* * *
The moment Rosie saw the cathedral with its tall spires and intricate carvings she made a promise to make her vows sincerely. Whatever her situation, she would show respect for the church, and for everyone who had entered the same portals with their hearts full of emotion. As she stepped out of the limousine she reminded herself that she’d always been resilient. She would go through with this, and she would make it work. Margaret was waiting to organise the billowing silk chiffon train, with its liberal scattering of diamanté and seed pearls. The dress was so beautiful that the assembled onlookers gasped when they caught their first sight of it.
Lifting her chin, Rosie mounted the steps slowly and alone. She had explained to Margaret that she wanted to do this, as this was her journey, and her decision, and she was determined that she wouldn’t fail in any part of it. Margaret didn’t know the whole story; she’d never asked, but she respected Rosie’s decision. Having given the organist the prearranged signal when the bride arrived, Margaret followed Rosie into the church.
As the crashing chords of the organ rang out, the voices of the choir soared in a triumphal anthem. Was all this for her? For a split second, Rosie couldn’t move. Her feet simply refused to obey her brain’s instructions, and her throat was so very tight, she doubted she’d be able to say her vows. The cathedral was packed. There didn’t seem to be a single free seat. The scent of incense was so heavy she could hardly breathe. She looked for Xavier, but it was like looking down the wrong end of a telescope, and she had a legion of curious guests to walk through before she could reach his side. Then he turned and his dark stare blazed into hers. An unbreakable bond seemed to connect them, drawing her towards him, and now she noticed the roses: Arctic roses, the same roses that grew so bravely in the garden at the hacienda.
She took the flowers as a signal. Even if they were just coincidence, rather than a loving gesture from Xavier, his promise to make this a happy and special day looked as if it might come true.
The roses kept her on track. She thought of them as emergency lights in the cabin of a jet, leading her towards him, and almost laughed at the thought. She quickly governed her face in front of the dignitaries present. She didn’t want them thinking she was nervous, or over-faced by the occasion. It was a relief to reach Xavier’s side. He looked stunning, every bit the Spanish Grandee. She responded to him with yearning as she came to a halt at his side. She sucked in a shaking breath as he lifted her veil, and was surprised by the warmth in his eyes. He was thanking her, she told herself sensibly. He was probably relieved she’d turned up.
* * *
‘And now you may kiss the bride...’
Is it really over?
Up to that point, everything had been dreamy and virginal, white, but now the world shot into vivid colour. Xavier’s blood-red sash of office, which he wore over his dark, formal suit, made Rosie remember their wedding night. The voices of the choir soared even higher in celebration as Xavier dipped his head to chastely kiss her on both cheeks. She closed her eyes, but all she could think about was what lay ahead of her when they were finally alone. But she smiled when she looked at the wedding ring on her finger.
‘Do you like it?’ Xavier asked.
‘I love it,’ she said honestly. ‘It’s the perfect ring for me.’ It was a plain band, with no stones or ornamentation. If they’d been a proper couple and had gone shopping for rings together, she couldn’t have found anything to please her more.
‘It’s time, Rosie,’ Xavier prompted.
She turned with him to face the congregation, and, linking her arm through his, she allowed Xavier to lead her forward to greet the world as his wife.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE RECEPTION SEEMED ENDLESS. Rosie ate little and tried not to think too much, while the hours passed in a haze of good wishes and congratulations. She was only just coming to terms with the yawning gap between an idea and an accomplished fact. Her throat tightened as she gazed at Xavier. His expression was governed for the public and it was impossible to read his thoughts. An encouraging smile from Margaret put her back on track. She was no longer the bemused orphan, revelling in the simple pleasures of freedom on a beautiful island, but a wife and property owner, with huge responsibilities. She had married a Spanish Grandee, who had centuries of tradition behind him, but as well as all her duties she had to be true to herself.
