Читать книгу Proud Revenge, Passionate Wedlock - Janette Kenny - Страница 8

MIGUEL stood by the window and stared out to sea, but still only saw the hunger in Allegra’s blue eyes when he’d tossed out his proposition. He’d thought she’d balk when she realized he’d set them up to be targets of the gossip rags. He’d expected anger at being forced to do his bidding in order to gain her freedom.

But she hadn’t hesitated long before agreeing to resume the role of his wife, leaving him to believe that she wanted out of their marriage so badly that she’d prostitute herself.

She was a money-grabbing schemer. She’d likely run through the funds she’d gained by selling the jewelry she’d stolen and was desperate to sell the beach house to fund her affair. Was Amando Riveras waiting for her to return to him with a fat purse, or had she taken a new lover?

That possibility was a fresh knife thrust in his heart. He hated her as hotly as he’d once desired her for taking his child when she ran off with her lover, for her defiance ended his niña’s life. He’d been sure her deceit had burned out all feelings in him save vengeance.

But being with her again, drawing in her provocatively sweet scent, being close enough to run his hands through her wealth of hair and glide his palms over her creamy soft skin had reawakened the unbridled lust she’d always ignited in him.

She was the spark to his tinder, and he was powerless to put out the flames of desire.

He prided himself on his steely control—until he’d met her. She was the enigma that slipped past his defenses. She was the waif who stole into his thoughts when he needed his rapier wits about him.

She was the one person who struck fear in him, for the feelings she roused terrified him more than the very real possibility of something ill befalling her.

Even now he caught himself concerned about her drastic weight loss that went beyond her losing her baby weight. He knew well she’d always fussed about being too heavy when he’d thought her perfect.

Now she had the figure to rival a fashion model. The pale fragile complexion was indicative of someone who’d spent an exorbitant amount of time indoors. In bed with Amando?

He swore and ran a hand over his just-shaved jaw as he thought of his wife making love with the man he’d hired to guard her. How long had it taken for the man to seduce Allegra?

The attraction had to have taken root before she gave birth to Cristobel. While her belly was swollen with his child, the man he’d handpicked to guard his wife from a kidnapper had seduced her.

And she’d welcomed Amando’s attentions!

He’d known Allegra was unhappy with their marriage those past few months. She hated living at Hacienda Primaro. She had argued bitterly with his madre. She complained about being shut out of his life and wished to hold a position within his corporation.

“A Gutierrez wife does not work in that sense,” he’d told her. “Your job is your home and family.”

“I’ll go crazy here with so little to do,” she’d insisted.

He refused to be moved. “Then perhaps you should ask Madre what causes you could lend your name and time to.”

She’d said no more about holding a job after that. He’d thought she’d finally understood her position.

But he’d been wrong.

While he was immersed in helping the indigenous people survive a catastrophe, she was stealing a fortune in jewels and leaving him with the man he’d hired to protect her from kidnappers.

Miguel had returned to Hacienda Primaro to find his wife gone, his daughter dead and his marriage over. She’d flown back to England, not even staying for their niña’s burial.

Over the ensuing months, his mind had conjured up a thousand scenarios of her and Amando secreted away. He spent countless sleepless nights envisioning ways to make her pay for carelessly endangering their daughter’s life, and for dragging him through this emotional hell.

Miguel had been on the verge of hiring a detective to find her when her housekeeper in Cancún called him. Allegra had phoned to have her ready the beach house.

He made sure he was here waiting for her.

He squinted at the dark line gathering on the horizon. Would he find peace of mind after he extinguished the vengeance that burned in him night and day? Would he ever be free of the guilt that battered his heart because he’d not been there to stop his wife from leaving with his darling niña?

He tipped his head back and stared at the pristine-white ceiling where a fan gently stirred the air that was rife with tension. He’d paid off this house for her as her bride’s gift.

Their love nest, she’d called it.

It had been, too, for they’d retreated here when they needed to be alone. They’d created their beautiful niña here.

Unease rippled over his skin. If she’d wanted out of her marriage, why hadn’t she asked for a divorce before? Why the hell hadn’t she left Cristobel with Madre when she ran off with Amando Riveras?

