Читать книгу 8 Brand-New Romance Authors - Avril Tremayne - Страница 39

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE SUN WAS HOT by the time Georgina came up on deck, to find Santos relaxing, an empty coffee cup on the table. She hadn’t yet seen him look quite this relaxed before, so at ease with life.

As if aware of her presence he turned to face her, and she wanted to hug her arms about her body, to shield herself from his appraising gaze. Instead she fought the urge, and when the wind blew the sheer kaftan against her like a second skin, revealing the tiny blue bikini she’d reluctantly put on, she walked towards him. As confident as any of the top models he’d dated, she smiled.

‘It’s so wonderful out here, away from everybody. I’d love to stay a bit longer.’ She slid seductively into the seat opposite him, nerves tingling all over her body.

Anxiety, she told herself, refusing to acknowledge the fact that it was Santos who did that to her.

He looked past her briefly and she wondered if she’d gone too far. But a moment later a tray of breakfast and fresh coffee arrived. The crew were obviously back on board. Once they were alone again he turned his attention to her, his dark eyes sparkling like the sea in the morning sun.

‘There would be one condition.’ He poured coffee, the aroma reminding her of how little she’d eaten last night.

‘And that would be...?’ Her voice was flirty—the exact opposite of how she felt.

‘The same as last night.’

‘Last night...’ she breathed, in a husky echo of his words as her body responded to the memory of his touch, his kisses.

He smiled, a dangerously seductive smile, and she all but melted. ‘No pretence.’

‘None at all?’ She teased him with a coy smile, her fingers twining in her hair.

‘I like the real Georgie.’ He leant forward in his seat, his brows lifting suggestively. ‘The Georgina you don’t let the world see.’

She laughed a nervous laugh that made him smile even more, which in turn sent her heart thumping erratically. ‘You make me sound fake—as if I’m a total fraud.’

‘Not fake,’ he said, and passed her a coffee.

She sipped it, thankful for something to do other than look into his handsome face.

‘Just scared to let anyone know the real you.’

His words hit her with the precision of a marksman. Not letting the world see the real Georgina was just what she’d tried to do for the last five years. For so long that sometimes she forgot who she really was—forgot the woman with dreams of happiness. No, going there wasn’t an option.

‘Well, I guess we’ll just have to spend time together—get to know one another a bit better.’ She sipped her coffee and looked out at the sea, its ever-moving waves sparkling like diamonds, before turning her attention back to him.

‘Exactamente.’

His gaze held hers, dark and passionate, sending shivers down her spine, and she wondered if she could do this. But if Emma was to stand any chance of making her wedding arrangements in peace she had to ensure they stayed in Spain.

‘Thank you,’ she said, alarmed at how husky her voice had suddenly become, how easily she could slip into the role of seductress.

‘We’ll sail further along the coast. There is a secluded cove we can stop at—a good place to swim in the sea.’

He smiled at her again. Her heart flipped over and butterflies took flight in her stomach. Perhaps it wouldn’t be hard, keeping him occupied, because she really did want to. He was so very different from the man she’d first met in his office, the man her sister had talked of. This man consumed her very soul—made her want him and the dreams she’d long since forgotten.

‘I’d like that.’ A blush crept over her cheeks as she met his gaze before it slid down over her body, taking in all that the bikini did very little to hide.

‘For my beautiful bride—anything.’ He stood and leant down over her, his lips hovering tantalisingly close to hers as she looked up at him.

His breath was warm on her face and she resisted the need to close her eyes, wanting to see his. With excruciating slowness he brought his lips down onto hers, the sensation sending sparks of awareness all over her until she could only close her eyes, give in to the pleasure of his lips as they brushed gently over hers.

The kiss ended and he stood upright, dominating the sheltered outside area of the yacht. ‘I will go and make arrangements while you enjoy breakfast.’

She watched him stride away, his casual jeans hugging his long legs to perfection. She shook her head briefly, trying to stop the images of last night, memories of his tanned body against her pale skin.

In a bid to quell her rising desire she turned her attention to the breakfast, not sure if she could eat anything. But the array of fresh fruit and the lure of warm croissants soon won her appetite over.

She became aware of the coastline receding, the yacht moving smoothly through gently rolling waves. Excitement fizzed inside her. It was like being young again.

