Читать книгу Modern Romance July 2019 Books 1-4 - Мишель Смарт, Sharon Kendrick - Страница 17

THERE WAS A moment of stillness, when time seemed to be suspended as Emily stared at Alej in astonishment. Her nails dug into the bed sheet. He had just asked her to marry him! The hunky Argentinian billionaire had just asked her to be his bride! And wasn’t it weird how easily the mind could distort reality and allow fantasy to take over for a few disbelieving seconds? Why else would a rush of joy have flooded through her body at the thought of being joined with the man she had once loved so fiercely? The man who could still make her feel more alive than anyone else. Who, even now, could take her into his arms and make her dissolve with longing.

Until she reminded herself that this was no romantic moonlit proposal, inspired by his certainty that they were meant for each other and he couldn’t live without her. This was a cold and calculated public-relations exercise. A marriage made not in heaven, but within the scribbled pages of a moleskin notebook—by her!

She prayed that she’d managed to hide her initial delight because if Alej had any idea how much the idea had thrilled her, it would put her in a poor bargaining position. But she didn’t have to bargain with him, she reminded herself. She was a free agent. An employee. And yes, she’d just had sex with him, but so what? She certainly didn’t have to marry him.

‘Is that a joke?’ she questioned as coolly as she could, though her heart was still crashing against her ribcage and she found herself wondering if he’d be able to notice its thundering movement beneath her vest.

‘You know it isn’t.’

She stared up at him—sprawled there unashamedly, his naked olive body outlined against the white covers. His eyes were bright, his jaw much darker than usual, and he exuded the air of a man who was physically satisfied. He looked utterly delectable and completely sexy—but she wasn’t going to think about that. She couldn’t afford to. ‘You must realise that I can’t possibly marry you, Alej.’

‘Why not?’ he said.

‘Because...because it’s a crazy idea.’ She shook her head, trying to inject some conviction into her voice as she found herself fantasising about a big white dress and a bunch of scented flowers the size of a rugby ball. What was the matter with her? She got up off the bed, mainly to protect herself from the allure of his proximity. ‘Crazy,’ she repeated.

Outside, the moon was gleaming silver over the Melbourne skyscrapers and the sense that she was living in some strange kind of parallel universe descended on her again. As if she would ever take part in a marriage of convenience to a man she’d once been in love with! Wouldn’t that be like playing a kind of high-stakes emotional Russian roulette, with her the guaranteed loser?

She drank some more water and then walked over to the window, still trying to get her head around what had happened. The sex had been amazing, but something had been missing during that erotic encounter which had definitely been there before. Something in him. It had taken a while for her to work out what it was, and the answer had arrived in a heart-sinking moment of understanding. Because he hadn’t been like the loving and tender Alej of old. He had been like a machine, not a man. A warm, breathing machine who could bestow inordinate amounts of pleasure—but a machine nonetheless.

And she was most definitely not a machine. She had never felt so vibrantly and deliciously alive and the reason for that was because Alej had awoken something in her. Something which thrilled her because she’d thought she’d lost it for ever—the ability to feel emotional intensity and physical pleasure. But her reaction scared her, too. Because wasn’t it dangerous to feel those things, when the man involved had a heart of ice?

‘Before you give me all the reasons why you shouldn’t,’ he said, ‘let me list some of the reasons why you should.’

She sank down into a cross-legged position on a white leather window seat and stared at him. ‘Go ahead.’

‘I will pay you a lot of money to be my wife,’ he said tonelessly. ‘For a limited period, of course.’

‘Of course you will, Alej. You’re a very rich man.’

She could see in his green eyes a flicker of scorn, and his lips twisted as he spoke.

‘Don’t tell me the thought of a seven-figure sum doesn’t turn you on, Emily?’