The scuff of a shoe on the steps alerted him to her entrance. Before the accident, he always turned to greet her with a welcoming smile that mirrored his desire, always had been stunned by her natural beauty. Her poise. Her sensual aura that enveloped him in her white-hot woman’s heat.

They’d had a passionate connection that he’d never felt with another woman. It caught him off guard to discover that attraction was still there—still as commanding as it had been that first day he’d seen her on the beach.

But he wouldn’t let her know that. She’d lost that right to know what was in his heart when she left him for another man.

Miguel faced her, his features carefully wiped clean of the emotions that kept him on edge. The erotically sensual woman before him made his pulse race.

Even wearing such a provocative gown, she looked poised and sure of herself. Surely every man would lust after her tonight.

“You are more alluring in that gown than I remember,” he said.

The flush streaking across her cheeks and coloring her throat reminded him of the day he’d bought this dress for her. She’d blushed and fussed and told him that it would be months before she could fit into this gown because she’d just discovered she was pregnant.

That day he’d started thinking of forever with this woman instead of an affair. That day he’d thought with his heart instead of his head, even though a part of him warned of the danger of caring too deeply for her.

He wanted her, and was certain he’d not fall that deeply under her spell. But he had.

He’d been terrified of loving her. And terrified of losing her.

In the end he’d done both.

He cut a sharp glance at his watch, blotting the provocative sight of her from his mind. Yet his body still hummed with awareness of her.

He gritted his teeth and tamped down the raw animal need coursing through him. She came back for closure?

Fine, he’d gladly help her slam the door on their past. But she was in for a rude shock, for when he was done with her, she’d have nothing. She’d gotten all she was going to get from his family.

No, that was a lie. He’d lived for the moment when the business dinner was concluded, when he and Allegra returned here tonight. When she upheld her agreement to be his wife in all ways. When he took her heart again. And when he dumped her as she had him, she’d know the pain of betrayal.

He let his gaze sweep up her, slowly this time, noting the tensing in her limbs and inviting swell of her bosom. The telling hip thrust was a primitive and provocative invitation for him to push her against the wall and take her now.

Sí, she was a temptress. He ruthlessly tamped down his urges and shifted to ease the ache of his arousal.

Tonight he’d indulge in what she offered.

Tonight she’d be his to command. To conquer.

“Where is your jewelry?” he asked, his deep voice startling her from admiring the refined gentleman standing before her.

Miguel had told her once that his Spanish ancestors had come to Mexico to conquer it. That one conquistador had seduced a Mayan princess yet settled here, joining two worlds, two cultures.

His grandfather had achieved great wealth. His father had capitalized on it to increase the fortune. But it was Miguel’s cunning and daring that propelled the family holdings well into the exalted group of billionaires.

He was a conquistador, his bearing proud and unflinching. His jawline was strong, the cheekbones high and pronounced. He had a straight aristocratic nose, and his dark mocha eyes glittered with a mesmerizing light that burned from within.

But the feature she’d loved most about Miguel was the shape of his mouth. The lower lip was full and curved just so. The upper one had a generous bow that arched as if hinting he was always amused.

Or mocking, as he seemed now.

Allegra stuffed a few essentials into an evening bag, annoyed his spicy scent wrapped around her like loving arms. It annoyed her that he’d brought up the subject of jewelry.

She turned her left hand so he could see her rings. She’d found tape in a cabinet in the loo and added enough to keep her rings from falling off her fingers.

“The gold chain did nothing for the gown,” she said, when his dark gaze fixed on hers again.

She’d left her jewelry at the hacienda. She didn’t miss the extravagant pieces that had passed down through his family, for the designs dripping with gems had never appealed to her. But she mourned the loss of those few items, especially the emerald suspended on a delicate gold chain, that he’d given her after she’d told him she was pregnant.

A sacred bond, he’d called it. Green gems held special meaning for the Mayan, so it was only fitting that they commemorate their union with an emerald, and mark the conception of their firstborn daughter with one as well.

His thick eyebrows slanted, his gaze appraising, his stance domineering. “Perhaps the effect is better without adornments.”

“Whether it is or not, this will have to do.” She lifted her chin. “Are we ready then?”

