The silence between them throbbed like a struggling pulse-beat. If he said one more word to her Cristina knew she was going to further humiliate herself by breaking down to weep. Maybe he knew it. Maybe he still possessed enough sensitivity in his hardened soul to recognise it. Because all he did was take up his previous position against the table, dominating everything within her fixed vision, even the patch of blue sky. Crossing his long legs at the ankles and folding his arms across his chest, he waited in silence for her to calm down.
He’d shattered her, Anton could see that. Blank, hurt-blackened eyes were standing out on her pale face. The knowledge should be filling him with satisfaction but, oddly, it was doing the opposite. Six years ago she had shattered him, crucified everything he’d believed they felt for each other, then calmly walked away. If revenge for that moment had been his motive for doing this to her then he was discovering that he did not like what it made him feel.
Suppressing the urge to issue an apology, he moved his gaze to the contours of her mouth. It looked so tiny, held under control despite the evidence of his kiss still pumping blood into the lush lower lip. The delicate heart shape of its upper partner had a deeply vulnerable look to it that made him want to…
His eyes drifted lower as he imagined that beautiful skin stripped naked for him to see and touch. Was the rest of it still as smooth as her face was? Did her skin still shine like golden silk? He saw his hands drifting over her, felt the pleasure in stroking such perfection, then frowned as a different pair of hands took the place of his. Old hands, gnarled and withered hands, belonging to the man she had married in his place.
Anger leapt up inside him, growing on a wave of bitter, bloody disgust and contempt.
‘Let’s talk about your marriage,’ he said abruptly.
She stiffened as if he’d shot her, and something flashed across her eyes—gone before he could catch it.
‘My husband is dead,’ she stated coldly. ‘And I will not discuss him with you.’
‘Not even to throw in my face how you married him within a month of turning me down?’
She sent him a silent icy stare in reply.
‘Ordoniz left you destitute. So perhaps I can understand your desire to pretend he did not exist.’
No response again.
‘And your own father was no better,’ he continued. ‘He squandered everything of any worth to that Marques pride you try so hard to hang onto. So take my advice and try not to say the name as if it should mean something of respect to me, because it doesn’t. Okay?’
Okay…He was after her blood now, ruthlessly diminishing her to nothing in a few well-chosen statements.
‘Do you feel better for saying all of that?’ she asked stiffly.
‘Hurt, did it?’
‘Sim.’ No use in pretending that it had not.
He nodded, but did not actually voice the Good. It hung there in the space between them all the same. He wanted payback for every cruel thing she had ever said or done to him. Making her swallow the truth about the Marques pride was only the beginning. There was, she was sure, much more to come.
‘What does Enrique Ramirez mean to you?’ he asked next.
Cristina almost shot from the chair in shock. Never in million years had she expected that name to come up in conversation with anyone! It took every bit of control she had in her to keep her voice level when she said, ‘Enrique who?’
But Luis had noticed her first reaction. His eyes narrowed. Her skin began to crawl with heat.
‘Ramirez,’ he repeated, very dryly. ‘A man of about your father’s age—a good-looking guy when he was in his prime…’ His mouth turned down as he said that. ‘He was a favourite with the ladies…got rich by marrying diamonds and oil. Played polo for Brazil and was a bit of a celebrity here for a—’
‘Polo?’ Cristina looked up, her breathing fracturing.
‘That means something to you?’
‘M-my late h-husband used to train polo horses,’ she told him, looking away again. ‘It was a major part of his life until…’
Her world tilted into silence as a far-distant memory replayed itself in her head. She was seeing a small child, breaking free of her career to run towards the paddock, unseeing of the dangers—how could she see them? She was too young, and she loved horses. Scooting under the fence was the quickest way to get closer to them. She heard a horse galloping towards her, turned to face it, then froze. Wide-eyed, she watched it try to stop short of her, snorting and skidding and in the end rearing up high while its rider tried to stay on its back.
‘Go on,’ Luis prompted, unaware of what she was seeing in her head. ‘Your husband trained polo horses until—?’
‘H-he had an accident,’ she breathed unsteadily. ‘He was trampled beneath one of the horses and was badly injured. He never went near a horse again afterwards, but—’
Her world tilted again, turning her face quite white as she sat there, seeing Vaasco hitting the ground, then the lethal power of the horse’s hooves pounding into him. The horse was confused, scared as it tried to disentangle itself. It reared up again, huge, like a great roaring giant to the small child, then came thundering down with—
Cristina leapt to her feet, gasping sharply—she just couldn’t stop herself.
‘What the hell—?’ Luis was suddenly grasping her arms in support.
It took another shaky breath to pull herself together. ‘I have remembered that I have heard that name before,’ she breathed, lowering her eyes from him and fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice. ‘Enrique Ramirez was the name of the man who pulled the horse away from Vaasco, at great risk to his own safety. I—V-Vaasco owed his life to him.’
‘You added a but before you went as white as a sheet.’
‘Did I?’ The sheet-white face turned perfectly blank.
‘Were you there, Cristina?’ Luis questioned narrowly. ‘Did you witness your husband’s accident?’
