Читать книгу By Request Collection Part 2 - Шантель Шоу, Natalie Anderson - Страница 11

EMELIA’S heart almost stopped when his mouth touched down on hers. The raw male scent of him was intoxicating, dangerous, and that alone would have had her senses spinning, but the pressure of his lips upon hers drew from her a response she wasn’t entirely sure she should be giving. He cradled her head in his hands, giving her no room to pull away even if she had the wherewithal to do so. The contact of his mouth on hers was explorative at first, light, tentative almost, but then, with just one very masculine stroke of his tongue, everything changed.

Her lips opened to him as if of their own volition, instinctively, welcoming him inside the moist cave of her mouth. Her tongue met his briefly, flirting around it, dancing with it until finally mating with it at its command. He subdued her with the power of each stroke and thrust of his tongue, teasing her into submission, relishing the victory by crushing his mouth to hers with increasing pressure. Emelia felt the surge of his body against her, his arousal so thick and hard it made her realise how much history existed between them, a history she had yet to discover. Her body, however, seemed familiar with it. It was reacting with fervour to every movement of his mouth on hers, her arms automatically going around his neck, holding him to her as if she had done it many times before, her pelvis seeking the hardened throb of his, her inner core melting with longing. Her breasts bloomed with pleasure against the contact with his hard chest, her nipples tightening to buds, aching to feel the slippery warmth of his mouth and tongue.

His mouth moved from hers on a searing pathway down the side of her neck, slowly, sensuously bringing every nerve to gasping, startled life. Goosebumps rose all over her skin as he discovered the delicate scaffold of her collarbone, his tongue dipping into the tiny dish of her tender flesh. His lips feathered against her skin as he spoke in a low sexy tone. ‘You taste of vanilla.’

Emelia felt electric jolts shoot up and down her legs at the thought of where that mouth and tongue had been on her body. She could almost feel its pathway now, the way her secret feminine flesh was pulsing, as if in anticipation of him claiming it. She clutched at his head with her fingers, feeling the thick strands of his dark hair move like silk beneath her fingertips.

‘I want you.’ He mouthed the words against her neck, making her nerves leap and dance again. ‘God, but I want you.’

‘W-we can’t…’ Emelia gasped as his mouth showered kisses all over her face: over her eyelids, over her cheeks, her nose and so temptingly close to her tingling, swollen lips.

‘What’s to stop us?’ he said in a husky tone as he pressed a hot moist kiss to her trembling mouth. ‘We are married, are we not?’

Emelia was too drunk on his kiss to answer. His tongue went in search of hers again, mating with it in an erotic tango that left her gasping with need. His kiss was hungry, demanding, leaving her in no doubt of where it was leading. It was a pre-sex kiss, blatant in its intent, shockingly intimate as his hands moved from cradling her head, sliding down her bare arms to encircle her wrists. The latent strength of him sent a shiver of reaction through her. He was so strong; she was so weak, but not just in physical strength. Her willpower seemed to have totally evaporated. She was molten wax in his arms, fitting to his hard form as if she had known no other place.

He released her hands and moved his up under her top, sliding his warm palms over her belly and her ribcage. Her heart gave a lurching movement as his fingers splayed over her possessively. Emelia thought she would die if he didn’t touch her breasts and she moved against him, silently pleading for him to pleasure her.

His hand cupped her and she let out a tiny whimper of pleasure, for even through the fine lace of her bra she could feel the tantalising heat of his touch. ‘You want more, querida?’ he asked softly, seductively.

Emelia gasped as he pushed aside the cobweb of lace, his fingers skating over her burgeoning flesh. His thumb lingered over her engorged nipple, moving back and forth, hot little rubs that lifted every hair on her scalp.

‘You want this, sí?’ he said and bent his mouth to her breast and suckled softly at first and then harder.

Emelia’s fingers clutched at his hair, trying to anchor herself as delicious sensations washed through her. ‘Oh…Oh, God…’ she whimpered.

