The Mélendez Forgotten Marriage

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  ‘Not long.’

  She turned her head to look at him. ‘How long?’

  ‘Six weeks.’

  Her eyes went wide, like pond water spreading after a flood. ‘I can’t believe I got married so quickly,’ she said, as if talking to herself. She shook her head but then winced as if it had hurt her. She lowered her gaze and tucked a strand of her honey-blonde hair back behind her ear, her tongue sweeping out over her lips, the action igniting a fire in his groin despite all of his attempts to ignore her physical allure. Sitting this close, he could smell the sweet vanilla fragrance of her skin. If he closed his eyes he could picture her writhing beneath him as he pounded into her, his body rocking with hers until they both exploded. He clenched his jaw and turned to look out of the window at the rain lashing down outside.

  ‘Was it a white wedding?’ she asked after a little silence.

  Javier turned and looked at her. ‘Yes, it was. There were over four hundred people there. It was called the wedding of the year. Perhaps if you see the photographs it will trigger something in your memory.’

  ‘Perhaps…’ She looked away and began chewing on her bottom lip, her brow furrowing once more.

  Javier watched her in silence, mulling over what to tell her and what to leave well alone. The doctor had advised against pressuring her to remember. She was disoriented and still suffering from the blow of losing her lover. Apart from that first show of grief, she hadn’t mentioned Peter Marshall again, but every now and then he saw the way her eyes would tear up and a stake would go through his heart all over again.

  She suddenly turned and met his gaze. ‘Do you have family?’ she asked. ‘Brothers or sisters and parents?’

  ‘My mother died when I was very young,’ he said. ‘My father remarried after some years. I have a half-sister called Izabella.’ He paused before adding, ‘My father left Izabella’s mother and after the divorce remarried once again. As predicted by just about everyone who knew him, it didn’t work out and he was in the process of divorcing his third wife when he died.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said quietly. ‘Did I ever meet him?’

  Javier stretched his lips into an embittered smile. ‘No. My father and I were estranged at the time. I hadn’t spoken to him for ten years.’

  Her expression was empathetic. ‘How very sad. How did the estrangement come about?’

  He drew in a breath and released it slowly. ‘My father was a stubborn man. He was hard in business and even harder in his personal life. It’s why each of his marriages turned into war zones. He liked control. It irked him that I wanted to take charge of my own life. We exchanged a few heated words and that was it. We never spoke to each other again.’

  Emelia studied his stony expression, wondering how far the apple had fallen from the tree. ‘Were you alike in looks?’ she asked.

  His eyes met hers, so dark and mysterious, making her stomach give a little unexpected flutter. ‘We shared the same colouring but had little else in common,’ he said. ‘I was closer to my mother.’

  ‘How old were you when she died?’ Emelia asked.

  His eyes moved away from hers, his voice when he spoke flat and emotionless. ‘I was four, almost five years old.’

  Emelia felt her insides clench at the thought of him as a dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy losing his mother so young. She knew the devastation so well. She had been in her early teens when her mother had died, but still it had hit hard. Her adolescence, from fourteen years old, had been so lonely. While not particularly close to either of her high-flying parents, there had been so many times over the years when Emelia had wished she could have had just one more day with her mother. ‘Are you close to your half-sister?’ she asked.

  His lips moved in a brief, indulgent-looking smile which immediately softened his features, bringing warmth into his eyes. ‘Yes, strangely enough. She’s a lot younger, of course. She’s only just out of her teens but, since my father died, I’ve taken a more active role in her life. She lives in Paris with her mother but she comes to stay quite regularly.’

  ‘So…I’ve met her, then?’ Emelia asked, trying to ignore the way her stomach shifted in response to his warmer expression.

  His eyes came back to hers, studying her for a pulsing moment. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ve met her numerous times.’

  Emelia moistened her lips, something she seemed to do a lot around him. ‘Do we…get on?’ she asked, choosing her words carefully.

