Читать книгу Married For Convenience: Forgotten Husband / The Marriage Arrangement / The Husband Test - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 13

ELISE woke late to discover that Alejandro had already left for the city. His absence provided an anticlimax, for there was a fine edge to her inner rage that longed for the satisfaction of a full-scale confrontation.

‘Alejandro asked me to tell you that you are both to attend a formal dinner to aid charity this evening,’ Ana conveyed as Elise sat down to a solitary breakfast.

The Santanas Corporation was a well-known benefactor, and Alejandro lent his personal patronage to selected organisations. Elise had attended several such dinners in the past, and her heart sank at the thought of mingling with Alejandro’s sophisticated coterie of acquaintances.

Without doubt Savannah would be present, and Elise hated being an object of conjecture as certain guests speculated on the latest developments between the Santanas scion, his wife, and the glamorous model who had been his constant companion for years before his sudden marriage to a virtual unknown with no social background.

Elise entertained no doubt that Alejandro’s absence from the social scene for the past six weeks had been duly noted and commented upon, details regarding her accident embellished and explicated.

It seemed coincidental that she was to have the bandages removed from her hand today. After this afternoon, physiotherapy would be reduced to weekly instead of daily sessions. Soon the only evidence would be a thin scar on her hand.

The thought of regaining her independence was a heady one. After today, she would be able to drive again. There were a few friends she needed to contact. Siobhan. Realisation suddenly hit her that her dearest friend might be anxious not to have heard from her at all in the past six weeks.

As it was, she had no idea whether Siobhan was still working days at the Royal Children’s Hospital, or if she had crossed over to night duty. If it was nights, the answering machine would be on and she could leave a message.

Elise checked the time, then finished her breakfast and moved quickly upstairs to use the bedroom telephone.

Siobhan picked up on the third ring, her voice jubilant on discovering who was on the other end of the line, and they talked for the best part of an hour before Elise reluctantly had to conclude the call in order to keep her appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon.

‘Let’s meet for lunch—soon,’ she insisted.

‘I’m a working girl, remember?’ Siobhan teased. ‘However, I’m off the next two nights. Is tomorrow soon enough?’

Elise gave an exultant laugh. ‘Tomorrow it is. Just name the place, the time, and I’ll be there.’

An hour later José deposited her outside the consultant orthopaedist’s rooms, and thirty minutes later she walked out sans protective half-cast and bandages. The specialist sanctioned a return to driving, advised care with her hand, and suggested a further appointment in a month.

Now all she had to do was determine which car she could use as her own. There had been no mention of the white Porsche or its fate. Surely it couldn’t have been smashed beyond repair? With the Bentley out of action, Alejandro was taking the Porsche Targa into the city, which left the Pajero wagon for José. She would have to broach it with Alejandro tonight.

After lunch she went through the contents of her wardrobe in an effort to reach a decision over what to wear to dinner, and after much deliberation she narrowed the choice down to two, eventually selecting a stunning fitted gown in deep emerald. The colour matched her eyes, highlighted the creamy texture of her skin, and proved a vivid contrast to her blonde hair.

It was almost four when José delivered her home from physiotherapy, and at five she took a shower, washed her hair and had Ana curl fat rollers into its length before attending to her nails.

Alejandro entered the bedroom as she began applying make-up, and she met his studied appraisal with equanimity.

‘How is your hand?’ He moved towards her, and Elise felt an immediate awareness of his close proximity.

Without a word she displayed the pink scar. ‘I’m sure you’ve already received the specialist’s report.’ She hadn’t intended to sound quite so cynical.

His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Yes.’

‘You also know that I am able to drive again,’ she offered, watching as his head lowered down to hers.

She averted her head so that his kiss landed on her cheek, and almost at once he caught hold of her chin, anchoring it as he covered her mouth with his own in an invasion that brought forth a muffled entreaty he chose to ignore.

When he finally lifted his head she silently damned him to the depths of perdition.

The desire to rage against him was paramount, and, drawing in a deep breath, she launched into attack. ‘I’d like to become independent again, rather than have to drag José away every time I want to go out.’

Alejandro slipped the knot free on his tie and began unfastening the buttons on his shirt. ‘That is part of his job.’