She’d been happy before life had plunged her into a situation she really hadn’t wanted. Her whole outlook on life had been carefree and full of adventure until the night her father had left. Now those memories were the reason she’d promised herself she’d never have children—because what would happen if she became like her mother? What would happen if she too went from one man to the next, looking endlessly for something that didn’t exist, ignoring her children to the point of neglect?

‘Why so sad, querida?’

Santos’s accented voice shattered her thoughts as surely as if she’d been viewing them through a mirror.

‘I was just remembering.’ Quickly she tried to hide her emotions, recreate the impenetrable wall she hid behind, because right now her defences were low. Too low. And Santos was watching her with such unexpected sympathy she almost couldn’t look at him.

‘We all have things we shouldn’t remember, but sometimes it helps to talk.’

His tone was soothing and reassuring. He sat next to her, taking her hand, his thumb stroking over the back of it gently. His concern as genuine as a lover’s. She wanted to pull away, to distance herself from him. She felt utterly exposed, as if every emotion was completely visible to him.

‘It was just my excitement as I realised the yacht was moving,’ she said, aware of the hoarseness in her voice. ‘It’s like being young again.’

He nodded once, his eyes full of understanding. ‘What happened?’

‘My mother found solace in the bottle after my father left.’ Her heart thumped hard as pent-up anger flowed through her like a tidal wave—one that couldn’t be halted now as it roared towards the shore. ‘I had no choice but to care for Emma, try and shield her from it all. I had to grow up very quickly.’

‘Shield her from what, Georgie?’

She looked up at him. His voice was now hard and controlled, his eyes narrowed and his brows pulling together in concentration.

She shouldn’t be telling him this. It had nothing to do with him, and would serve no purpose whatsoever, but it was liberating to finally share it with someone.

‘What was it, Georgina?’ he urged as her silence lengthened.

He reached out and pushed back the hair from her face and she dropped her gaze, not wanting to see the sympathy in his eyes. How could a man as ruthless and in control as Santos possibly understand?

‘Tell me, Georgie.’

One hand stroked her hair whilst the other held firmly onto her hand. She had no means of escape, no way out.

What would he think of her if she told him?

‘At first she was just incapable of looking after us—that was unless she was in the throes of a new affair—but soon it was down to me to get Emma to school, to put a meal on the table.’

He stopped stroking her hair, his hand resting on her shoulder, warm and comforting. ‘Go on.’

Those first words had unleashed all her hurt and she knew she should stop. She shrugged, not wanting to allow him any closer emotionally.

‘So I got out as soon as an opportunity presented itself. I had to. It was the only way of keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table. Any money my mother had was spent on what she considered important—not on what actually was, like food and rent.’

He sat back from her, his hands falling to his thighs, silent for a moment as he took in what she’d said. ‘That opportunity being your marriage to Richard Henshaw?’ His voice was hard, a slight growl in his throat.

She looked up at him. He really did think she’d married purely for the money and status Richard had given her. Words of defence were on the tip of her tongue, but something stopped her, froze them as if the warm sea breeze had changed to a bitter winter wind. Instead she wanted to tell him—wanted him to know.

‘He offered me everything I wanted—and more.’

She sat taller in her seat and looked him in the eye. For a moment she’d almost told him the truth—told him how Richard had literally rescued her, offering her security for Emma and asking for nothing other than that she took his name. But sense had prevailed. If he wanted to think of her as a gold-digging socialite then he could.

‘And, yes,’ she added, with the haughty tone she knew made her sound so like the woman he thought she was resounding in her voice, ‘I married him for his money and his status. But you can’t accuse me of hiding that from you. Not when it is common knowledge.’

* * *

Santos’s stomach hardened as his breath came fast. He clenched his teeth against an attack of jealousy as he imagined Georgina with another man—one she’d just admitted she’d had no feelings for. She hadn’t attempted to hide the fact that she’d used a man who must have known he was ill when he married her.

She’d used Richard and she sat there now with the innocence of a child and waited for his reaction. He was angry with himself—angry at the irrational jealousy that raged inside him just thinking of her with another man. She was his wife, and what he felt for her now surpassed anything he’d felt for previous lovers.

