Читать книгу Modern Romance April 2019 Books 5-8 - Шантель Шоу, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 19

‘I NOW PRONOUNCE you husband and wife.’

The words swum around Amelia’s mind, heavily accented, and ever so slightly like a death knell.

Only that was stupid and dramatic. She was no little lamb, being led to the slaughter. She’d chosen this marriage, and she had to remember that. She wasn’t a piece of detritus being drawn into an ocean’s current—she had gone to Antonio and told him of her pregnancy, and she had chosen to at least try to create a life with him.

A real life?

Anxiety gnawed at the edges of her stomach as she came to the crux of the question that was tormenting her.

What exactly did a ‘real’ marriage look like, to Antonio Herrera?

She barely knew him, she thought, sliding a sideways glance to the man beside her. He drove the car through the streets of Madrid with effortless ease, the afternoon sunshine warm and golden, the powerful car eating up the distance between the utilitarian courthouse in which they’d said their vows and...

And what?

His home.

Another thing she had no idea about. Would it be a luxurious penthouse? A mansion? A yacht? Trepidation at the unquestionable glamour and luxury that awaited her had her remembering the life she’d fled, a life she’d sworn she’d never return to. Yet here she was: as far from her life as a primary school teacher as it was possible to be.

He wore a tuxedo and she wore a dress—simple, white, no lace, no pearls, no beading, no zips. The only concession to the fact it was a wedding was a little bouquet of white roses Antonio had presented her with when the limousine had brought her, straight from the airport, to the town hall. To any passers-by they might have even looked like a normal couple, sneaking off to quickly marry, happy at the prospect of the future that awaited them.

But this was far more like a business arrangement than anything else.

So who exactly had she got into bed with? No, not bed! Her cheeks infused with pink heat and she focused her gaze on the city streets as they passed.

He was ruthless, if his behaviour towards Carlo was anything to go by. But then, there were his charitable works—was that just an excuse, though, to soften his reputation as a hard-hearted bastard? Good PR work, the strings being pulled by an agency focused on rehabilitating his image rather than being motivated by any genuine social concern?

It was hard to believe Antonio particularly cared about his image, or how people might perceive him.

And it was better for her to believe that the man who would be a father to her child had good in his heart, somewhere.

I am not actually a bad person, he’d said, right before suggesting this marriage.

A marriage you agreed to, her memory pointed out sharply.

Her eyes dropped to her finger, and the rings she wore now. A simple diamond band accompanied the engagement ring, sparkling back at her encouragingly.

‘Having regrets?’ The words surprised her. They hadn’t spoken in at least thirty minutes, since leaving the town hall.

She angled her face towards his and wished she hadn’t when she found his eyes momentarily scanning her. Only for a scant few seconds, then his attention was claimed by the road, but it was enough. Heat seared her, expectation lurched in her gut and memories—oh, the memories! The way he’d kissed her, the way it had felt for his lips to press against hers, the urgency of their lovemaking, as though each had been waiting for the other all their lives. What madness had driven them into bed?

‘Because it is too late to change your mind, you know,’ he said, a tight smile stretching across his too-handsome face, the expression shoving more pleasurable thoughts from her mind.

‘Not at all.’

‘So you have been twisting your fingers to shreds because you are relaxed?’ he responded with scepticism.

Had she been? It was a nervous gesture she’d had since childhood: lacing her fingers over and over as worries tumbled through her mind. She’d thought she’d conquered it but old habits, apparently, died hard.

‘I’m thinking about our marriage,’ she said honestly. ‘And about the fact I know very little about my husband.’

He turned to face her again, slowing down at traffic lights.

‘And what I do know,’ she said quietly, ‘I don’t like, at all.’

His expression was one of grim mockery. ‘I’m a big, bad Herrera,’ he pointed out. ‘Of course you do not like me.’