An odd kind of smile touched her pale mouth. ‘It happened years ago. I was only a very small child.’
‘Your husband told you about it?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, with strange bitter smile.
‘And also mentioned Ramirez by name?’
‘Why are you interested in Enrique Ramirez?’ She threw in her own question.
‘Nothing important.’
It could have been the imminent arrival of the ordered coffee that made him let go of her so abruptly, but somehow Cristina did not think so—because she might have been economical with the truth just now, but she had a suspicion that so had he been, with his ‘nothing important’ throw-away.
Then again, the way he’d moved away from her like that could have more to do with Kinsella Lane
being the person carrying the coffee tray, she decided, as she watched him stride across the room to meet the other woman halfway.
The fact that Kinsella had picked up on the tense atmosphere was clear in the look she sent Cristina before she carefully lowered her gaze.
Anton had seen the look also, and frowned as he reached out to take the tray.
‘A Senhor Pirez has called several times to speak to you,’ Kinsella informed him stiffly.
‘No calls,’ he instructed as the tray changed hands.
‘Senhor Pirez was very insistent.’
‘And you know the drill, Kinsella,’ he responded. ‘When I say no calls, I mean no calls.’
Cristina watched the other woman’s blue eyes glint beneath her lashes before she turned and walked stiffly out of the room. Clearly she did not like his censure.
Had they had a lovers’ spat? she thought nastily. But that was how she felt—nasty and mean and bitter and—
‘You should be careful. She knows why you have brought me here,’ Cristina heard herself snipe as he walked towards her with the tray.
‘Meaning?’
‘She is dangerous, that one. You think I was a jealous cat, but she will scratch your eyes out if you dare to take another wom
an to your bed.’
‘Whereas you will grin and bear it for the sake of the money I can offer you.’
‘I have told you once.’ Cristina’s chin came up. ‘I do not share a man’s bed with other women.’
‘What about another man?’
The question confused her. She frowned at him and he smiled as he placed a cup in her hand.
‘Gabriel Valentim,’ he enlightened her. ‘Did you share his bed last night?’
She was tempted to lie and say Yes—passionately, but there were already too many lies between them. ‘I am not involved with Gabriel,’ she said coolly.
‘Lover without the loving?’ He took a sip from his cup.
‘Gabriel is just a friend.’ She took a sip of coffee too.
‘Just a friend?’
‘A long-standing friend,’ she extended. ‘His father has been our family lawyer for ever. It is just your nasty mind that wants to make our relationship more intimate than that.’
‘He’s a good-looking guy. He’s reasonably well-heeled. You need money.’ A lazy shrug of a wide shoulder said the rest.
‘Not as rich as you,’ she hit back. ‘And he is also gay,’ she added, ‘So you will please keep your unwanted thoughts to yourself.’
Gay.
Anton stared at her for a moment, then threw back his dark head and laughed. He’d spent the whole of last night lying wide awake in his bed, tormenting himself with visions of the handsome swine locked in Cristina’s eager arms, when all the time—‘I don’t know what you find so amusing in hearing that.’
‘I don’t suppose you do,’ he replied, still smiling as he rid himself of his cup.
Cristina did the same at that exact moment, and their arms brushed. It was like making contact with a live wire. Sparks shot through his body, then gathered at his loins. Anton sat back very slowly. Cristina simply froze. It was getting worse. Maybe the bed option before the business one was the right way to go, he considered wryly.
Cristina pulled in a deep breath. What was the matter with her? Why was she feeling like this? For six years she had kept all her emotions firmly under wraps. Then Luis walked back into her life and suddenly she was finding she could not control anything.
‘Anton—’ she burst out. ‘Can we—?’
‘Small hint, querida,’ he interrupted. ‘When the only thing you’ve got going for you is the intimacy of a name, then use it. Anton is a ruthless bastard. You really do need to keep him out of this as much as you possibly can.’
‘And who is Luis? Anton’s nice, kind alter ego?’
‘His sexual ego,’ he enlightened her. ‘Luis is sitting here aching to strip you naked and sink himself so deep inside you he will never find his way out. Anton aches to see you stripped of everything but the clothes on your back.’
‘A no-win situation, then.’ She sank back into the chair in a helpless gesture.
‘That depends on what you want out of this.’
I want you to look at me with those eyes lighting with the flames of love like they used to, Cristina thought helplessly.
‘Your help,’ was what she said. ‘I want you to help me save my home.’
‘That’s it?’
Pressing her lips together, she nodded.
‘At any price?’
‘Almost any price,’ she modified, with a nervous touch of her tongue to her suddenly dry upper lip.
He said nothing for so long that Cristina was forced into looking at him. He was staring at her mouth. Her heart gave a thump; lips he’d brutally kissed not that many minutes ago began to reheat. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t. She wanted him to say something but he still didn’t speak. The heavily laden silence began to weave around her like a silken web. He was so beautiful, her Luis. So—
‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘Then let us see if we can find the ceiling on your almost any price.’
Hooking out another chair from beneath the table, he lowered his long frame into it. ‘This is how things stand for you, Cristina, and it isn’t good,’ he warned. ‘The Alagoas Consortium have decided to fight dirty. They are in the process of trying to buy your mortgages, plus all the other debts you’ve managed to incur. If they succeed they will turf you out of Santa Rosa without giving you a chance to catch your breath.’
