One-Click Buy: September 2010 Silhouette Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  “And you shouldn’t be. You’re my fiancée and I should have been taking better care of you instead of the other way around. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “You’re welcome, Rey, but seriously, it’s what I do b—” She faltered before continuing. “It’s what I’d do for anyone in this situation. You needed to keep your focus on Benedict.”

  For a minute she thought he’d press her on what she’d been about to say before she’d corrected herself, but thankfully he didn’t. Instead, they made their goodbyes to the family and Javier before Rey led her out into the corridor, his fingers still lightly clasping her hand.

  The contact sent a steady buzz of warmth up her arm. She still couldn’t quite get used to this intensity of reaction every time he touched her. It wasn’t normal, she was sure. Even with Jacob, whom she’d loved—still loved, she reminded herself sharply—she hadn’t felt this tingling sense of attraction every single time their skin met.

  The drive back to the cottage went swiftly. It was as if now that the pressure of worrying if Benedict would live or die had passed, Rey was in an all-fired hurry to resume his normal life. As they pulled up outside the cottage, Rina turned to him to thank him for the ride home but he was already getting out of the car and coming around to her door to open it for her.

  “Thank you,” she said, as he held the door and offered his hand to help her.

  As he did, she noticed his eyes narrow, and his thumb stroked along her ring finger, particularly across the slightly paler band of skin there.

  “Where is your ring?” he asked. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”

  Oh hell, she thought frantically. She hadn’t stopped to think about the envelope Sara had given her on the day she’d arrived, or its obscenely valuable contents.

  “I…I, um, I took it off the other night when I came back. I didn’t want to get it dirty when I did the dishes and with everything that’s been going on, I forgot to put it back on.”

  She fished in her bag and took out the key to the cottage, before swiftly inserting it in the ancient lock and pushing the door open. A few short steps took her to the table where she’d left Sara’s envelope. She cursed herself for her stupidity. Rey could have seen it at any time and wondered what it was there for, and who this “Rina Woodville” was that it had been addressed to. And what if he’d read Sara’s note?

  She tipped the envelope and the ostentatious diamond solitaire fell into her hand. She slid the ring onto her finger, the cool metal a chilling brand against her skin and a reminder of the lie she’d agreed to perpetuate.

  “There, see? Back where it belongs.”

  She smiled but to her surprise Reynard did not smile back. Oh Lord, had he guessed the truth? Did he realize now, for some reason, that she was not Sara?

  Reynard looked at the ring upon Sara’s finger and at the envelope from which she’d taken it, which still lay on the table. He’d only caught a glimpse of the front of the envelope, but that had been enough to see that it had her handwriting on it. Had she been on the verge of breaking things off with him? he wondered. Why else would she have put her ring in an envelope? An envelope that even now she was scrunching in the fist of one hand. Had it been addressed to him?

  He couldn’t let her do it. He couldn’t let her back out. Especially not now. Aside from what it would do to Abuelo, he suddenly realized that he wasn’t ready to let her go. If he was going to keep this working for as long as he needed, it was time to pull out all the stops. His responsibility to his family to project a united facade together with his brothers was primary. There was no room for second thoughts. The hell with keeping things platonic—if it took seducing her to make her stay then he’d do it.

  So what if doing so was no great hardship. Rey closed his eyes for a second, refusing to admit, even to himself, that the prospect of seducing Sara held more allure than he wanted to acknowledge. He was doing this for his family.

  “Would you like some coffee before you head home?” she said, although her voice sounded strained, as if what she really wanted was for him just to leave.

  Well, he wasn’t having that. Oh no. No one withdrew from Reynard del Castillo without his permission. Keeping his suspicions locked deep inside, Rey took a step toward her and was surprised to see her back away in response. He smiled. She could run, but she couldn’t hide—not now he’d made up his mind about just what direction this engagement of theirs was to turn to next.

  “No, thank you. I do not want coffee.”

  He deliberately let his gaze drop from her eyes to her lips, where he saw the tip of her tongue suddenly dart out to moisten their lush surface, before letting his view drop farther to her breasts. Her chest rose and fell quickly, betraying her nerves as he took another slow careful step toward her. He could see the outline of her nipples as they pressed against her softly patterned dress. Small sharp distended points begging for his touch.

  “Something else then?” she persisted, her backside now against the edge of the table, one hand reaching out into the space between them as if she could somehow halt his advance.

  “Sí, something else.”

  He flicked his eyes back up to hers, noting her dilated pupils before closing the distance between them completely. The hand she’d held in front of her brushed against his belly, then rode up the surface of his shirt to his chest, leaving an electric trail of heat. Rey slid one arm around her slender waist, and pulled her against his hips before lowering his head and taking her lips with his own. The instant his lips touched hers he knew it was not Sara Woodville in his arms.

  Six

  Kissing Sara had always been pleasant—fun, even. But this, this was something else altogether. It was all-consuming and lit a fire inside him that burned brighter and hotter than anything he’d experienced before. And, as it continued, drove all rational thought and conscience from his mind leaving him only open to glorious sensation.