When the Master of Ceremonies indicated that the guests must be silent and Xavier rose to his feet to speak she knew the end of the celebration was in sight. Xavier was as commanding as ever, and she was pleased that he remembered to acknowledge his debt to Doña Anna.
‘For bringing me a wife,’ he said, turning to look at Rosie. That look sent sparks flying through her. ‘And now you must excuse us,’ he added when the applause had died down. ‘My bride and I are leaving.’
Her stomach flipped when he turned to look at her again. She only wished she could thrill as she had the first time, but now she was facing the thought of being alone with him, and that meant confronting the greatest demon of all: her fear that sex brought pain, and disaster followed. That was the legend in the orphanage, and she’d seen nothing since then to change her mind.
‘We have an appointment with the tide,’ Xavier explained genially to their guests. He reached out a hand to help her from her chair. ‘And the tide waits for no man,’ he added in an intimate murmur, staring deep into her eyes.
‘Not even you?’ she challenged, demanding a last burst of energy from the spirit that had kept her going throughout the day.
‘Not even me,’ he confirmed in the same low, husky whisper. ‘Please stay for as long as you like,’ he added to their guests. ‘There will be fireworks at midnight.’
Maybe even before that, Rosie thought dryly, recognising impending hysteria when it came knocking.
Xavier took hold of her hand in a firm grip, flashing awareness through her veins as he led her from the table.
‘What about my things?’ she said, pulling back. Everything she owned was still at the hotel.
‘You can have your things sent on,’ he told her. ‘And you’ll have new things where we’re going.’
He’d waited long enough, she guessed, and no more stops would be made along the way.
A helicopter was waiting for them on the lawn outside. Xavier was the pilot.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked through the mic attached to her headphones when she was safely strapped into the passenger seat beside him.
‘It’s a surprise.’
Xavier’s voice sounded metallic and distant in her ears as they lifted off. They flew over the twinkling lights of the city and headed out to sea. Now there was only blackness surrounding them, and overhead the moon, until she saw the great white ship, looming out of the darkness, impossibly large and impossibly sleek. She’d heard about super-yachts, but had never seen one before.
‘Is it yours?’ Of course it was his, she thought as Xavier started talking through his mic in preparation for landing. Don Xavier Del Rio’s wealth was incalculable, and this was just one more symbol of his power.
As the helicopter sank lower she recognised the sleek black launch on which Xavier had first arrived on Isla Del Rey. It was just one toy amongst many on board this billionaire’s ocean-going yacht. ‘How big is it?’ she asked when he’d ended his call.
‘The length of twelve of your London double-decker buses,’ he said, settling the helicopter smoothly on its skids.
‘Not that big, then,’ she teased, hoping to reclaim some of the warmth they’d shared at their wedding reception. For some reason, Xavier seemed all business now—distant and preoccupied.
Switching off the engine, he removed her headphones. When his fingertips brushed her face she wanted him to kiss her, and like a fool closed her eyes. When nothing happened she opened them again to find he’d moved away.
‘Wait there,’ he said. ‘I’ll lift you down so you don’t trip over your dress. Welcome to my world,’ he ad
ded dryly.
Would she ever be ready for his world? Rosie wondered as Xavier opened her door and the clean fresh scent of ozone replaced the warm air inside the cabin. She couldn’t imagine a time when she would ever get used to this billionaire lifestyle, and had to hide her apprehension when he helped her out, before escorting her down a seemingly endless line of crew waiting to welcome them.
Everyone seemed so happy to see her, and that almost made it worse. She hated deceiving the crew—like the islanders before them—and almost wished their marriage could be what it seemed.
Xavier insisted on carrying her over the threshold into their suite of rooms. The moment he closed the door and set her down in the middle of a huge and very opulent bedroom, she felt small and insignificant, and smothered by huge wealth and privilege.
What on earth had possessed her to think this would work? Rosie agonised for the umpteenth time. She’d have plenty of opportunity to find out. They were quite alone. No one would disturb them here. She was fast discovering how many layers of insulation lay between the super-rich and the rest of the world.
