Claiming His Wife Page 8

  CHAPTER NINE

  'Roman!'

  But he was already walking rapidly away, striding along the winding path that led back towards the house, his feet brushing the bordering lavender plants, releasing the sweetly astringent perfume into the sparkling air. If he'd heard her anguished cry he gave no sign of it.

  Casting an agitated glance at the coffee tray, Cassie decided to come back for it later. It seemed pretty hopeless, but she had to make another attempt to convince him that no way had she been sleeping around during their year apart. He was the only man she had made love with, or wanted to be with.

  She caught up with him as he entered the court­yard through the arched doorway in the stone wall. Her heart was pounding and she knew her face had turned a fiery, anxious red. 'Roman—wait!'

  In complete contrast he was cool, composed. She had never seen him look so solemn. One dark brow lifted slightly in silent enquiry as he glanced down into her troubled features.

  'I want to talk—and I want you to listen.' Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Would she ever be able to make him believe she hadn't been tutored in the art of pleasing a man in bed by a string of experts? The subject had obviously been troubling him for the last five weeks and now he couldn't get it out of his head.

  'The talking has been done, querida,' he intoned with a bleak finality that cut deep into her soul, his beautiful smoky eyes devoid of all expression. 'It was cathartic but necessary, you understand. The last few weeks have been—' wide shoulders drifted el­oquently upwards '—what can I say? A dream. But always one must wake and face reality. We had to discover why our marriage had been such...' He paused, as if searching for a word that wouldn't be too hurtful. 'So uncomfortable. Now—' again that infuriating, frustrating glance at his watch '—I'm ex­pected in Seville for a business meeting later this morning. I shall be away for two days. We will talk again on my return. Not of the past, but of the fu­ture. '

  Take me with you! She wanted to plead. But didn't. She felt as if she'd been hit with a brick. He had spoken as if he had every intention of giving her the divorce she'd asked for a year ago and the old pattern was repeating itself. Business trips taking him away for longer and longer periods. Always leaving her behind.

  Yet it had been different this time, she told herself wildly. This time their coming together had been glo­riously successful; they'd been like two halves of a whole, blissfully inseparable. Did that, in the end, count for nothing?

  As the cool silence of the house swallowed him, she sank, onto a stone bench in the courtyard and listened to the cool music of the fountain, breathing the scent of the sweetly perfumed oleanders into la­bouring lungs, doing her very best to calm down. A divorce was the very last thing she wanted. She loved him so much.

  He'd asked questions and she'd answered them as honestly as she knew how. His curiosity had been satisfied and he now knew why she had been forced to leave him, why their marriage had been such a failure to begin with.

  That his conclusions were the wrong ones simply wouldn't occur to him. The past lived. The mistakes hadn't been erased, and a new and equally devastat­ing misconception—that she'd been sleeping with other men—had been born. His whole attitude told her that he was set on continuing what she had started—the ending of their marriage.

  The mental pain was so overwhelming she didn't know how she was ever going to be able to cope with it. And when, minutes later, he stood over her, she looked at him blankly, the sparkle blanketed from her eyes beneath the weight of her misery.

  He looked cool and fresh, and she could smell the tangy cologne he always wore, a scent that would live in her memory for ever. His car keys were in one hand, a slim overnight case in the other.

  He said levelly, 'I've recalled Manuel and Teresa; they should be here within the hour. After our less than wholehearted attention, the house and the gar­den need some supervision,' he explained, dauntingly practical and chillingly cool.

  Cassie shivered. So the second honeymoon was well and truly over. Her heart was hurting and her mind felt as if someone had ripped it apart and flung the ragged pieces to the four winds. Useless to ask him to listen to what she wanted to say while she was in this state. He wouldn't welcome near-hysterical protestations of innocence or tearful pleas to take her back on a permanent basis.

  Besides, she didn't want to come over as a gib­bering wreck. She needed time to wind down, gather some control and come to terms with what had hap­pened this morning. His absence would at least give her that.

