She owed him, he reassured himself as he crossed the courtyard and headed towards the chapel. He didn’t understand why her father had embezzled the money, but his actions had led Carlos Herrera to doubt Javier’s judgement and add the marriage clause to his will. It was only fair that Grace now honoured her side of their bargain by becoming his wife and ensuring his place as head of El Banco de Herrera.
She was married. Grace nervously twisted the plain gold band on her finger and found that it was stuck tight. Earlier in the day Javier had slid it onto her finger with ease, but then she had been so cold—due as much to nerves, as to the cool interior of the ancient chapel—that she had been forced to bite her lip to prevent her teeth from chattering. Now the warmth and hubbub of voices in the banqueting hall made her feel hot, and the glass of champagne she had bolted down with the wedding feast had caused hectic colour to stain her cheeks.
It had been a long day and she couldn’t wait for it to end, but from the gleam of anticipation in Javier’s amber eyes the night promised to be even more traumatic than her wedding day. The thought caused her stomach to lurch and she cast a furtive glance around the room, her eyes homing in on her husband with the accuracy of a missile.
With the meal finished, most of the guests were moving around the room, chatting and drinking. Javier was standing with a group of people she’d never met before today and whose names she doubted she would remember. She guessed that most were business associates, although he had introduced her to a few of his family members, notably his cousin, Lorenzo Perez—the man who would have usurped Javier’s place as head of the bank if he had failed to choose a bride.
Was Lorenzo aware of the true reason for their hasty marriage? she wondered. Did anyone else present know, other than the lawyer Ramon Aguilar? Javier had insisted that he wanted it to remain a secret. He was a proud man, and she sensed that he had been not just angered but bitterly hurt by his grandfather’s lack of faith in him.
He was a complicated man, she conceded with a sigh, unable to tear her eyes from his wickedly handsome face. When she’d first caught sight of him waiting at the altar, looking cold and remote and yet devastatingly gorgeous, she’d felt overwhelmed by his raw sexual magnetism. Her legs had suddenly seemed incapable of holding her upright, and she had clung to Torres’s arm as he’d escorted her into the chapel.
The marriage ceremony had been deeply moving—more so than she’d expected—and tears had filled her eyes when she’d made her vows in a voice that trembled with emotion. How often had she dreamed of marrying a man who was the other half to her soul? She believed that marriage was a lifelong commitment, and for a while she’d thought that Richard Quentin was that man. His betrayal had shattered her trust and caused her to doubt her judgement, and now she was trapped in a loveless union with a man whose ruthlessness was legendary and who was often referred to by his staff as el Leon de Herrera.
‘Try not to look so tragic, querida, or our guests will think we’ve had our first lovers’ tiff.’ A familiar mocking voice sounded in her ear. Javier’s sudden presence at her side made Grace jump, and she glared at him. He moved with the silent stealth of a big cat, she thought irritably, and right now she felt like his prey waiting in trepidation for him to strike. ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded, his keen gaze noting the faint shadows in her eyes. He drew out a chair and sat down next to her, so close that she caught the sensual musk of his cologne mixed with another indefinable scent that was pure male.
‘Nothing … I was just thinking about my father and wishing he was here.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘I never imagined that I would be alone on my wedding day, without either of my parents.’
‘There are four hundred guests here—you’re hardly alone,’ Javier said harshly.
‘But I don’t know any of them. They’re not my friends—although I’m curious to know if any of them are yours, or is our wedding just some wonderful networking opportunity for your business associates?’ she muttered cynically.
‘Well, you won’t have to suffer their presence for much longer, querida,’ he said icily. ‘The party will be over within the hour and nobody will dare linger. They must know how impatient I am to take my new bride to bed—but just in case they have any doubts…’ He dipped his head and captured her mouth with unerring precision, imposing his will with a mastery that left her breathless. One hand slid the length of her slender neck, exposed where her hair was piled on top of her head and secured there with an ornate pearl-and-diamond tiara. His lean fingers gripped her neck, holding her fast while he proceeded to demonstrate to the wedding guests his eagerness to carry his duquesa up to bed.
