A DEAL AT THE ALTAR

by RACHL THOMAS

  ‘To my yacht.’

  His voice was deep and incredibly seductive. Her heart jolted and her pulse raced as his fingers trailed over her thigh, moving teasingly higher.

  ‘For our honeymoon.’

  The smouldering flames she saw in his eyes should have been warning enough, but she didn’t want to listen to sense any more. This man wanted her, desired her, and she wanted him too. All sensible reasoning slipped away as he bent and kissed her thigh, where his fingers had made a blazing trail.

  ‘Santos.’ She placed her hands either side of his face, forcing him to look up at her. ‘Please don’t. At least not here.’

  He smiled and stretched up to press his lips to hers, breathing Spanish words against them. She had no idea what he said and neither did she care. She watched, anticipation throbbing in her blood, as he shut the car door and strode around the front to the driver’s side. He looked at her as the engine growled to life, his gaze so hot it seemed to melt the chiffon from her body and dissolve the silk of her skirt. And when those dark and dangerous eyes met hers she knew it was already too late. She’d lost. His expert charm and arrogant confidence had won.

  She was as good as his.

  She sat silently contemplating what had just happened between them as Santos drove. The car sped along the coast road, but she didn’t doubt his ability to handle it. The sea glistened in the afternoon sun and she realised that very soon they’d be alone out there.

  Tyres screeched as he came to an abrupt halt next to what was probably the biggest yacht in the harbour. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed that they weren’t going to be alone after all. A yacht this size must have at least a dozen crew members.

  As they boarded he fired off rapid instructions in Spanish and everything seemed to come to life around them. A maid stepped forward, offering a glass of champagne, and Georgina took it, grateful to have something to hold other than Santos’s hand.

  She looked at him and he raised his glass to her. ‘To my beautiful wife.’

  His gaze openly devoured her and her body tingled.

  ‘To my handsome husband,’ she flirted.

  Just one sip of champagne was making her braver than she really was. She had to play the game well, so she smiled as he smiled. But her words weren’t lies. He was more handsome than she could ever have dreamed of, standing on deck in his designer suit, glass of champagne in hand, passion for her sparking in his eyes. He was everything and more from her abandoned dream of the perfect man.

  ‘As we sail we shall have our wedding breakfast.’

  He sipped his champagne and she watched him swallow, mesmerised by the movement of his throat. Food was the last thing she wanted right now, but maybe it would bring her back to her senses, dull the thud of desire in her veins and enable her to think rationally.

  Whilst they’d been talking the yacht had slipped away from the harbour and was now sailing past the long stone wall and out into the sea. The small but affluent town of Puerto Banus looked picturesque, nestled below the looming mountains, and Georgina was transfixed by the view.

  ‘So beautiful,’ she whispered, unable to drag her eyes from it.

  ‘Beautiful indeed.’ Santos’s voice was firm and strong as he stood next to her. ‘But it is outshone by the beauty of my bride.’

  Georgina took another sip of champagne—anything to calm her nerves—and then turned to face him. ‘Surely we don’t need to keep up the pretence here?’

  His hand reached out, his fingers lifting her chin so that she had no option but to look at him. Her legs became unsteady and she wondered if it wasn’t more to do with the man next to her than the motion of the yacht.

  ‘Tonight I ask only one thing of you, Georgina.’

  Her heart accelerated and pounded in her chest like a drum. Her gaze locked with his, held there by only the smallest touch of his fingers to her chin. Her breathing deepened and she wondered if she’d be able to stand for much longer so close to him.

  ‘And that is...?’ She maintained control of her voice, but control of her body was much harder. Heat was building low down in her stomach, spreading slowly and relighting the fire that had so nearly consumed her last night.

  ‘No pretence. Not tonight, at least.’

  * * *

  Santos saw her eyes widen, watched as the soft brown of her irises turned darker until they were as black as the night sky. Her full lips, the ones that had kissed him almost into oblivion last night, parted and he fought hard against the urge to crush them beneath his.

  ‘Not even a little bit?’ She smiled up at him, and a hint of mischief danced in her eyes.

  She was still hiding herself from him.

  ‘No.’ He lifted her chin a little higher and brushed his lips against hers, feeling her body tremble as it so nearly touched his. She smelt good, her perfume sweet and light. ‘No pretence at all, Georgie.’

  He liked calling her that. It made her seem more real—warmer, somehow. Like the woman he’d glimpsed last night. And tonight he was determined to find her again. It was that woman he wanted—the woman who’d filled his dreams and every waking moment since.

  He took the glass from her hand and without taking his eyes from hers dropped it onto a nearby seat. The yacht lurched as they headed out to sea, pitching her against him, and instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close.

  ‘You can let me go now,’ she said firmly, her breath feathering against his chin as she looked up at him. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think I’m throwing myself at you.’

  He laughed and let her go. ‘I wouldn’t ever think that of you.’

  She was so vibrant, so beautiful, and she was his wife.

  As he faced her he saw shyness spread over her face—an emotion he would never have associated with the demanding woman who’d all but barged into his office last week.