‘It has nothing to do with this ridiculous feud,’ she returned. ‘I had no idea about that when we slept together; I hadn’t even heard of you, except for an occasional mention in the papers.’ Her teeth dug into her lower lip. ‘This is all about your behaviour. To my brother, my father—your attitude to my family, and now me...’

‘And what is my attitude to you?’ he enquired, looking back at the road and easing the car into gear when the lights changed to green. The city had given way without her realising it, and now there was green on either side and he slowed as they approached a large gate. It flashed as the car neared and swung open, allowing Antonio to drive through.

She didn’t answer that. It was hard to pinpoint what was bothering her, when actually he hadn’t done anything but argue for this marriage. And she had understood his reasoning, had even agreed with him. But she knew why she’d done this—she wanted to give their baby everything she’d never had.

Why had he married her? Was it something so simple, and barbaric, as insisting that their child have his surname? He’d claimed that was a part of it, but what else was there?

Many possibilities came to mind; none of them relaxed her.

At the base of all her worries was the likelihood that Antonio saw this baby as yet another pawn in his war with her family, and there was worry there—worry that he might end up hurting the child. That her hopes for this baby having stability and love would be destroyed by his need for vengeance. And what would she do then?

A sigh escaped her lips without approval. She didn’t see the answering look of impatience that crossed his face: her attention was captured by the view they drove past.

On one side of the car, heavenly grass and enormous oak trees spread for miles, with a lake at the centre. On the other? Mansions. Enormous, palatial homes with tall fences, stretches of darkly tinted glass, infinity pools, landscaped lawns.

She knew the drill.

She compressed her lips, disapproval filling her body.

Of course he lived somewhere like this.

Only his house wasn’t one of the homes lined up in a fancy row, overlooking the park. His house was in the park. What she’d taken to be a public area was, in fact, part of Antonio’s garden. The house itself was like a twenty-first century palace—all white walls and blue glass, with sharp lines and bright flowers tumbling out of terracotta pots on the endless balconies.

It was beautiful, she admitted grudgingly to herself. ‘If you think we’re raising our child in this museum, you’re crazy,’ was what she said. And when he drew the car to a halt at the front of the mansion she continued to stare at it.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ he asked, the words flattened of emotion.

‘Well, for one thing, look at the terraces. Do you have any idea how risky that is?’

His tone was curt. ‘Yes, if only there were some handy way to keep children off terraces. I don’t know, something flat that could be pulled to create a barrier. Something a bit like, oh, what’s the word for it...a door?’

She scowled. ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’

He laughed then, a husky sound. ‘And pettiness doesn’t suit you. The house is fine, and you know it, so stop complaining for the sake of it and come and have a look.’

Only the fact he’d stepped out of the car and was coming around to her side had her pushing the door open and making a hasty exit before he could open the door for her. It was symbolic of the marriage she wanted—separate, but together. She nodded to herself at that description. It was perfect.

Marriage didn’t mean they had to know everything about one another. Courtesy, civility, distance.

That could work, right?

Only his look showed he knew exactly what she was doing and she was left with a sense of having acted childishly, and she hated that! Her fingers knotted together before she realised what she was doing.

‘The house itself is gated,’ he pointed out, ‘so there is little worry our children would find their way into the lake.’

‘Children?’ She stopped walking, pressing a flat hand against her stomach. ‘This is one baby, so far as we know.’

He shrugged. ‘So far.’

‘You mean...?’ She gaped. ‘We aren’t having more children.’

He gestured towards the house. ‘Lots of rooms to fill...’

‘That’s a great reason to compound this situation,’ she muttered, to cover the way her heart had speeded up at the very idea of a big, happy, noisy family—with this man.

‘You want to give our child everything, don’t you? Does that not include siblings?’

She stared at him, her eyes sparking. ‘No.’ Not if it means sleeping with you again, she added inwardly, but her traitorous body surged at the very idea and she spun away from him to hide her reaction. The dress was a fine cotton and her nipples were hardening at the mere thought of being possessed by him once more.