  'Fine.' She returned his glance as coolly as she could manage and turned away before he could see the tears that were brimming in her eyes. 'See you in two days. Take care.'

  Ten minutes later Cassie was dressed in a cool cotton shift dress in clear lemon-yellow, comfy flat sandals with a floppy-brimmed straw sun hat covering her coiled-back hair. No way was she going to be here when the housekeeper and her gardener husband re­turned to take up their duties.

  She needed to be on her own, away from the house where everything was a bittersweet reminder of Roman. She needed to think, to get herself together, face what looked like being the final breakdown of her marriage. She also had to discover whether there was any truth in what she was beginning to believe...

  Out in the shade of the narrow street that wound down into the heart of the old town she gave a small sigh of relief, feeling marginally more in control of her emotions. Teresa, as she remembered the short but heftily built woman, was a bit of a martinet, rul­ing the seeming army of staff with a rod of iron, making sure el patron's slightest wish was antici­pated, treating the unsuitable new bride with decid­edly sniffy disdain.

  That, Cassie decided, she could do without right now!

  Her first port of call was the chemist in the main square, and as she tucked the package into the bottom of the straw bag that teamed with her hat and stepped out into the sizzling sunlight she gave a slight shiver.

  Soon she would know, one way or the other.

  Had she conceived Roman's child? Or had her per­iods gone back to being all over the place because she'd forgotten to take the pill on that first fateful, never-to-be-forgotten night?

  But she wouldn't think about that right now, not when there was so much other stuff going on inside her head. She had taken the day to get her mind straightened out, not add to the muddle. She would think about the consequences of having conceived Roman's child when and if she knew for sure she had.

  Nevertheless, she felt distinctly shaky inside as she headed for one of the pavement cafes and sank down at a table beneath the shade of a huge striped um­brella. She ordered freshly squeezed orange juice with lots of ice and tried to make her mind a blank, watching the life of the ancient Spanish town pass by.

  But it didn't work. Her mind was filled with one thought alone: Roman's child—how she would love it!

  It was almost dusk when she returned to the great stone house that dominated the narrow street. Her hair had come adrift from the neat coil and tumbled riotously around her shoulders and the wind from the sea had whipped away her straw hat as she'd walked on the long sandy beach. She felt hot and sticky and her feet hurt.

  But it had been worth it. Her mind had gradually cleared and she felt a million times more hopeful than when she had set out. Hopeful enough to greet Teresa with a confident smile as she entered the huge, marble paved hall and found the housekeeper waiting.

  'Good evening, Teresa. I hope you and your hus­band have settled back in.' A skeleton staff now, where once there had been an army. Had Roman re­fused to make use of this lovely place since their disastrous first honeymoon?

  'Senora.' If anything, the housekeeper's impres­sive girth had much increased since Cassie had last seen her, and her features were, as ever, stony with disapproval. 'You wish for supper?'

  Cassie permitted herself a tiny wry smile at the martyred tone. Three years ago she would have shaken her head and scuttled away, not wanting to be a nuisance. Now she said pleasantly, 'Please. S
omething light in the small sola in one hour. I need to shower and change.'

  And do that test. Find out for sure if what she hoped with all her heart was true or just wishful thinking.

  'Si, senora. In one hour.' Was there a look of grudging approval in the older woman's small black eyes? Cassie couldn't be sure until the housekeeper said, a bit stiffly but nevertheless said, 'Welcome home. It has been too long,' and waddled away.

  Sucking in a breath of pleased surprise Cassie flew up the great, curving staircase. Everything was going to be all right—it had to be! Teresa's acceptance of her had to be an omen. Didn't it?

  But that was a minor thing. What really counted was the way she'd been able to go over the talk she and Roman had had this morning, rationally and calmly, picking up clues.

  He had mentioned that he'd been attracted to her, that he hadn't wanted her to leave him, but had let her go for her own sake, allowing her time to become an adult woman who could stand on her own feet. And there had been no mistaking his anger when she'd confessed that his aunts had robbed her of what little self-confidence she'd had.

