by Various
Like everything else he owned, she’d been a possession. But was that why she’d left him? She hoped she’d find the answers here soon.
She proceeded him through the side door into the garage, expecting to find the luxury sedan that he favored for long road trips. A sports car sat in its place, as sleek and black as the jaguar that bore its name.
As dangerous as the man escorting her into it and then striding around the hood with masculine grace and climbing behind the wheel.
“Is something wrong?” he asked when he caught her staring at him.
The list was long, but she shook her head in answer. What difference did it make that she was an uneasy passenger after the accident?
It was just another of the crosses she had to bear. She fastened her seat belt, somewhat surprised when he did the same for he’d never done so before.
He zipped out of the garage and onto the road, then threw the car in gear and sped off. The jolt pressed Allegra against the seat, and for a moment she felt a spate of panic that had haunted her since that night.
She steadied her breathing and focused on the diverse scenery as they zipped down Carretera 307, the jungle to her right and the expanse of white sand beaches to her left.
This was one of the most beautiful places on earth, yet tonight she was so filled with apprehension that she feared it would take little provocation for her to jump out of her skin.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked.
“No,” she said, taking small pleasure that he’d picked up on her unease.
At least she hadn’t been wrong about that affinity with Miguel! But it also meant she’d have the devil’s time hiding her emotions from him.
“Relax and enjoy the drive.”
“I’m trying to.” She pressed her palms flat against her thighs and drew in several calming breaths.
“How is your mother?” she asked to fill the silence.
“Busy with her grandson,” he said.
“Your sister’s son was a precocious child,” she said, and bit back adding he was spoiled and rude.
He nodded as he wove in and out of traffic. “He enjoys having all of Madre’s attention.”
“That will change when another grandchild is born,” she said, certain Miguel’s sister would have more.
But Miguel would likely remarry and start a new family one day. She ignored the stab of pain that thought wrought.
Even if they could overcome their differences, even if they could come to trust one another one day, one fact remained to make her totally unsuitable as his wife. She couldn’t have any more children, and a man in Miguel’s position would want heirs.
“Sí, it will be a big adjustment for him,” he said, and she responded with a murmur of agreement.
She took the time to study Miguel, noting the new lines in his face. The sharper glint in his eyes. The somber expression that hinted he always had something troubling him.
A flicker of light behind them caught her eye. She looked back just as a car swerved sharply inches from their bumper.
“No!”
She shielded her face, expecting the air bag to explode into her. A cry sliced above the scream of tires, the sound crackling with agony and terror.
He whipped the car to the side of the highway and fishtailed on the narrow shoulder as he brought the car to a dead stop.
“Allegra!” He grabbed her arms and forced them down.
She blinked at him then stared into the rear seat, her mouth dry, her breath no more than a flutter. “Oh God, I thought—”
She couldn’t go on, couldn’t force the words out.
“You thought what?” he said, a quaver creeping into his deep voice as his hands glided up and down her suddenly chilled arms. “Tell me.”
“I thought that car was going to hit us.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to take metered breaths to still her racing heart. “Like before.”
“What do you mean?”
“The accident.”
A tense silence vibrated between then.
“A car hit you?” An incredulous rake of his gaze followed his question that echoed with skepticism.
She shook her head, annoyed her memory was littered with holes. “I don’t know. I hear the explosion of the airbags and the suffocating pressure on my chest. I hear Cristobel crying.”
“What do you remember?” he asked.
“Very little. What I do recall comes in snippets that often seem out of order.”
“You suffer from a memory loss?” he asked, incredulity ringing loud and clear in his voice.
“Yes, a form of amnesia,” she said. “Didn’t Uncle Loring explain?”
His dark brows slammed into a vee over the aristocratic blade of his nose. “Not one word.”
Allegra didn’t know what to make of that. If Miguel was to be believed, her uncle had lied to him about her condition and her whereabouts. Why would he do such a thing?
“How often do you have these flashbacks?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice now.
Most nights, or any of the other triggers she hadn’t anticipated that caught her off guard. “Often enough, though of late the same snippets have played over and over.” She looked into his eyes then and said simply, “The accident and two weeks following it are a mystery to me.”
His dark eyes flared with surprise, but the strong hand that closed protectively over hers was her undoing. For he didn’t merely touch her. His thumb stroked her hand, and the warm vital connection between them brought back vibrant memories of the time when they’d merely sit close and hold hands.
She’d mourned that link with Miguel nearly as much as she grieved over her daughter’s death. But too soon he released her and scowled out the windshield, and the darkening of his tanned cheeks hinted he disliked revealing that much of his feelings to her.
“How long do they think this block will last?” he asked.
“The doctor said it could last a day or forever,” she said, which was the reason she’d decided to leave Bartholomew Fields.
She was suffocating under the doctor’s watchful eye. She hadn’t wanted to be dependent on others for the rest of her life, so she dug deep for the gumption to take matters into her own hands.
It was clear nobody else was coming to her defense. Not her uncle. Certainly not her husband.