‘You like this too,’ he said and swept his tongue down the outer curve of her breast, licking like a jungle cat, the sexy rasp of his tongue melting every vertebrae of her spine into trembling submission.

‘And this,’ he added, pressing her back against the desk, his thighs parting hers with shockingly primal intention.

Emelia’s passion-glazed eyes flew open and her hands thrust against his chest. ‘N-no…’ she said but it came out so hoarsely she had to repeat it. ‘No…no, I can’t.’

One of his dark brows hooked upwards, his body still poised against hers. ‘No?’

She shook her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as her eyes momentarily fell away from his.

He let out a theatrical sigh and straightened, pulling her upright against him, his hands settling on her waist, his powerful body, hot, aroused and hard, just a breath’s distance away. ‘That wasn’t what you used to say,’ he said with a taunting gleam in his dark eyes. ‘This was one of your favourite places for a quick—’

Emelia pushed two of her fingertips against his mouth, blocking off the coarse word she was almost certain he intended to use. ‘Please…don’t…’ she said hollowly.

He peeled her fingers away from his mouth, kissing the tips one by one, his bottomless eyes holding hers. ‘Don’t you want to be reminded of how sensually adventurous you were, Emelia?’ he asked.

Her throat rose and fell over a tight swallow. ‘No…no, I don’t.’

He pressed a soft kiss to the middle of her palm and then dipped his tongue right into the middle of it, hotly, moistly, his eyes still locked with hers. ‘I taught you everything you know,’ he went on. ‘You were so eager to learn. A straight A student, in fact.’

She closed her eyes tight. ‘Stop it. Stop doing this.’

‘Open your eyes, Emelia,’ he commanded.

She scrunched them even tighter. ‘No.’

His hands went to her waist, holding her against his rock-hard arousal. ‘This is what you do to me, querida,’ he said in a sexy growl.

Emelia wrenched out of his hold with a strength she had no conscious knowledge of possessing. Her chest heaved with the effort as she stood, trembling and shaken, a few feet away. She folded her arms across her chest, fighting for breath, fighting for control, fighting for some self-respect, which seemed to have gone AWOL some minutes ago.

Javier gave her an indolent smile. ‘What are you frightened of, mi amor?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know you,’ Emelia said.

‘But you want me, all the same.’

‘I’m not myself right now.’ She tightened her arms beneath her breasts. ‘I don’t know what I want.’

‘Your body remembers me, Emelia. It wants me. You can’t deny it.’

Emelia moved even further away because she had a sneaking suspicion what he said was true. Every sense was alive to him, to his presence and to his touch. She could still taste him in her mouth, the musky male heat of him lingering there like a fine wine on her palate. Was he an addiction she had developed over the last two years? How could any woman resist such incredible potency? He oozed sensual heat through the pores of his skin. She felt the waves of attraction tighten the air she breathed in. Every part of her body he had touched was still tingling with the need for more. His incendiary suggestion was still ringing in her ears, making her mind race with erotic scenarios: of her spread before him like a feast; her legs open to his powerful thrusting body, her senses in a vortex of sensation, her back arching in pleasure, her mouth falling open in sharp, high cries of ecstasy.

He came to where she was standing, her back pressed against the bookshelves, his eyes smouldering so darkly they seemed to strip her bare. ‘Maybe it was a mistake for me to move out of our room,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I should insist on you sleeping with me, even though you can’t remember me.’

Emelia’s back felt as if it was being bitten into by the shelves. ‘You c-can’t mean that,’ she said croakily.

He tipped up her chin, holding her frightened gaze with the powerful beam of his. ‘Making love with me might trigger something in your brain. It might be the part of the missing puzzle, sí?’

