Читать книгу The Wedding Ultimatum - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 7

SEVERAL days later Danielle stood at Rafe Valdez’s side in an ornate gazebo situated in the gardens of his beautiful Toorak home and exchanged marriage vows directed by a celebrant in the presence of Ariane and Rafe’s lawyer, who acted as witnesses.

The previous week had passed in a blur, each day seemingly more hectic than the last as legal documents were signed and Ariane’s affairs brought to order pending the wedding itself.

Soon after signing the marriage certificate, Rafe Valdez would attach his signature to an affidavit authorising payment of all Ariane’s debts and the restoration of her previously sold assets.

Wealth was equated with power, and he’d used it ruthlessly to achieve his objective.

Danielle extended her hand for him to slip the wedding ring onto her finger, and her own hand shook slightly as she returned the tradition.

‘You may kiss the bride.’

She heard the words, experienced momentary panic as the man at her side cupped her face and covered her lips with his own in an evocative open-mouthed kiss that tugged at something deep inside.

Surprise caused her eyes to widen momentarily before she quickly lowered her lashes, forcing a smile as she accepted the celebrant’s voiced congratulations, closely duplicated by Ariane and Rafe’s lawyer.

Ariane’s hug conveyed maternal concern. The words had all been said, and it lent much to Danielle’s resolve that she’d managed to convince her mother that her decision to become Rafe Valdez’s wife was not born out of capricious insanity!

Now, however, she wasn’t so confident.

Bankruptcy had been averted, a considerable debt wiped, and precious d’Alboa possessions restored. All for a price.

One she was about to begin to pay for.

The man who stood at her side was an unknown quantity. Yet before the night was over she’d share her body with his and engage in the most intimate of physical acts.

The knowledge ate at her equilibrium and almost brought her undone.

During the past week she had seen him once, and that had been in his lawyer’s office when she’d attached her signature to the pre-nuptial agreement.

One contact had been made by telephone, informing her of the date, time and place their marriage would take place.

This morning her clothes and personal possessions had been transported to his home, and less than an hour ago she’d driven her small sedan through the tall gates guarding his elegant mansion and entered the spacious lobby with Ariane at her side, where they were greeted by Rafe, introduced to his housekeeper, Elena, and then taken upstairs to an elegant suite.

Attired as she was in a classically styled suit of ivory silk, the only concession towards bride was a single ivory rosebud she held in one hand. Her hair was swept up into a smooth twist, and she wore minimum make-up.

Rafe had chosen formal attire, and she’d taken one look at him, noted the impeccable tailoring, the crisp white shirt, and suppressed the momentary urge to flee.

He had the look of an indolent predator, all darkly coiled strength and indomitable power. Enhanced by a tall frame and an impressive breadth of shoulder. Together with an intrinsic quality that was elemental, primitive.

The celebrant handed Rafe the marriage certificate, offered the customary pleasantries, then left.

There was champagne, and Danielle sipped the sparkling liquid, aware of its potential potency, given that she’d eaten a token slice of toast for breakfast and picked at a salad for lunch.

It seemed superfluous, even hypocritical, to have Rafe’s lawyer propose a toast to their union, and a proffered tray of hors d’oeuvres did nothing to tempt her appetite.

Rafe’s gaze narrowed as he caught a flicker of concern chase across Ariane’s features, and he selected a bite-size portion and deliberately fed it to the woman who now bore his name.

He watched as flecks of gold fire sparked in those dark brown eyes, and for a moment he thought she’d refuse. Certain, had they been alone, that she would have.

The lawyer murmured words Danielle didn’t catch, and Rafe placed his champagne flute down on a nearby table. ‘If you’ll join me in the study for a few minutes?’

An affidavit requiring his signature following the marriage. Their agreement was a done deal. All she had to do was deliver…on a very intimate level, and gift him a child.

She felt her stomach twist into a painful knot. There was no room for second thoughts.

Both Ariane and the lawyer took their leave at the same time, and Danielle watched the small sedan ease down the driveway, followed by the lawyer’s late-model BMW.