“I believed what I was told,” she said. “Just like you did.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You gave up on us, Miguel,” she said. “If you’d really wanted to find me, I wouldn’t have been a virtual prisoner in Bartholomew Fields.”
Her charge rose as a wall between them, for she knew he could move mountains if he chose to. He hadn’t tried hard enough to find her. He’d given up on her.
He swore under his breath and jerked back behind the wheel, but instead of throwing the car into gear, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile. “I will call Señor McClendon and give our regrets for tonight.”
“Don’t.”
She laid a hand atop his and jolted when a intense bolt of emotion shot from him into her. Anger. Confusion. Empathy.
“You need to rest,” he said. “The trip taxed you.”
“I’m all right.” She’d done nothing but rest for months. “There is no reason to postpone your dinner.”
He tipped his head to the side and studied her, as if he was gauging if he could trust her to pull this off. He likely suspected she’d flake-out and embarrass him in front of the paparazzi that were sure to be present.
“If you are feeling—” he paused, as if searching for the right word to describe her spell “—unnerved, then we should postpone this evening until you are more in control of your emotions.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “There’s no need to alter your plans for tonight.”
His critical assessment of her screamed disagreement. “You are certain of this?”
“Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t sure of anyth
ing.
She’d let her uncle handle things when she was hospitalized. Now it seemed that he’d lied to her, and he’d lied to Miguel.
Why would Uncle Loring keep her from Miguel? She could only guess that he’d sought to protect her from an uncaring husband.
She curled her fingers into her palms, angry over the lost time apart, the lost memories she may never recover. Most of all, it angered her that they’d lost the chance to cling to each other in the face of tragedy.
She glanced at Miguel. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and scowled out the windshield. She knew he was on the verge of taking her back to the beach house because he doubted her stamina.
She refused to be locked away from life or cower before the paparazzi. She’d come back to the Yucatán for closure, but now she wanted answers as well.
“Do you intend to sit here all night staring out the window, or are we going to Playa del Carmen for dinner?” she asked.
His gaze flicked to hers, and the hot challenge simmering there made her breath catch.
“We join the Tejanos as planned. Hold on.” He’d jutted out into traffic as he spoke, as if testing her to see if she’d lose her grip on reality again.
She dug her fingernails into the leather seat and cast him a sideways look. A muscle ticked madly in his lean cheek. Some perceived that tic as anger, but she knew better. It was the only visible sign she’d seen that belied he was nervous.
She suspected a good deal of it was his aversion toward the paparazzi he’d decided to court this night. But had her barb truly hit a nerve? Could he possibly feel guilty for not finding her?
More likely she’d tweaked his formidable pride by tossing the truth back in his face. He’d not wanted her anymore.
She’d known that when she’d come back here. Still, she’d left the safe haven her doctor offered to confront the most exciting man she’d ever met.
Time would tell if it was a choice she’d live to regret.
CHAPTER FOUR
DARE he believe Allegra suffered amnesia following the accident?
That certainly hadn’t been an act meant to dupe him when she’d whipped around and stared into the rear seat. The terror on her face had been too real—her skin too pale, her eyes distant and filled with an anguish that sent chills careening down his spine.
No, that hadn’t been an act.
His body leaped into full protective mode the second he realized her fear was genuine. If she hadn’t been strapped in her seat, he was sure she would have thrown herself into his arms.
His open arms, for he was reaching to gather her close at that same moment. Even now after her terror had passed and she seemed in control, he sensed a vulnerability in her that kept his nerves dancing on the razor’s edge.
He was compelled to believe she’d been injured in the accident even though he knew that wasn’t the case at all. For if she had suffered an injury great enough to cause amnesia, his madre would have informed him after the accident. He rued the fact he had been out of country, unable to see the truth for himself.
No, Allegra had walked away from the accident and left Cancún with Amando a mere two days after the accident. She left the care of their daughter’s interment to his madre. She hadn’t even had the decency to attend the funeral!
Bearing those truths in mind was the impetus he needed to gain the upper hand over those tender emotions he reviled.
As for her memory loss, he suspected Allegra had suffered another accident while she was off with her lover. Perhaps her guilt over what she’d done had been so great that she truly believed she’d been injured in the same accident that took their daughter’s life.
If so, then it was fitting, but not nearly punishment enough for what she’d done to their innocent daughter.
He wanted her to hurt as badly as he did. He wanted her to realize she could not cuckold him and walk away without repercussions.
“Okay,” he said, “We proceed as planned.”
“Okay.” She nodded.
When he married Allegra, he’d vowed to love, trust and protect her. But he’d failed on all counts.
That admission lashed him like his ancestor’s cat-o’-nine tails. He’d professed to love her, yet he’d held a part of himself back from her. He’d vowed to honor her, yet he’d hired a man to watch her in his stead.
He’d entrusted others to keep her safe while he threw himself into shoring up his empire. He’d left her and his child alone and clearly she’d grown bored.