His disturbing presence was triggering all sorts of things in her body, let alone her brain, Emelia thought in rising panic. She placed her hands on his chest with the intention of pushing him away again, but the feel of his hard muscles under her palms sent off a little flashbulb in her head. It was a tiny spark of memory, a pinpoint of light in the darkness. She splayed her fingers experimentally and, as if of their own accord, her fingertips began moving over his hard flat nipples, over his perfectly sculptured pectoral muscles and up to his neck, where she could see a pulse beating like a hammer beneath his skin. She moved her fingertips to the raspy skin of his lean jaw, the prickle of his stubble sending tantalising little tingles right up her arms.

‘What is it?’ he asked, holding her hand against his face with the broad span of his. ‘Have you remembered something?’

She frowned as she fought to retrieve the fleeting image. It was like the shadow of a ghost, barely visible, but she could sense its presence. ‘I don’t know…’ She bit down on her lip, pulling her hand out from under his. ‘I thought for a minute…but I just don’t know…’

He picked up her hand again and held it against his mouth, his lips feathering against her curled up fingers as he spoke. ‘Touch me again, cariño,’ he commanded softly. ‘Touch is an important part of memory. Taste and smell, too.’

Emelia uncurled her fingers and carefully traced the outline of his lips, her fingertip grazing against his stubble again. She felt transfixed by the shape of his mouth, the way his top lip was carved almost harshly and yet his lower one was so generous and sensual. He drew her fingertip into his mouth and sucked on it. It was such an intimate thing to do, flagrantly sexual, especially when his eyes captured hers and glinted at her meaningfully. She pulled out of his hold once more, gathering herself with an effort. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said crisply. ‘I don’t remember anything.’

His expression gave little away but Emelia sensed a thread of anger stringing his words together as he spoke. ‘I will leave you to rest before dinner. Leave this.’ He indicated the broken glass on the floor. ‘I will get Aldana to clean it up later. If you need anything just press nine on the telephone by the bed upstairs. It is a direct line to Aldana’s quarters. She will bring you some tea or coffee or a cool drink if you should require it.’

She watched as he strode out of the library, the squeak of the expensive leather of his riding boots the only sound in the silence.

Emelia woke from a nap feeling totally disoriented, her heart beating like the wings of a frightened bird as she sat upright on the big bed. She put a hand to her throat, trying to control her breathing to bring down her panic to a manageable level. She dragged herself off the bed and stumbled into the en suite bathroom. Seeing her reflection was like looking at another version of herself, a more sophisticated and yet unhappier version. She put a fingertip to each of her sharp cheekbones. Her mouth was pulled down at the corners as if smiling had become a chore. Her eyes looked tired but also a little haunted, as if they were keeping secrets they didn’t really want to keep.

She washed her face with cold water and then turned and looked longingly at the huge spa bath next to the double shower cubicle. She had at least an hour before dinner and the thought of sinking into a huge bath tub full of fragrant bubbles was too much for her to resist.

The water lapped at her aching limbs as she lowered herself into the bath, the scent of honeysuckle filling the air, reminding her of the hot summers and long lazy days of her childhood back in Australia. She closed her eyes and laid her head back, her body relaxing for the first time since she had woken from the coma.

Even in her languid repose, it was hard not to think of Peter. The thought of him lying in a cold dark grave was surreal when it seemed only a few days ago they were having coffee together at the end of her session at The Silver Room. The police had told her it had been a high speed accident but the knowledge hadn’t sat well with her. Peter had lost a close mate in a car accident when he was a teenager. His intractable stance on reckless and dangerous driving was one of the things she had admired about him—one of the many things. During their youth, he had hinted more than once that he wanted more than a platonic friendship from her but she had let him down as gently as she could. While they had been close friends and had many interests in common, she had never envisaged him as an intimate partner. She had always looked on him as a brother. There was no chemistry, or at least not from her point of view. She knew it was different for men, and Peter had not been an exception. She had seen his head turned by many beautiful women who came into his hotel bar. She knew men’s desires were more often than not fuelled by their vision. Sex was a physical drive that could just as easily be performed with a perfect stranger.

