Claiming His Convenient Fianc?e

by Natalie Anderson

  Too fast again. He growled, pulling back.

  She arched, reaching for him.

  ‘Not yet, Kitty,’ he said roughly. ‘I don’t feel like giving you that yet.’

  But he was lying to her and to himself. He held her arms pinned above her head with one hand, and with his other he trailed his fingertips over her skin, feeling that silky smoothness and following the pattern of pretty freckles all the way down. She was so gorgeous, she tormented him. It would take nothing for her to come, and he knew it. But he wasn’t giving it to her. Which meant he wasn’t coming either.

  Stalemate.

  Kitty looked into his dark eyes, unable to stop herself arching up to him again. He was here, home, with her, but he was so controlled and so grim and so determined to have her total surrender. But she wanted his too. And she saw the flush in his cheeks, the sheen on his skin. She felt the barely leashed energy in his twitching muscles. The rapacious lust in his gaze only turned her on all the more, but no matter how she provoked him, he always had the last laugh. He always won. Suddenly she was angry—with herself for missing him so much, with him for always teasing and never telling the truth—with him for not acknowledging that this thing between them was...more.

  Impulse burned. Before she thought better of it, she lashed out. ‘Do you honestly believe I’m thinking about you?’

  The look he gave her then was filthy, fiery fury. He rapidly thrust away from her in a rough motion. She raised up onto her elbows, watching as he stripped out of his pants and jerkily sheathed his straining erection. His lack of finesse proved just how angry she’d made him. She closed her eyes and slumped back in heated agony and anticipation. She’d wanted this. Wanted him to be unleashed. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down until her lower legs dangled over the edge of the bed. She felt him step between her parted knees.

  ‘Open your eyes, Catriona,’ he demanded. ‘Open your eyes and look at me.’

  He kissed the heart of her and she almost came on the spot. She cried out when he left her just before she could crash over the edge.

  ‘Open your eyes.’

  This time she obeyed. Her heart thundered as excitement flooded her veins. He was standing over her, his muscles bunching, his body flushed. She ran her tongue along her dry lips.

  ‘Say my name,’ he said as he spread her thighs that little bit more with his broad hands and then bent to brace above her, one fist either side of her head.

  ‘Alejandro,’ she whispered, melting in the storm of arousal and need and anger.

  ‘Louder,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t stop saying it, or I’ll stop. Don’t stop looking at me.’

  ‘Egotistical maniac.’ She lifted her chin at the filthy look that flashed in his eyes.

  ‘I just want honesty. Be honest,’ he demanded.

  He came down hard and thrust into her. One forceful movement.

  ‘Then I expect the same from you!’ she cried in his face as the exquisite sensation pushed her past her emotional limits. ‘Be honest with me.’ She clutched him close, utterly torn between happiness and frustration and the yearning for more from him. The need for everything. ‘You were jealous.’

  ‘I missed this,’ he shouted back, his control breaking and he thrust hard and fierce. Uncontrollably, he pumped into her over and over, his passion pushing them both across the bed. ‘Missed you,’ he corrected brokenly. ‘Missed you.’ He groaned in tortured surrender. ‘God, I missed you.’

  ‘Yes!’ she cried, her nails curling into his rigid muscles as she held him tightly.

  She’d missed him too. So much. Now she wrapped around him, holding him closer than ever, feeling him there with her. So very there. Not just physically but in every way. She gazed into his eyes, swept away on the tide of emotion pouring out of him. Emotion that reflected her own—need, need, need.

  The orgasm hit too quickly, too intensely. Everything shattered. It was easily the most beautiful experience of her life.

  In the end she didn’t think she’d ever be able to move again. He was slumped over her, his breathing still ragged, emotion continuing to radiate from him. She stroked his hair back from his forehead. His skin was burning, his face was still flushed from the insane effort he’d unleashed on her. She blinked back the tears that had welled in her eyes then swallowed so she could find her voice.

  ‘I don’t know why you make me so mad that I say whatever pops into my head to aggravate you,’ she whispered, brushing her fingertips down the side of his face. ‘I’m sorry I was such a witch.’

  ‘I was not any better,’ he admitted, his voice oddly subdued as he shifted to lie beside her. ‘I’m sorry. I was...jealous.’

  Peace settled within her as he admitted it and she smiled at him sleepily, her eyes closing.

  But he didn’t smile back.

  * * *

  Alejandro jolted awake a few hours later. Trying to stay quiet, he mentally counted to regulate his breathing. She was fast asleep, burrowed into his side, and he didn’t want her to wake this time, not when his heart was racing, his skin was covered in a cold sweat and nausea roiled in his stomach.

  He swallowed hard, his mind whirring as he tried to shut down the nightmare. He breathed slowly, hoping to calm himself. But he couldn’t help examining the emotions she’d so easily identified. Emotions he’d never felt before. He’d not let himself feel them before.

  He’d turned away from any teen crush, going with the girls who’d wanted something else from him. Something simple. The more he’d had of those, the more there’d been. It had become easy. Just sex. Just pleasure. Nothing deeper.