‘We all have a past, querida.’ He kept his tone as nonchalant as possible, regretting having started the conversation. He’d known of her reputation when he’d agreed to their ludicrous deal, so why did it matter so much?

Control, he reminded himself. Whatever happened he had to be in control, and for a moment there he’d almost lost it—almost given in to the temptations of the devil. This whole episode was about getting what he wanted, not about emotions. Never emotions.

He stood up and walked to the side of the yacht, checking their location, almost relieved to see they had arrived at his chosen bay. He breathed deeply, enjoying the salty tang in his mouth, trying to revitalise himself before he turned back to look at the woman who was now his wife.

‘Yes, we do. Including you.’

The accusation in her voice was clear and he couldn’t help but smile at her pretence at fury. Her expression was severe, but her eyes were telling a different story.

‘It’s called life, Georgie.’ He put out a hand and stepped towards her. ‘And right now ours is for living. What about a swim in the sea? Wash all your troubles away?’

For a moment he thought she was going to refuse. Confusion furrowed her brow, then she regained her composure, took his hand and smiled up at him, openly flirting.

‘A swim sounds delicious.’

Delicious. She was delicious, with the wind wrapping the almost see-through kaftan close to her glorious body, the blue bikini showcasing just what a figure she had. Lust thudded in his veins and he cursed his wayward thoughts.

‘Something wrong?’ A hint of a playful smile tugged her full lips up at the corners.

She knew exactly what was wrong, damn her.

‘No. Unless it’s wrong for a man to want to drag his wife back to bed instead of going swimming?’ His voice was deep and guttural with the effort of reining in his libido.

She blushed and, as he had many times in the last few days, he wondered how she managed that little trick—how she managed to appear so innocent. ‘I think we should swim first. It’s not even midday yet.’

First.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her darkening eyes were smouldering, giving him the message, setting fire to the embers of desire that had scorched his body last night. Never before had a woman affected him so much, made him want her so badly—but then never before had he had to wait so long to get a woman into his bed. And he certainly hadn’t had to marry her to do so.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on him as he felt her hand in his. It felt surprisingly good, as if it was right. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he managed, despite the heat that raged within him. A swim in cold water was exactly what he needed.

He led her to the platform that had been lowered once the yacht was anchored and slipped off his deck shoes. Her gaze heated his blood as he pulled off his shirt, the sun instantly warm on his skin.

‘Not joining me?’ he teased, tugging off his jeans, amused by the blush that crept over her cheeks as her gaze slid down his body, resting on the evidence of just how aroused he had become at her loaded promise of what was to follow their swim.

The air crackled around them, their attraction as overpowering as if he hadn’t touched her, hadn’t tasted her skin or made her his. It was like the first time all over again, with anticipation raging in him like a bull.

He dived into the blue waters, and the rush of cold over his body was just what he needed. As he broke the surface he wiped water from his face and looked back up at Georgina, now sitting on the edge, feet dangling in the water, wearing only that very sexy blue bikini.

‘It’s cold!’

She laughed, her face lighting up, giving her an air of playful innocence, tugging at something deep within him.

‘Only at first. Come on—you’ll never know how good it is until you try it.’ He trod water as he spoke, energised by the exercise and cold water.

* * *

Georgina watched, mesmerised, as his strong arms kept him exactly where he wanted to be. His strength and power were undeniable. She was behaving like a lovestruck teenager. Her heart was still pounding after that moment when he’d stood before her in his trunks, his tanned skin gleaming in the sun, the hardness of his arousal obvious. She wanted him with a ferocious need so alien that her breath had caught in her throat, and she’d been relieved when he’d expertly dived into the clear water. Relieved he had taken the temptation from her.

Cautiously she slipped into the water, gasping and laughing at the same time. ‘It’s so cold!’ She tried hard to be sophisticated and serene, but all she managed was a fumbling splash.

‘Only for a while,’ Santos said, and in one stroke he moved towards her, encircling her body with his arm, keeping her safe and close. ‘Like you were the day you propositioned me in my office.’

Shocked that he’d brought that up, she stopped moving her arms and immediately sank below the surface. His arm around her body pulled her back up, spluttering like a child.

‘How dare you?’ She tried to move away from him, back to the platform.

