A Night, A Consequence, A Vow

by Angela Bissell

His message was short.

  A car is waiting outside for you. See Marsha on your way out.

  She frowned at the screen. He’d made her wait five days and these were the words with which he’d chosen to communicate with her first? Hands shaking, she texted back.

  It’s 3.30 p.m. on a Monday. I’m working.

  His response was immediate.

  Finish early.

  Heart pounding, she chewed her lip, then forced her thumbs to work again.

  Where am I going?

  It’s a surprise.

  I don’t like surprises.

  Humour me.

  She stared at the screen for a long moment, her tummy taut with indecision. When the phone pinged again, she jumped.

  Please.

  She hesitated, but her resistance was already melting, her desire to see him too powerful, too overwhelming. Releasing a pent-up breath, she fired back an ‘OK’.

  Outside the office, Marsha rose from her desk, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, holding out Emily’s passport. ‘He said I wasn’t to warn you.’

  A flicker of excitement and hope skimmed through Emily’s stomach before she quickly dampened the hazardous feelings. She had no idea what he’d say to her when she saw him. She’d be a fool to allow hope to soar only then to find her heart painfully crushed.

  Still, the fluttering in her stomach grew more intense during the ride to the airport. Not even the short, sharp jab of disappointment she felt when she boarded Ramon’s plane and saw he wasn’t there could diminish the jittery feeling of anticipation for very long.

  The male flight attendant brought her an orange juice. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Ms Royce.’

  She managed a smile. ‘And you. Umm... Could you tell me where we’re going, please?’

  His polite expression didn’t alter. ‘Paris,’ he said. ‘We should be there in fifty-five minutes.’

  * * *

  By the time Emily climbed out of the back of a shiny limo in front of Saphir, her mouth was bone-dry and her palms so damp she had to repeatedly wipe them down the front of her simple black dress. A smiling concierge greeted her, escorted her inside and led her to the same lift she’d ridden with Ramon three months earlier.

  She stepped in and gripped the handrail.

  Only three months?

  It felt like a lifetime ago.

  The lift bore her swiftly upwards and when she stepped out into the penthouse, feeling breathless and a little lightheaded, he was there.

  Her feet stumbled to a stop.

  Clean-shaven and wearing dark trousers and a pale blue open-necked shirt, he looked as vital and bone-meltingly beautiful as he had on that fateful late summer night when he’d brought her here.

  Their gazes locked and she began to tremble, desire and nervous excitement pin-wheeling through her in a potent, knee-weakening mix.

  Then, abruptly, he pulled his hands from his pockets and strode towards her, his steps long and purposeful. He halted in front of her and cradled her face in his hands, and just that simple touch catapulted her senses into overdrive.

  ‘Did you miss me, Emily?’

  Oh, so much. She feigned a shrug of indifference. ‘Not really.’

  His eyes gleamed. ‘Not at all?’

  ‘Maybe a little bit,’ she whispered.

  They both faintly smiled. It was the same exchange they’d had in her kitchen more than three weeks ago when he’d returned from Paris—moments before they’d had scorching hot sex in her room.

  ‘I missed you.’ He drew his thumbs across her cheeks, lowered his forehead to hers.

  Emily felt her insides melting. Felt little tendrils of hope weaving around her heart. She dropped her bag, lifted her hands and curled them over his strong, masculine wrists. ‘Where have you been?’

  He raised his head. ‘I went back to Spain.’

  ‘What for?’

  His hands lowered, settling around her waist, drawing her close. ‘I had some ghosts to lay to rest. Some people to visit.’

  ‘Including your parents?’

  ‘Including my parents.’

  Emily’s thoughts flickered to Elena and her heart swelled with gladness for the other woman. ‘And did you make any discoveries?’

  ‘A few.’

  His heart pumping at a fierce pace, Ramon studied the exquisite features of the woman who had boldly declared her love for him, then sent him packing and told him not to return until he’d figured himself out.

  She’d shocked him to his core. Flipped him into a brutal tailspin of anger and disbelief.

  And fear. Mind-bending, gut-wrenching fear—because he’d known he couldn’t lose her.

  ‘I learned,’ he said, ‘that sometimes a man must confront his past before he can put it behind him.’

  Soft grey eyes searched his. ‘And have you?’

  ‘Sí, querida. I have.’

  Tears filled her eyes then and, though he had no wish to see her cry, he took them as a good sign.

  ‘Who else did you visit?’

  ‘Many people,’ he confessed.

  He had started with his old girlfriend, with whom, once he’d tracked her down, he’d had the conversation they should’ve had twelve years ago before he’d fled Spain. He’d found Ana in a stylish home in Madrid, married with two small children, and happy. She’d moved on and she bore Ramon no ill will. Next he’d visited Jorge’s parents in Barcelona, whom he’d not seen since the funeral, and discovered they didn’t share their youngest son’s antipathy towards Ramon. Jorge’s mother had hugged him, cried for a moment, then invited him in. Matteo, they’d said, was a troubled young man, and they’d been appalled to hear of the incident in the tapas bar.

