, skirting around the people setting up for the polo match and gala dinner afterward. By noon tomorrow, Annabelle knew, Santo Castillo would be overrun by the world’s most beautiful, sophisticated, experienced women. Just thinking of it, she felt sick inside.
Stefano parked the truck in the garage and turned off the ignition. Setting his jaw, he faced her.
“Come to my bedroom,” he said. “So we can discuss this.”
“I’ll come to your bedroom, but there’s nothing to discuss.”
“There is.”
“Don’t ruin our last precious night by trying to change things that cannot be changed.”
“Anything can change. We are the ones who know what we want and how we want to live. You have three minutes to get to my bedroom.” The hard set of his jaw frightened her. “Or I’ll carry you. Right now.”
“Everyone would see!”
“Three minutes.”
He got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.
Annabelle sat in the darkened garage in shock. When she finally got out of the truck and left the garage, Stefano’s broad, muscular back was disappearing behind a brightly colored horse trailer as he pushed through the throngs of caterers and party planners and hired help.
She stared at him, and felt like crying.
Leaving him was the last thing she wanted to do. But she had to do it. The longer she stayed now, loving him, the more vicious her heartbreak would be. She’d never loved anyone like this. If she let herself stay, his ultimate betrayal might kill her. Her only hope of saving herself was to leave. Immediately.
Annabelle slowly started to walk through the crowds toward the house. But she had a sinking feeling that it was already too late.
CHAPTER TEN
THREE MINUTES FELT LIKE an eternity.
Stefano paced across the cool tiles of his bedroom floor. He was not going to let Annabelle leave tomorrow. Not now. Not yet.
He had to persuade her to stay. With words. With his body. Whatever it took. The more time he spent with Annabelle, the more he knew they were meant to be together—if not forever, then at least for longer.
Stefano heard her knock, and flung open the door.
Annabelle’s beautiful face looked both sad and determined as she folded her arms. “All right, I’m here,” she said. “But I’m not going to change my mind about tomorrow. So let’s not talk about it, we have so little time left already….”
Stefano held open the door. “Come in.”
He could see the uncertainty and longing across her lovely, expressive face as she entered his bedroom.
“Sit down,” he said. “I want to tell you something.”
She stood in front of him with a spine straight as steel and shook her head. “I’ll stand.”
“I want to tell you,” he said quietly, “the real reason I gave up my show-jumping career at nineteen, in the middle of the London International Equestrian Show.”
Her mouth fell open. Her gray eyes were wide as she sank onto the bed.
Stefano looked down at her. He hadn’t wanted to ever explain this, but it was the only thing that might help her understand. He forced himself to speak, and the words came slowly.
“I told you I was lured into joining the show-jumping team by the coach’s daughter. Rosalia,” he said in a low voice. “I thought she loved me, and we would someday marry. The night before the horse show, I was unable to reach my parents back in Spain. My mother hadn’t answered her phone for weeks. I was worried so I went to see my coach, who I believed cared for me as a son.”
“What happened?”
Stefano’s lips curved sardonically. “He thought I was asleep in my hotel room. I overheard him laughing with another coach about how he’d convinced my parents to keep my mother’s illness a secret. Stupid peasants with no money, he called them. He’d convinced them it would be selfish to ask me to leave my team and be with my mother before she died.”
“Oh, no,” Annabelle whispered, her face stricken.
He took a rough breath. “I left without him knowing I’d overheard. I went to Rosalia’s room, to tell her what happened. I found her in bed with the captain of the show-jumping team.” His lips twisted. “I’d never even slept with her. I was still a virgin with this idealistic goal of marrying this perfect woman. But she’d never given a damn about me, just for the pretty trinkets I bought her. The next day, I got my revenge. I stopped my horse before the jump and went back to Spain. I used my small savings to buy Santo Castillo for my mother. She lived for a year, and my father did not live long without her. But I never forgave myself … for foolishly valuing a woman’s lies over what really mattered. My home. My family.”
“Oh, Stefano.” Annabelle reached for his h
and, and he saw tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Standing beside the bed where she sat, he held her hand for long moments of silence. His hand tightened over hers as he looked down at her.
“I know you think you can’t trust me, Annabelle,” he whispered. He lifted his chin. “But you can. Being with you, for the first time since I was nineteen, I have found a woman I trust. A woman I believe in. I believe in you.”