“Sí. My car is in the garage.” He grasped her arm, his touch firm and warm. Commanding yet intimate.

She moved with him in silent synchronization, a woman clearly attune to her man’s slightest nuances. The months apart hadn’t changed that.

The sense of oneness they projected drew attention. They’d always made a striking couple, whether they consciously tried or not. They were just that in sync with each other’s moods and desires.

Now was no different. But the image they projected was a scam.

He was angry. Furiously so.

Well, she was annoyed, too. Nothing had changed. He still regarded her as an adornment on his arm.

Like everything else he owned, she’d been a possession. But was that why she’d left him? She hoped she’d find the answers here soon.

She proceeded him through the side door into the garage, expecting to find the luxury sedan that he favored for long road trips. A sports car sat in its place, as sleek and black as the jaguar that bore its name.

As dangerous as the man escorting her into it and then striding around the hood with masculine grace and climbing behind the wheel.

“Is something wrong?” he asked when he caught her staring at him.

The list was long, but she shook her head in answer. What difference did it make that she was an uneasy passenger after the accident?

It was just another of the crosses she had to bear. She fastened her seat belt, somewhat surprised when he did the same for he’d never done so before.

He zipped out of the garage and onto the road, then threw the car in gear and sped off. The jolt pressed Allegra against the seat, and for a moment she felt a spate of panic that had haunted her since that night.

She steadied her breathing and focused on the diverse scenery as they zipped down Carretera 307, the jungle to her right and the expanse of white sand beaches to her left.

This was one of the most beautiful places on earth, yet tonight she was so filled with apprehension that she feared it would take little provocation for her to jump out of her skin.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked.

“No,” she said, taking small pleasure that he’d picked up on her unease.

At least she hadn’t been wrong about that affinity with Miguel! But it also meant she’d have the devil’s time hiding her emotions from him.

“Relax and enjoy the drive.”

“I’m trying to.” She pressed her palms flat against her thighs and drew in several calming breaths.

“How is your mother?” she asked to fill the silence.

“Busy with her grandson,” he said.

“Your sister’s son was a precocious child,” she said, and bit back adding he was spoiled and rude.

He nodded as he wove in and out of traffic. “He enjoys having all of Madre’s attention.”

“That will change when another grandchild is born,” she said, certain Miguel’s sister would have more.

But Miguel would likely remarry and start a new family one day. She ignored the stab of pain that thought wrought.

Even if they could overcome their differences, even if they could come to trust one another one day, one fact remained to make her totally unsuitable as his wife. She couldn’t have any more children, and a man in Miguel’s position would want heirs.

“Sí, it will be a big adjustment for him,” he said, and she responded with a murmur of agreement.

She took the time to study Miguel, noting the new lines in his face. The sharper glint in his eyes. The somber expression that hinted he always had something troubling him.

A flicker of light behind them caught her eye. She looked back just as a car swerved sharply inches from their bumper.

“No!”

She shielded her face, expecting the air bag to explode into her. A cry sliced above the scream of tires, the sound crackling with agony and terror.

He whipped the car to the side of the highway and fishtailed on the narrow shoulder as he brought the car to a dead stop.

“Allegra!” He grabbed her arms and forced them down.

She blinked at him then stared into the rear seat, her mouth dry, her breath no more than a flutter. “Oh God, I thought—”

She couldn’t go on, couldn’t force the words out.

“You thought what?” he said, a quaver creeping into his deep voice as his hands glided up and down her suddenly chilled arms. “Tell me.”

“I thought that car was going to hit us.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to take metered breaths to still her racing heart. “Like before.”

“What do you mean?”

“The accident.”

A tense silence vibrated between then.

“A car hit you?” An incredulous rake of his gaze followed his question that echoed with skepticism.

She shook her head, annoyed her memory was littered with holes. “I don’t know. I hear the explosion of the airbags and the suffocating pressure on my chest. I hear Cristobel crying.”

“What do you remember?” he asked.

“Very little. What I do recall comes in snippets that often seem out of order.”

“You suffer from a memory loss?” he asked, incredulity ringing loud and clear in his voice.

“Yes, a form of amnesia,” she said. “Didn’t Uncle Loring explain?”

