In response, his fingers began to massage her breasts, teasing her nipples, plucking at them. Gently, so that she wanted more. Needed more.
She bit down on her lip to stop from saying that. You will beg for me. The words raised all her hackles but inside, she was begging. Begging over and over.
His arousal was thick against her rear and she knew that it would be as easy for her to turn in the bed, push her pajama pants down and take him deep into her core.
But what would that say about her will-power?
His hand moved down her body, sliding into the soft, elastic waistband of her pants. She held her breath and then he was teasing her womanhood with his expert ministrations, his fingers massaging flesh that was so very sensitive.
“Are you awake because you are waiting for me?” And though he moved slowly, every touch stirred her to new heights, driving her wild. Then his lips began their assault on the sensitive flesh just beneath her earlobe, and she clamped her teeth together and whimpered. She felt his smile and hated it. How she wanted him! And needed to stay silent on that score!
His fingers found the band of her pajamas next, guiding them from her body and she didn’t say anything. She wanted to roll over and look up at him and beg him but pride kept her still. Just for a moment.
He brought his hand back to her breast and when his fingertips connected with her nipples this time, she arched her back, a soft movement that was involuntary but oh, how she needed to move! He was setting her body alight and there was no way she could simply lie there.
He understood. He pushed up to kneeling and then came to straddle her, gently nudging her onto her back so that he had full access to her front. His hands found the buttons to her shirt and began to undo them, slowly, his eyes holding hers with a sardonic mockery that should have turned her cold – except she was used to it now.
He was teasing her with the lightness of his touch.
Moving so slowly when he knew a fever was burning in her blood. He was waiting for her to beg. He wanted to hear her plead with him.
She bit down on her tongue, staying silent, even when he split the shirt open and revealed her breasts to his hungry gaze and the power of his desire almost knocked her sideways. Even when his large palms cupped her breasts and his arousal nudged at her nakedness, and she needed him to take her with a desperation that terrified her.
It was his mouth that did it.
His lips connected with the flesh of her breast, his stubbled chin rough on her softness and his tongue warm respite from the cold night air. He rolled his tongue over her peaked nipple and words danced, unbidden, from her tongue into the room.
“Please, Xavier,” she moaned, lifting her hands and pressing them to his back. Where once his flesh had been smooth and soft she found ridges now, bumps and twists of flesh that were the physical remnants from the crash that had heralded their end.
He pushed up, his eyes locking to hers and glittering with a fierce look of triumph before he returned to his teasing, rolling his tongue over her nipples until she’d given up any hope of not begging and the words kept tripping from her, tumbling out of her mouth as though she were casting a spell.
And then he dragged his lips higher, to her mouth, and he swallowed her incantations deep within his soul, and she kept offering them. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, holding him close to her womanhood, begging him with her mouth and her body. A fire had been lit and she needed him more desperately than she knew possible. His chest was hair-roughened and her breasts were so sensitive that having him pressed against her was setting off a cascade of desire within her.
He extended a hand and pulled away from her, just for a moment – not long enough for common sense to reassert itself, and then he was nudging her legs apart and pushing his powerful erection towards her entrance.
She whimpered at the promise of what was to come but he stilled for a moment, his expression watchful.
“Tell me you want this,” he said, gruffly, his anger impossible to miss and difficult to define.
“I hate you,” she said instead, and in that moment, it was so true. From the depths of her being, she hated him.
His smile was without humour. “But you still want this.”
She glared at him but when he began to slowly tease her, nudging a fraction of the way into her core before pulling out, she snapped, all grip to reality and pride falling away. She was simply a sexual being in that moment, and he was her master.
“Yes,” she agreed, the words dark, resentful. “I want this, I want this, I want this.”
“Thank God,” he groaned, knowing he needed it just as much, just as badly. And then he took her, he gave her what she needed – physically – while ignoring the marks on her heart. He pushed into her slowly at first, so her tight muscles had time to rejoice at his return and then he moved quickly, faster, thrusting into her while his mouth homed in on her breasts and his fingertips braided with hers, holding her hands wide.
It was an ancient, primal dance and they were in utter unison. Every one of his thrusts was accompanied by her body lifting to meet him, by her need to complement each of his movements. It went beyond thought and logic – they were both trapped by the tug of something ancient and magical.
They clung together, their bodies intertwined as pleasure carried them upwards and together they burst into the heavens, and he kissed her then, his mouth taking hers, holding her cries, tasting her tears, and promising her nothing.
Except more pleasure.
That was the only thing she could count on from Xavier.
And pain – she admitted, an hour later, when he was fast asleep behind her, his back turned, his body distant from hers. For there was no greater pain, surely, than sharing what they had and then being pushed away. Discarded when you no longer served a purpose.
He had debased her, and he’d enjoyed it.
He was using her desire against her, using it to demean her and make her beg. There was no clearer indication of his rage with her than that.
She lay with her back to his, staring at the Rembrandt wall, wondering if she’d imagined their time together before. Wondering if the sweet, kind, funny man she’d fallen in love with had been a product of her childish dreams.