‘Oh, I dare, querida—because it’s true. You want everyone to think you are carved from ice, but you’re not, are you?

She clutched the platform, gained a foothold on the ladder and pulled herself out of the water, then turned to face him as he looked up at her from the blue waves. ‘Neither are you.’

‘Can you blame me when you stand there like a sea goddess, water dripping from you in a most inviting way?’

‘You’re impossible.’ The words rushed out, her frustration making her want to march away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Santos as in one swift movement that made the muscles in his arms flex he hauled himself out of the sea.

Water ran down his tanned chest, trickling among his dark hair, heading downwards. She knew she shouldn’t be looking, but she couldn’t help herself. His thighs were strong and more dark hair lay flat against his wet skin, creating patterns all the way to his ankles. He was magnificent as he stood, sunlight gleaming on his skin.

He grabbed her hand and without a word headed back inside the yacht, leaving her little option but to follow. She couldn’t say anything. The same sexual tension that had last night completely robbed her of the ability to think, let alone speak, raged around them.

In seconds they were alone in their suite, and only then did he let go of her hand. For a moment they looked at one another, gazes locked in some sort of primal dance. His chest rose and fell with the effort of breathing, just as hers did, and she knew instantly where this was going to end—and, worse, where she wanted it to end. He was an addiction.

With a muttered Spanish curse he turned and opened the door to the bathroom, and she watched through the doorway as he turned on the shower. She swallowed hard as he turned back to her, his expression almost fierce with control.

‘Santos...’ She managed a croaky whisper as he held out his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her hard against his wet body. Only then did she realise she was trembling.

‘You’re cold,’ he said quietly, but she didn’t miss the intensity in his voice.

She wasn’t cold—not enough to tremble like this. It was him, and the electrified air that seemed to surround them.

‘Come on.’ He led her into the steam-filled bathroom and into the shower—one that had definitely been designed for two.

His hands slowly untied the bikini where it fastened at her neck, and each time his fingers touched her she had to suppress a shiver of pleasure. He let the thin straps go and peeled the wet material slowly away from her breasts, his gaze lingering enticingly on them.

He made a signal with his hands for her to turn around and slowly she did so, meeting the jets of warm water. Behind her she felt his hands as he released the final clasp of the bikini top and it dropped to the shower floor. Seconds later it was joined by his black trunks and her knees nearly buckled beneath her. Desire flooded her as he pressed his naked body against her back.

Instinctively her chin tilted up and she leant her head back against his shoulder, turning her face towards his. Hot, urgent lips claimed hers with such force she staggered forward, taking them both under the hot jets of water. His hands cupped her breasts and fire engulfed her, making her cry out with pleasure.

‘You are the most desirable woman ever, mi esposa.’

He kissed down her neck, uttering words she didn’t understand. But she did understand the desire and passion entwined with each one. A desire and passion that raged as wildly inside her.

‘Santos, I want you.’ Her voice was husky as his hands slid down her stomach, his fingers tugging at the ties on the side of the bikini briefs. As the material fell away his fingers moved towards the heated centre of her need for him and she arched away from him, trying to fight the ripple of pleasure from his touch.

With a suddenness that knocked all the breath from her body he turned her around, grasped her thighs, lifting her against him.

‘Santos, it’s never been like this before,’ she gasped between ragged breaths as he lowered her onto him, plunging deeply and urgently inside her. She didn’t care that she was telling him too much, giving away just how inexperienced she really was and how she was falling in love with him.

‘Never?’ The question rasped from him, halting her thoughts, as his fingers dug into her thighs, holding her where he wanted her.

She moved with him, encouraging him in this hot, hard and primal dance. ‘Never,’ she gasped out as stars shattered around her so that instead of water coursing all over her it was stardust. ‘Never. Never.’

As he found his release she clung to his body, trembling more now than she had when she’d stood before him in the bedroom just moments ago. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving against her tender breasts, one arm braced against the shower wall.

‘At least we agree on something.’ His voice, heavily accented, was a ragged whisper.

He released his vice-like grip on her thighs and she slid down, her legs so weak she wondered if she’d be able to stand. She couldn’t. Her knees crumpled, but his arms were about her and in seconds he’d swept her up off her feet and left the shower.