She should resist him, Grace thought numbly, putting her hand on his chest to push him away. Throughout the meal she had been searching for the right words to tell him that she had no intention of consummating their fake marriage. She had lied in the chapel when she’d made her vows, but she would be true to her own heart—she refused to give her body to a man she didn’t love.
She should tell him now, instead of allowing him to believe that they were about to spend a night of passion. But it was difficult to think straight when the slide of his tongue was probing the firm line of her mouth with erotic intent, demanding access.
He had kissed her in the chapel when the priest had announced them man and wife, but then his lips had been gentle, almost tender, and so sweetly beguiling that he had coaxed a response from her. Now his mouth ground down on hers with a punishing force that should have appalled her, but instead his blatant hunger sent liquid heat surging through her veins.
With a low murmur she leaned into him and parted her lips, a quiver running through her at his husky growl of approval. He slid his tongue into her mouth and explored her with a thoroughness that left her trembling. She’d never felt like this before, never experienced such a wild, all-consuming need that made her breasts ache and caused a peculiar squirmy sensation in the pit of her stomach, and without conscious thought she flattened her hand against his chest.
Javier finally broke the kiss and stared down at her, a fierce glitter in his eyes as he noted the confusion in hers. His English rose might not like him, but she was trapped by the primitive sexual chemistry that also enslaved him, he noted with a surge of satisfaction.
‘I’ll tell Torres to call the final toast to the bride and groom. It’s time our guests went home,’ he said, his mouth curving into a faintly cruel smile at her shocked expression.
‘You can’t just throw them out. What will they think?’
‘I don’t give a damn,’ he told her with supreme arrogance. ‘I’m so hungry for you, querida, that I’m close to taking you here and now on the dining table, and to hell with social niceties.’
‘Javier …’ Grace took a deep breath. ‘I … don’t want to sleep with you.’
He lifted his flute of champagne and drained it before glancing at her, his eyes hooded and heavy with sensual promise. ‘I don’t want to sleep with you either; I intend to indulge in other far more pleasurable activities during the long hours of the night.’ His eyes skimmed over her in such a frank appraisal that Grace blushed and then ground her teeth in impotent fury when he chuckled. ‘Your act of virginal innocence is such a turn-on, querida, as I’m sure you realise,’ he drawled hatefully. ‘But you don’t have pretend any longer. I prefer a woman who is confident of her sensuality, and I have every expectation that you’re a tigress between the sheets.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Grace retorted darkly, and was then forced to drop the conversation when a young woman approached the table, her eyes firmly focused on Javier.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ the woman said a shade petulantly. ‘You promised you’d dance with me.’
‘So I did, but as you can see I am talking to my wife,’ Javier answered equably. ‘Why don’t you ask one of your many young admirers to dance with you?’
‘I only want to dance with you,’ came the fierce reply.
The words �
�my wife’ caused a peculiar fluttery sensation in Grace’s stomach and she could not bring herself to meet Javier’s gaze. Instead she studied the young woman who was staring up at him with open adoration in her eyes. Her puppylike devotion was almost embarrassing, and Grace felt herself tense as she waited for Javier to destroy the girl with one of his cruelly sarcastic comments. Instead he smiled at her, a smile of genuine warmth that lit up his eyes and softened his harsh features.
‘I’m sorry, save me a dance for another time. Look, I think your father’s ready to leave.’
‘It’s not even midnight yet. Papa’s such a bore.’ The girl pouted prettily and shook her jet black curls out of her eyes in a deliberately provocative gesture, while totally ignoring Grace. ‘Until next time, then, Javier,’ she murmured, blowing him a kiss before she spun round and sauntered across the room.
‘Miguel’s going to have trouble with that girl,’ Javier remarked. Grace followed his gaze to the girl’s curvaceous derrière and was consumed with an emotion that felt suspiciously like jealousy.