  The next day he’d gone to see his brother, and then he’d returned to his parents’ villa, where, for the first time in a long time, he’d looked his mother in the eye and embraced her in a hug that had lifted her feet clean off the ground.

  Finally, he’d come back to London and had a long, frank conversation with Maxwell Royce.

  It’d been an intense, cathartic five days, and at some point he’d tell it all to Emily, but not now. That was the past. Right now his interest lay only in the future.

  ‘Want to know what else I learned, querida?’ he asked softly.

  She nodded, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the black velvet box containing her engagement ring.

  ‘I learned that I’m tired of running...’ He plucked the ring from its bed, lifted her left hand and slid the cool platinum band with its striking setting of diamonds and sapphires onto her finger. ‘And that I want to be the man—the only man—who loves you for the rest of his life.’ He pressed his lips to her knuckles. ‘I love you, mi belleza. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  Eyes glistening, she wound her arms around his neck, her delicious curves pressing into his body. ‘Yes,’ she said, and a groan of relief mingled with desire tore from Ramon’s throat.

  Gathering her close, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was almost savage in its intensity.

  Long minutes later, when their breath-deprived lungs cried out for air, they broke apart.

  Surrendering to the feverish need to stamp his possession on her in every way possible, he swung her into his arms and headed for the bedroom.

  As he lowered her onto the bed, she captured his jaw in her hand and murmured, ‘Why Paris?’

  He laid his hand over her stomach, the small bump which he couldn’t wait to see grow filling his palm. ‘This is where we began. Where we created our child.’ He trailed his lips along her jaw, down her neck. ‘It will be a special place for us always, sí?’

  Her eyes filled again. ‘I love you, Ramon.’

  Fierce emotion flooded him. ‘Say it again,’ he demanded roughly against her throat.

  Her laughter was pure. Sweet. ‘I love you.’ Insistent hands tugged his shirt tails from his trousers. ‘Your turn,’ she whispered.

  He slid his hand under her d
ress, his questing fingers moving over heated, quivering skin. ‘I love you, mi belleza.’

  She arched under his touch.

  ‘Show me,’ she urged.

  And he did.

  EPILOGUE

  WITH A GLASS of chilled Prosecco in her hand, Marsha slipped away from the lively gathering taking place in the big, sunny back garden of Emily and Ramon’s Chelsea home and crossed the bright green lawn towards the house.

  She stepped into the kitchen and her gaze fell on the home-made custard tart over which Emily was grating fresh nutmeg. ‘Yum! That looks delicious.’ She shifted her attention to the large kitchen table where Emily and Ramon often shared their meals instead of in the formal dining room. This afternoon, savouries and cakes and slices and tarts crowded the table’s surface. ‘I can’t believe you did all of this yourself.’

  ‘I had some help from my housekeeper,’ Emily confided.

  Marsha’s eyebrows rose. ‘You have a housekeeper?’

  ‘A part-time one,’ she said. ‘Ramon insisted. It was either that or a nanny and I refused the latter.’

  Marsha put her glass down on the bench and cast her gaze around the gorgeous designer kitchen. ‘I miss you at work but I can’t blame you for not rushing back.’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘Do you think you’ll ever return?’

  Emily’s shrug was non-committal. ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she admitted, her feelings on the matter mixed. The club and her role there had been her life for so many years, and she’d expected to miss it, but she had other priorities now. Priorities that filled a void she hadn’t realised existed and which meant a great deal more to her than The Royce.

  A small, plaintive wail pierced the air and Emily’s maternal instincts went on instant alert.

  Elena de la Vega entered the kitchen, making shushing, soothing sounds to the tiny bundle in her arms. ‘I think my granddaughter has already tired of her christening party,’ she said to Emily, her lovely face awash with pride and pleasure as she handed over her grandchild.

  Emily smiled her thanks. ‘I’ll feed her and settle her for a nap and then I’ll be out.’ She glanced at Marsha. ‘Would you do me a favour and let everyone know they can help themselves to food?’

  She climbed the elegant curved staircase and made her way to the light-filled nursery, an intense joy ballooning in her chest as she gazed down at her daughter.

  Kathryn Georgina de la Vega—Katie, to her parents—had arrived ten weeks ago, exactly three months from the day her parents had wed in a beautiful church in Barcelona. The wedding and reception, attended by hundreds of guests, had been a larger, more elaborate affair than Emily had wanted, but the de la Vegas were a prominent family in Spain, and she’d quickly understood her hopes for a small, private ceremony were unrealistic. Plus, Elena’s enthusiasm for the planning had been both irrepressible and contagious. Emily hadn’t had the heart to restrain her.

  She’d invited Marsha and her management team to the wedding and, to her surprise, they’d all come, but the person whose presence had mattered to Emily the most had been her father’s. He’d given her away and as he’d walked her down the aisle in her stunning gown of ivory silk and French lace, cleverly styled to hide her baby bump, she’d been fairly sure she’d seen a tear shining in his eye.

  Of course her relationship with her father remained a work in progress. Twenty-eight years of hurt wouldn’t heal overnight. But they were moving in the right direction and even Ramon was thawing towards him, especially now the inheritance issue had been temporarily sidelined.