  But now insidious fear crawled just under his skin. Memories scalded, choking him. The malevolence, the neediness, echoed in his head.

  ‘You love him more than me.’

  The demands. The obsession.

  ‘You’re not leaving. You’re never leaving.’

  He hadn’t had these horror-soaked dreams in years. Hadn’t thought about the past in so long. He was fine. Happy. Healthy. Living a great, successful life. But in the last few weeks it had changed. Now it didn’t seem as great. Or as successful.

  In those days while he’d been in New York, Kitty had been laughing, having fun. She hadn’t been missing him at all. Which should be fine. Just as it should be fine for her to spend time with Teddy. How could he be jealous of her brother? It wasn’t as if he was any kind of threat. Yet here he was, feeling jealous, fighting with her, wanting—what?

  His feelings were out of control. He was out of control.

  His worst nightmare had become reality.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN ALEJANDRO NEXT woke he discovered Kitty had already left the bed. He glanced at the time. It wasn’t that he’d slept in; it was that she’d got up appallingly early.

  Why?

  He pushed back the sheet and tried to swallow down the burn of regret that she wasn’t there for him to touch. It wasn’t anywhere near as easy. Hell, he was suddenly so needy.

  He forced himself to shower and dress before going downstairs in search of her. She wasn’t in any of the bedrooms on the second floor, but he noticed how much she’d cleared and sorted. She was almost done. That was good. That had to be good.

  He finally found her in the kitchen, working at the covered table with a soldering iron in hand, bent over an incredibly weird-looking object. ‘What are you doing?’

  She glanced up, guilt flashing on her face even as she smiled. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you.’ She looked back at the mass of plastic, metal and wire she was working on. ‘I know I should be finishing those last few boxes, but I promised Teddy I’d get this done in time for their rehearsal later.’

  He stepped closer to the table. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A prototype gamma-ray shield for an intergalactic army.’ A self-conscious giggle
escaped as she set the soldering iron down. ‘The next show at the theatre is a cowboy space opera.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ He leaned down to take a better look. ‘You made it from scratch?’

  She nodded and he was aware of the anxious look in her eyes.

  He took a moment to study it. Yet to be painted, she’d constructed it using who knew what and had included details that most likely wouldn’t be seen from the stage. It was a miniature work of art. ‘It’s amazing. Can I pick it up?’ When she nodded he lifted it. ‘It’s so detailed. And exactly what a shield should be like.’

  She flushed at his tiny compliment, which both pleased and annoyed him. Why hadn’t her family complimented her more?

  ‘But not too heavy?’ she checked.

  ‘No.’ He carefully tested the weight. ‘It’s good.’

  ‘Hopefully, if they like it they’ll offer me more work. Paid, even.’ An excited smile lit up her face. ‘I can do it when I’ve finished here.’

  When she left him? He stared, hating the feeling washing through him.

  Her cheeks coloured slightly and she looked back to the shield as he carefully put it back down.

  ‘You should come and see Teddy’s play.’ Her words were rushed. ‘He’s actually pretty good.’

  ‘You’re very loyal to him.’ To the point of doing some breaking and entering even.

  ‘Of course. He’s my twin—I have to be his number one fan.’ She rolled her eyes as she laughed. ‘Don’t you have any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No.’

  He’d answered too tersely. Now he sensed her biting back follow-up questions. Of course she was curious; he would be too. He walked away so he couldn’t see her expressive eyes. He might as well get it over with; she’d have to find out eventually. Obviously she hadn’t done the stalker-style Internet search on him that he’d done on her. He shouldn’t feel put out by that. He shouldn’t feel half of what he was feeling. The nightmares had left a residue of discomfort which left him tired and irritable. Telling her would be good. It would be the beginning of the end.

  ‘My mother is dead,’ he said bluntly. ‘My father killed her in a jealous rage because she dared try to leave him. The police shot him.’

  His blood rushed to his head, making the room spin, and he put his hand out to the wall. He’d not had to say it aloud for a while. He’d forgotten how much it impacted. He tried to count in his head. That numbness that he’d employed for so long came in handy now.

  ‘What?’ Her voice was a shocked whisper. ‘Alejandro...’

  ‘Everyone knows,’ he said brusquely. ‘There’s no point trying to hide it. It happened. I was a child. I have accepted it and moved on.’ He licked his very dry lips. ‘I was sent to the States to live. I was very lucky.’

  He had been very lucky. After the first two shots, his father had pointed the gun at him. He’d been seconds away from death when the police had killed his father. His mother had been lying just in front of him; she’d stepped forward when she’d seen what his father had in his hand. Nothing could take that image away from him. Nothing could lessen the impact. Nothing could change it.

  And he could never be the man his father had been.

  ‘Where were you?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s why they shot him. He was pointing the gun at me.’

  Alejandro turned to look at Kitty in time to see two fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her simple, heart-rent reaction touched him more than words ever could.

  ‘I’m okay,’ he muttered quickly, his breath shortening. ‘Better than okay. I was fostered. I focused on school. It was my way out. I got good scholarships. I studied really, really hard.’

  Somehow he was standing right in front of her and his arms were around her. She leaned in.