Visibly trembling, Annabelle rose to her feet.
Pulling her into his arms, he nuzzled her temple. “Don’t leave tomorrow, Annabelle,” he whispered against her hair. “Stay here with me.”
He felt her hesitate, felt her start to melt in his arms. Then she pushed away angrily. “How dare you use your charm on me!”
He blinked. “Charm?”
“You know you have power over me!” she raged. “You always make me do anything you want!”
Stefano liked the sound of that. He came closer to her. “Do I really have such power?”
“You know you do,” she whispered.
He hid a smile. Wrapping his arms back around her, he pressed his lips to her ear. “Then before you make any decisions about leaving tomorrow,” he whispered, “listen to the rest of the argument in my favor….”
Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her with all the emotion he could not express in words.
He felt her hands try at first to push him away. But he held on to her forcefully, kissing her passionately, until her hands grew still, then gripped his shoulders as a sigh of pleasure escaped her.
Her lips were sweet magic, luring him with the promise that he could be the man she needed, if only for a while. A few weeks. A few months. A year?
Her small hands reached beneath his black shirt, stroking his bare chest. Teasing him. With a growl, he turned on her and ripped her white shirt open, popping off the buttons. He pushed her against the bedroom wall.
Kissing down her neck, he stroked her breasts until her head fell back with a gasp of pleasure. He unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor, licking the valley between her breasts as if they were covered with sticky sweet jam.
But Annabelle was no longer a shy, timid virgin. She loved this game and reached for his shirt, yanking it up over his head. He pushed against her, his bare chest to her breasts, hungry to feel her heat, her warmth, her softness. He nipped at her neck, sucking and biting her until he knew he’d left his mark. He felt her nails in his back as he kissed her mouth, hard and deep. He felt her teeth bite his lower lip and he gasped. He nearly exploded right then and there.
His innocent mistress had become a fiery, fearless temptress.
Moving his hands down her naked belly, he undid her belt. Her oversize jeans dropped to the floor. Kicking them aside, he ripped off her panties.
He needed her. Right now. He barely got his jeans unzipped and grabbed a condom and he was roughly inside her, shoving her against the wall, plunging deep as she wrapped her legs around his hips with a hot gasp. She was so wet, three thrusts and she gasped out her climax in the same instant that he pumped deep inside her with a shout.
Afterward, they were so spent they collapsed onto the bed. There, he held her, stroking her without words in the early-evening shadows. He kissed her softly, gently, stroking her cheek as he gazed down at her. He could not get enough of looking at her face.
But within minutes, he was hard for her again. This time, after taking her like an animal, he intended to go slowly. Rolling Annabelle gently back against the soft pillows, Stefano slowly kissed down her neck, her breasts, all the way down her belly and thighs and knees to the hollows of her feet. He kissed and sucked and stroked every inch of her body with his lips and fingertips until she shook all over, begging wordlessly for him to take her.
Moments earlier, he’d done so with rapid, explosive violence. Now, he moved slowly, torturing her with an hour of teasing and touching and suckling. Only when she begged for release from her agony did he finally show mercy. But even then, he tortured her. He gradually thrust inside her, impaling her inch by inch, until she wept with need.
Then … he slammed inside her. Hard. Fast. Her fulfillment came almost instantly and she arched her back in a sharp cry like the sun bursting through dark clouds.
That was the moment. The best moment. Stefano watched her luminous face, and knew if he lost her, he would lose the sun.
He would convince her to stay. He would find a way.
Hours later, as the pale light of dawn crept through the blinds of his bedroom window, Annabelle woke up smiling from a delicious dream. Except it wasn’t a dream.
She was still in Stefano’s arms, lying against his naked body as he slept. She exhaled, exhausted to her toes. Sore. And yet so happy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy.
They’d made love three times last night. Or was it four? She counted.
One. Shocking. Rough. Hard and brutal against the wall.
Two. She shivered. He’d tortured her with his sensual hands for hours, it seemed, before he’d finally thrust inside her.
Then, putting on robes, they’d snuck down to the kitchen for sandwiches, giggling like children trying to stay quiet and failing miserably before they returned to his bedroom with a tray.
