by RACHL THOMAS
This powerful all-controlling man that she’d fallen in love with couldn’t and wouldn’t accept that love even existed. If that didn’t staunch the love that was rapidly growing for him, then nothing would.
‘No to what, Santos? Can’t you just accept that they love one another and there aren’t any ulterior motives at work?’
He changed as he stepped away, as if the distance was enabling him to regain his power, his authority. ‘You engineered this whole thing—encouraged them to fly off to Vegas, kept me busy in the way only a woman of your reputation can, and secured a big financial settlement for yourself along the way.’
Hurt raced through her, stinging like a thousand bees. ‘You can keep your money, tear up the agreement—anything.’ She rounded on him, angry at herself for feeling for him, for wanting to reach out to him, for wanting to love him. ‘I don’t even know why you haven’t just bought Carlo out. It would have been much less complicated than getting married.’
‘Don’t insult my business management. You know nothing about it—about the way Carlo has refused my generous offer, not once but twice, holding out for the ultimate prize.’
His voice was fierce but she didn’t pay any heed to it at all. Her emotions were running so high she no longer cared what happened.
‘No, I don’t know anything about it. All I know is that I should never have got involved.’ She hissed the words at him as his dark eyes accused her. ‘I should have just helped them get married.’
‘You did.’
‘No!’ Exasperation made her voice sharp.
He really believed she’d done this for money, for her own gain as well as Emma’s. Enraged beyond comprehension, she marched to his study. Her thoughts were beyond rational as she barged into the room, and when she saw the file holding their agreement on his desk she picked it up.
Santos entered the study just as she took hold of the agreement they’d both signed such a short time ago, his face as dark as the thunderclouds had been earlier. She looked at him, smiled sarcastically. Challenging him. Then she tore up the agreement into as many tiny pieces as her shaking hands could manage.
‘You can do what you like, mi esposa, but you will still be my wife.’
‘I’m leaving, Santos, as your wife or not. I don’t care, but I’m going back to London.’
She pushed past him and almost ran to her room. Without pausing she grabbed her handbag, checked for her passport and spun on her heel, not wanting anything from him.
She’d get a taxi to the airport and sit there all night if she had to, but one thing was for sure: she’d be on the next flight back to London. With that plan of action in mind she headed for the front door of the villa, glad Santos was nowhere to be seen.
Anger and frustration still raced in her veins as she pulled open the heavy ornate door—but Santos stood there, hands folded across his powerful body.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘I HAVE TO GO, SANTOS,’ she fired at him, her heart thudding so loudly she thought he might hear it. ‘We should never have married. I was stupid to think it could work.’
‘Stupid to try and deceive me—that’s what you mean, is it not, querida?’ His words were slow and very deliberate.
The setting sun cast an orange glow around him as he stood firm and resolute before her. Despite the pain in her heart, her body responded to the image of him—the man she loved. The man she must never think of again once she’d got back to London. Perhaps she’d move away, get a small place in the country, live simply and quietly. Anything not to have to see him again.
‘I’m not even going to deny it.’ Her temper flared. ‘You’re determined to think the worst so you can go ahead and do it, just like you have with your brother and his mother. Even your father.’
He inhaled deeply, his handsome face becoming sharper than she’d ever seen. His eyes hardened until they resembled polished obsidian, with glittering hints of the lava that formed it hidden in their depths.
‘Get in the car, Georgina.’ His tone brooked no rebuke and she stiffened at the challenge. There was no way she was going to let him stop her. She had to get away—as far away as possible.
‘No,’ she said vehemently, and tried to move past him, but his reactions were fast and he instantly blocked her, his dominating body filling the doorway.
‘I’m going to the airport.’
‘Then I shall take you.’ His tone was as overpowering as his body.
She looked from his face to the car behind him and noticed for the first time that the passenger door was open and the engine running. Her heart raced at the thought of being with him for just a little while longer, because despite everything that was where she wanted to be. But he would never want her as his wife now—not when he believed her capable of such deception. A deception she was innocent of.
‘Why?’ She couldn’t help herself asking, as if in just a few seconds he would have changed his mind about her.
‘You are my wife, and as such I will drive you to the airport.’
He left her in no doubt that there wouldn’t be any further discussion on the subject and she dropped down into the low sports car, nerves taking flight in her stomach as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
She glanced across at him as the air inside the car filled with his raw masculine scent—one that would haunt her for ever—only to find he was looking at her. Furiously she glared at him, then looked away. She wasn’t going to be a victim of his charm this time. The sooner she got to the airport the better.
The drive along the busy roads was fast and painfully silent. Each time she looked at him his stern profile hinted at the anger he held in check. Each passing second became tenser than the last, the air more laden and heavy, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the airport came into view.
He passed the entrance and she panicked. ‘Where are we going?’
‘My plane is waiting on the Tarmac.’
‘You don’t need to do that. I’ll book on the next flight.’ She tried hard to keep her desperation from him, but it wasn’t just him she was annoyed with. She’d almost hoped he was coming to London too and that he did want her.
