by RACHL THOMAS
‘Only at first. Come on—you’ll never know how good it is until you try it.’ He trod water as he spoke, energised by the exercise and cold water.
* * *
Georgina watched, mesmerised, as his strong arms kept him exactly where he wanted to be. His strength and power were undeniable. She was behaving like a lovestruck teenager. Her heart was still pounding after that moment when he’d stood before her in his trunks, his tanned skin gleaming in the sun, the hardness of his arousal obvious. She wanted him with a ferocious need so alien that her breath had caught in her throat, and she’d been relieved when he’d expertly dived into the clear water. Relieved he had taken the temptation from her.
Cautiously she slipped into the water, gasping and laughing at the same time. ‘It’s so cold!’ She tried hard to be sophisticated and serene, but all she managed was a fumbling splash.
‘Only for a while,’ Santos said, and in one stroke he moved towards her, encircling her body with his arm, keeping her safe and close. ‘Like you were the day you propositioned me in my office.’
Shocked that he’d brought that up, she stopped moving her arms and immediately sank below the surface. His arm around her body pulled her back up, spluttering like a child.
‘How dare you?’ She tried to move away from him, back to the platform.
‘Oh, I dare, querida—because it’s true. You want everyone to think you are carved from ice, but you’re not, are you?
She clutched the platform, gained a foothold on the ladder and pulled herself out of the water, then turned to face him as he looked up at her from the blue waves. ‘Neither are you.’
‘Can you blame me when you stand there like a sea goddess, water dripping from you in a most inviting way?’
‘You’re impossible.’ The words rushed out, her frustration making her want to march away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Santos as in one swift movement that made the muscles in his arms flex he hauled himself out of the sea.
Water ran down his tanned chest, trickling among his dark hair, heading downwards. She knew she shouldn’t be looking, but she couldn’t help herself. His thighs were strong and more dark hair lay flat against his wet skin, creating patterns all the way to his ankles. He was magnificent as he stood, sunlight gleaming on his skin.
He grabbed her hand and without a word headed back inside the yacht, leaving her little option but to follow. She couldn’t say anything. The same sexual tension that had last night completely robbed her of the ability to think, let alone speak, raged around them.
In seconds they were alone in their suite, and only then did he let go of her hand. For a moment they looked at one another, gazes locked in some sort of primal dance. His chest rose and fell with the effort of breathing, just as hers did, and she knew instantly where this was going to end—and, worse, where she wanted it to end. He was an addiction.
With a muttered Spanish curse he turned and opened the door to the bathroom, and she watched through the doorway as he turned on the shower. She swallowed hard as he turned back to her, his expression almost fierce with control.
‘Santos...’ She managed a croaky whisper as he held out his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her hard against his wet body. Only then did she realise she was trembling.
‘You’re cold,’ he said quietly, but she didn’t miss the intensity in his voice.
She wasn’t cold—not enough to tremble like this. It was him, and the electrified air that seemed to surround them.
‘Come on.’ He led her into the steam-filled bathroom and into the shower—one that had definitely been designed for two.
His hands slowly untied the bikini where it fastened at her neck, and each time his fingers touched her she had to suppress a shiver of pleasure. He let the thin straps go and peeled the wet material slowly away from her breasts, his gaze lingering enticingly on them.
He made a signal with his hands for her to turn around and slowly she did so, meeting the jets of warm water. Behind her she felt his hands as he released the final clasp of the bikini top and it dropped to the shower floor. Seconds later it was joined by his black trunks and her knees nearly buckled beneath her. Desire flooded her as he pressed his naked body against her back.
Instinctively her chin tilted up and she leant her head back against his shoulder, turning her face towards his. Hot, urgent lips claimed hers with such force she staggered forward, taking them both under the hot jets of water. His hands cupped her breasts and fire engulfed her, making her cry out with pleasure.
‘You are the most desirable woman ever, mi esposa.’
He kissed down her neck, uttering words she didn’t understand. But she did understand the desire and passion entwined with each one. A desire and passion that raged as wildly inside her.
‘Santos, I want you.’ Her voice was husky as his hands slid down her stomach, his fingers tugging at the ties on the side of the bikini briefs. As the material fell away his fingers moved towards the heated centre of her need for him and she arched away from him, trying to fight the ripple of pleasure from his touch.
With a suddenness that knocked all the breath from her body he turned her around, grasped her thighs, lifting her against him.
‘Santos, it’s never been like this before,’ she gasped between ragged breaths as he lowered her onto him, plunging deeply and urgently inside her. She didn’t care that she was telling him too much, giving away just how inexperienced she really was and how she was falling in love with him.
‘Never?’ The question rasped from him, halting her thoughts, as his fingers dug into her thighs, holding her where he wanted her.
She moved with him, encouraging him in this hot, hard and primal dance. ‘Never,’ she gasped out as stars shattered around her so that instead of water coursing all over her it was stardust. ‘Never. Never.’
As he found his release she clung to his body, trembling more now than she had when she’d stood before him in the bedroom just moments ago. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving against her tender breasts, one arm braced against the shower wall.