After the brief repast of sandwiches and wine and strawberries in bed, they’d slept in each other’s arms before she’d been woken by the touch of his hand.
Three. He’d kissed her, deep and hot, then as she’d moaned with pleasure he’d rolled her over to take her from behind, plunging inside her, wrapping his hands around her body to hold her breasts as he thrust inside her like a stallion covering a mare. He was so deep inside her, touching her womb, stretching her to the hilt, she’d exploded almost at once.
Sweaty and sticky, they’d fallen back against the twisted cotton sheets. Laughing at the way their bodies seemed to stick together, they’d decided to take a shower.
Inside the enormous glass shower of his en suite bathroom, they’d washed each other’s hair, scrubbing each other’s bodies until they were pink with heat and fragrant with soap. He’d lightly massaged her shoulders and she’d closed her eyes, leaning back against him with a sigh as the hot steam surrounded them. Then abruptly, he’d turned her to face him.
Four. He’d fallen to his knees before her. Lifting one of her knees over his shoulder beneath the warm spray of water, he’d licked and suckled between her legs until she’d had a fourth explosion of shattering pleasure.
Afterward, she’d been exhausted, utterly spent. He’d tenderly toweled her off and carried her back into his bed, cradled in his arms.
He’d set her, damp and naked, gently on the white sheets, and she’d briefly had a glimpse of his dark eyes in the moonlight. He’d looked obsessed, almost haunted.
For an instant, she’d wondered if he could be falling in love with her, too. If a miracle could happen and Stefano would tell her, You’re the only woman I want. For the rest of my life.
Then the moment had passed. Stefano had pulled away, kissing her softly in bed and pulling her against his naked body as they slept the few remaining hours before dawn.
Now, as Annabelle blinked in the early dawn light, the smile slowly slid from her face.
Today was their very last day.
The last morning she would wake up in Stefano’s arms. Tonight, after the gala, she would leave for London.
Today was the last day Stefano would be hers.
And even today, he wouldn’t truly be hers, she realized with a sinking heart. Within an hour or two, guests would start to arrive for the late-morning pre-polo breakfast. Annabelle closed her eyes, imagining beautiful, sultry socialites swathed in diamonds and miniskirts, and no doubt experienced in the ways of luring and pleasing a man.
Annabelle swallowed, blinking back tears. She’d never know again how it felt to be Stefano’s woman, to have him kiss her, to have him hold her in his strong arms as his dark eyes burned through her soul.
It had taken h
er thirty-three years to fall in love. Now, there’d be no more warmth. No more fire. No more Stefano.
Unless …
Unless what? a cold voice mocked. Do
you think if you tell him you love him, he’ll miraculously say he loves you, too?
Annabelle took a deep breath. Maybe.
Forget it, the voice mocked. All he’d feel would be pity.
I don’t know that. His eyes tell me he could love me. His body tells me he could love me. We might have a chance.
If you want to keep your dignity, the voice said scornfully, you’ll stay silent. You’ll walk away.
Stefano stirred in bed beside her, yawning. Still half-asleep, he instinctively pulled her close to his chest, wrapping her tightly in his arms. And how was it possible he already wanted her again? She could feel him hard behind her. Smiling in spite of her turmoil, she turned around in his arms.
She found his dark eyes looking down at her. His whole face shone with contentment.
“Buenos días, querida, “ Stefano said huskily. He leaned forward to kiss her.
She pulled away.
“I have to tell you something,” Annabelle said, entwining her hands in his. She licked her lips. “For all my adult life, being a photographer has been the only thing that made me feel alive and safe.” She looked back at him. “Until I met you.”
Stefano gripped her shoulders. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”
She stared at the floor. Her eyes stung as if pricked with needles.
Tell him, her heart pleaded.
Don’t tell him! her brain ordered.
“Forget about London,” Stefano said. His dark eyes glowed in the early gray light. “Forget your assignment in Argentina. Don’t leave, querida,” he whispered. “Stay with me.”
Annabelle’s whole body trembled. She didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that her choice at this moment would change the rest of her life.
Pushing away from him, she sat up in bed and rose unsteadily to her feet. Feeling dizzy, she paced five steps, then turned back to him. “Before we talk about that, there’s something I need to tell you first,” she said unsteadily.
Bad Blood Collection Page 111