Her eyes assumed a brilliant hue as anger began to unfurl, and it took considerable effort to control her temper. ‘Have you assigned him as my gaoler?’

‘You’re being fanciful.’

‘Am I?’

He looked every inch the power broker… indomitable, lethal, inflexible. ‘Are you intent on having an argument?’

She wanted to throw something at him and have it cause mild bodily harm. ‘I find it difficult to condone almost everything you do where I am concerned.’

He pulled his shirt free and tossed it down on to the bed. ‘Almost everything, querida?’ One eyebrow slanted in silent mockery. ‘Should I take that to indicate there is some hope for me?’

‘Don’t be so damned facetious,’ she condemned fiercely, seething with helpless indignation as she glimpsed his amusement.

‘We need to leave in half an hour. Can this discussion wait?’

‘Until when, Alejandro?’ she taunted, holding his gaze without any difficulty at all. ‘Next week, next month?’

‘Tomorrow.’

It was a better concession than she had hoped for, and she viewed him steadily for several long seconds as her anger began to dissipate.

‘Where is the dinner being held tonight?’

One eyebrow arched, and his mouth assumed a degree of cynicism. ‘The Sheraton.’

Some devilish imp prompted her to ask, ‘Will Savannah be there?’

‘I imagine so. She likes to attend most of the events.’

‘In order to see you.’ It was nothing less than the truth.

‘Savannah has many friends, most of whom are active on the social circuit,’ he drawled, and his faintly mocking tones brought a resurgence of anger.

‘I can’t think why you didn’t marry her.’ Elise endeavoured not to sound bitter. ‘She would have leapt at the chance!’

‘Perhaps,’ Alejandro conceded, watching the play of emotions across her expressive features. ‘I chose not to ask her.’

‘One can only wonder why.’ Her eyes deepened in colour and became faintly reflective. ‘She’s beautiful, poised, and she comes from the right social background.’ It was amazing that her voice sounded so calm.

His eyes gleamed with sardonic humour. ‘Many women of my acquaintance fit that description.’

‘Several of whom are wealthy in their own right,’ she pursued, uncaring that she was treading dangerous ground. ‘Poor Alejandro,’ she added lightly. ‘Were you afraid their prime motivation was an advantageous financial merger? Or, if their independent wealth was sufficient for that not to be a consideration, could there have been distaste that they were merely lusting after your body? Not to mention your——’ she hesitated deliberately, then finished with considered delicacy ‘—impressive skill in the bedroom.’

‘Only in the bedroom, mi mujer?’ he mocked cynically. ‘I retain a vivid recollection of several enjoyable…encounters, shall we say?’ he suggested, slanting one eyebrow. ‘When we shared the shower, the spa.’ His eyes gleamed as soft pink coloured her cheeks. ‘Shall I continue?’

‘You’ve had plenty of practice, damn you!’

‘You are jealous, querida, that any one of my former lovers might possibly have meant more to me than you do?’

Elise felt her eyes widen with shock. Was she so transparent? Could he be aware of how much she hated the thought of his splendidly muscular body engaged in the act of lovemaking with another woman…? Women, she corrected. Past and present.

‘How could I be jealous,’ she countered, with as much pride as she could muster, ‘when you clearly defined the reason for our marriage, allocated a price-tag and specified a time-limit?’

‘That bothers you?’

It bothered her like hell, but she was damned if she would admit to it. ‘About as much as the fact that you’ve chosen to retain Savannah as your mistress.’

‘The term mistress conveys a woman kept by a husband while still co-habiting with his wife.’ His eyes were dark, and held latent anger. ‘You imagine I would insult you in such a manner?’

I don’t know. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would at least keep the…liaison discreet.’

There was a perceptible pause, one in which it seemed that even a pin falling to the floor would result in cacophonous sound. ‘Am I to understand that you give your sanction to such a relationship?’

No. The silent negation screamed inside her head. It took tremendous effort to effect a slight shrug. ‘Would anything I say make a difference?’

He appeared to be marshalling his anger, confining it beneath a mantle of superb control. ‘We have a dinner engagement,’ he reminded her icily. ‘I suggest you get changed.’

