He hadn’t loved her.
He’d been using her. Having fun with her. Toying with her. A last indiscretion before he married the love of his life.
And he still was toying with her.
His wife was out there, and he was whisking women up to his hotel room on a hunch. Once a cheater, always a cheater.
“We met at the theatre and you asked me back to your hotel room. We slept together. The end.”
“No, not the end,” he contradicted, moving closer to her. “What was I seeing? Who was I with?”
Her exhalation was impatient. “Les Miserables. You were alone.”
He frowned. “It doesn’t sound likely.”
“You had bought the ticket on a whim, you said,” she grudgingly answered, her mind drifting back to that night. To the way he’d shrugged and laughed and she’d thought he was the most charming man in the world. “You were walking through Covent Garden and a hawker had offered, you’d agreed. You’d never seen it and decided life was too short not to have new experiences.”
She felt him reject that idea. “That sounds overly sentimental.”
“Yes.” She smiled, wistfully, then sobered. “Anyway, that’s all there is to it. What we shared was nothing special.” The words stuck in her throat. “I was one of many women for you.”
“And was I one of many men in your life?” He prompted, coming to stand in front of her, so close that she could have closed the distance between them simply by taking a large gulp of air.
“T-That’s not really any of your business,” she muttered, her cheeks flaming. “Whatever we were was over years ago. Now you’re just a stranger to me.”
He ground his teeth together, his jaw moving with the action. “I don’t believe that. You looked at me and ran a mile. In my experience, people don’t run when they don’t feel. So? What happened between us?”
“Why do you care?” She demanded, turning the tables on him out of a need for self-preservation. “You’re married. How would your wife feel to know you’re out chasing up the ghosts of lovers-past?”
“My wife is now my ex-wife,” he said and Ellie’s eyes flew to his, her body reacting to that announcement with a surge of relief strong enough to knock her to the ground.
“What? When?”
“We divorced soon after we were married,” he murmured. “A couple of months.”
A couple of months? She would have still been pregnant.
The past swirled around them, a whirlpool too difficult to escape from. Why hadn’t his mother called her?
Besides, it didn’t matter. He was a liar and a cheat. So? Hadn’t he deserved to know about the baby? Her conscience demanded. It was one thing to keep the secret when she’d believed she was saving his marriage. Quite another now there was no marriage.
She was at a fork in the road. In one direction, was a reality in which Joshua had a father – and Xavier was in their lives. Xavier who she would never trust, who she would always hate, who would never remember her. But Joshua would have a father.
And the alternative? She could walk out of this hotel room, keeping her secret, keeping Joshua to herself, knowing that Xavier and his parents deserved that fate.
Her heart was heavy.
It was a decision that her conscience dictated as easy, but for Ellie, there was no black and white answer. She needed to think. She needed to talk to her twin sister Eleanor – who always saw things clearly.
“I can’t be here,” she said with a shake of her head. “I need to go home.”
“Why? Why can you not stay and fill in the gaps for me?”
“Because,” she murmured, moving away from him as though he were on fire. She stalked towards the door, grabbing her clutch purse up as she went, pain in every step.
“Because is not an answer,” he rejected from behind her, angry, impatient, desperate.
“It’s the only answer you’re going to get.”
“You can’t just walk away from this!”
“Why not?” She returned, a caustic laugh thick in her throat. “You did.”
“Damn it!” He caught her at the door, moving to stand in front of it, staring at her, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. “I look at you and I feel…” He shook his head, impatient, urgent. He swore in his own tongue. “I feel like I have to do this.” And he dropped his head so hard and fast that she had no warning, she couldn’t have predicted it. His lips crushed hers, taking her, and his body spun them so that her back was pressed to the door. He kissed her until she saw stars and the past, and she felt everything slip into place inside of her, even when she knew it wouldn’t for him.
His tongue dueled with hers and it was everything she knew and nothing she remembered, because his kisses in the past had been gentle and slow, an exploration and an entreaty. This was dominance, plain and simple, and she moaned into his mouth, welcoming it, welcoming him.
Strength be damned, determination too. She had spent four years wanting him, needing him, she had been through hell and back, worrying that he had died in the accident, then that he would die for a long, terrible month, and then seeing his wedding photos, knowing he was married to someone else.
And she hated him for the fact he’d lied to her and cheated her, and she hated him for marrying another woman, but she wanted him more than she hated him, and desire was the only emotion she intended to listen to.
She melted into his body as he pressed it harder to hers, and when his palms dropped to her shoulders, pushing the straps of her evening gown down, she only kissed him harder, tilting her head up, imploring him to continue. The dress was satin and it teased her nipples as it slid over her flesh. She hadn’t worn a bra; her breasts were neat and the dress had enough structure to offer support. But when his rough palms found her breasts she whimpered low in her throat, the touch so personal, so perfect, that she was utterly lost to it.
“Who are you?” He demanded fiercely, breaking the kiss and leaving her breathless. She wanted to cry out, “noooo!” because she needed, more than anything, for him to continue.