  His unreadable gaze bored into hers. ‘Unfortunately, you were not the best of friends. I think it was perhaps because Izabella was used to having my undivided attention. She saw you as a threat, as competition.’

  She frowned as she thought about what he had said about his sister. The girl sounded like a spoilt brat, too used to having her own way. No wonder they hadn’t got on. ‘You said Izabella was used to having you to herself. But surely you’d had women in your life before…before me?’

  ‘But of course.’

  Emelia felt a quick dart of jealousy spike her at the arrogant confidence of his statement. Just how many women had there been? Not counting him, for she could not recall sleeping with him, she had only had one lover. She had been far too young and had only gone out with the man to annoy her father during one of her teenage fits of rebellion. It was not a period of her life she was particularly proud of and the loss of self-esteem she had experienced during that difficult time had made it hard for her to date with any confidence subsequently.

  Her belly gave another little quiver as she thought about what Javier might have taught her in the last two years. Had he tutored her in the carnal delights he seemed to have enjoyed so freely?

  His dark eyes began to glint as if he could read her mind. ‘We were good together, Emelia,’ he said. ‘Very, very good.’

  She swallowed tightly. ‘Um…I…it’s…I don’t think I’m ready to rush into…you know…picking up where we left off, so to speak.’

  He elevated one of his dark brows. ‘No?’

  Emelia pressed her trembling thighs together, the heat that had pooled between them both surprising and shocking her. ‘The doctor said not to rush things. He said I should take things very slowly.’

  The little gleam in his eyes was still there as he held her gaze. ‘It would not do to go against doctor’s orders, now, would it?’

  She couldn’t stop herself from looking at his mouth. The sensual curve of his lips made her heart start to race. How many times had that mouth sealed hers? Was he a hard kisser or soft? Fast and furious with passion or slow and bone-meltingly commanding? The base of her spine gave a shivery tremor, the sensation moving all the way up to nestle in the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

  Her thoughts went racing off again.

  Had he kissed her there? Had he stroked his long tanned fingers over the nape of her neck? Had he dipped his tongue into the shell of her ear?

  Her heart rammed against her ribcage.

  Had he gone lower to the secret heart of her? Had he explored her in intimate detail, making her flesh quiver and spasm in delight? What positions had they made love in? Which was their favourite? Had she taken him in her mouth; had she…? Oh, God, had she…?

  She sneaked a quick glance at him, her face flaming when she encountered his unknowable eyes.

  He lifted his hand and with a barely there touch tracked the tip of one of his fingers over the curve of her warm cheek. ‘You don’t remember anything, do you, querida?’ he asked in a husky tone.

  Emelia pressed her lips together in an effort to stop them from prickling with sensation, with an aching burning need. ‘No…no… I’m sorry…’

  He gave her a crooked smile that didn’t quite make the full distance to his eyes. ‘It is no matter. We can take our time and do it all again, step by step. It will be like the first time again, sí?’

  Emelia felt her heart start to flap as if it had suddenly grown wings. ‘I wasn’t very experienced…I remember that. I’d only had one lov
er.’

  ‘You were a fast learner.’ His eyes dipped to her mouth, lingering there for a moment before coming back to her eyes. ‘Very, very fast.’

  She swallowed again to clear the tightness of her throat. ‘You must find this rather…unsettling to be married to someone who doesn’t even remember how you kiss.’

  His fingers went to her chin, propping her face up so she had to lock gazes with him. ‘You know, I could clear up that little mystery for you right here and now.’

  She tried to pull back but he must have anticipated it as his fingers subtly tightened. ‘I…I wasn’t suggesting…’ she began.

  ‘No, but I was.’

  Emelia felt her skin pop up in goosebumps as he angled his head and slowly brought his mouth within touching distance of hers. She felt the warm breeze of his breath waft over her lips, a feather-light caress that made her mouth tingle with anticipation for more. She waited, her eyes half closed, her heart thudding in expectation as each second passed, throbbing with tension.