  Her fingers brushed his and his pulse raced in anticipation, just as it had been doing every time she came near him. It was almost torture, wanting a woman and not being able to have her. But tonight would be different. Tonight she would be his.

  He watched as she walked away from him, the sandals she’d struggled with on the beach long since abandoned. The wind whipped at her dress, lifting the silk around her, allowing him more than a glimpse of long slender legs as she moved inside the yacht.

  Pushing back the carnal thoughts that filled his mind, he followed her—and almost stopped in his stride when he saw the sadness on her face as she stood and looked out of the window. Was she thinking of her sister? Missing her?

  ‘I’m sorry there wasn’t anyone at the wedding for you.’ Uneasy guilt compelled him to say it again, despite her earlier assurances.

  She turned and looked at him, blinking her lashes rapidly over her eyes. ‘It’s not as if it was a real wedding—if it was I’d have insisted on Emma being there.’ She shrugged and looked back out at the retreating coastline. ‘Besides, you only had your cousin.’

  ‘Raul is my family.’

  ‘I’ve never heard Emma or Carlo mention him before.’ She rubbed her hands on her arms as if cold.

  ‘He’s my mother’s brother’s son, so not a blood relation to Carlo.’ His clipped words caught her attention.

  ‘You make it sound as if having a stepmother and half-brother is a bad thing.’

  This was the first window into his life he’d allowed her to see through, and it made him feel vulnerable, but he was strangely compelled to talk and continued.

  ‘My father and I were happy enough after my mother left, but when she died in an accident a few years later my father went to pieces. It was as if he’d been waiting for her to come back to him.’

  He’d never told anyone that before. Talking of his childhood was something he just didn’t do. But memories rushed back at him now like a sea wind, keen and sharp.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, touching his arm. ‘It hurts when a parent leaves. As a child you feel...’ She paused and his heart const
ricted. ‘Responsible, somehow.’

  He looked down at her upturned face, at her soft skin glowing in the late afternoon sun, her eyes full of genuine concern. When was the last time anyone had been concerned about him? He wanted to talk to her, share his memories with her. After all she knew something of his pain—his research on her had proved that.

  ‘My father had a second youth—dating women as if they were going out of fashion. So when he met the woman who would later be my stepmother it was a relief. He settled down again. I just hadn’t expected to be excluded from the family when Carlo was born.’

  She frowned slightly but said nothing, her steady gaze encouraging him to talk.

  ‘As time went by Carlo became the centre of everything and I stood on the outside, looking in. I refused to compete for my father’s attention. When I left university I began to take over the running of the investment business and my father spent more and more time with his new family.’

  ‘But surely they loved you?’

  He could see pity in her eyes, the image he’d painted for her, and anger surfaced. He did not need her pity. Just as he hadn’t needed his father’s love as a boy.

  ‘Love, Georgina? What is that?’

  His words were sharper than he’d wanted. He sensed her draw back from him, both physically and emotionally, and was thankful when she didn’t say anything else.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he said when she shivered. ‘We will go inside and eat.’

  As far as he was concerned the discussion was now closed.

  He led her inside and even he was stunned at the intimacy of the small feast that had been prepared for them. The large table was set at one end, just for two, candles glowed and rose petals were scattered across the cream tablecloth. He heard her stifled gasp of shock and smiled.

  ‘Your staff have excelled themselves,’ she said softly as she came to stand beside him. ‘It looks divine.’

  The intimacy only increased once he was seated at the table with her, the soft glow of candlelight casting her face into partial shadow. Her shoulders were bare apart from the one strap of the dress. They looked creamy, soft, and he wanted to touch her skin, to kiss it, taste it.

  Food was the last thing he wanted.

  * * *

  Determined not to be put off by Santos’s sudden change of subject, and desperate to keep her traitorous body under control, Georgina spoke. ‘I can remember my father walking away late one summer’s evening. It was dark and hot, and later there was such a storm I worried all night about him. It sounds like it was tough for you too after your mother died.’

  He’d almost opened up to her—almost let her in.

  His face hardened and she knew she’d touched on a nerve.

  ‘It was. But I’m not going to talk about such things now.’

  He offered her some of the delicacies on the table, his fingers brushing hers, causing her to look up into his eyes.

  ‘There are far better things to talk of on our wedding day.’

  Our wedding day.

  The words hung in the air between them as his dark eyes held hers. She should say something—anything. But she couldn’t. The intensity of the attraction sparking between them was too much.

  ‘You’re not eating.’

  He glanced quickly at her untouched plate and her pulse-rate leapt as once again his gaze held hers.

  ‘It’s looks delicious, but—’

  ‘You’re just not hungry?’ He cut across her words, then took her hand, his own tanned one covering hers easily, sending shock waves of heat up her arm, and she was glad he’d forgotten the talk of his family.

  ‘No,’ she answered boldly, and wondered what he would say if she told him just what she did want right now. Would he laugh at her if she told him that all she could think of was kissing him, feeling his arms tight around her? She just couldn’t fight the attraction any longer.