‘She’s very young. Who is she?’ she asked sharply.
‘Lucita Vasquez—her father Miguel was my grandfather’s closest friend. Miguel was nearly sixty when she was born, and I fear he has spoiled her beyond redemption,’ Javier said, his voice laced with amused affection. ‘Carlos hoped I would marry her and merge our two banking families.’
‘So why didn’t you?’ Grace snapped. ‘Anyone can see that she’s hopelessly in love with you.’
Javier did not deny her statement, but his smile faded. ‘Lucita is in love with a childish illusion, but she would soon discover that I am not her Prince Charming. She would demand more than I’m willing to give to any woman.’
He meant love, Grace realised, wondering why she suddenly felt so empty inside. Unlike Lucita, she was under no illusions about her relationship with the Duque de Herrera. Their marriage was a contract from which they both gained the thing they most wanted. For her it was her father’s freedom, and for Javier it was control of the Herrera bank. Stupid, then, to wish that he would smile at her with the warmth he had shown Lucita. They were business partners, nothing more, and she was determined to make him understand that her duties ended outside the bedroom door.
‘Don’t you ever get lonely in your ivory tower?’ she said thickly. ‘Surely everyone needs love in some form—even you.’
He stared at her speculatively for a few moments. ‘Why cloud issues with nonsensical emotion? In my experience, love is rarely given freely and without conditions attached. Far from being uplifting, it weakens and destroys, and I have no need of it.’ His eyes trailed over her ivory silk wedding dress and his mouth curled into a cynical smile. ‘Perhaps you’ve been seduced by the romance of the situation, querida, but don’t look for things that can never exist. The only emotion between us is lust, pure and simple—the sexual alchemy that turns your eyes to the colour of the night sky and makes you tremble with desire when I kiss you.’
‘You really think you’re God’s gift, don’t you?’ Grace snapped, clinging to her anger to mask her body’s traitorous reaction to his words. The searing pleasure of his mouth on hers did make her tremble, but the fact that he was aware of the effect he had on her was so humiliating. If he could reduce her to a quivering mass of longing here in front of four hundred guests, what chance did she have of resisting him when they were alone?
The way he was looking at her now, as if he was mentally stripping her, sent a tingle of anticipation through her body. Lust, pure and simple, she reassured herself, but she refused to give in to temptation. For the sake of her pride and self-respect she couldn’t afford to.
‘I need some air,’ she muttered, jumping to her feet. ‘I think your cousin wants to talk to you,’ she added frantically when Javier made to follow her. ‘You’d better go and see what he wants.’
Grace squeezed through the throng of wedding guests, out of the banqueting hall and fled up the stairs, the heavy folds of her dress hampering her steps. She flew along the landing to her room and stopped abruptly as her eyes fell on the stripped bed. With a low cry she crossed the room and flung open the wardrobe to find that it was empty.
A slight movement from the doorway made her swing round. ‘Consuela, where are my things?’ she asked the maid urgently.
‘In the master bedroom,’ the Spanish girl answered with a smile. ‘El Duque asked me to move them for you.’
Fighting the sick feeling in her stomach, Grace raced along the corridor and threw open the door to Javier’s room. The magnificent four-poster bed dominated the room, the purple and gold drapes drawn up with silk ties and the sheets turned back invitingly. She’d rather jump into a pit of vipers, Grace thought when her gaze alighted on her nightdress carefully laid out on the counterpane.
During the past few weeks she’d received countless deliveries of clothes, shoes and all manner of other accessories that Javier had obviously deemed necessary for her role as his duquesa. The overtly sexy negligées she’d watched Consuela unpack had caused her to blush furiously, much to the maid’s delight. Presumably Consuela had selected the pink silk number—with its delicate lace bodice that was so sheer it was practically transparent—with seduction in mind. But the one thought dominating Grace’s mind was escape.
‘Shall I help you remove your tiara?’ Consuela asked. ‘It’s so beautiful, but it must be very heavy.’