  His fingers left her chin to splay across her cheeks, his thumbs moving back and forth in a mesmerising motion, his eyes heavy-lidded as they focused on her mouth. She sent her tongue out to moisten her lips, her heart giving another tripping beat as his mouth came just that little bit closer…

  ‘It might complicate things for you if I kiss you right now,’ he said in a rumbling deep tone. ‘It wouldn’t do to compromise your recovery, now would it, cariño?’

  ‘Um…I…I…It’s probably not a good idea right now…’

  He gave a low deep chuckle and released her, sitting back in his seat with indolent grace. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I thought not. But it can wait. For a while.’

  Emelia sat in silence, trying to imagine what it was like for him. Of course he would find this situation unbearably frustrating. He was a full-blooded healthy male in the prime of his life. And for the last two years he had been used to having her as his willing wife. Now she was like a stranger to him and him to her. Would her reticence propel him into another woman’s arms? The thought was strangely disturbing. Why would the thought of him seeking pleasure in another woman’s arms make her feel so on edge and irritable? It wasn’t as if she had any memory of their time together.

  Emelia looked down at the rings on her finger. It was strange but the weight of them was not as unfamiliar as the man who had placed them there. She turned them around; they were loose on her but she had lost even more weight from being in hospital. She hadn’t noticed it earlier but she had a slight tan mark where the rings had been, which put to rest any lingering doubts about the veracity of their marriage. She glanced at him and found him watching her with a brooding set to his features. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I just hope the flight will not be too tiring for you.’

  He leaned forward to say something to the driver. Emelia felt the brush of his thigh against hers and her heart stopped and started at the thought of how many times those long strong legs had been entwined with hers in passion. He had held off from kissing her but how long before he decided to resume their physical relationship in full? She squeezed her thighs together again, wondering if she could feel where he had been; might it have been only just over a week ago?

  They boarded the private jet after going through customs. She couldn’t remember flying on a private Gulfstream jet before. She couldn’t recall even seeing one other than in a magazine. Even her father, as wealthy as he was, always used a commercial plane, albeit business or first class. Had travelling in such opulent luxury and wearing diamonds that were priceless become commonplace to her in the last two years?

  Even though Emelia could see her married name on her passport, it still seemed as if someone had stolen her identity. The stamps on her passport made no sense to her. She had been to Paris, Rome, Prague, Monte Carlo and Zurich and London numerous times yet she remembered nothing of those trips.

  The jet was luxuriously appointed, showcasing the wealth Javier had alluded to earlier. He was clearly a man who had made his way in the world in a big way. The staff members were all very respectful and, unlike some of the wealthy men Emelia had met amongst her father’s set, Javier treated them with equal respect. He addressed each of them by name and asked after their partners and family as if they were as important to him as his own.

  ‘Would you like today’s papers?’ one of the flight attendants asked once they were settled in their seats.

  ‘Not today, thank you, Anya,’ Javier said with a ghost of a rueful smile.

  Emelia suppressed a little frown of annoyance. She would have liked to have read up on the news. After all, it was a different world she lived in now. She had two years’ worth of news and gossip to catch up on. And then another thought came to her. Maybe there was something about the accident in the papers, some clue as to what had caused it. Peter, as the manager of a trendy hotel, well frequented by the jet-setting crowd of London, had been a popular public figure. Surely she had a right to know what had led up to the tragic accident that had taken her friend from her.

  ‘Don’t pout, querida,’ Javier said when he caught the tail end of her look. ‘I am trying to protect you.’

  Emelia frowned at him. ‘From what?’ she asked.

  He gave her one of his unreadable looks. ‘I think you should know there has been some speculation about your accident,’ he said.

  Her frown deepened. ‘What sort of speculation?’