The thought of sitting through a formal dinner in the company of some of the city’s social glitterati was more than she could bear. ‘Forgive me, Alejandro,’ she said with bitter cynicism, ‘but I can’t bring myself to play pretend tonight.’ Her eyes sparkled with emerald brilliance. ‘I’m sure you can come up with some valid excuse that will explain my absence.’ A devilish imp prompted her to add, ‘Savannah will be delighted.’

He looked at her for what seemed an age, his expression a compelling mask from which she inwardly shrank. ‘You tempt me to the brink of violence,’ he said in a voice that was so dangerously quiet it raised all her fine body-hairs in silent fear.

Without a further word he discarded his clothes and strode into the bathroom. He didn’t slam the door, and she found that infinitely more disquieting than if he had resorted to an outward display of anger.

Ten minutes later he emerged, a towel hitched low over his hips, and she moved hastily to her feet as he began to dress.

‘Ask Ana to prepare you something to eat.’

‘It’s her night off,’ Elise managed in a stilted voice. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing her.’ She crossed to the door. ‘I’m quite capable of fixing something myself.’

She didn’t wait for Alejandro to respond, and on reaching ground level she made her way to the kitchen.

The refrigerator was well stocked, so too was the pantry. It was just a matter of making a decision. An omelette would suffice, with cheese, tomato, ham, mushrooms…Not that she felt in the least hungry. If anything, the thought of food made her ill.

She removed a skillet, assembled the ingredients on the bench-top, then chopped, sliced and diced with methodical stoicism.

Alejandro entered the kitchen as she turned the omelette on to a plate, and she willed her hands not to betray her as she turned down the gas.

His raking appraisal unsettled her more than any words he could have chosen to utter, and she turned away from him as she carried her plate to the wide servery bench, then returned to collect cutlery.

She sensed rather than heard him move, and seconds later she felt his hands close over her shoulders as he turned her towards him.

For one achingly long moment their eyes clashed, then his head lowered in seemingly slow motion, and a strangled cry of dissent lay imprisoned in her throat as his mouth closed over hers in a hard merciless kiss that tore at her defences and reached right down to the depths of her soul.

It became a ruthless invasion that bordered on violation, and when at last he lifted his head, she could only stand in shocked immobility. If he had wanted to punish her, he’d succeeded, she decided numbly.

She felt raw, her whole body consumed by an emotional pain so intense that it was almost a tangible entity. Her eyes began to ache, then glistened with tears she refused to allow to fall.

His features were harsh, and with a muttered imprecation he turned and strode from the kitchen.

Minutes later she heard the muted sound of a car engine start up, then its refined purr diminished as it reached the end of the driveway.

She hugged her arms together, and tried valiantly to maintain a measure of control.

How long she stood there she had no idea, for she had no sense of the passage of time as she attempted to rationalise the foolishness of pitching her strength against a man whose physical and emotional strength were infinitely superior to her own.

It was only the prosaic need for food that refocused her attention, and with determined resolve she collected cutlery and systematically divided the cold omelette into bite-sized portions, forking them automatically into her mouth.

When she had finished, she cleaned the skillet, rinsed the plate and cutlery, and placed them in the dishwasher.

The house seemed incredibly silent, the lounge much too large for her to sit in alone. Feeling thoroughly unsettled, she wandered into the informal sala, collected a magazine, and sank into one of the deep cushioned seats. The pages were not able to capture her interest, and she discarded the magazine, choosing instead to use the remote module to switch on the television. Surely there would be something she could become involved in, she thought with despair, as she clicked one channel after another.

Two half-hour comedy shows provided some light relief, but her appreciation of the humour portrayed was only superficial, and when they were over she roved between the channels in search of a movie that might prove interesting.

There was not much selection, and she crossed to the cabinet and browsed through the collection of videos, discarding all but one. It was a dark Gothic piece that had earned critical acclaim, but she found it too intense, and was quite pleased when the credits finally rolled.

Elise crossed back into the kitchen and filled a glass with ice from the freezer, then added orange juice and slowly sipped the contents.

What time would Alejandro come home? If he came home, a tiny voice taunted. Dammit, of course he would. He had never stayed out before, so why would he begin now?