It was a vulgar statement, which made her wonder what kind of circles he’d been mixing in. The same kind as her mother, probably, she reflected painfully. The ones where women made no secret of adoring diamonds and fast cars and luxury yachts anchored in city harbours. Did he think she was cut from the same cloth as the woman who had birthed her? ‘Money often creates more problems than it solves,’ she suggested.

‘An admirable sentiment. Though one I find difficult to believe and only ever expressed by people who don’t have any.’ He paused, his green eyes glinting. ‘If the money offends you, then give it to charity—nobody is stopping you from being altruistic. Think about it, Emily,’ he urged silkily.

So she did. She thought about being able to help Great-Aunt Jane. To really help the woman who had sacrificed so much for Emily’s mother and been given barely a word of thanks in return. The last time her mother had entered rehab to try to conquer her tranquilliser addiction, it had been Emily’s great-aunt who had somehow managed to scrabble together enough money to pick up the bill. At the time it had been doable—just—because Jane had been working as a legal secretary, but now she was existing on a tiny pension and getting frailer by the day. Wouldn’t it be great to free her from the worry of future medical bills incurred by the inevitability of aging? To not just present her with a one-off cheque, but enough money to look after her for the rest of her days.

Emily bit her lip as she thought about being able to take a proper holiday herself—her first in years, because she’d been ploughing all her time and any spare money into the business. She could wear a floppy hat and sarong and finally get to read the stack of books stashed away by her bed back home. There would probably even be enough to pay off some of her mortgage. Wouldn’t it be good to cut herself a bit of slack for once?

But none of these considerations addressed the way she felt about Alej, because she recognised that marriage would be a velvet-lined trap, which would pose all kinds of hidden dangers. She’d just had sex with him and she couldn’t seem to control her reaction whenever he laid a finger on her. So what if her feelings for him intensified? What if she found herself falling in love with him all over again? She couldn’t do it. For sanity’s sake, she must refuse.

‘No, Alej.’

He gave a slow smile. ‘Before you give me your final answer, perhaps it is time for me to be blunt—as you English sometimes say.’

‘That remark is usually the forerunner to some kind of insult.’

‘Or a home truth, perhaps?’ He ran a lazy finger reflectively along the sensual outline of his lips. ‘You are—how old, now?’

She wanted to tell him that he knew exactly how old she was, but maybe he didn’t. Maybe she was crediting herself with more importance in his memory than she really had and he’d simply forgotten. ‘Twenty-six.’ His eyes were boring into her. Was it that which made her elaborate, like a child trying to make themselves seem more mature? ‘Nearly twenty-seven, actually.’

He nodded. ‘And there has been no engagement? No close brushes with marriage?’

Her heart squeezed because his interrogation felt painful for all kinds of reasons. It made her feel like a failure and it made her feel like a bit of a freak. ‘No.’

‘Ever lived with anyone?’

‘No again.’

‘In that case, I will be doing you an enormous favour, Emily.’

She screwed up her face in genuine confusion. ‘How do you work that one out?’

Did she imagine the flicker of pleasure which lifted the corners of his lips and the glint of triumph which sparked in the depths of his green eyes?

‘A man who has never married is seen as something of a catch. As sexy and elusive,’ he murmured. ‘Unfortunately, it is not the same for a woman since she loses her appeal with each year that passes.’

It was a good thing she wasn’t still holding her glass of water because Emily honestly thought she might have hurled it at his patronising head. But at least his outrageous comment propelled her out of the numbness caused by his shock proposal of marriage. ‘Did you decide to throw all the feminist textbooks onto a bonfire of your own arrogance?’ she hissed at him, the serenity of her yoga pose forgotten. ‘Or are you just going out of your way to insult me—as I suspected from the beginning?’

‘Please don’t shoot the messenger. I am merely telling it how it is,’ he said calmly, with an expansive shrug of his broad, bare shoulders. He pillowed his ruffled black head back against crossed arms and studied her reflectively. ‘But if you were a divorcee,’ he mused, ‘and a rich one, to boot...that would immediately make you attractive to all kinds of men. Which means you’d have a lot more chance of finding yourself a suitable partner in the future.’