  The taste of her generous mouth filled his senses, stoking his hunger to flaming levels of demanding need. And because he could, he took more. His tongue stroked the seam of her lips until they parted, then swept inside her to lay claim without dispute. Logically, he knew he should stop—should demand to know who she was and what she was doing pretending to be Sara—but logic had no place here and now.

  Her body melded against his, her hips meshed against his lower body, her mound pressing against his hardness and inciting an ache that threatened to consume him. While he continued to hold her firm against his body, his other hand reached up and tangled in her glorious hair, and he coaxed her head back a little more, allowing him a clear angle to the smooth curve of her throat.

  Even her skin tasted like more. A subtle blend of sweetness and flowers that made heat pool heavily in his groin. His lips blazed a trail from the corner of her mouth down across her jawline until he reached the tiny hollow behind her ear. His tongue flicked over her skin and she moaned—an uncontrolled, instinctive sound that reverberated through his ears and sent his heart rate soaring.

  He felt her hand on his chest, her fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt, her other hand now curled behind his neck, holding him to her, anchoring him.

  Dios, he wanted more than this. He wanted to taste all of her. To discover if her hidden places were as deliciously sweet as those he’d tasted now.

  Tremors shook his body as he left a hot path of kisses down her throat and the hollow at the base of her neck. Again, he flicked his tongue against her skin. As before, the intoxicating elixir of the flavor of her sent hunger clawing through him.

  Both her hands were now knotted in the short strands of his hair and the pleasure/pain of it added a new dimension to their embrace. He lifted his head and captured her mouth once more. Starving now for the taste of her, for the softness of her lips, the heat and wetness of her tongue as it met his and tangled in a duel that knew no losers.

  This was passion. This was absolute. His body knew it even as his mind struggled to equate the reality of the ard
ent, hotblooded woman pressed against him—her hunger equal to his own—with the skittish creature who’d kept him at arm’s length for weeks.

  He couldn’t stop kissing her, consuming her. He just couldn’t get enough of the taste and texture and feel of her. The hand he’d kept at the small of her back coasted lower, over the curve of her buttocks. She felt different from the Sara he knew. The same general size, yet there was a hardness missing from her body. The tensile strength of an event rider gone, and in its place an enticing edge of softness. Not that there was anything out of condition about her body. To the contrary. She felt lithe and strong, yet yielding in all the right places.

  No. This was definitely not Sara Woodville. It couldn’t be. But then who was she?

  Slowly, he loosened his embrace and tempered the heat in his caresses until he could gently push her away. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, her gray eyes reminding him of a stormy, turbulent sky right before a storm. Her lips were slightly swollen, still moist and parted. Still inviting him to sup at their softness.

  Reynard fought with his instincts, overcoming them with the cold reality that she was not who he’d thought, and driven by the need to find out exactly who she really was. His family had been the target of scammers before—people who thought, for whatever reason, that they deserved a slice of the wealth that made up the del Castillo fortune. He’d developed an instinct for them. One that had saved him and his family much heartache. The fact she had slipped under his radar was disconcerting, but he knew he daren’t show his hand too early.

  “I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse, as if words were more than she could handle right now.

  Somehow he found the strength to tear his gaze from her face and to drop his hands back to his sides and walk to the front door. As he drove away, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. It was difficult with his heart still racing, his blood still hot in his veins and an erection that demanded to be assuaged.

  She looked like Sara, sounded like Sara—even moved the same way—but she was definitely not Sara. He’d wager his life on it.

  He racked his memory, trying to think of what he knew of Sara Woodville beyond her talent as an equestrian, beyond her flaming beauty that drew looks and turned heads wherever she went. She’d mentioned family in New Zealand, he was sure of it. A sister, perhaps? Yes, a sister. They’d both competed in equestrian events as teenagers but Sara had stayed with the sport, going so far as to qualify to represent her country—as she had done while here on Isla Sagrado, when he’d met her. But the sister? He shook his head as he tried to force the memory from his brain.

  By the time he’d pulled into the underground car park at his apartment building and ridden the lift to the penthouse—overlooking Puerto Seguro’s harbor lights—his blood had finally begun to cool, but he was no closer to an answer. Still, how difficult could it be in this wonderful Internet age, he wondered, to find out just how close a sister Sara Woodville had?

  It was only a matter of minutes before he had the information he needed. He stared at the search results on his computer screen and sipped slowly at the delicious red del Castillo Tempranillo wine he’d poured for himself while his computer booted up.

  An identical twin.

  He oughtn’t to have been surprised, yet somehow the news still came as a shock to him. So, Sarina Woodville was standing in for her twin sister—an engaged Sarina Woodville at that, if the notice showing her and her fiancé in a local paper was any indicator. So why was she here instead; and where the hell was Sara? What scheme lay behind those identically beautiful faces? The web information he’d attained showed they came from fairly humble beginnings. Clearly, money was an enticement—how else would they maintain the kind of lifestyle and extravagance he’d seen Sara indulge in? Her riding sponsorship could only go so far and eventing was an expensive sport.