‘At least we agree on something.’ His voice, heavily accented, was a ragged whisper.
He released his vice-like grip on her thighs and she slid down, her legs so weak she wondered if she’d be able to stand. She couldn’t. Her knees crumpled, but his arms were about her and in seconds he’d swept her up off her feet and left the shower.
Pausing briefly to grab a towel, he made his way to the bed. As if she were the most precious thing in the world he let her down to stand in front of him and then wrapped the white towel around her, heedless of his own wet body. Then he bent and kissed her lips so tenderly she thought she might actually cry. This was exactly what she’d abandoned all hope of ever finding, this warm, loving feeling.
Except this wasn’t for real. This was just part of a deal, satisfying the attraction that had been arcing between them since that very first meeting. It was also the only way she knew of keeping Santos from heading back to the villa and maybe London.
‘You’re still wet,’ she whispered, not wanting to analyse her motives or question her dreams now.
He stepped back from her and started rubbing his hands over the towel to dry her. This was getting too intense, too close to being like a proper romance, so great was the attraction she felt for him. Her breath shuddered as he pulled the towel from her and dried himself off. And all the while his gaze held hers, the passion and desire still flowing between them evident in the depths of his eyes.
He picked her dressing gown off the bed, now remade after their night of passion, and handed it to her. ‘You must care for your sister very much.’
Instantly her senses were on high alert. What was he suggesting? ‘She’s all I have.’
He handed her the cream silk garment. ‘But to marry just so that your sister can marry for love?’ His voice rose with incredulity as he took fresh clothes from the wardrobe and hastily got dressed.
‘Maybe I love my sister as much as you hate y
our brother.’ Was he referring to their marriage or her first one? It made no difference; both had been made out of love for her sister.
Tension filled the room and his eyes sparked with anger as he stood in front of her, all the passion and desire of moments ago forgotten.
‘Half-brother.’ The words were harsh and staccato.
She pulled on the dressing gown, no longer wanting him to see her naked now he was clothed, as if it somehow weakened her. He turned and paced across the room towards the door, but she couldn’t let him go, couldn’t let him walk out now, even if it meant killing the loving moments they’d shared.
‘Coward.’ The word rushed from her lips, provoking him.
Instantly he whirled round and fixed her with a fierce glare, his face a hardened and angry mask. ‘I don’t do emotions, Georgina. Hate or love. I don’t do them.’
‘And because of that two people who love one another are suffering.’
‘How?’ He strode back across the room, but she stood her ground. ‘And how do you know they are in love? How do they even know?’
‘You must have loved someone, Santos, despite what you just said.’
‘Love is for weak-willed fools.’ His voice was like granite and his eyes glittered dangerously as he looked at her.
‘You don’t really believe that?’ she whispered in disbelief.
She’d vowed she’d never love anyone other than Emma, never give her heart to a man as her mother had time and time again. But somehow she’d become dangerously close to loving Santos.
‘Isn’t that why you made this damn deal, Georgina, because you don’t believe in love?’ He was like an angry lion, caged up and looking for a way out as he strode across the room to glance out of the window. He turned and looked at her, waiting for her reply.
‘I did it for love.’ She rallied against his contempt. ‘I did it for the love of my sister.’
‘Ha!’ He laughed, so arrogantly she almost cringed. ‘You did it for money, for all you could get from it—just as you did the first time around.’
How dared he bring Richard into this? The man who had seen she needed a lifeline and offered one without expecting anything in return? Well, if that was what he thought of her, so be it. Attack was the best form of defence.
‘Yes, just as I did the first time.’
For a moment he looked at her in stunned silence, his jaw grinding hard. He looked for all the world as if he was jealous of Richard. How could a powerful man like Santos be jealous of anything or anyone?
He glared at her. ‘Get dressed,’ he snapped after what seemed like an eternity. ‘We’re going back to the villa.’
Panic tore at her. She’d promised Emma she’d keep him out of the way, and here on the yacht was the perfect place.
‘So soon?’ She hated the nervous edge to her voice, but knew any attempts at flattering him would be futile.
His eyes narrowed. ‘I have work to do. Playing at this newlywed game has gone on for long enough.’
With that he strode from the room and she sank onto the bed. Last night they had made love for the first time, been given pleasure so intense it still lingered in her body. Only minutes ago they had been consumed by desire and need for one another. How could the man who kissed her so passionately be the same man who’d just left the room?
She dragged in a deep breath, pressing her fingertips to her lips, bruised from his hard kisses in the shower. How could she, a woman who’d renounced love, feel such desolation as the man she’d given herself to last night with total completeness walked out on her?
CHAPTER NINE
SANTOS’S MOOD WAS as dark as the storm clouds rolling down from the mountains. He’d thought Georgina was different, thought she could keep emotions out of things. Instead she’d proved beyond doubt that she was as clingy as any woman, unable to resist the urge to delve into his past.
He’d thought he’d met his match—a woman who could share his passion without the need for anything more.
But he’d been wrong, damn it, very wrong.
‘I have business matters to attend to.’