Maybe because you virtually gave him carte blanche to spend time with Savannah, the same tiny voice reminded her with devilish glee.

A glance at her watch revealed it to be after ten, and with sudden decisiveness she finished the juice, then made for the stairs. She would have a shower, then go to bed.

Twenty minutes later she slid beneath the cool linen sheets, snapped off the light, and closed her eyes.

Sleep did not provide the release she craved, and half an hour later she gave a muttered groan and slid out of bed, choosing to curl up in a chair close to the curtain-draped window.

How did one reconcile the heaven of loving Alejandro Santanas, and the resultant hell of knowing he could never love her? Elise reflected as she gazed sightlessly round the darkened room.

Like a moth at a flame, she had been struck by the lightning of instant attraction, aware of the swift invasive pull of sheer physical desire, and engulfed by its powerful magnetism.

By day she had fought him, hating him for being able to hold her captive to her own desire, hating herself for being so easily entrapped by the dictates of her own flesh…By night she lost the fight and revelled in the magic of his touch.

Would it ever be any different between them? It had been, she reflected sadly. For six short weeks she had believed him to be a caring, loving husband. A man who had devoted all of his time to her, and shown her incredible tendresse.

Had it been real? Or merely an act? She would probably never know.

Oh, hell, she cursed, as her eyes filled and tears began to trickle down both cheeks. She hardly ever cried. Except when her father had died. Dammit, her hormones must be raging some sort of inner war with her emotional heart. To be this stricken with tears was crazy.

Futile, she amended, timeless minutes later when she appeared all cried out. The spent emotion made her sleepy, and she snuggled deeper into the chair and rested her head in the curve of one arm.

It was there Alejandro found her, and he stood for a long time looking down at the graceful arch of her slender neck illuminated by the bedside lamp, the softness of her hair as it clung to her neck, the slender curves beneath the simple white cotton nightgown. And the faint evidence of tears.

Slowly he discarded his clothes, then he crossed back to the chair and carefully lifted her into his arms.

Elise stirred, aware in the depths of her subconscious that something was different. Whereas the cushioned chair was softly padded, now there was the warmth of hard muscular flesh beneath her head. She was aware of a deep rhythmic heartbeat, and an arm curving her close against a long male body. Fingers traced a light transient pattern over her hair, and she felt the brush of lips against her temple.

A soft sigh emerged from her lips, and almost in reflex action her arm crept out to encircle his waist.

His mouth was beautifully chiselled, and she knew exactly how it felt against her own. Even thinking about it brought alive the flicker of desire, igniting from her central core and licking treacherously along every nerve in her body.

Of its own accord her head angled slightly, the soft curves of her mouth parting to accept a kiss that began with incredible gentleness. Teasing, provocative, and profoundly seductive.

There was no thought of denying him, or herself, and she exulted in each caress, the overwhelming bewitching rapture as he guided her towards fulfilment—seismic, earth-shattering, a surrender to the sensual delights of passion.

It was the one level on which they communicated. No discord, no sense of disappointment. Just beautiful intimacy. Sex, she corrected, all too aware of the difference.

‘Drop me anywhere along Oxford Street, José,’ Elise declared. ‘It’s a beautiful day, and I feel like walking.’

The Pajero eased through the traffic-lights and pulled into a parking bay. ‘What time, and where shall I collect you?’

‘I’ll get a taxi back,’ she said lightly, unwilling to put a curfew on the day. Who knew how long lunch with Siobhan would extend? And besides, she might want to explore the shops for a while.

‘Perhaps you will ring when you are ready?’ José suggested on an anxious note. ‘Alejandro would insist.’

Alejandro could insist all he liked! ‘I’ll let you know,’ she conceded, feeling only slightly guilty that she had no intention of calling José. She proffered a warm smile, then opened the door and stepped down on to the pavement, waiting only a few seconds after he pulled out into the traffic before making her way towards the next street.

Siobhan was waiting for her, and they hugged each other as if it was years instead of several weeks since they had last seen each other.

‘You look fantastic,’ Siobhan declared as they entered the restaurant. The maître d’ took them to a table with views of the harbour, handed them each a menu, then left them to make a selection. ‘How is your hand?’