‘If your mother was here to advise you, she would tell you that some mothers find it impossible to think of another woman in their son’s life. It doesn’t mean my mother likes you any less. It means she feels threatened by you. It’s up to both of us to help her realise that my loving you doesn’t change my love for her.’
‘But will I ever fit in with your high-tone lifestyle?’
Luke laughed. ‘I don’t think you know how I live. And why would you want to “fit in”, as you put it, when you’re gloriously unique and everyone envies you your originality? And fit into what, Lucia? I have my own life. My own house—houses,’ Luke admitted wryly. ‘And I don’t want you to fit into my life. You have your own life, and I would never try to cage you—though I must admit you are a little wild sometimes, and could certainly do with some taming.’
To prove the point he drew her close and they exchanged a look that set both their senses soaring.
‘Not here … not now,’ she murmured reluctantly.
‘But later,’ Luke promised. ‘Nothing means more to me than you, Lucia. You can believe that, or you can believe something you overheard outside a door.’
‘A door left conveniently open.’
‘If my mother did go to such fiendish lengths to drive you away I’ll take it as a measure of her love for me. And since when have you been so easily put off? Aren’t I worth fighting for?’ he demanded.
‘Pistols for two—coffee for one?’ she suggested, starting to smile again.
‘I should think my mother would be only too happy to take you on at hairbrush-fencing.’
‘Which reminds me,’ she said, reaching up to lace her fingers through his hair, ‘I still expect you to brush my hair, as promised when you bought me that beautiful hairbrush.’
‘I’ll add it to my already exhaustive agenda,’ he promised, though he was more interested in kissing her right now. ‘I must be mad,’ he conceded when they finally parted. ‘Perhaps my mother’s right and I should beware of the wild Acostas—especially as you’re the only woman I’ve been tempted to go shopping for. Everyone else—including my mother,’ he admitted, ‘gets something chosen with care, courtesy of my very considerate PA.’ He reached in his pocket for the antique silver filigree ring box. ‘But I bought this for you myself.’
‘Two shopping trips? What’s brought this on, Luke? Are you sickening for a fever?’
‘I hope you like it,’ he said.
‘Luke, it’s beautiful,’ she gasped, stroking the finely worked box with her fingertip. ‘You have to stop doing this.’
‘But not yet,’ he said. ‘Well … aren’t you going to open it?’
As understanding crept into her eyes he added, ‘I’d live with you in that beat-up caravan, Lucia, and teach kids to ride if that’s what it took for us to be together.’
‘Luke—’
‘Don’t look for problems,’ he said, meeting her gaze. ‘Look at the ring and then tell me if you like it.’
He had grounds to be confident, and as Lucia opened the lid and gazed at the ring, and then at him, he thought the past, the present and the future rested in the look she gave him.
There was silence, and then the tears came. ‘This was my mother’s ring,’ she breathed, staring at the pretty Victorian love band studded with seed pearls and diamonds.
Nacho had told him the story of Lucia’s mother spotting the ring in a jeweller’s store when she had been walking down the high street in the nearby town with Lucia’s father. When she had commented on how pretty it was Lucia’s father had bought it for her.
‘I spoke to Nacho—obviously,’ he told her. ‘Nacho was your guardian while you were still a minor, so I felt it my duty to tell him about my intentions.’
‘Your intentions?’ Lucia was sure her whole world had just tipped on its axis. ‘Luke, will you stop with the formal stuff for a moment? Are you proposing to me?’
‘I might be,’ he said, giving her one of his looks.
‘Well, either you are or you aren’t.’
Luke merely raised a brow.
‘You can’t joke about something like this, Luke.’
‘Me? Joking? You demanding a serious approach? You’re right, Lucia. What is the world coming to?’
‘Stop it,’ she said, but without much force. She couldn’t get too het up when she could hardly breathe because her heart was beating so fast. ‘You actually asked Nacho if you could marry me?’
‘I did,’ Luke confirmed.