No. She had a thousand recollections to contradict that, to underscore that her memories were accurate. But now, she saw it was only a part of Xavier Salbatore. He was also ruthless, determined, egomaniacal and bitter.
And she was going to marry him.
Her eyes swept shut on the invasion of more hot tears and Joshua was there, in her mind’s eye, his smile while he played with his father, his look of utter delight, even when he’d been sick! They were two peas from the same pod – that was why she was marrying Xavier.
Because a man who would make a woman beg in bed was clearly a man who would not hesitate to fight her in court. She didn’t doubt, for even a moment, that Xavier had meant every word of his threats. That he had powerful connections who would intervene on his behalf. And the thought of tearing Josh’s life apart like that was impossible to countenance.
Joshua’s life? And her own life, she admitted. How could she let Josh go? She had to share him with Xavier, and she could do that. So long as she was there too. Still a part of his life.
When she eventually fell asleep, it was somewhere near dawn, and only an hour after that, Joshua’s cry woke her. She sat upright, momentarily disorientated until it all came crashing back. Her eyes flung to the man beside her – the cry had woken him too. Their eyes met and she jerked her gaze away, unable to look at him, needing space from him desperately.
She stood up and then coloured at her nakedness, quickly pulling on her pants and looking for her top, conscious all the while of Xavier’s lazy, indolent watchfulness.
She left the room without looking at him, but his expression was burned into her mind’s eye.
“Mummy!” Josh’s little face was creased, alarm in his eyes. “Where were you?”
“I’m just next door,” she cooed. “Were you frightened?”
“I didn’t know—,” He looked around the room, his little mind trying to catch up with all these new developments. “This isn’t my room.”
Her heart spun. “No,” she said softly. “But I thought we’d stay here for a while,” she said gently. “So that you can spend some time with… my friend.”
“Xavier,” Josh said with a nod, but the foreign name on his lips sounded more like “thayva”.
Ellie’s smile was distracted. “Yes.”
“Where is he?”
In bed. She pictured him, naked, broad strong, warm, and her pulse speeded up. “You’ll see him soon, darling. Let’s get you dressed, hmm?”
She’d brought only minimal clothes with her – the angry security man had followed her around the house and she hadn’t liked the sense of invasion, so she’d been as quick as possible, simply to get rid of him. She helped Josh dress in a pair of jeans, a long sleeved shirt and then a soft, fluffy pullover with a tyrannosaurus rex on the front. Fuzzy black socks completed the ensemble and she finger-combed his hair from his face, and then felt a pang of pride when she stood back to observe this beautiful, kind child.
He might look like Xavier, but his heart was all Ellie’s. His goodness, his kindness, his tolerance. These weren’t qualities Xavier seemed to have at all, so she was certain their son had gained them from her side of the family.
Family.
Her chest panged.
Who was their family? Her parents, who didn’t want them. Nell, who was a Godsend. And then Xavier’s parents…
At the thought of Maria and Roberto she stammered to a stop, so that Josh looked up at her, his little face watchful. “Okay, mama?”
“Fine, darling,” she lied, walking once more, holding his hand as they made their way slowly down the stairs. She headed to the kitchen on instinct, but her brain was ticking over the fact that sooner or later, Roberto and Maria would become a part of this mess.
Maria would have to face the fact she’d lied to Ellie, and that her lie had been one of the deciding factors for the young, devastated, pregnant Ellie.
Ellie wouldn’t share her secret though. She wouldn’t tell Xavier that his parents played any part in her decisions. It was Xavier who’d cheated. Xavier who’d broken Ellie’s heart. Maria had acted out of love for her son, Xavier had acted out of love of himself and his damned libido. And Ellie? Well, she’d done what she’d believed best at the time.
Would she make the same decision now?
She couldn’t say with any certainty. But she’d been young and alone and terrified and the idea of moving into Xavier’s orbit had filled her with a dread she couldn’t make her peace with. And so she’d stayed away and she’d fallen in love with their son.
And now Maria and Roberto would want to meet him. Had Xavier already told them about Ellie and Josh?
She stopped walking again, her face frowned in consternation.
How was she going to navigate all this?
He strode into the kitchen minutes after they did. Josh was sitting on the bench, watching as Ellie opened doors in search of pots and pans, finally pulling out a saucepan and filling it with water. She removed a carton of eggs from the fridge and gently placed three into it, then put the saucepan on to the stovetop. She’d just lit the ignition when Xavier arrived, and Josh said his name in that sweet, lispy way he had.
Ellie kept her back to the man. She didn’t want to see him in the light of day. She didn’t want to see how handsome he was, to have her traitorous body respond with desire. Nor could she handle the sight of him being so lovely to her son, when contrasted with how he was with her.
As though she were simply a means to an end. She’d thought it before and she thought it again now, as flashes of the way he’d come to bed and made short work of all her defenses, seared her mind.