She still grouped herself very firmly with the rest, Rosie determined as Xavier loosened the neck of his shirt. Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it on a chair.
He looked at her properly for the first time since the reception. ‘You’d better turn around so I can help you out of that dress.’
Her mouth dried. She’d known this was coming, but still...
She turned and tried to concentrate on the thick rugs beneath her feet, and how beautifully they were woven in the most amazing multitude of jewel colours, but, however hard she tried to distract herself from what was happening, her gaze kept flashing to the crisp white linen sheets on the huge, teak-framed bed. Xavier had brought her straight into the bedroom. No time to lose when it came to making an heir—
‘Forgive me,’ he said, maybe sensing something of her apprehension. ‘Would you like a drink first?’
She swallowed deep. ‘Water, please.’
She seized the chance to take in her surroundings when he went to pour a glass from the crystal jug placed ready for him beside the bed. Polished wood and burnished brass provided a suitably classy setting for artefacts from all over the world. Crystal lights illuminated exquisite works of art, paintings that told stories as eloquent as the books they both loved. She glanced at Xavier’s back, and thought again how attractive he was. If only there had been more time to get to know him better. Maybe it was all business for him now they were married, and they wouldn’t have a proper conversation again. Outside bed.
There were several low brass tables, laden with food and drink, suggesting he planned to remain in the bedroom for quite some time. Her pulse went crazy at the thought, while her mouth turned drier than ever.
‘Your water,’ he said, handing her the glass.
‘Thank you.’
She took a great gulp, and when he moved behind her she almost took a bite out of the glass rim. When his warm hands touched her naked back, her body quivered with awareness. The sound of the laces on her gown sliding through silk and snapping free made her start to shiver all over again. She wasn’t wearing a bra, as support was built into the dress. Xavier brushed the gown from her shoulders in one smooth move. It pooled on the rug at her feet. He removed her veil and smoothed her hair. Brushing her hair aside, he kissed the nape of her neck until she shivered with arousal, and then he encouraged her to turn around, so she was standing in front of him naked.
‘No stockings?’ he murmured, his mouth tugging with the humour she had so desperately hoped would return.
‘No shoes, either,’ she confessed.
‘How long have you been barefoot?’ He frowned, pretending to be stern.
‘Since you met me?’ She slanted a rueful smile.
‘You were wearing flip-flops when I first met you.’ His husky voice was warm with humour. ‘So now you’re my wife, you’re determined to go barefoot?’
‘Only because my wedding shoes pinched.’
He laughed, a rumble low in his chest. ‘Of course, you took your shoes off,’ he said with an accepting shrug. ‘You’re Rosie.’
‘I was a bride with sore feet,’ she argued softly, wondering if she dared hope that Xavier was trying to put her at her ease. She wasn’t embarrassed standing in front of him naked. She was like an open book, waiting to see what would fill the next chapter. Something about her manner must have touched him, because he took her face very gently in his hands to kiss her as she’d always dreamed her husband would kiss her on her wedding night. It was a gentle and undemanding kiss, and when she responded, softening and sighing, he pushed his fingers through her hair to cradle her scalp, holding her with extreme tenderness, as if she were very precious to him. This was not the fiery passion that had consumed them once before, but the start of a very thorough seduction, she suspected. Xavier could make love to her with nothing more than teasing kisses that made her want so much more. His lips were warm and persuasive, and when his tongue demanded possession of her mouth, she couldn’t refuse him anything.
Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he stood back and undressed. He was like a statue cast in bronze, deeply tanned, and brutally beautiful. She stared at him in awe.
‘Touch me,’ he said, joining her on the bed.
When she hesitated he took hold of her hands and guided her fingers across his muscular chest, and on over the ridged muscles of his belly. ‘Hold me,’ he commanded softly.