‘We’ll see.’ He simply shrugged and the hand he placed at the small of her back might have been intended only to guide her forward, but her body was already on fire, her pulse racing, spurred on by memories of that night, so that she was electrified by the simple touch.

But pride held her steady; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her by jerking out of his reach.

‘The door opens with a code,’ he said, tapping in some numbers. ‘Raul will programme yours.’

‘Raul?’

‘Head of my security and operations.’

‘You have security?’

He shot her a look of impatience. ‘Yes, querida.’

‘What the heck does someone like you need a bodyguard for? You’re six and a half feet of muscle. Are you telling me you couldn’t defend yourself?’

His smile showed both amusement and something else, something darker and more dangerous, because it spoke of a desire in his bloodstream that answered her own.

She blinked it away.

‘Raul is not a bodyguard,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘His purview is the security of my properties, the safety of my staff, and protecting my cyber interests. He monitors the alarms, ensures staff are vetted appropriately. And he will oversee your protection as well, from now on.’

‘I don’t need protection.’

‘Amelia—’ He expelled a heavy breath, clicking the door shut behind them. It was impossible not to contrast this phenomenal space with the cosiness of Bumblebee Cottage. They were standing inside a door now, as they had been then but, instead of quaint lighting and pictures drawn by her students, here there was all white marble, high ceilings, crystal chandeliers and world-famous pieces of art hanging from the walls. Mondrian, Dali and—of course—Picasso. She stared at the bright modernist piece with a growing sense of awe.

‘Amelia?’ he repeated. ‘Are you okay?’

She blinked, her nausea nothing to do with the baby in that moment so much as the enormity of what she’d done. Marriage to Antonio was one thing, but until she’d stepped into his lavish home and been confronted with the sight of millions of pounds’ worth of artwork within the hallway alone, she hadn’t completely grasped what she was doing: the world she was moving back into.

‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Just hot.’ And it was a hot day, stiflingly so, but the house itself was perfectly climate controlled. Other urges were responsible for the heat that ran rampant through her veins...

‘Come, have a seat,’ he urged, gesturing deeper into the house. Three steps led down into a sunken living space that showed views of the park they’d driven alongside. The windows were floor to ceiling and several of them slid to open completely, so that the enormous terrace beyond could become a part of this room with ease.

The sofas were white leather, large and soft. She sank into one and wished she hadn’t because it was comfortable and she didn’t want to be at ease. She needed to keep her wits about her.

Antonio disappeared, then returned a moment later with a bottle of ice-cold water. ‘Drink this,’ he said, handing it to her.

‘Yes, sir,’ she couldn’t resist clipping back, diminishing his act of concern to one of dictatorialism.

He crouched down in front of her and, God help her, her eyes fell to his powerful haunches and the way the fabric of his trousers strained across them. He’d discarded his jacket somewhere, presumably in the kitchen or wherever he’d pulled the water bottle from, so her eyes roamed upwards, to the flat tightness of his stomach and, finally, up to his face. He was watching her but his expression gave little away.

‘Do you have any idea how much you’re worth?’

The question surprised her. She brushed it aside. ‘Not precisely.’

He arched a brow, as though he couldn’t believe this, and then shook his head. ‘A small fortune. No, a large fortune. You were worth millions of pounds before you married me, and now? Do you not see that there is some risk you have to accept with being so financially advantaged?’

‘I don’t consider my finances an advantage,’ she said seriously.

‘Obviously, to have been earning a pittance working as a teacher.’

‘How do you know what I earned?’ she asked, lifting a brow.

‘Do you think teachers’ salaries are secret?’

She shook her head. ‘It was more than enough to live on.’

At this, he regarded her through veiled eyes. ‘So you chose not to access your vast trust fund?’

Feeling that there was more weight to the question than was obvious, she stuttered, ‘W-why does that matter?’

‘I’m curious as to why anyone would turn their back on a life of such privilege.’