Emelia felt her belly give a distinct wobble when she thought of the stranger who was her husband. She saw raw unbridled desire in Javier’s eyes; it smouldered there like hot coals every time he looked at her. He had openly declared how much he wanted her. She had heard the erotic promise in the words. It was not a matter of if but when.

He knew it.

She knew it.

Emelia looked down at her breasts, her rosy nipples just peeping out of the water amidst the bubbles, a riot of sensations rippling through her as she thought of how he had caressed her earlier. He had touched her with such possessive familiarity. Was that why she had responded so instinctively? She felt her insides give another fluttery movement as she thought about him possessing her totally. Would she remember him in the throes of making love as he suggested? She reared back from her thoughts like a horse shying at a jump. It was too soon to be taking that step. She couldn’t possibly give herself to a man she didn’t know.

But you’re married to him, a little voice reminded her.

And you’re attracted to him, another voice piped up.

Emelia slipped under the water to escape her traitorous thoughts, holding her breath for as long as she dared…

Javier tapped on the bathroom door but there was no answer. It was quiet. Too quiet. There was not even the sound of running or splashing water.

He opened the door and when he saw Emelia’s slim body lying submerged in the bath he felt a hand clutch at his insides.

‘Emelia!’ He rushed to the tub and grabbed her under the armpits, hauling her upright as water splashed everywhere.

She gave a gasping cry of shock, her wet hair like seaweed all over her face. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she spluttered.

Javier waited until his heart had returned to his chest from where it had leapt into his throat. ‘I thought you were unconscious,’ he explained in a voice that sounded as ragged as he felt. ‘I thought you might have hit your head again or something.’

She flashed him a livid glare as she hastily crossed her arms over her breasts. ‘You could have knocked before you came barging in.’

‘I did knock.’ He stepped out of the puddle of water he was standing in, glancing ruefully at his sodden trousers and shoes. ‘You didn’t answer.’

Her knees bent upwards, shielding her chest even further. ‘You had no right to come in without my permission,’ she said.

He sent one of his brows up in a mocking slant. ‘That little knock on the head has turned you into a prude, eh, Emelia? I remember a time not so long ago when you made room for me in there.’ He bent down and scooped up a handful of bubbles, holding them just above her bent knees. ‘Do you want to know what we got up to?’

She stiffened as if the water had turned to ice around her. ‘Get out,’ she said in a clipped voice.

Javier let the bubbles fall from his hand, his eyes unwavering on hers. He felt her tension, the way she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch as each cluster of bubbles slid down from her kneecaps and down her thighs to slowly dissipate as they landed on the surface of the water. As each throbbing second passed he could hear the soft popping sound of the lather gradually losing its vigour. Within minutes the soapy shield she was hiding behind would be gone.

In spite of her betrayal, he felt his body surge with excitement. Hot rushing blood filled his groin, the ache for release so quick, so urgent it made him realise how hard it was going to be to keep his distance from her. But then wanting her had always been his problem, his one true vulnerability.

From that first moment he had heard her clever little fingers playing those lilting cadences when he’d walked into The Silver Room, he had felt something deep inside shift into place. She had looked up from the piano, her fingers stumbling over a note as their eyes had locked. He had smiled at her with his eyes—that was all it had taken—and she had been his.

He looked down at her now, wondering if she had any idea of the war going on inside him. She was cautious around him, understandable given she no longer recognised him, but he felt the sexual undertow of her gaze every time it meshed with his. It would not take him long to have her back in his bed and threshing in his arms as she used to do. But would that finally dissolve the anger and hatred he felt whenever he thought of her with the man she had run away to be with?

‘It is not the behaviour of a devoted wife to order her husband out of his own bathroom,’ Javier said, breaking the taut silence.

‘I…I don’t care,’ she said, her teeth chattering slightly.

He plucked a bath sheet off the warming rail and held it just out of her reach. ‘You’d better get out. You’re starting to get cold.’