She half expected thunderclaps to rend the air and a screeching Mrs Forster to make her entrance on a rocket-powered broomstick. But instead the waves lapped gently at their feet and Luke looked more certain than she had ever seen him—and Luke Forster was hardly noted for his indecision.
‘I asked Nacho because that was the right thing to do, and I told my parents because I love them.’
‘And they were …?’
‘Relieved that I had finally found someone like you,’ Luke cut in as Lucia frowned with concern. ‘Someone real—someone with a bit of spark about her, as my father put it.’
‘And your mother?’
‘My mother couldn’t wait to get on the phone to her friends.’ Luke’s lips tugged wickedly. ‘According to my father they’re the toast of the country club, and my mother’s friends are green with envy, as I predicted. Are you pleased with the ring?’ he added gently. ‘I know your mother would want you to wear it.’
‘She adored you,’ Lucia murmured, feeling there was still some hidden power connecting her to her mother as she studied the ring. And as for Luke giving her the ring here on this beach, where they had shared so many happy memories—it was like a blessing on their future lives together. ‘Luke Forster!’ she exclaimed as Luke went down on one knee in front of her. ‘Are you really doing what I think you’re doing?’
‘Either that or my legs have given way,’ Luke said dryly. ‘So, what’s your answer, Lucia? Will you marry me?’
Lucia came to kneel on the damp sand in front of him and, leaning forward so their brows touched, she put her hands over his and said simply, ‘I will.’
Luke kept his room at the Grand, while Lucia stayed at the guest house to help Margaret recruit more staff. They had decided that while Luke would run the family business and the charitable foundation they would form a joint venture company to handle their burgeoning interests in the hotel industry.
‘Everything dovetails neatly,’ Lucia told Luke as she showed him the schedule she’d drawn up to take them hectically towards Christmas and the wedding they were planning to hold at the estancia in Argentina.
‘That’s a pretty tight schedule, Mrs Luke Donald Forster the Third-to-be,’ Luke observed.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Lucia warned, flinging a cushion with deadly accuracy. ‘I’m not having my rampaging polo player turning into a stuffed shirt.’
‘Would you rather I took the shirt off?’
‘Is that a serious question? More importantly, is there time?’
‘Margaret’s in town,’ he growled, freeing the buttons on her blouse.
‘How am I supposed to concentrate on work?’
‘You’re not. I’ll do all the work.’
‘What are you doing?’ she protested breathlessly as he lifted her.
‘If you don’t know now …’
‘And what if Margaret walks in?’
‘She’ll walk out again.’
Breath shot from Lucia’s lungs as Luke positioned her quite expertly on the sofa. ‘Are you taking advantage of me?’
‘This is a guest house, isn’t it? I’m looking for some old-style hospitality.’
‘I’m not sure I can accommodate you at such short notice.’
Luke laughed wickedly. ‘Past experience says you can …’
EPILOGUE
ROCK! MAGAZINE REVIEWS OF THE YEAR,
by your roving reporter, Holly Acosta
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL The rumours are true. The whirlwind romance between Lu
cia Acosta, one of the wild, untameable Acostas, and Luke Forster, scion of East Coast society, is to end in a fairytale wedding on an estancia the size of a small country, ruled over by deliciously dangerous men.
No one can accuse Luke Forster of not living up to his nickname on the polo field—the Enforcer has insisted that wedding invitations include the note: No muddy boots. No spurs. No curb bridles on spirited ponies. At least not in public!
Needless to say invitations to the wedding are highly sought-after, and with only Nacho and Kruz Acosta untamed, ladies, the race is on!
‘THE estancia has never looked lovelier,’ Lucia exclaimed as Luke drove between the wonderfully familiar gates before parking outside the sprawling house. It was the best time of year for the gardens, and the courtyard was a riot of colour. The dogs were snuffling around—a little older, but just as excited to see her—while contented cats snoozed the sunny day away beneath the shade of vine-covered canopies. ‘It’s the perfect season to get married.’
‘Any time’s good for me,’ Luke observed beneath his breath. ‘I couldn’t care less if it’s freezing cold so long as I can get you into a hot bed,’ he added, holding Lucia’s gaze as he lifted her down and swung her around before lowering her to the ground.