She considered not answering him, but hadn’t she been the one to insist they go into this marriage with the aim of making it work? And didn’t that involve, at some point, opening the lines of communication? Besides, her feelings were no huge secret. ‘I didn’t want money to define me,’ she said gently. ‘I...found...people treat you differently when you’re an heiress.’ Her smile was grim. ‘I didn’t like that.’

His eyes roamed her face and she hated that he seemed to be reading her as one might a book. But after a moment he straightened, standing and holding a hand down to her. ‘You experienced this when your mother died? And you went to live with your father?’

He wasn’t touching her and yet his proximity was doing crazy things to her body. She was breathless and her tummy kept flopping, as though she’d crested over the high point of a rollercoaster. She nodded, not sure her voice wouldn’t shake if she spoke.

‘But money is just a part of who you are.’

She cleared her throat. ‘The most important part, to many people.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Money, shares—even my marriage comes down to what I own, not who I am.’

At that he frowned, just an infinitesimal flicker of his lips, but he said nothing to dispute her summation. How could he? It was the truth.

‘Do you feel up to finishing the tour?’

She sipped her water and nodded. ‘Yes. I don’t suppose you’ve had a map printed?’ she said, only half joking. The place really was enormous.

‘You’ll get the hang of it,’ he promised, holding a hand out to her. She put hers in his and he pulled her from the sofa. His fingers curled around hers and the pulse that had already been frantic went into overdrive. At this height, her gaze dropped to his lips and her mouth was dry as memories slammed into her from all angles.

‘There are three bedrooms on this level,’ he said, apparently oblivious to the tension that was zipping through Amelia. He gestured to their left as he guided her through the living space. Another step down and they were in yet another entertaining area, this time with a grand piano polished to a high sheen and panoramic views of the city in the distance. ‘One can be for the nanny, and the other will be set up as a daytime nursery for the child.’

His words landed against her like little thuds. ‘What nanny?’

He frowned. ‘The child’s nanny.’ And at her darkening look he grimaced. ‘There is no need to pull that cross face. I haven’t hired anyone—you can do that. I’m simply saying this is where she will be accommodated. The third room along has its own kitchen and bathroom and is perfect for a live-in position.’

‘Why in the world do you think I’d want to hire a nanny?’

He stopped walking, releasing her hand so he could thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, seriously.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did I ever say or do anything that implied I mightn’t want to raise my child?’

‘You will be raising him,’ Antonio said with a frustration that belittled Amelia’s feelings and caused anger to surge defensively through her, even when she knew she was possibly being a little over-sensitive. ‘But you’ll have help. Help for sleepless nights, help for long days, help with feeding or if the baby is restless or ill. Help, Amelia, is not the end of the world.’

‘You sold me on this marriage by claiming you’d be a hands-on father and you’re already trying to outsource the raising of a baby who hasn’t even been born yet!’

He expelled a hiss of impatience. ‘I am doing no such thing,’ he said. ‘A nanny just makes sense. When you go to work, who do you imagine will look after our child?’

‘Work?’ She blinked at him, the question so surprising it took her a moment to frame any kind of response.

‘Yes, teaching. I presume you will want to return to work when our baby is older?’

‘I...’ A frown crossed her face. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want that.’

Now it was Antonio’s turn to look confused. ‘Why?’

Good question. ‘Because you’re...you. And I guess I thought you’d want me to be home with the baby, you know, being a mother...’

‘You will still be a mother, I imagine,’ he said, arching a single brow ‘And I do not care if you work or not. My assumption was based on what I thought your preference would be. It’s not a reflection of my wishes.’

‘So you don’t want me to work?’

‘I just said I don’t care either way,’ he said with the appearance of patience. ‘But if you are to return to work, we will need a solution to help, and I thought it would be better for the child if that person was someone they’d known from birth.’

It was all so damned logical and in her hormonal state that simply irritated her further. ‘Where would I even work? I only speak Spanish curse words.’