  On his return they'd talk again. He had promised her that. Talk of the future. Their future together? The past had been dealt with, a necessary exercise but leaving him with that misconception over who else she'd been sleeping with.

  She would try again to put that right. On that she was utterly determined.

  Once that was out of the way—she permitted her­self a dreamy, pleasurable sigh—there'd be no more pussy-footing around the subject. She'd come right out with it and ask him if he was willing to give their marriage a second chance.

  She wanted to stay married to him. She needed him; it felt as if her whole life depended on it.

  An hour later she floated down the stairs. She felt as if her feet were treading on air. She was carrying Roman's child within her body. She had never felt more blessed.

  Today. If he kept to his word, Roman would be back today. Some time today.

  Cassie paced the bedroom floor restlessly, too wound up with a mixture of excitement and appre­hension to even try to relax. And it was only midday. It could be hours before he returned.

  Oh, how she longed to see him again, to kiss him and touch him. To hold him close, will him to love her, just a little. A little would do for starters.

  Hours of suspense, hours of waiting to discover whether she could finally make him believe that her supposed promiscuity was only in his mind, whether he'd be willing to take their marriage forward into the future.

  And it was so hot. Airless. They were in for a storm, Manuel had said as she'd been helping him in the garden this morning—well, pottering, really, any­thing to pass the time until Roman's return. But she'd felt dizzy with the heat, the lack of sleep and lack of food. Her appetite had disappeared under the welter of growing emotions.

  She'd already taken two cool showers. She was only wearing a half-cup white lace bra and the brief­est of matching panties and she was still burning up with the oppressive heat.

  Soon she'd have to dress. He might make it back by lunchtime. She wanted to be ready and waiting, looking her best. But what to wear?

  She padded barefoot to the huge hanging cup­boards and finally reached out a gossamer-fine floaty number patterned in soft swirls of cool blues and green. Her hands were shaking.

  'Cass.'

  The sound of his voice in the hot, sultry silence of the room startled her witless. She turned to face him, the light-as-air dress drifting from her fingers, pooling at her feet. She couldn't speak, not if her life had depended on it. Her heart was pounding roughly against her breastbone and her throat muscles had gone into spasm.

  He was here, and now it was time to do what she'd promised herself. She'd get everything out into the open, tell him the truth—tell him she loved him and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

  She wouldn't tell him about the baby, though. Not yet. He might look on it as emotional blackmail. He had to freely agree to keep their marriage going be­cause he wanted it that way, not because he felt it was an inescapable duty.

  Tentatively, she moistened her dry-as-dust lips and tried to swallow. Her throat still wouldn't work.

  As soon as she could speak coherently, she would know whether he wanted her or not. Permanently. Her head began to spin dizzily as she watched him avidly. Scrub 'permanently', for the moment—she could tell he wanted her right now, if only for a brief hour of unreasoning rapture.

  He'd closed the door behind him and had walked a couple of paces into the room. He looked tired. The lines of strain made his features harsher, but the dark smudges around his eyes didn't detract from the slow, simmering, brooding gaze that lingered over every lush curve of her scantily clad body.

  Flesh burning, her stomach quivering, she instinc­tively raised her hands to him in mute supplication. He'd removed his jacket, dragged off his tie, drop­ping them on the floor, his eyes still riveted to her, a dull flush stealing over his hard cheekbones.

  Slowly, his eyes lifted to hers, locking. She felt dizzy with longing, with needing him. Desperate. Her heart lurched. He wanted her, too—now. She knew he did. The truthful little speech she'd run over and over in her head evaporated in the sizzling heat of mutual desire.

  With a tiny moan she ran towards him, her arms outstretched. Words were superfluous. What was needed was a whole lot of the sensuous lovemaking that they'd become so demonstrably good at. Together.