  ‘The usual gossip and innuendo the press like to stir up from time to time,’ he said. ‘You are the wife of a high profile businessman, Emelia. You might not remember it, but you were regularly hounded by the press for any hint of a scandal. It’s what sells papers and magazines, even if the stuff they print isn’t always true.’

  Emelia chewed on the end of one of her neatly manicured nails. She was the focus of the press? How could that be possible? She lived a fairly boring life, or at least she thought she had until after she had woken up from her coma. She had long ago given up her dreams of being a concert pianist and was now concentrating on a career in teaching. But the sort of fame or infamy Javier was talking about had definitely not been a part of her plan.

  She dropped her finger from her mouth. ‘What are the papers saying about the accident?’ she asked.

  His dark eyes hardened as they held hers. ‘They are saying you were running away with Peter Marshall.’

  Emelia opened her eyes wide. ‘Running away? As in…as in leaving you?’

  ‘It is just gossip, Emelia,’ he said. ‘Such things have been said before and no doubt they will be said again. I have to defend myself against similar claims all the time.’

  She pressed her lips together. ‘I might not be able to remember the last two years of my life but I can assure you I’m not the sort of person to run away with another man whilst married to another,’ she said. ‘Surely you don’t believe any of that stuff?’

  He gave her a slight movement of his lips, not exactly a smile, more of a grimace of resignation. ‘It is the life we live, querida. All high profile people and celebrities are exposed to it. It’s the tall poppy syndrome. I did warn you when we met how it would be. I have had to live with it for many years—lies, conjecture, gossip, innuendo. It is the price one pays for being successful.’

  Emelia gnawed on her fingernail again as the jet took off from the runway. She didn’t like the thought of people deliberately besmirching her name and reputation. She wasn’t a cheater. She believed in absolute faithfulness. She had seen first-hand the damage wrought when a partner strayed, as her father had played around on each of his wives, causing so much hurt and distress and the betrayal of trust.

  ‘Do not trouble yourself about it for now,’ Javier said into the silence. ‘I wouldn’t have mentioned the press except they might be waiting for us when we arrive in Spain. I have made arrangements with my security team to provide a decoy but, just in case, do not respond to any of the press’s questions, even if they are b
latantly untrue or deliberately provocative. Do you understand?’

  Emelia felt another frown tug at her brow. ‘If they are as intrusive and persistent as you say, I can’t evade the press for ever, though, can I?’ she asked.

  His eyes were determined as they tethered hers. ‘For the time being, Emelia, you will do as I say. I am your husband. Please try to remember that, if nothing else.’

  Emelia felt a tiny worm of anger spiral its way up her spine. She squared her shoulders, sending him a defiant glare. ‘I don’t know what you expected in a wife when you married me, but I am not a doormat and I don’t intend to be one, with or without the possession of my memory.’

  A muscle clenched like a fist in his jaw, and his eyes became so dark she couldn’t make out where his pupils began and ended. ‘Do not pick fights you have no hope of winning, Emelia,’ he said in a clipped tone. ‘You are vulnerable and weak from your injury. I don’t want you to be put under any more pressure than is necessary. I am merely following the doctor’s orders. It would help if you would do so too.’

  She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts. ‘Do not speak to me as if I am a child. I know I am a little lost at present, but it doesn’t mean I’ve completely lost my mind or my will.’

  Something about his expression told Emelia he was fighting down his temper with an effort. His mouth was flat and white-tipped and his hands resting on his thighs were digging into the fabric of his trousers until his knuckles became white through his tan.

  It seemed a decade until he spoke.

  ‘I am sorry, cariño,’ he said in a low, deep tone. ‘Forgive me. I am forgetting what an ordeal you have been through. This is not the time to be arguing like an old married couple.’

  Emelia shifted her lips from side to side for a moment, finally blowing out her cheeks on a sigh. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m just not myself right now.’

  ‘No,’ he said with an attempt at a smile. ‘You are certainly not.’