Читать книгу Modern Romance January Books 1-4 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 19

CAMILLA HAD BEEN hoping for a nice slice of cake after the paella. Instead, she was ushered into the ballroom with the assurance that coffee would follow. She hoped there would be chocolate. For certain, there was going to be a dance, and she was not sure how she felt about that.

Her whole body still burned from when Matías had grabbed hold of her in the dining room.

He was teasing her. She knew that. He was not going to fall in love with her, and he was not so compelled to touch her that he had no choice but to take hold of her back there.

She had no idea what he thought about her. What he assumed in terms of her level of experience. Likely, he hadn’t thought about it at all.

As he had said, the bride in this equation was completely interchangeable with the one that had been scheduled to appear before. So why would he give a single thought to whether or not she had ever been held in a man’s arms before? Why would he care that she had never danced with a man, had never been held close, had never been kissed?

She felt restless and edgy, and she kept catching sight of herself in random mirrors and various reflective surfaces and getting a shock.

She didn’t recognize the woman she saw there.

It was like she was inhabiting a stranger’s body. Strange, because it had felt less like that when she had been masquerading as the stable boy. Plain. Nondescript. She was much more comfortable that way. Identified much more closely with those adjectives than bright or fiery or any of the other words that might be used to describe her as she looked now.

“Are you ready?” Matías asked, turning toward her and holding his hand out. She knew from experience that it was strong, hot and rough. That even though he was wearing a suit, looking every inch the businessman, he had the hands of a working man.

She admired that about him. Because for all that he might seem mercenary, for all that he was a hard taskmaster, he was not above doing the work himself. He held himself to the exact same standards that he held everyone around him to.

Her father had been like that. A man who had valued hard work and had also expected that he would partake in it, no matter how wealthy he became.

“There is no music,” she said.

“It’s all right. You won’t need music. You’re going to follow my lead, not a song.”

She sniffed. “I think dancing without music would be quite boring. Whenever we dance at the rancho somebody plays guitar, and someone plays tambourine. And we all just...move. The way that it feels good to move.”

“Yes. Because you are using dance as an expression of joy.” He began to step toward her, his face that of a predator. “At a gala like this, dance will not be used in a similar fashion. It will be used to gauge relationships. Used as an opportunity to assess someone’s upbringing. Their importance. Everyone will be watching. And they will wonder why your hands did or didn’t linger when they touched my shoulder. Why I did not steal a kiss when the music slowed and I had ample opportunity. Why my hand was positioned just a bit too high at the center of your back, rather than taking the opportunity to flirt with impropriety by drawing it down just a bit lower.”

Her face flushed, her entire body growing warm. “I don’t think anyone will be watching us that closely.”

“You mock me for saying that women fall in love with me, but I am a man of status, and I have recently been abandoned by my fiancée. No doubt my brother will arrange for there to be headlines about his recent nuptials as early as tomorrow. With plenty of time for rumors to be swirling by the evening of the gala. People will be watching to see—is our relationship real or are you simply a stand-in? Are you nothing more than a Band-Aid that I have put over my wound? A trick, a salve for my pride.”

She looked away from him. “Well,” she said, “aren’t I?”

“I refuse to allow you to appear to be such. I refuse to allow Diego to control this, or for my grandfather to have his way in manipulating us.”

“He is rather succeeding in manipulating you into marriage.” That last word ended on a squeak as she found herself pulled back into his arms, his iron fingers wrapped around her own, his arm curved around her waist. Her breasts were pressed up against the hard wall of his chest, and she tried so hard to keep her breathing regulated. To keep herself from panicking and taking in air so deeply that it forced those vulnerable parts of her into contact with him.

But she failed. Sensitive, aching breasts brushing against him helplessly. She looked up at him, and their eyes clashed. Then she looked away, and regretted it immediately, because he must know she was only reacting that way because of the effect that he had on her. And she didn’t want him to know that he affected her at all.

If she could only find a way to resemble the woman that she saw in the mirror. If she could only find a way to play the part of glorious sophisticate. Of course, it was probably difficult to convince anyone that you were a glorious sophisticate when they had originally seen you as a teenage boy.

Still. She wanted to try.

Because Matías Navarro was a whole lot more man than she had ever encountered in her life, and she was only just barely a woman by anyone’s standards.

She had been cosseted in many ways. She would never have described herself as such before now. But though she hadn’t been kept in an ivory tower, though she hadn’t been pampered or treated like a princess, she had been held apart from the rest of the world.

Running around barefoot on the rancho had been like living in a fantasyland. It had had nothing to do with real life. Nothing to do with survival. And she had been placed in a survival situation after her father had died.

She hadn’t known how to take care of herself. Hadn’t known how to go out and get a job. Because she had never needed one.

And she did not know the ways in which women operated in this part of the world. She had very purposefully looked away from the way her mother moved through life, because it both enraged her and made her feel small. Inadequate.

Because truth be told, though she might like to pretend she didn’t hold beauty in high regard, it had always felt futile to want to be beautiful when she was always destined to be outshone by her own mother.

But now she wished she had learned a little bit more of the world. Now she wished that she knew more about controlling her own body, her own femininity. At the moment she felt as though it was all controlling her. It felt as though she was at the mercy of all of this. Of him, of her own self.

That strange, glowing woman that she had seen in the mirror with a luminous face and an enticing figure wrapped tightly in an orange dress.

And then they began to move.

As he had said, he led, his confident steps somehow dictating her own. He made her feel like she was flying, floating, his strength the only thing keeping her from collapsing onto the high-gloss marble floor.

It was like magic. The closest thing to freedom she had felt that wasn’t on the back of a horse.