Rafe turned back towards the lobby, and Danielle followed.

‘The master bedroom is upstairs overlooking the gardens and pool, if you want to freshen up.’ He indicated the wide curving staircase leading to the upper floor. ‘Elena will have unpacked your clothes.’ He pulled back a cuff. ‘Dinner will be served in half an hour.’

She took it as a dismissal, and was relieved when he turned and retraced his steps to the study.

The Spanish influence was much in evidence, Danielle noted as she made her way towards the staircase.

Pale cream marble-tiled floors patterned and edged with a combination of dark grey, black and a heavy forest-green. Mahogany cabinets hugged the wall space, large urns stood atop marble stands, and original artwork graced the cream walls.

High ceilings in the spacious lobby were offset by an elegant crystal chandelier suspended above an ornate water fountain. A wide balustraded staircase led to the upper floor.

Guest rooms each with an en suite, Danielle determined, a comfortable sitting-room, and there was no mistaking the large master bedroom. His-and-her walk-in wardrobes, a large en suite containing luxurious fittings and a spa-bath.

Her toiletries and make-up were neatly positioned at one end of the long marble vanity, her clothing and shoes rested in one of the spacious walk-in wardrobes, and the many drawers held her underwear and lingerie.

She let her gaze skim over the room, noting the pleasing neutral colour scheme in cream and ivory, offset by an abundance of low-and high-set mahogany cabinets, a mirrored dressing-table.

It was impossible not to have her gaze linger on the king-size bed with its heavy quilted spread. Equally difficult to ignore the nervous tension curling painfully in the region of her stomach.

Get a grip, she admonished silently. Rafe Valdez is a man like any other.

However, the prospect of having sex with a man she hardly knew, even within the bounds of marriage, wasn’t in her comfort zone.

Yet all she had to do was occupy his bed, and allow him to fuse his body with her own. Maybe if she fell pregnant quickly, he’d leave her alone.

She drew a deep breath and averted her attention from the bed. Maybe she should change? Yet it seemed doubtful Rafe would exchange his suit for something less formal, unless, she determined with a quick glance at her watch, he chose to do so within the next few minutes.

‘I imagine you’ve had time to acquaint yourself with the layout,’ a deep voice drawled from the doorway, and she turned slowly towards him.

His jacket was hooked over one shoulder, and he’d loosened his tie. He looked dark and dangerous, his breadth of shoulder impressive without the emphasis of superb tailoring.

‘You have a beautiful house.’ She couldn’t for the life of her call it home.

‘Gracias.’ His gaze raked her slender curves. ‘Dinner is almost ready.’

She made an instant decision. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’ With smooth movements she entered her walk-in wardrobe, selected a dress at random, then hastily exchanged the ivory suit for a red shift, cinched a gilt belt at her waist, touched up her lipstick, then emerged into the bedroom.

Rafe was waiting for her, and she met his brooding scrutiny with equanimity, then preceded him from the room.

Calm, poise. She possessed the social skills to employ both, and she slipped into the familiar role as he seated her at the dining-room table.

There was more champagne, and Danielle toyed with the idea of sinking into a pleasant alcoholic haze, only to discard it in favour of alternating the champagne with mineral water sipped slowly between each few mouthfuls of food.

Elena had prepared a veritable feast, and Danielle attempted to do justice to each course.

‘Not hungry?’

She met his piercing gaze and held it. ‘Not particularly.’

‘Relax,’ Rafe bade brusquely. ‘I’m not about to sweep all this—’ he paused to indicate the china, crystal and various serving dishes ‘—to one side, and ravish you on the table.’

He watched her eyes widen, then become veiled as her lashes lowered. He was adept at reading an expression, skilled in the art of mind-play.

Most women of his acquaintance would have slipped into seduction mode, teasing with the promise of sensual delights beneath the sheets. Sure knowledge of the sexual act and the mutual pleasure each could derive.

Yet the young woman seated opposite him was consumed with nerves. It was evident in the fast-beating pulse at the edge of her throat, the careful way she consumed each mouthful of food.

‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ She replaced her fork, unable to face another morsel. The image of that broad male frame sweeping the table’s contents to the floor, then crushing her beneath his weight…

‘Dessert?’

‘No.’ Was that her voice? It sounded so calm and controlled, when she was anything but. ‘Thank you,’ she declined.

Elena entered the room, gathered their plates, nodded as Rafe relayed they would take dessert and coffee later, then she left.

The need for conversation prompted Danielle to query, ‘At what age did you leave Andalusia?’

One eyebrow lifted. ‘Question-and-answer time?’

She toyed with the stem of her glass, her gaze level. In this light she could see the tiny lines fanning out from his eyes, the faint groove slashing each cheek. His facial features bore a chiselled look, and his mouth… She could still feel the touch of his lips as he’d claimed her as his wife, sense the slow sweep of his tongue on hers.

‘Anything I know of you amounts to hearsay,’ Danielle qualified evenly.

‘Will the knowing make a difference?’ His faint mockery held a cynical edge, and there was a hardness evident she was loath to explore.

‘None at all.’

‘Yet you’d prefer to delve into my background, discover what shaped and made me the black-hearted devil I am today,’ Rafe drawled. ‘With what purpose in mind?’ A slight smile curved his lips, but didn’t reach his eyes. ‘To better understand me?’

Two could play at this game, and she didn’t hesitate. ‘To separate fact from fiction.’

‘Fascinating.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t stop, Danielle.’

She ignored the warning purr in his voice. ‘Fiction tags you as having lived on the Chicago streets, a gang member who walked the wrong side of the law.’

‘You believe that?’ The tone was silk-smooth and dangerous.

She studied him carefully, attempting to see beneath the façade, aware he would permit only a chosen few to get close. ‘I think you did whatever was necessary to survive.’

‘A chequered past, hmm?’

To have acquired great wealth in his lifetime meant risk-taking, and living on the edge.

‘Is any of it fact?’

His expression didn’t change. ‘Some of it.’

A street warrior, shoulder-length hair tied back, dark clothes, with attitude. A leader, rather than a follower.

‘Somewhere along the way you cleaned up your act. One assumes crime didn’t pay?’

He had a hard-nosed cop to thank for turning his life around. A man who had seen potential beneath the bravado, and fostered it, directing the anger towards oriental combat skills in a back-street dojo, where discipline was of the mind as well as the body, a spiritualism that channelled energy into something meaningful. That, and one man’s faith in his ability to succeed.

He had gone back to school, gained a college scholarship and worked his butt off, graduating with honours. The cop had pulled in a favour that gave him a chance…and the rest was history.

No one knew he’d arranged a retirement package and heavily supplemented the cop’s superannuation plan. Or that he’d organised privately funded assistance to provide street kids with sports centres. Centres he personally visited each time he returned to the States.

‘Let’s just say I made the decision to walk on the right side of the law,’ Rafe declared with thinly veiled mockery.

‘That’s all you’re going to tell me?’

‘For now.’

‘You didn’t answer my original question,’ she pursued.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘I was nine years old.’ And life, as he knew it, had changed forever. Tension, friction, and a disenchanted father unable to get steady work had eventually split the family. Lack of money had ensured a downhill spiral that fashioned his youth and robbed him of both parents at an early age.

Dusk encroached, and Danielle watched as the day’s colours began to fade. There was almost a surreal quality as night descended, an eery stillness before electric lights sprang to life, providing illumination.

‘More champagne?’

Danielle met his gaze and was unable to determine anything from his expression. ‘No, thanks.’

‘We’ll move into the sitting-room, and I’ll have Elena serve coffee.’

‘Does Elena live in the house?’

‘No. She comes in Tuesday through to Saturday with her husband, Antonio. Elena looks after the house, prepares and leaves me an evening meal when required, and Antonio takes care of the grounds, the pool, any minor maintenance.’

Danielle took her coffee sweet and black, and she sipped the brew slowly. How long before he would suggest they go to bed? An hour…less?