Sí, he’d given her ample reasons to take a lover and leave him. He’d given her damn few to stay.
He drove the Jaguar up the palm lined driveway and whipped beneath the palapa at the El Trópico and parked, giving the valet the barest nod as he climbed from the car. He took a moment to adjust his tie and rein in his anger while another valet rushed to assist the lady.
Allegra stepped from the car and swayed slightly, as if caught unaware by the increasing wind pushing in from the Caribbean. The innate sense that her unsteadiness wasn’t an affectation had him rounding the hood of the car.
He was at her side in seconds, his palm cupping her elbow.
¡Maldita sea! Forcing her to go through with this now wasn’t a good idea. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he swore again.
He would not be swayed by tears or woebegone glances that made his heart stutter. But he wouldn’t make a public spectacle out of her, either.
“You do not appear well,” he said, his voice pitched for her ears alone.
“I’m fine.”
She leaned into him as she had countless times, and his arm went around her narrow shoulders to anchor her to him.
It was a natural coming together that only lovers could orchestrate. The fit was perfect. The touch, the scent, the feel of her head tucked beneath his chin sent an electrifying jolt through him.
He was gripped with a tightening awareness of her as a woman. His woman!
The first blinding flash of a camera caught him by surprise. He blinked and turned to shield Allegra from the glare as more cameras flashed around them in angry starbursts.
“Let’s get inside,” he said.
He escorted her through the glass doors into the lavish lobby of the hotel, leaving the paparazzi to content themselves with the few shots they’d gotten. They’d serve the purpose, thanks to his instincts kicking in.
The headlines would question if she was back in his life to stay. The images would reflect him protecting her—a clear sign to Amando Riveras that his machinations had failed to hold her.
Yet even as that proprietary thought crossed his mind, a more unsettling one dampened this coup. There was a time not too long ago when he and Allegra presented the same image.
He’d believed his marriage strong. Believed his wife was content. Yet she left him without warning.
She kept pace with him as they crossed the carpeted expanse toward the Italian restaurant he and Allegra had favored. Its small private dining room made it perfect for this meeting.
More heads turned as they walked through the waiting room, and why wouldn’t they considering the way her red gown molded over the soft swells of her breasts and hugged her firm bottom?
She was upholding her part of their agreement without hesitation. That was what he must remember to keep his libido in check.
The headwaiter jumped to attention the second Miguel and Allegra stepped in the door.
“Buenos noches, Señor and Señora Gutierrez,” the man said, as if it hadn’t been nine months since he and Allegra had dined here together. “Please follow me to the Xaman Room.”
“Gracias, Ferdinand,” he said. “Has Señor and Señora McClendon arrived?”
“Sí, señor. Perhaps five minutes ago.”
Miguel would have preferred to be here to greet the businessman from Texas as a host should. But he’d lost control with Allegra, and that episode had wasted precious time. He glanced at her now, arrested by her beauty and poise.
No, s
he outwardly appeared composed. He felt the tremors rocking through her. Her serenity was a thin facade.
There was precious little he could do about it now. The millionaire he’d struck a lucrative deal with was here, accompanied by his daughter. Once they sat through a dinner and exchanged pleasantries, he’d take Allegra back to the beach house.
The paparazzi would have a field day with their arrival. That is all he’d hoped to achieve tonight.
The heaviness in his groin disagreed. He wanted her tonight, and there was nothing stopping him.
Miguel slid his hand to the small of Allegra’s back to guide her into the private dining room. His palm glided over her smooth, silken skin.
The gesture was one he’d done countless times, yet at this moment it felt new and tantalizing. Was the tremor he felt in her borne of surprise, or did the same desire touch her?
Even if they had entered the room without the Tejanos’ notice, now wasn’t the time to discuss intimacies.
“Buenos noches, Señor McClendon.” Miguel turned to the Tejano’s daughter and inclined his head. “Señorita McClendon,” he added. “My apologies for arriving late.”
“Better late than never, Miguel.” Tara McClendon plucked the skewered olive from her glass with perfectly manicured fingers and slipped the fruit between her lips in a provocative gesture he found offensive.
Her slinky black gown fit her like a second skin, revealing an artfully tanned body devoid of any excess fat. A gold chain circled the slender column of her throat, and from it hung a large solitaire that nestled in her cleavage.
Her gaze fixed on Miguel’s, and the invitation in her pale eyes was bold and lurid. Sí, she always made it obvious she’d welcome his attention, and a glance hinted the Tejano didn’t seem aware of his daughter’s flirtations.
Allegra noticed, though. She tensed beside him. He’d always found that spate of jealousy in her unnecessary before, for he’d given her no reason to believe he’d stray.
He inclined his head toward the Tejano and his daughter in turn. “Señor and Señorita McClendon, allow me to introduce mi esposa, Allegra.”
“Nice to meet you, señora.” The Tejano swallowed Allegra’s hand in his much larger one, his somber look putting Miguel on alert. “I was mighty sorry to hear about that accident. My condolences.”