  Even though the del Castillo wealth had diminished somewhat over the years—the result of the curse in action, as Abuelo would insist, Reynard thought with an ironic curve of his lips—the family was very well-placed in Sagradan society. And they were definitely wealthy enough to attract a scam. Estella Martinez had been a perfect example of that. Maybe in this case, the twins had decided that two scammers were better than one?

  Anger welled from deep within. Slow and determined and gathering momentum until his body vibrated with suppressed energy. How dare they assume they could hoodwink his family? There was one thing he knew they would learn—no del Castillo would ever tolerate being played for a fool. No scandal had previously destroyed them; it had only made them stronger.

  He thought for a moment of Abuelo, of his current infirmity and the ever present risk of another stroke. Was that going to be their angle? he thought. Were they going to somehow lure him into trouble and then threaten to expose him to his grandfather? Risk an old man’s health, his fears of an ancient curse and the ghost of a governess who’d been dead three hundred years, for the sake of money?

  What was their aim? Did they think they could use their switch to make him look a fool? Engaged to one woman while possibly bedding another? Was that how they planned to use their switch for financial gain? The papers would lap it up, paying huge money for exclusive rights to the story. Or was their aim like Estella’s? To threaten to expose the story in a bid to get more money to keep quiet?

  Anyone who knew his family knew that they would do anything to protect their own. And that was exactly what he was going to do. Protect his family—and if that meant ensuring he became a great deal closer to this Sarina Woodville, he’d do whatever it took.

  Reynard took another sip of his wine, savoring the flavor, and allowing his mind to roam. Yes, he knew exactly what tack he’d take now that he had the upper hand in this charade the Woodville sisters were employing. They would discover they had met their match, and as his lethal anger came under control, he began to find himself strangely exhilarated by the upcoming challenge.

  Rina looked at her reflection through bleary eyes. Last night had been the worst she’d had since arriving on the island. The worst since Jacob had broken off their engagement, actually.

  Sara had called late in the night. The line had been bad, reception patchy at best, but her message had been quite clear. Whatever she was going through was taking a massive emotional toll on her and she was relying on Rina to keep things together in Isla Sagrado for her. To keep up the charade until she was strong enough to come back. Wracked with guilt over the kiss she had shared with Rey, a kiss she’d wished could go on forever, Rina had promised she’d do whatever it took.

  Her sister had called upon her for help, albeit in typical Sara fashion with all too little notice and even less detail, and Rina had betrayed her. Worse, she’d actively enjoyed it.

  Rina pressed her fingers to her lips, the memory of Rey’s mouth against hers still too vivid in her mind. She’d succumbed to his touch as if she’d been made for him and him alone, and in doing so she’d broken every unwritten law of sisterhood. She’d kissed her sister’s fiancé and, God help her, she wanted to do it again. In fact, she wanted more than that. She wanted all of him, over and over again.

  She reached for the taps over the white porcelain sink and turned on the cold water with a sharp twist of a shaking hand. This was all wrong. She and Sara had never been attracted to the same man before. They hadn’t even so much as liked the same type, let alone ever had to worry about poaching on one another’s ground.

  But she’d done more than poach now and, somehow, without letting the truth come out, Rina had to find a way to step back and prevent anything like last night’s kiss ever happening again. If it did, Rina knew she could never forgive herself.

  She bent over the basin and splashed liberal amounts of cold water directly over her face, scrubbing at her skin with her bare hands until her cheeks tingled. She reached for a towel and wiped her face dry before looking at herself in the mirror once more. It was no
good. She looked just as tired and disgusted with herself as she had when she’d woken.

  The sound of the cottage’s phone ringing in the sitting room stirred her to action. Please, please, let it be Sara calling to put her out of her misery, she prayed silently.

  “Hello?” she answered, lifting the near museum quality handset from its cradle.

  “Good morning, mi corazon.”

  Rey’s voice flooded through the phone, as rich and liquid as warm dark chocolate. Instantly, she felt every nerve in her body react and hone in on the deliciously deep timbre—as if just the sound of his voice could reach through the telephone wires and stroke the surface of her skin.

  Her nipples pebbled into tight aching buds against the surface of the old T-shirt she’d continued to wear to bed each night—the soft fabric a caress as light as a lover’s touch against the taut peaks. Heat streaked, like lightning, through her body, centering low and deep in her body. Creating a throbbing need that all the cold water in the world could not extinguish.

  “I trust you slept well last night,” Rey continued, oblivious to her traitorous body’s reaction. “I thought that you might like to see a little more of the island today. Perhaps in the late afternoon?”

  Rina gathered her scattered thoughts and forced them into words through lips that were suddenly dry and uncooperative.

  “Late afternoon?”

  “Sí,” he replied. “I will see Benedict this morning for a while, and again this afternoon, but I must also now attend to my office for some hours. I thought to pick you up around four or five and we could drive along the coast before coming back to my apartment for dinner. What do you say?”

  His apartment? Dinner? Was that all he asked? She knew that he and Sara had not yet been intimate together; a fact that still surprised her given their engagement. But did he plan to change all that tonight? And if he did, would she have the strength, let alone the will, to discourage him?