Unable to keep the frustration from reverberating in his voice as they arrived back at the villa, he swung the car in through the gates without giving the photographers loitering there a second glance and powered up the driveway.
Georgina was silent next to him, but he could feel her watching him. He couldn’t look at her now. She’d already proved just what an effect she had on him, proved how easily she could distract him.
‘I’ll get ready to go back to London.’ Her voice was quiet, but firm.
‘London?’ The car halted abruptly as he fought for control. His fingers curled hard around the leather of the steering wheel as he gripped it even harder. One thing was for certain: she was not going back to London. Not yet.
‘It’s what I’d planned once the world knew we were married.’ Her voice still had a husky edge to it, but strength and determination echoed there too.
That unsettled him even more. She seemed able to shut off and return to icy control much more easily than he was able to do. The carefree hours they’d spent on the yacht meant his usual detached approach to relationships was eluding him. And he didn’t like it.
Santos looked at her lips, full and still very kissable. Fire leapt to life deep within him—a ferocious burning need to take her straight to his bed once more. It was more than lust, this need to be with her. He gritted his teeth; he had to be as collected as she was right now.
‘That is what you originally planned, Georgina.’ He tossed the words carelessly at her, trying to appear as unaffected by her as possible as he turned off the engine and got out of the car. ‘But it is not what we finally agreed on.’
She got out of the car, all elegance and poise, then faced him across the shiny red roof. She looked stunning, sexy, and very different from the woman he’d brought here just a few days ago. Her eyes were bright, her skin lightly tanned and her hair looked tousled, as if she’d just got out of his bed.
‘I’m going home, Santos.’ Her words were clipped as she slammed the car door shut.
‘You are home. You agreed to live as my wife, to be by my side, and right now I’m here.’
Not wanting to discuss it further, he locked the car and marched into the house, heading straight for his study. The sound of her footsteps on the marble floor would have told him she was following even if his body hadn’t tingled so wildly, alerting him to her presence.
‘Look, Santos...’ She practically purred as she followed him into the sanctuary of his study. Hell, she was good at this—good at putting on a show of whatever she wanted people to see. Anger, gentleness or hot desire, it didn’t matter—she was an accomplished actress through and through. ‘Is there really a need to keep up this pretence?’
He thought of the clause of his father’s will, the way it had pushed him into not only marrying but considering having a child, an heir. Frustration mixed with his anger and he pushed the thought roughly aside.
‘It was in the agreement.’ He kept his words firm as he headed to the filing cabinet and the file containing copies of their pre-nuptial agreement.
‘I did not sign anything to say I would stay by your side like a faithful puppy dog. You must be mistaken, Santos.’ Her eyes sparked fury at him, their colour lightening to a brilliant bronze, and her voice had a sharp edge to it, but she still looked sexy, still made his body ache for her.
If she continued to stand there like that, her hand on her hip, her lips almost pouting, he’d have to kiss her. And if he did that he’d never stop. She was like an addiction.
He turned his back on her, opened the cabinet drawer and pulled out the folder, tossing it on the desk so that the contents slipped from it, spreading across the table like a pack of cards. ‘Take a look.’
Her gaze dropped from his face to the documents, then back to his. ‘I know what I signed.’ Her voice wavered slightly. ‘But we’ve done what we set out to do. If I have to
stay here then at least let me ring Emma, tell her she and Carlo can set a date.’
He inhaled deeply. He had to tell her just what else he needed from the marriage.
Her phone rang and she delved into her bag and pulled it out. For a moment she looked at it, then at him. ‘It’s Emma,’ she said as the ringing ceased. ‘What do I tell her? That we are happily married so they can be the same?’
He cursed harshly and paced to his window, taking in the view of the mountains almost obscured by dark clouds laden with the promise of a storm. The air was heavy and he knew that at any moment it would break.
He cursed again and dragged his fingers through his hair with an unaccustomed feeling of tumultuous emotions. What the hell had happened to him to make him feel so out of control?
He’d got married. One of the two things in the world he’d never wanted to do. The second was to become a father, and now it seemed his hand was to be forced there too unless he could find another way.
Again he raked his hands through his hair. He couldn’t think straight. The air was becoming heavier and more oppressive by the minute and he could feel Georgina’s gaze fully on him, expectantly waiting for an answer.
‘Tell her to arrange their wedding.’ His words were sharp, and it was an effort to keep his frustration at the situation he now found himself in from showing. Damn it, he still couldn’t tell her why she had to stay.
Her gaze locked with his, the soft brown eyes that had almost melted his soul as he’d made her his now burnished like copper, angry and glittering. He clenched his hands and met her challenging gaze.
‘This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?’ What was she waiting for now? His blessing for the marriage?
‘You know it is...’
A but seemed to linger in the air with as much threat as the storm he could feel waiting to erupt.
He raised a brow at her, finally slipping back into his professional mode. ‘Anything else?’
She shook her head, a look of disappointment crossing her face and he bit down hard on the sudden urge to go to her, to hold her and make everything right. Because he couldn’t. He would never be able to make this right—for Georgina or himself.