Even though she knew her reaction was deeply irrational, Emily found herself hurt by the things he was saying. But why shouldn’t he talk about her long-term future so objectively and with no role for him to play in it, when that was the reality? Yes, he’d had sex with her and, yes, he was offering her a bizarre kind of marriage—but he wasn’t doing it because he had feelings for her. And although she could see the undoubted benefits of him taking a temporary bride—hadn’t she suggested it herself?—she sensed he wasn’t telling her the whole story.

‘I’m getting a strong suspicion that your desire to bed me and wed me might be motivated more by revenge than a quest for respectability,’ she said slowly.

Alej almost smiled, until he reminded himself that her sometimes uncanny ability to read his mind was something he should be wary of. It was certainly nothing to admire. Yet her words rang true, didn’t they? A marriage of convenience would undoubtedly put paid to the rather tedious description of playboy, which always followed him around. But more than that, it would place her uniquely in his control. They would be living together and sleeping together. What greater opportunity would there be for him to have his delicious fill of her before casting her aside, as once she had done to him? ‘It is true that my feelings towards you are mixed, Emily.’

‘Because I was the only woman to have ever walked away?’ she guessed.

‘You think my ego overrides all other considerations?’

‘Possibly.’

‘I cannot deny your words and yet it is a little more...complex than that, querida.’ There was a pause. ‘You never really gave me a reason for your sudden change of mind, did you, Emily? You went from screaming ecstatically in my arms to condescending ice maiden within the space of hours. You walked away from me as if we were strangers who had just met. You gave me your virginity, then you told me that you didn’t love me and that you wanted other men. And you never really explained why.’

There was a pause while Emily’s mind spun with possibilities and she stared down at the swirly patterns on her trousers, unwilling to meet his piercing gaze. Surely it was best to just brush his question aside and leave the past where it should be. But then she wondered who she was trying to protect—surely not a man who had ruled her mother’s life with a rod of steel before leaving his stepdaughter a sick horse as a final mark of contempt. And wasn’t there a part of Emily which wanted to redeem herself in Alej’s eyes—who wanted him to stop looking at her with that thinly veiled scorn?

‘My stepfather threatened me,’ she said slowly as she lifted her gaze to his. ‘He told me he would never forgive me if I continued to see you.’

He gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head so that the dark waves of hair dangled around his neck. ‘And, of course, he was such a worthwhile individual that you desperately needed his approval? Forgive me if I don’t buy that, Emily, when I know how much you hated and feared him. Perhaps you were more concerned he would cut off all your money.’

She sucked in a deep breath as she lifted her gaze to him. Had she stupidly underestimated his intelligence? That he would just suck up any story she was prepared to give him? ‘No, you’re right. It wasn’t just that,’ she admitted and she swallowed the lump which had risen in her throat. ‘My mother begged me to listen to him and to do as he said, because he threatened to divorce her if I got involved with someone like you.’

‘Someone like me?’ he repeated. ‘What exactly does that mean?’

The lump in her throat wasn’t shifting but Emily knew she couldn’t avoid the question burning from his green eyes. ‘You were poor and had no father and that didn’t sit well with his inflated ideas of his place in society. My mother was terrified of what her life without him would be.’

‘Without his wealth, you mean?’ he suggested softly.

Emily bit her lip. No, not just his wealth—although that had obviously been a big attraction. But her mother had been one of those women for whom a life was not complete without a man. Her first husband had been poor and after being widowed, she had devoted all her energy to finding a rich replacement and, when she’d succeeded, had clung onto him like a limpet.

And didn’t it frighten Emily to think she might have inherited that sapping trait of mindless dependence? She’d been acutely aware of loving Alej back then, in a way which could never have been reciprocated—because what hope was there for a relationship between a man on the brink of a glittering international career and a teenager who was barely out of school? Wasn’t that another factor which had convinced her it would be better in the long run if she let him go, because that way she would avoid all the inevitable pain when he stopped caring about her? Once again, she dropped her gaze, not wanting him to see the fear in her eyes.