Pausing briefly to grab a towel, he made his way to the bed. As if she were the most precious thing in the world he let her down to stand in front of him and then wrapped the white towel around her, heedless of his own wet body. Then he bent and kissed her lips so tenderly she thought she might actually cry. This was exactly what she’d abandoned all hope of ever finding, this warm, loving feeling.

Except this wasn’t for real. This was just part of a deal, satisfying the attraction that had been arcing between them since that very first meeting. It was also the only way she knew of keeping Santos from heading back to the villa and maybe London.

‘You’re still wet,’ she whispered, not wanting to analyse her motives or question her dreams now.

He stepped back from her and started rubbing his hands over the towel to dry her. This was getting too intense, too close to being like a proper romance, so great was the attraction she felt for him. Her breath shuddered as he pulled the towel from her and dried himself off. And all the while his gaze held hers, the passion and desire still flowing between them evident in the depths of his eyes.

He picked her dressing gown off the bed, now remade after their night of passion, and handed it to her. ‘You must care for your sister very much.’

Instantly her senses were on high alert. What was he suggesting? ‘She’s all I have.’

He handed her the cream silk garment. ‘But to marry just so that your sister can marry for love?’ His voice rose with incredulity as he took fresh clothes from the wardrobe and hastily got dressed.

‘Maybe I love my sister as much as you hate your brother.’ Was he referring to their marriage or her first one? It made no difference; both had been made out of love for her sister.

Tension filled the room and his eyes sparked with anger as he stood in front of her, all the passion and desire of moments ago forgotten.

‘Half-brother.’ The words were harsh and staccato.

She pulled on the dressing gown, no longer wanting him to see her naked now he was clothed, as if it somehow weakened her. He turned and paced across the room towards the door, but she couldn’t let him go, couldn’t let him walk out now, even if it meant killing the loving moments they’d shared.

‘Coward.’ The word rushed from her lips, provoking him.

Instantly he whirled round and fixed her with a fierce glare, his face a hardened and angry mask. ‘I don’t do emotions, Georgina. Hate or love. I don’t do them.’

‘And because of that two people who love one another are suffering.’

‘How?’ He strode back across the room, but she stood her ground. ‘And how do you know they are in love? How do they even know?’

‘You must have loved someone, Santos, despite what you just said.’

‘Love is for weak-willed fools.’ His voice was like granite and his eyes glittered dangerously as he looked at her.

‘You don’t really believe that?’ she whispered in disbelief.

She’d vowed she’d never love anyone other than Emma, never give her heart to a man as her mother had time and time again. But somehow she’d become dangerously close to loving Santos.

‘Isn’t that why you made this damn deal, Georgina, because you don’t believe in love?’ He was like an angry lion, caged up and looking for a way out as he strode across the room to glance out of the window. He turned and looked at her, waiting for her reply.

‘I did it for love.’ She rallied against his contempt. ‘I did it for the love of my sister.’

‘Ha!’ He laughed, so arrogantly she almost cringed. ‘You did it for money, for all you could get from it—just as you did the first time around.’

How dared he bring Richard into this? The man who had seen she needed a lifeline and offered one without expecting anything in return? Well, if that was what he thought of her, so be it. Attack was the best form of defence.

‘Yes, just as I did the first time.’

For a moment he looked at her in stunned silence, his jaw grinding hard. He looked for all the world as if he was jealous of Richard. How could a powerful man like Santos be jealous of anything or anyone?

He glared at her. ‘Get dressed,’ he snapped after what seemed like an eternity. ‘We’re going back to the villa.’

Panic tore at her. She’d promised Emma she’d keep him out of the way, and here on the yacht was the perfect place.

‘So soon?’ She hated the nervous edge to her voice, but knew any attempts at flattering him would be futile.

His eyes narrowed. ‘I have work to do. Playing at this newlywed game has gone on for long enough.’

With that he strode from the room and she sank onto the bed. Last night they had made love for the first time, been given pleasure so intense it still lingered in her body. Only minutes ago they had been consumed by desire and need for one another. How could the man who kissed her so passionately be the same man who’d just left the room?

She dragged in a deep breath, pressing her fingertips to her lips, bruised from his hard kisses in the shower. How could she, a woman who’d renounced love, feel such desolation as the man she’d given herself to last night with total completeness walked out on her?