Her anxious gaze flew to his face and she shook her head.
‘Why not?’ he whispered, his stare dark and long.
‘Because I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’ll probably get it horribly wrong.’
He smiled. ‘What’s to get wrong?’ Drawing her into his arms, he guided her, and when she gasped, he asked, ‘Did I scorch you?’
Only her heart.
‘Do I frighten you, Rosie?’
Lifting her head, she stared steadily into his eyes. ‘No. You don’t frighten me, Xavier.’
He kissed her, and within moments he deepened the kiss. He could soothe and arouse her all at the same time, and explore her body until she was whimpering with need. Lacing her fingers through his hair, she closed her eyes and basked in pleasure.
Nudging one hard-muscled thigh between her legs, he worked some magic with his hands that made her forget her fears. Arching her body towards him, she searched for more contact, more pleasure, and when he cupped her buttocks in his big, strong hands to hold her in place as he pleasured her, cries of need poured from her throat. She needed this—needed him.
‘Not enough?’ he murmured.
‘No,’ she exclaimed.
‘And now?’ he whispered.
She was beyond speech by this time, and could only exhale raggedly and shake her head.
‘Enough?’ he said as he caught just the tip of his erection inside her.
‘No—’ The word was torn from her throat.
Pinning her wrists above her head, he brought his face close to ask, ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Yes... I trust you.’
And so he stroked and dipped and pulled away again, until she was writhing beneath him, helpless with frustration. She needed so much more than he seemed prepared to give her. But then, very slowly, and all the time holding her gaze, he sank deep.
There was a moment, the very briefest of moments, when her body yielded to him and she felt a pinprick of discomfort. It was enough for her to briefly forget the erotic trance into which he’d placed her, but he had expected this, and now he soothed her with tender words and gentle kisses, until all she could think about was him.
Xavier took her slowly and carefully until he was lodged deep inside her, where he rested for a moment, giving her a chance to become used to the sensation. And then he worked his hips until she was clinging to the edge of the precipice with her fingertips. One deep, firm thrust, and she fell, gratefully claiming her rele
ase with shocked and greedy cries of pleasure, and when she finally quietened there was only one word on her lips, and that was, ‘More.’
Xavier withdrew almost completely before taking her again, and this time he wasn’t so gentle, or so considerate and slow. And she loved it even more than the first time.
‘More?’ he suggested, his mouth tugging in a wicked smile as she groaned rhythmically in time with the subsiding waves of pleasure. He didn’t wait for her answer, and plunged deep. She was more than ready for him when he commanded. ‘Now!’
‘Let me ride you,’ she insisted when she was calm enough to speak. ‘I want to do more than lie here and be pleasured.’
‘You’ll find no argument from me,’ he agreed. Lifting her into position, he said, ‘Take me.’
She needed no encouragement, especially when Xavier thrust his hips towards her to a dependable beat, applying pressure exactly where she needed it.
Throwing her head back, she allowed him to hold her and guide her. She loved the way he liked to watch. She wanted to make it last for as long as she could, but Xavier made that impossible. Taking a firm hold of her hips, he upped both pressure and speed until her mounting cries of excitement became wails of release.
And that release was so fierce for both of them she didn’t have the strength to do more than collapse exhausted onto his chest when it was done. And even then the pleasure continued to pulse through her, until finally she drew a deep, contented breath and fell asleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SHE WOKE TO find Xavier making love to her. He was behind her, moving slowly, but steadily, rhythmically, lazily thrusting, so that her pleasure level on waking was exquisitely extreme. Leaning forward, she raised her hips, making herself even more available for him. She knew he liked to watch. Every action has a reaction, she thought, smiling to herself as he groaned with pleasure and upped the pace. He couldn’t wait and neither could she, and very soon both of them were driven by a fierce hunger that could only have one ending.
‘You’re insatiable,’ he murmured with approval when her cries of pleasure had finally died down.
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