‘You said you would help.’
‘But on my terms, querida. And non-negotiable terms at that.’
The almost test. She could hear it coming. ‘What kind of terms?’ she asked huskily.
‘A large stake in Santa Rosa.’
Cristina nodded, having expected to hear him say that.
‘Full control over how the money I invest is spent.’
That brought her chin up. ‘You know nothing about farming!’
Green eyes glinted. ‘But my future wife does.’
Future wife—? It had not occurred to her that he might be getting married! Jolted into a reaction, she felt her backbone tense and jumped to her feet.
‘You will not bring another woman into Santa Rosa, Luis!’ she spat at him angrily. ‘I would rather take my chances with the Alagoas Consortium than let you!’
His hand closing around her wrist silenced her. ‘Your tantrums used to turn me on, Cristina. Now they do not. You are badly used goods, querida, wearing a badly used suit which makes you even less appealing. So try at the very least to find a little dignity. Sit down again and listen,’ he instructed icily.
Cristina sat, slaughtered by his brutal opinion of her. Letting go of her wrist, Anton sat back.
‘Now, this is what happens,’ he continued, as if the incident in the middle had not taken place. ‘My bank will buy you out of trouble. It will keep Santa Rosa ticking over until such time as you fulfil your part of the deal.’
‘Which is what?’ she asked bitterly.
There was a pause—a carefully constructed pause that held Cristina completely trapped. Then it came—smoothly, calmly, quietly.
‘I need a wife,’ he announced. ‘And I need one quickly. You, meu querida are in the fortunate position of suiting my requirements.’
CHAPTER FIVE
SHEER disbelief had Cristina twisting to stare at him. ‘You are asking me to marry you?’ The words arrived gasping from her lips.
Anton’s face hardened, his whole demeanour turning to ice. ‘Take note, Cristina, that at no point in this discussion am I asking you to marry me,’ he said, very clearly. ‘This is a business arrangement. I need a wife,’ he repeated. ‘You happen to fit the bill. You are young, presentable, and still desirable.’
‘Even for badly used goods?’ she quavered.
‘As you say.’ He nodded. ‘You also need my money more than I need you.’
‘Why do you need a wife?’
‘That’s my business.’
‘You want a silent wife?’ She was unable to stop the slicing sarcasm from coming out.
‘You could say that—though I think it might be stretching my luck.’ He smiled in spite of the ice.
‘I wonder you are not putting your secretary in the role, then.’
‘She does not suit my requirements.’
‘But she would not say no to you.’
‘Are you thinking of saying no to me?’
Cristina was too busy trying to grapple with it all to say anything.
‘Maybe you would rather let Kinsella suffer my English touch than be forced to suffer it for yourself again.’
That did it. She turned on him, swivelling in the chair to burn him with a look. ‘I never once said I did not enjoy making love with you, Luis!’ she said hotly. ‘And stop throwing my six-year-old words back at me!’
‘Strong words, though, Cristina. Hard words from a proud Marques mouth.’
‘As you have already pointed out, what pride is there now in being a Marques?’ she countered, then had to heave in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘The name, like my reputation, is demolished. Do you think I am too stupid and too proud to have realised that for myself, long before you ca
me back into my life?’
‘My apologies,’ he said.
She looked away from him and said nothing. An apology only meant something if it carried regret.
‘Am I allowed to ask what my role as wife to you is supposed to entail?’
‘Of course you may ask,’ he answered, so smoothly it was like a slap in her face. He was sitting there—relaxing there now—as if the anger of before had never been, while she…
Was hurt and fighting not to show it.
And afraid of what was going to come next.
‘Your role will be the same as any other wife,’ he told her. ‘You will keep my house, be my hostess and sleep in my bed. You will also make yourself available to me for sex whenever I desire it…’ He sat forward then, so he could look into her face. ‘And here is the bad one, Christina, so prepare for it because you are not going to like this,’ he warned. ‘We—as in you and I—are going to have to go all-out for a fast and probably furious attempt at conceiving a baby. I need you to be pregnant, you see, within a few months…’
Having shot his final past-avenging dart into her useless little heart, Anton watched, totally riveted—because it actually was like witnessing a murder take place. She seemed to die right there in front of his eyes.
‘Too much to ask?’ he prompted.
She didn’t answer.
‘Still protecting your gorgeous figure at all costs?’
She still made no response.
Something vicious tightened inside him. ‘Or perhaps you still cannot face the prospect of my half-English blood mixing with your blood?’
She breathed then—blinked. One of those very slow lowerings of fine-veined eyelids over terrible blank eyes. As they lifted again so did Cristina, rising out of the chair like a zombie. Then she just turned and walked towards the door, leaving Anton sitting there, stunned and so damn angry that she could do this to him—again!
He threw himself to his feet. ‘I see that we have found your ceiling price,’ he fed harshly after her. ‘But know this, Cristina. The deal remains in place only until you reach that door!’
She stopped walking, trembling from hair root to toe tip.
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