“Buenos días, niño,” he spoke in his native Spanish and the words threw more pleasurable memories before her. Memories of the way it had been before, when he’d made love to her, holding her whole body tight to his, and he’d whispered in her ear, again and again, foreign, mysterious, spiced words that had rolled off his tongue and into her heart.
“I have to go home today,” she said jerkily, without turning around.
She didn’t see the severe frown that etched his face, nor the way his body tensed. “You are home,” he purred instead, the words deceptively calm for their son’s sake, but she caught the underlying danger.
She didn’t rise to the bait. “I only brought a few things yesterday. I’ll need to collect some more clothes.”
“I have arranged a removalist to box your things. They will be here by evening.”
That caught her attention. She whirled around, holding a slotted spoon out as though it were a knife. “You’ve what?”
His eyes narrowed, warning in every line of his body. “You’re welcome,” he said, the word zipping with tension.
“I don’t want strangers going through my house, packing my things.” She tried to speak softly, conscious of the way Joshua was looking from one to the other. A frown creased her brow and she put the spoon down and scooped Josh up, carrying him from the room. She deposited him in the adjacent morning room and put the television on. Cartoons were running and one of his favourites came on. She knew he wouldn’t move from his position until she came to fetch him. She returned to the kitchen with the appearance of calm, moving to the stove and turning off the water, sucking in a deep breath to steady her frayed nerves.
“I appreciate you were trying to make this easier for me, but you should have asked. I don’t want strangers handling my move. So cancel them, and I’ll go and do it myself.”
“You will be busy today,” he demurred with frustrating firmness.
“Busy? Why?”
She turned to face him, and wished she hadn’t. He’d obviously had a quick shower while she’d been tending to Josh and his hair was wet, and though he’d dressed in jeans and a black shirt, he looked so devastatingly handsome that all she wanted to do was strip him naked again. Awareness made her cheeks glow pink.
“Organising the wedding,” he drawled slowly.
“What wedding?” She demanded, panicked.
He looked at her as though she were a half-wit. “Ours? Remember?”
“Oh,” she shook her head. “We’re not … I-I thought we’d simply get married. In a registry office. And be done with it.”
His eyes flashed with hers and he stood, unfurling his great frame so that every bone in her body resonated with awareness. He closed the distance between them, and stood so close that, though they weren’t touching, she could feel his breath fanning against her temples. “It will be a small wedding,” he conceded, “but it will be a wedding. With you in a white dress and me in a tuxedo, and our friends and family watching, believing us to be deeply in love. You will carry flowers, and there might even be a dove or two flying overhead. And Joshua will be a page boy and there will be photos. A great many photos. So that when he is older, he will see for himself that his parents loved each other, and loved him.”
Her skin prickled with the image he was painting, an image of a wedding she would have loved to plan – had there been any truth to the sentiment behind it.
He closed the last, final gap between them, his body pressing to hers now, his eyes mocking when they held hers. “Speaking of which,” he reached into his pocket without ceremony and then took her hand. “You should wear this.” He slid a ring onto her finger and when she looked down to see it, he moved away, turning his back on her so that he didn’t even see her reaction.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t care that tears moistened her eyes for how perfect the ring was, how right on her finger. How well it fit and how perfect it looked.
And it did look perfect, she conceded, her throat thick with emotion. A
band of white diamonds surrounding a single canary yellow diamond, as big as her thumbnail, with diamonds running down either side of the ring.
“It’s beautiful,” she said huskily. And then, with a shake of her head. “It’s too extravagant.
“It had to be.” The words were grim. “If anyone is going to believe this to be a real marriage, I had to give you the kind of ring I would to a wife of my choosing.”
He ignored the rush of regret that shrouded him. He ignored everything except his goal. That child, their son, would be his, and to hell with anything else.
But was hurting Elizabeth essential to that? His subconscious prompted, and Xavier winced, because that was a fair point. He didn’t need to wound her the way he was, and yet he found it impossible to stop.
He’d been so angry to discover Joshua, he’d barely stopped to think. He’d lost so much in the accident. It had taken him several long, painful months to regain anything near his usual range of motion, and even now he experienced flashes of pain in his body from time to time. His mind would never be the same. His brain was tired, his memories were bare, like a tree in the brink of autumn, leaves loosening, becoming lost forever.
Yes, he’d lost a lot, and to discover that he’d also lost the chance to be a father – it had been the final straw. And Elizabeth had been an instrument to that loss, so he’d been punishing her, using her sensual need against her. Because in bed, their bodies didn’t lie, and everything made sense – even just for a moment. In bed, he could hold her in his arms and whisper Spanish spells in her ear, and she welcomed him and he could forget. He could forget what he’d lost and what he was doing to regain some of that.
But it was no way to live – with this harsh sense of acrimony chewing up the air between them.
For the sake of their son, he knew he needed to make an effort to separate his anger from his wants. To forget that she had taken so much from him and focus instead on what she was giving him.
If only intentions could so easily translate into being…
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Claiming his Secret Baby & Blackmailed by the Spaniard (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 4) Page 11