‘Something like that,’ she said.

Alej stiffened. She was lying about something, he just didn’t know what—lying in that smooth, natural way which came so easily to women. But, in a way, didn’t her duplicity bolster his intention to wed her? His mouth twisted. Wouldn’t it give him a kick to make a mockery out of the whole damned institution of marriage, while allowing him to enjoy legal sex with the woman who could turn him on like nobody else?

‘But they divorced anyway, didn’t they?’ he questioned.

She swallowed. ‘Yes.’

‘And your mother died soon afterwards?’

She paused for a moment, recounting the facts like bullet points—as if she was determined to avoid having to answer any more questions about it. ‘Yes. In a house fire. I was away at university and unable to visit her as often as I’d done before. She’d taken tranquillisers—more than usual—and obviously didn’t put out her cigarette properly. She didn’t hear the smoke alarm go off and by the time the fire brigade arrived, it was too late. They said she wouldn’t have known anything.’ For a long time afterwards she had been plagued by guilt. Guilt that she’d been unable to save her mother. And guilt at the relief she’d felt on being freed from the burden of care.

He spoke softly in Spanish, sympathising with her for her loss, and she inclined her head in acceptance.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

But Alej did not allow the momentary air of reflection to detract him from his purpose as he forged on with his proposal. ‘Of course, if you married me—’

She shook her head. ‘Alej, let it go. It’s not going to happen. Why would it?’

‘Why, for sex and for money, of course,’ he continued softly. ‘Those are the main reasons why women marry rich and eligible men, aren’t they? We’re just being a little more open about it than most.’

‘And what about...’ she hesitated before plucking up enough courage to ask it ‘...what about love?’

‘What about it? I think it’s overrated.’ He saw something die in her eyes and felt a warm rush of pleasure. ‘Overused,’ he continued, with harsh emphasis. ‘And even if you feel it for a while—it’s soon over.’

‘But there are other kinds of love,’ she objected. ‘The kind which endures. What about the love a mother has for her child?’

Alej felt his skin grow cold. ‘You think your mother was such a shining example of maternal love, do you, Emily?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not naïve enough to think that, no. But maybe your mother—’

‘Let’s just change the subject, shall we?’ he interrupted. ‘I thought we were talking about my marriage to you.’

‘We were. And I’ve made my feelings on the subject clear.’

He got out of bed and he could see suspicion vying with desire as he walked over to the window seat and pulled her to her feet. And as soon as she was in his arms, all that instant chemistry was back. The moment they touched—even though he was naked and she was fully dressed—he became fired up with lust.

‘Would you like me to change your mind for you?’

‘That’s not...fair,’ she mumbled unconvincingly as he began to stroke his finger over her neck beneath the thick fall of unbrushed hair.

‘I think you would,’ he murmured. ‘That’s the feeling I’m getting, loud and clear.’

‘We’re...we’re standing right in front of the window.’

‘It’s reflective from the outside,’ he growled. ‘Nobody can see in.’

He silenced any further words with his mouth, finding her lips with an urgent kind of hunger, achingly aware of the low groan which seemed to come from deep inside him. She kissed with a passion which made him silently curse and wonder how she could make him feel this way. Like it was the first time all over again. As if he’d never had sex with anyone else. His groin grew rock-hard and he closed his heart to further analysis. It was what it was. Why knock it before he had fully exploited it?

His hands on her hips, he backed her towards the nearest wall and wondered if this might bring her to her senses. If she’d tell him to get his hands off her and announce she was going to break her contract, because they couldn’t keep having indiscriminate sex like this, as boss and employee. And didn’t part of him want that? Wouldn’t he have respected her more if she’d done that—shown some fire and spirit and strength—if she’d morphed back into the pure virgin he’d once known and respected? But she didn’t. She did what every woman who ever came near him did. Flung her arms around his neck and positioned herself with an effortless tilt of her pelvis, so that the removal of her trousers became almost seamless.