‘I’ve always dreamed of getting married here to the man I love.’ She sighed, adding with a cheeky smile, ‘You’re lucky I invited you along.’
‘It wouldn’t be much of a wedding night without me.’ Luke gave her one of his dark looks. ‘I’m going to leave you to it,’ he said, as Nacho’s housekeepers, Maria and Concepción, bustled out of the house to greet them.
‘Let me guess,’ Lucia said. ‘Stables. Horses. Brothers.’
‘But not necessarily in that order,’ Luke agreed. ‘See you at the wedding, Lucia.’
‘Hey, wait.’
Dream on. This was all happening way too fast. Luke had told her he was going to stay in the estancia guest house until the wedding night, but she hadn’t believed him. Luke knew exactly what he was doing, Lucia realised as he disappeared out of sight. Luke had demonstrated quite convincingly, on so many occasions, that delay increased pleasure, and now he was out to prove by just how much.
Lucia’s friends had gathered to help her celebrate her marriage to Luke. Grace from the club was to be her chief bridesmaid. The girls had just laced Lucia into her wedding gown, and now Grace handed her the exquisite bridal bouquet, composed of white peonies, ivory roses and dainty cream orchids with a deeper, clotted cream centre, all set off by clusters of delicate lime-green Lady’s Mantle, which had been the inspired suggestion of Luke’s mother.
‘Hello …? Can I come in?’ Donald Forster poked his head around the door. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?’ he said, looking round. ‘I had the word that you were almost ready.’ He beamed at Lucia’s friends.
‘You know I’ve always got time for you,’ she said, drawing her father-in-law-to-be into the room.
‘You look beautiful,’ Donald exclaimed when they had exchanged kisses on the cheek. ‘My son’s a very lucky man, and I hope you won’t think it impertinent of me if I give you a token of his parents’ love, to show how pleased we are that you’re joining our family. You’re making Luke happier than I have ever seen him,’ he added, when Lucia’s pleasure showed. ‘It used to be all business and polo for Luke, but now he’s encouraging me to ride out with him again. He even told his mother she looked lovely today. As if Luke has ever paused long enough to notice that. I don’t know what you’ve done to him, Lucia, but whatever it is, long may it continue. Now …’ Donald continued, delving into the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘Every bride should have something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue—or so my wife tells me. So she took me shopping today.’
Lucia had to be careful not to smile at the expression on Donald Forster’s face. He gave the impression that shopping was some mysterious rite most safely avoided by long stints on the golf course.
‘We decided to buy you something new,’ he went on. ‘My wife said this gift will remind you how to deal with a wild polo-playing man. As if you need any help in that direction.’
Lucia could only stare in surprise at the small jewel case.
‘You’ll have to get used to being spoiled, my dear. I don’t expect you’ve had much of that since your parents died, but Luke’s mother and I will take great pleasure in spoiling the daughter we never had.’
Lucia paused, and then flipped the catch. Her friends had gathered round to see, and after the gasps came laughter.
‘You are the best parents-in-law a girl could have,’ Lucia said, giving the girls a closer look at the perfectly formed miniature diamond spurs. ‘Thank you. Thank you both so much,’ she said, brushing a kiss against Donald’s taut tanned cheek. ‘I shall think of you every time I wear my spurs,’ she promised him—though not every time she handled her wild polo-playing man, Lucia silently amended.
‘You were worth the wait,’ Luke assured Lucia as he freed the cravat from his neck. Flinging it onto a chair, he opened a couple of buttons at the neck of his shirt.
They were safe in the glorious bridal suite, where the floor was covered with fragrant rose petals, thanks to Maria and Concepción, egged on by Margaret. The evening party was still in full swing, and would carry on through the night … with or without their company. Without, being Luke’s choice. Lucia’s too.
‘You’re worth waiting for too,’ Lucia managed unsteadily, her breath coming faster as she leaned back against the wall to survey her new husband. ‘Are you going to take your jacket off and make yourself even more comfortable?’