‘We shall be in London by midnight.’
‘We?’ She silently cursed that last thought—that last futile wish.
‘Did you really think you could walk out so easily?’ He turned to look at her briefly as he manoeuvred the car into the airport and headed for the plane. Within seconds of them stopping he was out of the car and at her door, and once their passports were checked he took her hand and led her up the steps of the plane.
The door closed and a strange stillness settled inside the cabin. Santos sat in one of the white leather chairs, his long legs stretched out before him, looking relaxed, but she knew from the tension in his face he was anything but.
Georgina resigned herself to the situation and sat down, fixing her attention on the darkening skyline rather than look at the man who’d turned everything in her life upside down, including her heart. She consoled herself with the fact that at least she was going back to London. Once there she could so much more easily walk away from Santos. But that thought didn’t make her feel as she’d wanted it to. It made her heart ache. Pain lanced through it, shattering it into pieces. But she couldn’t let him know.
* * *
If Santos had thought the flight to London was tense, then the drive through London’s streets was worse. Georgina sat at his side, irresistibly close, yet undeniably far from him. He knew she was trapped in her deceit. The evidence was stacked against her. She’d deceived him, tricked him into marrying her so her sister and his brother could take all he’d worked so hard for over recent years. This time Georgina’s gamble wasn’t going to pay off.
‘I can’t stay here.’
Georgina’s words drew him up sharp. She’d realised where they were. The storm, it seemed, raged on.
‘Take me back to my own apartment, please.’
He didn’t say anything, just shook his
head once as she looked across at him, her face partially lit by street lamps.
‘Santos, please, don’t prolong the agony.’
The anguish in her voice was so acute it was almost physical. But what did she mean, agony? Had their time together been so awful?
‘Agony? What agony?’ he snapped at her recklessly, instantly furious with himself for allowing her to see even a moment’s loss of control.
She looked taken aback, as if she hadn’t meant to say those words. ‘Just admit it’s time we went our separate ways, Santos. Things haven’t worked out.’ She hesitated for a moment as the car pulled up outside his apartment. ‘We’ve both been deceived—let’s leave it at that.’ She sounded tired, as if struggling with defeat.
‘You are my wife, Georgina, and as such I want you with me when Carlo and Emma return. I want us to present a united front.’ He couldn’t admit it yet—not even to himself—but he seemed to be clutching at every possible reason for her to stay, as if he didn’t want her to go.
The chauffeur opened the car door and he stepped out into the cold autumn night. Light rain had fallen and the small amount of traffic that passed swished by on the wet road. He walked round to the other side of the car and opened Georgina’s door, marvelling at how suddenly she seemed at ease. Was he even now falling into line with one of her devious plans?
She stepped out onto the pavement and looked at him. ‘I don’t see why we should keep up the pretence any longer.’
‘No?’ He walked towards the entrance doors, glancing back and hoping she would follow. He wasn’t in the mood for any more in-depth discussions. ‘Do you not want to continue until Emma comes back? It would be better if she thought you were happy, would it not?’
He watched as her expression changed from defiance to realisation that he spoke the truth. He certainly didn’t want Carlo to think he’d married Georgina in a bid to secure the business; it was an ongoing issue between them. One that now threatened everything he’d ever cared about.
‘You’re right.’ She sighed and smiled sweetly at him—a little too sweetly, convincing him that even now she played the game, using him as she had from the very beginning. ‘It wouldn’t do if they found out what we’d done—for reasons other than love, of course.’
Opening the door, he walked towards the lift, pressed the button and turned to her. Did she have to keep brandishing that word about? As if it was the very centre of everything that had happened?
Irritated, he looked above the lift doors, anxious to see if it was coming. ‘It will be for the best,’ he said tersely.
‘That’s debatable,’ she tossed at him as the lift doors opened and she walked in. ‘I’ve yet to decide just who it will be best for, but tonight, at least, I’m prepared to stay here.’
He didn’t know what to say to that—his usual quick thinking had totally deserted him—so he remained silent as the lift took them up to his apartment, acutely aware of her so very close to him. He could smell her sweet floral scent and clenched his hands into fists in a bid to stamp out the threatening fire.
* * *
Santos unlocked the door and Georgina couldn’t believe she was back at his apartment. Everything she’d planned had gone wrong and, worse, had been for nothing. She’d told Santos she could have just encouraged Emma and Carlo to run off and get married and now she wished she had. At least then she wouldn’t have tasted something she could never have. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with a man who openly admitted he wasn’t capable of love in any form.
She sighed wearily. The last few days had been emotionally challenging for all the wrong reasons and she just wanted to be on her own.
‘It’s late,’ she said softly as he flicked on the lights in the kitchen. ‘I’m going straight to bed.’
She looked across at him, wanting to add that she was going alone, that she would spend the night in the same room she’d occupied before, but something in his expression held her back. Her heart began to race as the intensity of his gaze rested on her, as if he too couldn’t bring himself to suggest she sleep alone.