Her grey-blue eyes battled with his. ‘I’m not getting out until you leave.’

He settled his tall frame into a trenchant stance. ‘I am not leaving until you get out.’

She clenched her teeth, her voice coming out as a hiss, reminding him of a snarling cat. ‘Why are you doing this? Why are you being such a beast?’

‘What is all the fuss about, querida?’ he asked evenly. ‘I have seen you naked countless times.’

Her throat rose and fell. ‘It’s different now…You know that…’

He came closer with the towel, unfolding it for her to step into. ‘Come on, Emelia. You are shivering.’

She flattened her mouth and, giving him another livid glare, stood and grasped for the towel, covering herself haphazardly, but not before he feasted his eyes on her slim feminine form. There were catwalk models who had less going for them, Javier thought. With her coltish long legs and beautifully toned arms and those small high breasts with their delectable rosy nipples, it was all he could do not to pull her out of the slippery tub and crush his body to hers. How many times had he tasted the sweet honey of her feminine body? How many times had he plunged into her, his cataclysmic release unlike any he had ever experienced with anyone else? As much as it felt like a dagger in his gut, he wondered how it had been with her lover. Had she gone down on him with the same fervour? Had she whispered words of love to him in the afterglow of lovemaking? Javier felt his top lip curl as he watched her try to cover herself more effectively. ‘You are wasting your time, Emelia,’ he said. ‘I know every inch of your body and you know every inch of mine.’

Her eyes shifted away from his, her throat doing that nervous up and down thing again. ‘I would like some privacy,’ she said, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. ‘I…I’m not feeling well.’

Javier’s brows shot together. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked. ‘What is wrong? A headache? The doctor said headaches are common after—’

‘It’s not a bad one, just an ache behind one eye.’ She brushed at her damp brow once more, this time with a corner of the towel. ‘It’s making me feel a little nauseous. Perhaps it’s the change of climate. It’s a lot hotter here than in England.’

‘You were only in London a week,’ he pointed out. ‘Hardly time to be reacclimatising, don’t you think?’

Her gaze returned to his, two small frown lines sectioning her forehead. ‘Oh…yes…yes, of course…I forgot.’ She pressed her lips together and looked away.

Javier saw the shadow of grief pass through her eyes before she averted her gaze. He fought down his anger, reminding himself she was with him now. His rival was dead. It was just Emelia and him now, to get on with their lives as best they could. ‘Dinner is not long away,’ he said. ‘I will need to get changed. Do you want me to escort you downstairs or do you think you will find your way?’

She clutched at the towel as she looked at him with her guarded gaze. ‘I’ll find my own way…thank you.’

He gave a brisk nod and left the bathroom.

Emelia opened the wardrobe and, searching through the array of clothes, selected a simple black dress and heels to match. As she dressed she couldn’t quite suppress the feeling that she was dressing in someone else’s clothes. The dress was made by a French designer and must have cost a fortune; the shoes, too, were a brand celebrities and Hollywood stars regularly wore. She used the cosmetics in the drawer in the en suite bathroom, but only lightly and, after drying her hair with a blow-dryer, she left it lying about her shoulders.

As she came down the grand staircase she heard Javier’s voice from the study. He was speaking in Spanish and sounded angry. Emelia knew it was probably beneath her to eavesdrop but, even so, she couldn’t resist pausing outside the closed study door. Of course hearing only one side of a conversation was not all that revealing and, although she understood very basic Spanish, he spoke so rapidly she found it hard to follow everything he said. One or two sentences did stand out, however.

‘There is not going to be a divorce.’

Emelia’s eyes widened as she listened even harder, wincing as one or two expletives were uttered before his next statement.

‘The money is not yours and never has been and, as long as I live, it never will be.’

The phone slammed down and, before Emelia could move even a couple of paces down the hall, Javier came storming out of the study. He pulled up short as if someone had jerked him back by the back of his jacket when he saw her standing there with guilt written all over her face.