His dark brows slammed into a vee over the aristocratic blade of his nose. “Not one word.”

Allegra didn’t know what to make of that. If Miguel was to be believed, her uncle had lied to him about her condition and her whereabouts. Why would he do such a thing?

“How often do you have these flashbacks?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice now.

Most nights, or any of the other triggers she hadn’t anticipatedthat caught her off guard. “Often enough, though of late the same snippets have played over and over.” She looked into his eyes then and said simply, “The accident and two weeks following it are a mystery to me.”

His dark eyes flared with surprise, but the strong hand that closed protectively over hers was her undoing. For he didn’t merely touch her. His thumb stroked her hand, and the warm vital connection between them brought back vibrant memories of the time when they’d merely sit close and hold hands.

She’d mourned that link with Miguel nearly as much as she grieved over her daughter’s death. But too soon he released her and scowled out the windshield, and the darkening of his tanned cheeks hinted he disliked revealing that much of his feelings to her.

“How long do they think this block will last?” he asked.

“The doctor said it could last a day or forever,” she said, which was the reason she’d decided to leave Bartholomew Fields.

She was suffocating under the doctor’s watchful eye. She hadn’t wanted to be dependent on others for the rest of her life, so she dug deep for the gumption to take matters into her own hands.

It was clear nobody else was coming to her defense. Not her uncle. Certainly not her husband.

“I believed what I was told,” she said. “Just like you did.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You gave up on us, Miguel,” she said. “If you’d really wanted to find me, I wouldn’t have been a virtual prisoner in Bartholomew Fields.”

Her charge rose as a wall between them, for she knew he could move mountains if he chose to. He hadn’t tried hard enough to find her. He’d given up on her.

He swore under his breath and jerked back behind the wheel, but instead of throwing the car into gear, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile. “I will call Señor McClendon and give our regrets for tonight.”

“Don’t.”

She laid a hand atop his and jolted when a intense bolt of emotion shot from him into her. Anger. Confusion. Empathy.

“You need to rest,” he said. “The trip taxed you.”

“I’m all right.” She’d done nothing but rest for months. “There is no reason to postpone your dinner.”

He tipped his head to the side and studied her, as if he was gauging if he could trust her to pull this off. He likely suspected she’d flake-out and embarrass him in front of the paparazzi that were sure to be present.

“If you are feeling—” he paused, as if searching for the right word to describe her spell “—unnerved, then we should postpone this evening until you are more in control of your emotions.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “There’s no need to alter your plans for tonight.”

His critical assessment of her screamed disagreement. “You are certain of this?”

“Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t sure of anything.

She’d let her uncle handle things when she was hospitalized. Now it seemed that he’d lied to her, and he’d lied to Miguel.

Why would Uncle Loring keep her from Miguel? She could only guess that he’d sought to protect her from an uncaring husband.

She curled her fingers into her palms, angry over the lost time apart, the lost memories she may never recover. Most of all, it angered her that they’d lost the chance to cling to each other in the face of tragedy.

She glanced at Miguel. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and scowled out the windshield. She knew he was on the verge of taking her back to the beach house because he doubted her stamina.

She refused to be locked away from life or cower before the paparazzi. She’d come back to the Yucatán for closure, but now she wanted answers as well.

“Do you intend to sit here all night staring out the window, or are we going to Playa del Carmen for dinner?” she asked.

His gaze flicked to hers, and the hot challenge simmering there made her breath catch.

“We join the Tejanos as planned. Hold on.” He’d jutted out into traffic as he spoke, as if testing her to see if she’d lose her grip on reality again.

She dug her fingernails into the leather seat and cast him a sideways look. A muscle ticked madly in his lean cheek. Some perceived that tic as anger, but she knew better. It was the only visible sign she’d seen that belied he was nervous.

She suspected a good deal of it was his aversion toward the paparazzi he’d decided to court this night. But had her barb truly hit a nerve? Could he possibly feel guilty for not finding her?

More likely she’d tweaked his formidable pride by tossing the truth back in his face. He’d not wanted her anymore.

She’d known that when she’d come back here. Still, she’d left the safe haven her doctor offered to confront the most exciting man she’d ever met.

Time would tell if it was a choice she’d live to regret.