He walked towards her, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor, and like an animal caught in car headlights she just stood there and watched, mesmerised by him. Nerves made her bite gently on her bottom lip as he stopped in front of her, so close and yet so far.
‘Where are you going to sleep, mi esposa? With your husband or alone?’
His accent had become more defined, sending shivers of awareness all over her. When his gaze rested on her lips she stopped biting them and smiled, almost tasting the saccharine of it.
‘Alone.’
With you, her mind screamed as that one word left her lips. She wanted to sleep beside the man she loved, feel the warmth of his body next to her. But she reminded herself the man she loved didn’t really exist. That man had been pretence and nothing more. This was the real Santos.
‘Then I shall say buenas noches, mi esposa.’
He moved closer. Instinct told her he was going to kiss her, and heaven help her she wanted him to, but if he did...
She stepped back. ‘Goodnight, Santos,’ she said as firmly as possible, before retreating to the safety of the room she’d previously occupied.
* * *
Santos watched her go, confusion racing through him. Why was he trying to prevent her from leaving? Just what kind of power did she have over him? Perhaps it was better if they slept alone—although his body protested at the idea. He knew he needed time to think. He had to be sure of what to do next and at the moment he hadn’t a clue.
With an exasperated sigh he tousled his hair and turned on his heel. Strong coffee was what he needed. And work. Going to an empty bed when Georgina slept in the next room was not going to be an option. Neither was going to her and trying to explain—to himself as well as her—why he didn’t want her to go.
The aroma of fresh coffee lingered in the air, and the taste of it invigorated his senses as he headed for his study. He had reports to catch up on and an aching need to deny.
A neatly stacked pile of post almost made him groan aloud. He wasn’t in the mood. But as he sat at his desk the postmark on one letter caught his attention. A solicitor’s name glared out at him from the large white envelope. Anxiously he tore it open, but was totally unprepared for what he saw.
So unprepared he had to read it again.
Carlo had renounced all claims to his father’s estate in deference to him. Santos closed his eyes in relief, but that was short-lived as the implications of the letter hit home. What would this mean for him and Georgina?
He tried to get Carlo on his mobile, but it went straight to voicemail. Annoyed, he hung up. He wasn’t about to leave a message. Instead he tried to focus on his work, but all sorts of jumbled thoughts raced through his mind. He’d never felt this disorientated or distracted before.
After several hours he gave up on trying to work or contacting Carlo. He picked up the letter again and headed for the kitchen, unable even to consider trying to sleep. More coffee was required. As it brewed he read the letter again, trying to understand why his brother had felt the need to do this when he’d offered to buy him out several times. What point was he making?
Exasperated, he tossed it on the kitchen table and walked over to the windows. The faint light of dawn crept across the sky, and with it he hoped would come answers and solutions.
* * *
It was still very early, but Georgina knew that Santos was likely to be up and about, so she quickly scanned the living room, relieved to see it empty, and headed for the kitchen. She flicked on the kettle and searched for a mug, needing as much caffeine as she could get after her sleepless night. She noticed the partly drunk cups of cold coffee—evidence that either Santos had been entertaining or he too had had a bad night.
The coffee’s aroma revived her and she leant back against one of the kitchen units to sip her drink, wrapping her hands comfortingly around her mug. It was then that she noticed the letter. It looked
official, and at first she turned the other way, but as she did so a name caught her attention.
She looked more closely and nearly gasped at what she saw. The letter very clearly stated that Carlo had renounced his claim on his father’s estate.
Guilt rushed through her for even thinking of looking at Santos’s mail, but that was hotly followed by anger and disappointment. This letter changed everything. Santos would inherit his father’s business without the need for a wife—or an heir. He didn’t need her any more. So why was he tormenting her like this? Insisting she stay with him? To punish her?
She should feel relieved. At least she could walk away from him and try and piece together her life. Emma had Carlo and didn’t need her any more, so she could get that longed-for peaceful cottage in the country.
The coffee turned bitter in her mouth and she put the nearly full mug down on the side, turning her back on the letter and all it meant. She felt sick when she should be relieved that she could at last walk away from this sham of a marriage. She should be heading out of the door right now and not giving the man she’d married a second thought. But she couldn’t.
She couldn’t just walk away.
She loved him.
‘They’re back.’
Santos’s voice broke through her rambling thoughts. His hair was still damp from the shower. The last time she’d seen his hair wet they had just shared the most amazing moment in the shower. Did he remember that? She looked at him, as immaculate as ever in his designer suit, and found it hard to believe he would.
‘Are they all right?’ She pushed aside her memories and worries as she watched him walk past her into the kitchen. She was mesmerised by him, by the powerful aura he exuded, and found all she could do was watch as he organised fresh coffee.
‘Of course they are. We’ll have dinner with them tonight. Sort everything out.’
He sounded cheerful, not at all weighed down by the problems of the last few days. That letter had obviously made everything right for him, but when was he going to tell her? Then it hit her. How long had he known?