‘How long have you been standing out here?’ He almost barked the words at her.

Emelia took a layer of her lip gloss off with the nervous dart of her tongue. ‘I…I was just walking past. I heard you raise your voice.’

His expression was thunderous but Emelia had a feeling the anger was not directed at her. He raked a hand through his hair and released a heavy sigh, as if deliberately trying to suppress his fury. ‘Just as well you don’t remember any Spanish,’ he said. ‘I don’t usually swear in the presence of women, but my father’s third wife is nothing but a gold-digging, trouble-making tramp.’

Emelia wondered if she should tell him she could speak and understand a little of his language, but in that nanosecond of hesitation she decided against it. Wouldn’t it seem strange that she couldn’t remember him and yet she could remember every word of Spanish she had learned over the past two years? After all, he had already implied she might be pretending. Why he would think that was beyond her, although, given the conversation she had just overheard, it made her wonder if their marriage had been as happy as he had intimated. She had just heard him say there was not going to be a divorce. Did that mean there had been recent speculation about their marriage ending? Javier had mentioned how the press had made some scurrilous comments about her relationship with Peter Marshall. There would be few men who would cope well with their private life being splashed all over the papers and gossip magazines, but Javier struck her as a particularly proud and intensely private man. There was so much she didn’t know and she didn’t feel comfortable asking in case the answers he gave were not the ones she wanted to hear.

‘It must be very difficult for you, under the circumstances,’ she offered.

He gave her a long look and sighed again, taking her elbow to lead the way to the dining room. ‘My father was a fool leaving Izabella’s mother for Claudine Marsden. That woman is a home wrecker. Why he couldn’t see it is beyond me.’

‘Some men are like that,’ she said. ‘My father is the same.’

He glanced down at her as they came to the dining room door. ‘Did your father contact you while you were in hospital?’ he asked.

Emelia’s mouth tightened. ‘No, why should he? As far as he is concerned, I am as good as dead to him. He told me he never wanted to see me again. I have no reason to suspect he didn’t mean it.’

Javier pressed his lips together, a frown creasing his forehead as he led her to the table. ‘People say all sorts of things in the heat of the moment.’ He paused before adding, ‘I should have phoned him. I didn’t think of it, I’m afraid. There was so much going on at the time. He should have been notified about the accident.’

‘Did I at some point give you his contact details?’ Emelia asked.

‘No, but it wouldn’t have been all that hard to track him down,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to make contact now, just to let him know you are all right?’

Emelia thought about her father with his new wife, who was only three years older than her. After their last insult-throwing argument, she couldn’t see him flying all the way to Spain with flowers and a get well card in hand. He was probably sunning himself at his luxurious Sunshine Coast mansion with his child bride waiting on him hand and foot. ‘No, don’t bother,’ she said, trying to remove the bitterness from her tone. ‘He’s probably got much more important things to see to.’

Javier gave her a thoughtful look as he drew out her chair.

Emelia took the seat, waiting until he sat down opposite to say, ‘Our backgrounds—apart from the level of wealth—are very similar, aren’t they? Your father was estranged from you and mine from me. Is that something that drew us together when we first met?’

His dark eyes held hers for a moment before he answered. ‘It was one of many things.’

‘What were some of the other things?’ she asked.

He poured wine for each of them, his mouth tilting slightly. ‘Lust, lust and more lust,’ he said.

Emelia pursed her lips, hating that she was blushing, hating him for watching with such mocking amusement. ‘I can assure you I would never fall in lust with someone,’ she said. ‘I would only ever love someone I admired as a man, for his qualities as a person, not his possessions or social standing. And I most certainly wouldn’t marry a man on physical attraction alone.’

His mocking smile was still in place. ‘So you must have loved me, eh, Emelia?’ He flicked his napkin across his lap, his eyes still tethering hers. ‘The thing is, will you remember to love me again?’