  CHAPTER TEN

  His eyes had turned to deepest smouldering silver, Cassie noted with a delirious kick of her heart as she impulsively wound her arms around his neck and wriggled her nearly naked body as close to his as she could possibly get.

  She knew there were things she had to say to him, things she should tell him—plus the million-dollar question that had to be asked. But not now, not just yet... She needed this... Needed to feel close to him...

  Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. It was damp with perspiration, the rest of it soft and ruffled, falling over his forehead in dark wayward strands, touching the clenched black bar of his brows.

  His eyes were closed now, his mouth compressed.

  Cassie slid her hands down the strong column of his neck, splaying her fingers out over the intimidating width of his shoulders. He made no move to hold her but she knew he wanted to, that at any moment the power of her love for him would break through his resistance.

  Her tingling breasts were pressed against the broad span of his chest and she could feel the heavy, rapid beat of his heart and the firm leap of his arousal against the yielding softness of her bare tummy, and that told her all she needed to know.

  'I missed you,' she said, her voice thick with long­ing. She knew he wanted her, so why didn't he hold her? Why was he holding back, denying himself the reaffirmation of her love?

  Her heart missing a beat, she slipped his shirt but­tons from their moorings and slid her hands beneath the soft fabric, her palms moving frantically over the hot satin of his skin.

  'So it would seem.' His voice was gritty, his eyes opening at last to spear her with silver intensity. 'As I've already said, the change in your attitude to sex is mind-blowing.'

  'Don't!' She dropped her bright head, burrowing her face into his tautly muscled chest. 'This isn't just about sex,' she promised, the frenzied need to have him believe her making her slur her words. 'I know what you think of me, but don't! You mustn't—it simply isn't true!'

  Any hope of coherency left her then; the warmth of his skin was burning her, the tangy, clean male scent of him drugging her senses. The power he had over her knocked her senseless, made her dizzy with a need that would never go away.

  With a tiny smothered groan she pressed her mouth to his flat male nipple, tasting him recklessly, and dragged her hands over the hard arch of his rib-cage and down over the tight muscles of his stomach and heard him pull air between his teeth just before he muttered, 'So be it!' and enfolded her, one hand pressing against the small of he
r back, pulling her closer into the thrusting power of him, the other tan­gling in the wild fall of her hair, dragging her head back.

  'Por Dios’ The harsh words cut through the thick sultry silence as his mouth took hers with a raw pas­sion that was almost savage. Cassie gave a cry of willing, exultant capitulation as his sensual mouth moulded hers, his tongue clashing with hers as he sought her inner sweetness.

  Wild fingers tangled in the soft rich darkness of his hair, anchoring his head, holding him to her as if she would never let him go. And she wouldn't, not if she could help it. That was her last clear thought as his thighs thrust between the quivering shakiness of hers and he edged her back towards the bed.

  Together they fell onto the soft silk that covered the deep mattress and he rolled over and pinned her beneath his weight, finding the front fastening of her bra with impatient fingers, releasing the lush fullness of her breasts to the urgency of his hungry hands.

  Only then did he break the demand of his kiss, dipping his dark head to suckle her, and Cassie gasped out loud, flinging her arms above her head in wild and wanton abandon, his for the taking, now and always.

  And then the phone rang.

  It was the internal house phone. It sat on a small table beneath one of the tall windows. Roman's lithe body stiffened and Cassie wrapped her arms around his neck and held him. 'Ignore it,' she breathed rag­gedly.

  But Roman reached for her clasped hands and re­leased himself, swung his long legs over the side of the bed, dragged in a long shuddering breath then stalked across to the strident instrument.

  Would he come back to her? Cassie wondered un­happily. His face in profile looked remote. Guarded. All passion gone. She knew—who better?—that he'd returned as full of reservations as he'd been when he'd left two days ago—but she'd broken through his defences, hadn't she? And in the sweet, lazy af­termath of loving she would have told him what he needed to know, pleaded with him if necessary to give her another chance to make their marriage work.