  Emily finished nursing then drifted to the window with Katie nestled in her arms, humming the tune of the Spanish lullaby Ramon crooned to his daughter every night.

  Chatter and laughter floated up from the garden, along with the squeals and shouts of their neighbours’ children—Joshua and Maddie—who chased each other through the trees at the rear of the property. Amidst the clusters of people Marsha chatted with Maddie and Joshua’s mother, Tamsin, who’d become a friend to Emily, while Elena, a natural-born conversationalist, talked with Marsha’s boyfriend and Tamsin’s husband. Seated in the shade of a large oak tree, Vittorio and her father conversed and, further away beneath a different tree, Ramon and his brother appeared deep in conversation.

  Whatever they spoke about it must have been serious, for the expressions on their faces were intense.

  Emily still marvelled that Xavier, an incurable workaholic, had taken time out of his demanding schedule to visit London.

  Suddenly Ramon looked up and caught her eye through the glass and her breath hitched. Her husband seemed to possess a sixth sense where she was concerned; rarely did she get to observe him without his noticing.

  She watched him grip his brother’s shoulder, say something and then stride across the lawn towards the house. By the time he walked into the nursery, she’d settled their daughter down to sleep and returned to the window. He leaned over the cot, kissed a rosy little cheek and then moved behind his wife, sliding his arms around her middle.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder, her gaze focused on the figure of his handsome, enigmatic brother, standing alone beneath the tree now. ‘Is everything all right with Xav?’

  Ramon kissed the top of her head. ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘He doesn’t look fine,’ she said. ‘He looks...lonely.’

  Ramon gave a soft snort. ‘My brother isn’t lonely.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  He turned her in his arms and looked down at her. ‘How about more focus on your husband and less on his brother?’ he growled.

  Emily hid a smile. Her husband’s occasional displays of jealousy always amused her. ‘Fine,’ she whispered, conscious of their daughter sleeping. ‘Let’s join our guests, then.’

  She went to move but his arms tightened, locking her in his hold. He dropped a kiss on her mouth that stole her breath with its tenderness, then raised his head. ‘Happy?’ he queried softly.

  This time she let her smile show. How could she be anything else? She had a family, people she loved, people who loved her. And she had this beautiful home that was already filling with love, laughter and joy.

  Their ‘for ever’ home.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘Blissfully.’

  * * * * *

  EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT

  Reluctant Sheikh Salim Al-Noury would rather abdicate than taint the realm with his dark secrets.

  But could one exquisitely beautiful diplomat convince him otherwise?…

  Christmas means heartbreak to Charlotte, and this overseas assignment offers the perfect getaway. But Salim proves to be her most challenging client yet, and his rugged masculinity awakens untouched Charlotte to unimaginable pleasures!

  Read on for a sneak preview of Abby Green’s book

  A CHRISTMAS BRIDE FOR THE KING

  Rulers of the Desert

  She looked Salim straight in the eye. ‘Life is so easy for you, isn’t it? No wonder you don’t want to rule—it would put a serious cramp in your lifestyle and a dent in your empire. Have you ever had to think of anyone but yourself, Salim? Have you ever had to consider the consequences of your actions? People like you make me—’

  ‘Enough.’ Salim punctuated the harshly spoken word by taking her arms in his hands. He said it again. ‘Enough, Charlotte. You’ve made your point.’

  She couldn’t breathe after the way he’d just said her name. Roughly. His hands were huge on her arms, and firm but not painful. She knew she should say Let me go but somehow the words wouldn’t form in her mouth.

  Salim’s eyes were blazing down into hers and for a second she had the impression that she’d somehow…hurt him. But in the next instant any coherent thought fled, because he slammed his mouth down onto hers and all she was aware of was shocking heat, strength, and a surge of need such as she’d never experienced before.

  Salim couldn’t recall when he’d felt angrier—people had thrown all sorts of insults at him for years. Wo
men who’d expected more than he’d been prepared to give. Business adversaries he’d bested. His brother. His parents. But for some reason this buttoned-up slender woman with her cool judgmental attitude was getting to him like no one else ever had.

  The urge to kiss her had been born out of that anger and a need to stop her words, but also because he’d felt a hot throb of desire that had eluded him for so long he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

  Her mouth was soft and pliant under his, but on some dim level not clouded red with lust and anger he knew it was shock—and, sure enough, after a couple of seconds he felt her tense and her mouth tighten against his.

  He knew he should draw back. dpg

  If he was another man he might try to convince himself he’d only intended the kiss to be a display of power, but Salim had never drawn back from admitting his full failings. And he couldn’t pull back—not if a thousand horses were tied to his body. Because he wanted her.

  Don’t miss

  A CHRISTMAS BRIDE FOR THE KING

  By Abby Green

  Available December 2017

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  Copyright ©2017 Abby Green

  ISBN: 978-1-474-05311-2

  A NIGHT, A CONSEQUENCE, A VOW

  © 2017 Angela Bissell

  Published in Great Britain 2017

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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