Her panties slid to the floor and she bucked as he touched her. He wanted to explode as he moved his hand away from her wet heat to fetch another condom, but the action wasn’t made any easier by the frantic way Emily was circling her hips. With a swift, delaying kiss he pushed her away and walked over to find what he was looking for, tearing open the foil as he reached her again. Bending his head to her peaking nipple, he slid one hand between her thighs. He wanted to instruct her to put the rubber on for him, but already he seemed so close to coming that he suspected her trembling fingers might end it all too quickly and the risk of that was something he wouldn’t tolerate.

It seemed to take for ever, but at last he was able to push deep inside her and the loud groan he heard reverberating around the high-ceilinged room was all his. He rocked into her—over and over—and it was hard and fast and elemental. He heard her choked sob as she began to come but his own orgasm was upon him almost immediately. Swamped by the pulsing tide of pleasure and fatigued by the lethargy which instantly swept over him, he slumped against her, his breath fanning her neck. Long seconds passed—or it might have been minutes—until he had the strength to lift his head to study her. To brush away her ruffled hair as he bent his lips to her ear.

‘So. Are you going to marry me, Emily?’

Emily told herself to say no. To protect herself from his powerful allure and from her own weakness and susceptibility to him. But no words came. Only a stupid rush of pleasure at the thought of being his wife. Something painful twisted deep inside her, because she realised that she had walked straight into a trap of her own making. She’d proposed a marriage of convenience because she’d thought it could help advance his political aspirations and, now that the chips were down, she couldn’t bear the thought of some other woman wearing his ring.

So could she risk marrying him, despite the fact that once she’d loved him and she suspected that a lot of that love was still there? Because if she agreed to become his bride it was imperative she keep that fact secret, or she would be at a tactical disadvantage. Far better to focus on the material advantages of becoming Señora Sabato and allow Alej to think she was motivated by nothing more threatening than avarice.

‘I guess it’s too good an offer to turn down,’ she said, injecting her voice with a deliberate note of greed.

As if on cue, a cold light flared in his green eyes. ‘Of course it is.’

‘How much are you offering me?’ she continued, forcing herself to play the game. ‘How much do you think I’m worth?’

‘The two things are not necessarily the same.’ A hard light came into his eyes as, slowly, he told her just how much he was prepared to pay.

Emily swallowed, the game momentarily forgotten. ‘Gosh,’ she said faintly. ‘I guess only an idiot would refuse that kind of money.’

‘Or someone with principles, perhaps—which have clearly bypassed you along the way,’ he responded cuttingly. ‘What kind of a wedding do you want, Emily?’

The kind where the groom is looking at me with love, not with a mixture of scorn and lust. The kind which is destined to last for ever.

But Emily pushed the hopeless thoughts away and shrugged, determined not to communicate the sudden hopeless ache in her heart. ‘If we’re going to go through with a meaningless ceremony, we might as well do it in style,’ she said briskly. ‘I mean, I think a church service would be a step too far, but there’s no reason why we can’t go the whole hog with a white dress and flowers and all the attendant razzmatazz. That’s the kind of story which the press love—and this is all about publicity, isn’t it? And in the meantime...’ She cleared her throat. ‘We really ought to have an engagement ring to add credibility.’

He nodded. ‘Have a look online in the morning and choose something you like the look of.’

‘Online?’ she repeated dully.

‘Sure. There must be some sort of design you’ve always lusted after. Carat size no obstacle, of course. We should be able to take delivery of it before the big race tomorrow, so that you can show it off to the world.’

Emily’s heart pounded. His words were the antithesis of romance but she told herself to be grateful for that. Because nothing could have emphasised better that this was simply a marriage of convenience than Alej’s emotionless statement about buying her engagement ring online.