‘What about you?’ Luke said, prowling closer.
‘I asked first.’ Reaching up, she checked the diamond spurs glittering in her hair. Start as you mean to go on, Señora Forster, she silently advised herself.
‘It’s nice to see my mother has retained her sense of humour,’ Luke observed, his keen stare following Lucia’s gesture.
‘Everyone has a different recipe for a good relationship,’ Lucia teased him, dodging out of reach when he tried to catch hold of her.
Luke’s eyes narrowed as he closed her down. ‘Are you avoiding me or luring me on?’
‘Which do you think?’ she said. ‘Perhaps I like to be chased.’
She screamed as Luke boxed her in. Thankfully he was a lot faster than she was, and soon had her pinned securely against the wall.
‘Hmm,’ he murmured, plucking the spurs out of her hair. Several hairpins followed, and Lucia’s hair cascaded down past her waist in an inky-black cloud. ‘You are seriously overdressed for the type of hunting I’ve got in mind,’ Luke observed in the stern voice she loved.
‘Why don’t you undress me?’ she suggested.
Moving her hair aside, she turned to present the back of her securely laced gown, which Luke unthreaded, whipping each lace free of its confinement with the skill of a gaucho. She was trembling with anticipation by the time the cool silk pooled around her ankles.
‘You’re certainly dressed for the occasion now,’ he remarked.
She should be. The bridal gown had the most brilliant corset built in, so she was naked underneath—other than for the blue lace garter her bridesmaids had insisted she must wear.
‘Aren’t you supposed to take it off with your teeth?’ she challenged, balancing her foot on the seat of a chair.
‘If I must …’
The garter was duly removed.
‘And now it’s your turn,’ she said.
Luke slid off his jacket.
‘And now your shirt,’ she said, settling down on the bed to watch him.
Tugging his shirt off, Luke tossed it aside.
‘Undo your belt.’ Her mouth was dry, Lucia realised. ‘Pull down your zipper. And now your shoes. Apologies … your cowboy boots.’
Luke kicked them off.
‘Off,’ she instructed, lazing back on the pillows as Luke toyed with the waistband of his boxers.
‘Nice,’ she murmured appreciatively.
‘Anything else?’ Luke’s lips tugged wickedly as he slid them down.
‘Not unless there’s a teeny-weeny you hiding inside the most magnificent body suit I’ve ever seen.’ Making a circular motion with her hand she encouraged Luke to turn around. ‘Perfect sex-slave material … You’re hired.’
‘Come here,’ Luke murmured, his amber eyes dark and watchful.
‘You come here,’ she argued, reclining on the bed.
Luke shook his head. ‘The bed’s for when you get tired.’
‘And in the meantime …?’
‘You’ll have to come here if you want to find out …’
The space between them vibrated with sexual energy, encouraged by the deep bass notes of a samba throbbing from the dance floor below. Slipping off the bed, she padded across the rose petals, crushing them so that their scent rose in the erotically charged air.
‘You’ve made me wait too long,’ she complained, lifting her arms to rest her hands on Luke’s shoulders.
‘Not nearly long enough,’ he argued, teasing her as he dropped kisses on her neck.
But she forgave him when, lifting her, Luke flexed his knees and took her firmly. She fell at once, calling out his name and clinging to him as he held her safe in his powerful arms while she bucked uncontrollably.
‘Was that good?’ he mocked against her mouth when she had quietened.
‘When I can breathe again I’ll tell you,’ she gasped, but Luke gave her no chance to recover, and nothing more to do other than lock her arms around his neck as he took her smoothly and rhythmically to the edge of pleasure and beyond—not once, but several times.
‘Shall we take this to the bed?’ he said finally.
‘If you’re tired,’ she teased him.
‘I’m not in the least bit tired,’ Luke assured her. ‘I was thinking of you.’
‘Anywhere, any way, any time,’ she whispered.
Hours later it was dawn, and the house was quiet when she told him her news. ‘I’m going to have a baby,’ she whispered.
The Man From her Wayward Past Page 16