  ‘You’re not supposed to comfort me—it’s supposed to be the other way round.’ Kitty wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tight as she could, wishing she could absorb even some of the pain that was intrinsically bound within him.

  He’d told her that truth so baldly, so mechanically.

  She wanted to ask so much more. Wanted to know when, how old he’d been, who’d helped him... But it all seemed so inane, those details unnecessary, because they couldn’t change the pure horror of what he’d endured. It couldn’t make it better. Nothing could make this any better. What about the poor child who’d witnessed that brutality? Who’d lost his mother at the hands of his father?

  No wonder he lived his life determined to skate along the superficiality of good times and simple fun. He didn’t want complicated. He didn’t want emotional.

  He didn’t want to be hurt again.

  ‘So that’s why you don’t want marriage or children,’ she said when she lifted her face.

  ‘Why would I?’ he answered bluntly.

  Why, indeed.

  ‘Don’t try to change me,’ he said softly, his voice a little rough.

  ‘I wouldn’t presume to think I could,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t pity me.’

  ‘Don’t try to dictate how I’m supposed to feel.’ How could she not feel sorry for him, knowing this?

  ‘You only need to feel pleasure.’

  His hedonism made total sense now. He only wanted pleasure. Only light and easy fun. But life was never like that. Not in the end.

  He’d built an impenetrable shell around himself. Always out, always with people, always having fun. Always that superficial delight. No real emotional intimacy.

  ‘I only want fun,’ he warned her one last time.

  She gazed at him, then slowly nodded. ‘Then let’s have fun.’

  * * *

  Alejandro jolted awake. Again he froze so he didn’t disturb her, but his heart raced as he blocked the lingering image in his mind. He tried to focus on work instead. But that didn’t help much either. Alejandro stifled a groan of despair. He had to go back to New York tomorrow but he was dreading it. He already knew time and distance from her weren’t going to help him regain his perspective. He’d thought that if he indulged in her for a couple of days, he’d have had enough. Instead he just wanted more. He liked the way she teased him. He liked listening to her talking about the house, the theatre, the restaurants. He liked her. Maybe telling her about his past had been a mistake—it had broken a barrier within him and she seemed to be able to slip closer than before.

  Now he was worried.

  He didn’t want to feel the gaping loss he’d felt the last time he’d left her—not that massive ‘something’s missing’ sensation. He didn’t want that worry, nor the nagging jealousy of nothing. If she was with him, he wouldn’t feel that.

  Too tired to resist the temptation, he turned and gently roused her. It only took a moment. ‘Come with me.’

  A twinkle lit her slumberous eyes. ‘I did already.’

  ‘No. To New York. Come with me.’

  She froze mid-stretch, suddenly looking unsure. He hated that wariness in her, as if she couldn’t trust or believe what he was saying.

  ‘I don’t want to have another night without you,’ he said, her vulnerability forcing him into honesty. Then he smiled. ‘Come wear your ridiculous dresses over there. I dare you.’

  * * *

  He made himself work for a while on the plane—just to prove he could. But the rest of the time he sat comfortably as Kitty curled next to him, engrossed in the movie she’d selected. The limo ride to his apartment took too long and it was dark when he finally led her into his building. It wasn’t until he’d flicked the lights on and turned to see her reaction that he realised her pallor.

  ‘Are you okay?’ He stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. She looked as if she was about to fall down at any second.

  ‘I’m just really tired.’ She grinned apologetically. ‘Like really,
really tired. I think the flight got to me more than I thought it would.’

  ‘Then straight to bed.’ He led her to the guest bedroom and put her bag just inside the door. ‘Come on.’

  ‘I want to explore first.’ But she stepped into the room. ‘Wow, fancy.’

  He glanced around at the sleek interior, with its private bathroom with his-and-hers basins. This wasn’t his room; this was the room he used when entertaining.

  He frowned as he followed her back into the living area. ‘You like it?’

  ‘It’s very tasteful. Very different to Parkes House.’

  ‘Less full of stuff, you mean.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She winked at him and made a beeline for the bookshelf.

  But it wasn’t the books she was checking out. It was the photo.

  ‘My mother,’ he explained, even though he knew it was obvious.

  ‘She looks like you.’ She smiled at him shyly. ‘Except for your eyes.’

  An acrid feeling burned in his throat. ‘I have my father’s eyes.’

  She glanced at the shelf but of course there was no photo there of his father. No other photos at all. For the first time he thought about how boring his apartment must look. The only personal things in it were his books.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ she said quietly. ‘I really need to get some sleep.’

  He looked at her; she’d paled again. And suddenly he didn’t want her in that bedroom. He didn’t want the memory of other women in there with them. He wanted it to be theirs alone.

  ‘Come with me.’ He led her up the spiral staircase to his secret space and opened the door to let her past him. ‘This is where I usually sleep.’

  Her eyes widened as she looked at the small room, her mind processing. ‘When you’re alone.’

  ‘Yes.’ It was small and very simply decorated, safe and quiet, up high on the mezzanine floor. ‘You’ll sleep better in here.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s darker—the curtains are...’ He was making excuses. He just didn’t want her in that other room.