At that he laughed and, ridiculously, she did too, and the tension that had been curling around them shivered a little and then gave way, like a dam bursting its banks. ‘There is an international school,’ he said quietly, ‘just a few miles away. Lessons are conducted in English.’

‘Teaching the children of rich moguls and tycoons?’ she asked, still smiling.

‘Teaching children,’ he emphasised. ‘Or are you so bigoted against wealth that you would judge the children who happen to be born to it?’

Another fair point that had her mood darkening once more. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘We have time to make a decision.’

Yes, that was true; time at least was on their side.

‘The baby’s room,’ he said, opening the door to a room that currently housed little more than a bed and a small chest of drawers. ‘Obviously we will have it decorated suitably once we know the gender.’

‘I don’t think I want to know what we’re having. Not until it’s born.’

‘Why would you choose not to know?’

‘I want the surprise,’ she said with a shrug.

‘You do not think the baby will be a surprise in and of itself?’ he teased.

She tried to fight the temptation to banter with him. To succumb to his many, many charms. She’d done that once before and it had been disastrous.

‘You’re missing the point,’ she said with an attempt at coldness.

‘No, querida.’ He shook his head. ‘You are missing the point. We will decorate the room. We can paint it yellow. We can paint it green. We can paint it black, for all I care. We will make it a baby’s room rather than this. Just as I do not care if you go back to work or not. I am showing you my house, and showing you how I think it can accommodate you and our family, and your future. I am trying to show you that I have thought this through, that I want this to work, just like you asked of me, yet you seem to want to argue with me at every turn. Why is that?’

She couldn’t speak. Her heart was pounding, her mind was racing and her body was in flux. She was hot, despite the air-conditioning, and her cheeks felt flushed.

He took a step towards her, and then another, so that his strong body was almost touching hers. She stared up at him, her pale blue eyes meeting his stormy black ones and charging with electrical awareness. ‘You are nervous,’ he said simply.

‘I’m not nervous,’ she lied, her tongue darting out and licking her lower lip.

‘You are nervous,’ he said again. ‘Because you are my wife, and I am your husband, and you do not know what that means. We married for a baby, but we never talked about this.’

‘About what?’ The words came out as a husky croak.

‘About the fact that whatever madness drove us into bed that one time is still here, flaming at our feet.’

She drew in a sharp breath, surprise making her skin flush with goosebumps. ‘No, it’s not,’ she said, raising her chin in a gesture of defiance that was completely belied by the way her eyes clung to his lips. ‘Believe me, Antonio, I’m not so stupid that I’d make that mistake twice.’

His expression was scepticism itself. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ She nodded sharply. ‘Sex has no part of this marriage.’

His smile was slow to unfurl and deadly in its danger to her. Because her heart began to beat off-rhythm and her pulse was thready. Legs that had been perfectly fine only minutes ago were wobbling now, threatening to give way.

‘Do you realise how easily I could disprove that statement?’

She swallowed but it was useless, her mouth remained dry, as though coated with sawdust.

‘Perhaps not,’ he said, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, but oh, his body was so close she could feel his warmth through the fine fabric of her clothes and her body swayed forward of its own accord, so that her too sensitive nipples brushed against his chest and a soft, husky moan escaped her lips unbidden.

‘You have no real experience,’ he said, low and throaty. ‘But what you’re feeling now is desire.’ He rocked his hips a fraction, so his arousal brushed against her and her eyes swept shut at his nearness and her needs.

‘I’m feeling...’ she said, searching for something, anything she could offer that would dispel his assertion. But nothing came to mind.

‘Desire,’ he supplied and then lifted a hand so he could smooth the ball of his thumb over her cheek.

‘I don’t...want you, like that,’ she denied, so much more weakly than she would have liked. Her body—traitor that it was—pressed closer to his and when she blinked up at him her eyes were awash with desire and invitation.

His smile showed cynicism at her words, and then he stepped back. ‘Yes, you do, hermosa, and I’m going to enjoy proving that to you.’