There was a part of her that wanted the sex over and done with. Another that wished she could slip into an accomplished seduction mode.

‘The Toorak boutique is ready for Ariane to move in her stock,’ Rafe informed. ‘I’ve organised for transportation tomorrow.’

‘I’ll ring and arrange to meet her there.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

She looked askance at him in silence.

‘You’re now my wife.’

‘Ariane and I are business partners. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect her to set up stock alone in our new premises.’

He examined her features, taking his time before offering comment. ‘What if I’ve made arrangements that preclude you being available to assist your mother?’

‘Have you?’

‘We’re due to attend a tennis party in a private home at two in the afternoon.’

‘Which leaves me the morning free to help Ariane,’ she responded evenly.

‘You have no need to work.’

‘You expect me to sit in this house twiddling my thumbs while I wait for you to service me at the end of the day.’

‘Por Dios.’ The oath slipped softly from his tongue. ‘Service you?’

There was a quality evident in his voice that sent apprehension scudding down the length of her spine.

‘Given that pregnancy is the main objective, sexual activity should be restricted to my fertile cycle.’

It was impossible to ascertain anything from his expression. As a card player he would be brilliant, she perceived. Yet this was not a game.

‘Rather like a brood mare put to stud?’

The softness of his tone was deceptive, and although she was willing to swear he hadn’t moved a muscle his posture seemed to have assumed a menacing ruthlessness.

‘Why not call it what it is?’

His gaze was unwavering, and it took all her courage not to flinch beneath the silent power emanating from the depths of those dark eyes. Evident was a hard intensity that was almost frightening.

‘We occupy the same bed each night,’ he said with dangerous softness.

‘You intend to enforce conjugal rights?’

‘Did you hope that I wouldn’t?’

‘Yes!’

‘Your mistake,’ he refuted simply.

‘That’s—’ words temporarily failed her ‘—barbaric.’

‘I doubt you’ve experienced the true meaning of the word.’

Her chin lifted fractionally, and her eyes blazed with open hostility as she watched his lengthy frame uncoil from the chair.

‘You expect me to walk calmly upstairs with you?’

‘On your feet, or slung over my shoulder.’ He effected a negligible shrug. ‘Take your pick.’

‘You have the sensitivity of an ox!’

‘What did you imagine? Pretty words and romance?’

Danielle stepped ahead of him and made her way towards the elegant staircase. ‘I should be so fortunate.’

Careless, foolish words, she chastised silently as she reached the upstairs lobby and turned towards the hallway leading to the master bedroom.

The nerves in her stomach seemed to intensify with every step she took, and she was supremely conscious of the man who walked at her side.

There was no easy way to ignore the large bed, or its significance, as she entered the room.

Did her step falter slightly? She hoped not. Hesitation wasn’t on the agenda. Without a word she slipped off her shoes, then she crossed to the set of drawers that held her lingerie. There was a beautiful satin and lace nightgown, a gift from Ariane, which she ignored in favour of a cotton T-shirt, then she moved towards the en suite.

A shower might help soothe her soul.

Minutes later she’d shed her clothes, removed her make-up, and pinned up her hair. Then she adjusted the water dial to a comfortable temperature, stepped into the large glassed cubicle, and caught up the soap.

Pride ensured she didn’t take overlong, and, towelled dry, she completed the usual ritual, donned the T-shirt, then re-entered the bedroom.

Only to have the breath catch in her throat at the sight of Rafe in the process of pulling the covers from the bed.

A towel was knotted at his hips, highlighting a toned body that displayed an admirable flex of muscle with every move he made.

The olive texture of his skin was offset by a smattering of dark hair at his chest, extending in a single line to his navel. Lean hips and powerful thighs added to a composite that exuded raw strength. Also apparent was a primitive alchemy that fascinated and disturbed in equal measure.

She looked little more than a teenager with her face scrubbed clean of make-up and her hair caught into a careless pony-tail, Rafe mused, his gaze narrowing fractionally as he perceived her hesitation.