‘And priceless,’ Grace agreed ruefully. ‘I was so afraid of dropping it that I jammed it on as tight as possible.’ She tried to disguise her impatience while Consuela lifted the tiara from her head and removed the pins from her chignon so that her hair tumbled down her back in a sheet of pale brown silk.
‘Torres says that all the Herrera brides have worn this tiara,’ the maid explained. ‘It is said to bring them happiness and …’ She broke off with a coy giggle. ‘Many babies.’
‘Really?’ Grace said dryly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t get your hopes up on either score.’ She sighed and wished Consuela would go. She liked the young maid very much, but Javier wasn’t going to spend all night chatting with his guests and she was determined to find one of her old nightshirts and return to her own room before he came upstairs to demand his conjugal rights.
The thought was enough to make her feel weak and she gasped when his deep sexy drawl sounded from the doorway.
‘Gracias, Consuela, you can leave us now.’ He addressed the maid but his eyes were focused on Grace and she swallowed at the smouldering heat in his gaze. Too late, she thought wildly, her eyes huge in her pale face, their expression unconsciously pleading as she absorbed his height and the inherent strength of his broad chest.
‘I wasn’t expecting you to desert your guests and follow me,’ she muttered.
‘I’ve left them to it,’ he replied laconically as he closed the door after Consuela and locked it before pocketing the key. ‘Don’t worry, Torres will ensure that nobody will disturb us,’ he added, mistaking the reason for her horrified gasp. ‘We will enjoy total privacy for the rest of the night, querida.’
‘What about my privacy?’ Grace demanded huskily, taking a step backwards as he strolled over to her. He reminded her of a panther—sleek and dark and very, very dangerous—although to be fair she wasn’t afraid of him, she conceded dismally. It was herself and her shocking reaction to him that scared her. ‘I want to sleep in my own room,’ she stated baldly. ‘I’m tired … and I’ve got a headache.’
‘Poor baby.’ He moved closer until Grace found herself backed up against the dresser.
Someone had placed the pale pink roses that had been her bridal bouquet in a vase so that their exquisite perfume filled the room. Their tight buds were already unfurling, and she watched helplessly as Javier selected a bloom and stroked it gently down her cheek.
‘Did you like your flowers today?’ he murmured, his eyes narrowing as she moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
‘They’re beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘
Roses are my favourite flowers.’
‘I know.’ His slow smile told her he was thinking of the first time they’d met, when she had stolen a rose from his garden. ‘They remind me of you, delicately beautiful and perfectly formed—but with thorns that can cause real damage,’ he added a shade ruefully. For some reason Grace’s eyes were drawn to his hand. She’d noticed the small bandage around it earlier and now she frowned at the visible bloodstain on the cloth.
‘What did you do to your hand?’
‘It’s nothing.’ He shrugged and stroked his fingers through her hair. His eyes were hooded and slumberous with sensual heat. She should move, Grace thought frantically, but her feet seemed to be welded to the floor, and when he cupped her chin and lifted her face to his she couldn’t prevent herself from swaying towards him.
He kissed her with a slow thoroughness that drugged her senses and dismantled her barriers with terrifying ease. How could she fight him, when her heart was pounding in her chest so hard that she could barely breathe? Would it really be so wrong to give in to the thunderous desire that was coursing through her veins? she wondered feverishly. He was her husband—but their marriage was a sham and she didn’t love him.
His lips trailed a path down her throat and settled on the pulse beating frantically at its base. His male scent and the heat emanating from his body inflamed her senses to an unbearable degree, and she gasped her pleasure when he nipped her earlobe with his teeth before claiming her mouth once more in a burning kiss that revealed his impatience to take her to his bed.
‘Javier—no.’ She could feel his fingers on her spine, freeing the tiny pearl buttons that fastened her dress, and from somewhere she found the strength to push against his chest. ‘I meant what I said. I won’t sleep with you.’ She dragged air into her lungs and stared at him wildly. ‘I don’t want you.’
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