She was lost. In the effortless way he manipulated her body, and that handsome face of his, all those glorious planes and angles.

He held her so tightly, and yet somehow she still felt like she was flying.

Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might burrow its way out of her chest, but it wasn’t because of exertion, or because she was tired. It was a strange, exultant spike of adrenaline that was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

The closest thing to it was the first moment she had seen him. The way her body had reacted that very first time she had spotted that strong, masculine form walking across the stables. And now he was holding her. Now he was going to be her husband.

That thought made her pounding heart jerk forward suddenly, slamming it against her breastbone.

Her eyes flew to his, and he looked down at her, clearly unaffected by this. Of course, for him, this was routine. For him, there was nothing different about dancing with a woman. For him, at this point, there wasn’t even anything different about being engaged.

She was a replacement. That was all. A tool that was being used to aid him in acquiring this estate.

She meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. If she left him tonight he would have her replaced tomorrow by an unwitting maid.

And for her, this would always be dangerous. Because for her, this was singular. This experience of being held by a man. This experience of wanting. To touch him. To kiss him.

That thought took root in her mind, skittered down her spine like an electric shock.

Kiss him. Did she really want to kiss him?

She looked at that dangerous, sculpted mouth and imagined what it might be like to press her own against it. To test the shape of it. To test its strength.

It made her melt, dissolve at her core, and when he tried to sweep her into the next step, she stumbled, and found herself pressed yet more tightly against him. She had to wonder if this had been a bit of calculation on the part of her body.

If this was some kind of latent feminine instinct propelling her toward the things she desired.

It was certainly not a decision she would have made consciously. She would be too frightened to do it. Too timid. She was bold in so many ways, but not in this.

The fear of rejection, of being told she wasn’t enough, of him laughing at her even, asking why a woman such as herself would imagine she might have some impact on a man that women fell in love with every other day...

Yes, that would have held her back. But here she was, pressed tightly against him, her mouth but a whisper away from his.

The world seemed frozen, even though she knew they still moved.

But then they did stop. He lifted his hand, warm and rough against her cheek as he drew his forefinger along the edge of her jaw, down to the center of her lower lip. She felt her eyelids begin to flutter closed, helpless to do anything but lean into his touch.

His eyes were so intense as they looked into hers. So very purposeful. She could feel the tension between them like a physical band, drawing them together.

She waited. Waited for the press of that mouth against hers. But it didn’t come. Instead, he released his hold on her and left her standing there, shivering in the sudden chill of his withdrawn heat.

“I have a ring for you,” he said, walking across the room, his footsteps slow and steady, echoing in the vast, empty space.

It was so quiet in there. Then she realized that it had been silent except for their footsteps the entire time they were dancing. It had felt like there was music.

But there hadn’t been.

Not ever.

It had all been in her head.

She looked at his dispassionate face and felt foolish. Felt as if a magical spell had been lifted and suddenly she could see clearly again. And it was clear that this was nothing to him.

He moved to an ornate side table and opened the drawer, producing a small, velvet box.

“Were you able to convince Diego to overnight your engagement ring?” she asked, feeling the arch, brittle tone in her words and not able to do anything to modify it.

She felt hideously exposed. As if he could read every last one of her insecurities. As if he could see her disappointment. The thwarted desire for a kiss that she should never have wanted.

“Liliana’s ring would not have suited you,” he said. “It was classic. Quite delicate.”

She bristled. Of course she was not delicate. Of course she did not rate the sweet little antique design that his fragile American flower would have.

“For you,” he continued, “I thought I might select something stronger.”

She was awash in shame. In embarrassment. She felt as though he was just as likely to produce a ring made of Teflon as he was an actual engagement ring.

But then he opened the lid on the box and her breath caught. It was gold, and it was brilliant. The diamond in the center was yellow, and it glowed like the center of the sun.

“You are not a traditional woman,” he said. “You are unique. And you are fiery. I thought you deserved a ring that reflected that.”

She clenched her teeth tightly together, trying her best to look unaffected. “You think you know me?”

“You are bold. Bold enough to go undercover to gain a job here. To risk everything to be near the horses.”

“It’s easy to risk everything when you own nothing,” she pointed out.

“Perhaps. But a great many people in your position would have simply sat down and bemoaned the unfairness of life. You were not prepared to cope with your loss. Not the loss of your father, not the loss of the rancho. And yet, you have done so admirably. And perhaps your actions were unorthodox, but I find that I respect that all the more. It is rare that someone is able to fool me, Camilla,” he said. “I should be angry, but I find that I only respect what you have done.”

He thrust the ring box toward her and she took it, still feeling slightly stunned.

“There,” he said. “It is done.”

“I haven’t put it on yet,” she said.

“But you will,” he responded, his tone maddeningly certain.

“Perhaps,” she said, snapping the box shut just to spite him. She had a feeling he’d expected her to go all silly over the piece of jewelry. She had a feeling he had expected her to slip it on her finger immediately. To see how it might fit.

Driven either by some magpie instinct he imagined all women must possess, or by some sense of avarice that someone like her—someone impoverished—might be expected to demonstrate.

The truth was, she felt both of those things stirring in her chest, but she would not give him the satisfaction of it.

She had expected a kiss. She had not received it.

She was not going to give him what he expected.

“Do you suppose my dancing will suffice?” she asked, letting her hands drop to her sides, her fingers curled around the ring box.

“So long as you don’t trip over your feet,” he returned.

She sniffed. “If you lead correctly, I don’t suppose there is a danger of that.”

A slow smile spread over his face, and he chuckled. “Then I will endeavor to lead, mi tesoro.”