  ‘So what does my sweet bride want?’ He raised her fingers to his lips, dropping lingering kisses to each finger, and all the while he watched her, his eyes darkening with desire. ‘Remember,’ he teased, his voice deep and heavily accented. ‘No pretence—not tonight.’

  ‘I want...’ She paused and smiled coyly at him as he waited. ‘You.’

  Shock laced with excitement fizzed in her veins as he raised his brows, slowly and suggestively. Once more he kissed her fingers, each time lingering longer, until she couldn’t stand the anticipation any more.

  He stood up from the table, keeping a tight hold on her hand, and pulled her up against him, holding her close.

  Music began to drift around the room, reminding her that they were far from alone, that the crew and staff were lingering in the background to do his bidding. The disappointment she felt at not being totally alone with him shocked her. She wanted what they’d shared over the last few days.

  ‘It is a tradition, is it not, for the bride and groom to dance together?’

  He was so close now she could smell fresh pine mixed with the musky scent of pure male. It was intoxicating.

  ‘In England it is, yes.’ Her voice was little more than a husky whisper.

  ‘Then we dance.’

  He walked away from the table, guiding her to the middle of the room as the gentle rhythm of the music continued. When he held her close once more her knees threatened to give way, so intense was the attraction between them. It was an attraction that had been stamped out several times already, but Georgina knew this time it was going to be different—because this time she wanted him with a fever that engulfed her whole body. He was her husband now, and despite trying not to she had feelings for him.

  This was how a bride should feel, and she pushed back memories of the clinical registry office service when she’d married Richard. It might only be for this one night, but she knew she had to live for the moment—had to surrender herself to it completely. This could be her one chance of sampling such heady romance.

  As those thoughts flickered to life in her mind Santos kissed her—a soft, lingering kiss that held the promise of passion, one that awakened every nerve in her body. She deepened the kiss, closing her eyes against the onslaught of pleasure which crashed over her like waves onto the beach as she pressed close against him, feeling the evidence of his desire.

  Breaking the kiss, he began to move her slowly around the room to the sound of the music. How could a dance be so erotic, so loaded with sexual tension and the promise of passion? The intensity of it was so much that she longed to give in and rest her head against his shoulder, close her eyes.

  No pretence...not tonight.

  His deep, husky words replayed in her mind.

  Should she allow herself to taste what it might be like to love a man? To feel what it would be like to be loved back? Santos certainly seemed to be playing the part of devoted lover today. She didn’t think for one moment it wasn’t part of the charade they had created, but right now, as his arms held her close, the idea of happy-ever-after seemed tangibly close.

  She laid her cheek against his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her as she closed her eyes. He tensed, and she knew he hadn’t been able to abandon the idea of pretence completely. He was as on edge as she was, which made her a little less vulnerable—because together they could abandon the carefully constructed façades they each lived behind.

  His arms tightened around her body, pulling her closer to him, and heat raced through her. As he pressed his lips into her hair she closed her eyes again, the sensation too much, and focused all her attention on the music instead of the feel of his strong body.

  As she moved with him she realised the movement of the yacht had changed and glanced at the shoreline.

  ‘Have we stopped?’ Her words were husky. She’d never heard her voice like that.

  ‘Sí, querida.’

  He brushed his lips over hers as she looked up at him, sending another flurry of tingles skittering over her.

  ‘We are to anchor here tonight. The crew and staff are leaving. They will be
back in the morning.’

  ‘So we will be completely alone out here?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  He stroked a hand down her face and she fought the urge to turn and kiss it.

  ‘Does that worry you, querida?’

  It should worry her, but it didn’t. She wanted to be with him like this, to feel his body against hers, to taste his kisses. How could she pretend otherwise?

  She searched the dark depths of his eyes, dropping her gaze to his lips briefly before looking back into his eyes. ‘Should I be worried?’ A flirty edge had slipped back into her voice as she struggled to keep her emotions under control and stay behind the safety of the barrier she’d erected long ago.

  His voice was deep and incredibly sexy as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lips, making her lose those last doubts.

  ‘Only if you don’t want me to sweep you up into my arms and carry you to the bedroom.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RIGHT NOW THAT WAS all Georgina wanted. It was all she could think about. It was as if the gently lapping sea beyond the yacht and the warm breeze had conspired against her. The luxury of everything was feeding the romantic dream she’d long ago abandoned.

  But for tonight at least she could live it. Tonight she would live it—would allow herself to taste what she’d never thought possible.

  ‘What more could a girl ask for from her groom?’

  Her heart thumped in her chest and her breathing deepened, so that she had to drag every breath in, but still she couldn’t quite let go of the bravado she always hid behind even as her body yearned for his.

  In one swift movement he swept her feet from the floor to hold her firmly in his arms. The silk of her skirt fell apart at the slit and the heat of his fingers on her thigh scorched her skin, bringing a blush to her cheeks.

  He swung round so that the tiny spotlights in the yacht’s ceiling blurred behind him as she watched his face. It was set firm, as if his jaw was clenched.

  ‘Then we will waste no more time.’