And he did. He dragged his mouth to her breasts, dragging one nipple into his mouth and sucking on it until she was crying his name out, over and over. She felt his smile against her breast, and then he tormented the other, so she was begging him for more, and she hated that he could do that to her but he always, without fail, had held this skill.
“Tell me your name,” he demanded, pushing the dress down her body with hands that were so familiar to her.
Ellie. He’d called her Ellie, because it had been on her name tag, and because she’d loved the way it made it feel as though they knew one another so much better than they did. She was different now though. He’d broken her down and she’d rebuilt herself. Ellie was no longer within his reach.
“Elizabeth,” she said. He lifted his head, his eyes pinning hers, boring into her and she knew what drove the desperation of his next kiss. He still didn’t remember. The name meant nothing to him.
He was chasing memories in her mouth, with her body, and she was letting him. No, more than that. She was needing him to. “Please, Xavier,” she begged, kissing the words into his soul. “I need you.”
Oh, and she did. She needed him as much as he needed her. Desperately and completely.
The dress dropped to her feet and she lifted one leg, wrapping it around his back, holding him to her, and he made a groaning sound before pushing at his pants, unzipping them, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a condom. He covered himself and then, without waiting, without even removing her underwear, he simply pushed the flimsy cotton aside and thrust into her.
She cried out, the invasion so perfect, so complete, his thick arousal driving into her core so that she was completely his. She’d never forgotten this, yet it was better, different, than she remembered. Four years of longing had burned her from the inside out, and now, as he took her hard against the cold door of his apartment, she admitted to herself that she’d wanted this from the first mo
ment she’d seen him.
His hands ran over her body, her body that had craved his touch, then curved behind her bottom, lifting her, holding her to him. He kissed her and he moved hard and fast and she exploded, the cry of pleasure ringing out through the beautiful hotel suite, filling it with heady release.
He held her while she came, and he kissed her, and said words in Spanish, just like he had before, just like he had in the past. And she pushed that thought away because she didn’t want this to be like then. She didn’t want this to be like anything he’d ever felt before, even when she knew he’d obviously felt it with many women.
She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, wanting to see more of him. She traced lines down his front and then untucked his shirt at his waistband, but his hands found hers, lifting them away from him, catching them and holding them above her head, one of his hands more than sufficient for her much smaller ones. He held her arms above her head, and his other he kept at her waist and he held her trapped, his prisoner – his oh so willing prisoner. She tilted her head back until it connected with the door and she swore then chased his mouth with hers, swearing again, pushing the curse into him and knowing he understood.
“Who were you to me, Elizabeth?” He groaned, and she was riding a wave of pleasure, too fast and hard to answer. A low, keening noise was coming from deep within her. She held onto the wave, and then it broke against the shore of her desire, so that she was crashing with it, lust and passion engulfing her as her orgasm tore through her. But she wasn’t alone; he was with her, his thrusts harder and deeper, his hand on hers pinching her wrists as he emptied his body of seed, his arousal throbbing inside of her, sending her crazy with his possession.
It was like running a marathon. They were both breathless, but only she was dizzy and weak. He held her against his body, his cock still buried inside her, and he carried her through to the bedroom, laying her down, separating them for the shortest possible time before bringing his body back over hers. He kissed her briefly on the lips, a kiss of torment, then he returned to her breasts, teasing them with his mouth, flicking her engorged nipples with his tongue until her fever was reaching its zenith once more.
“Elizabeth,” he dragged the word down her body, finding her womanhood and lashing it with his tongue.
She cried out at the experience that was both familiar and not. His hands caught her legs, spreading them, holding them pinned to the bed, as his mouth pushed against her most sensitive flesh. He had always been able to drive her wild. A look had been enough. But this?
She reached above her head, digging her fingernails into the white bedlinen, and holding on for dear life, as pleasure whipped her body. She arched her back, writhing hard, but his grip on her legs was firm, so she whimpered, completely at his mercy, and knowing there was nowhere else she’d like to be.
And she knew what he was doing. He was seducing her as his salvation – as a path back to recollection. Would he find it? Would he find their pleasure triggered an answer to his past?
His tongue was pushing her to the edge of her own sanity and salvation was at his fingertips. He scored her with his kiss and she tipped over, into an abyss of doubt and confusion, but also, immense, all-consuming delirium.
“I know you,” he dragged his mouth to her thigh, then her hip, then her belly button, running kisses along her flat stomach to the hollow between her breasts. He kissed her there and then lay his body over hers, his weight a dream she’d felt too many nights to count.
“I know the way you feel, the way you taste. I know your body like I know my own. Why can’t I remember you?” She stilled beneath him, not wanting to feel sorry for him. Not wanting to feel sadness for him.
But she did – how could she not? The dynamic, powerful man he’d been in London, before, had no weaknesses. No chinks in his armour. He was charismatic, powerful, insanely in charge.
So was this version of Xavier, and yet she understood the demons that must drive him. Demons that vulnerabilities would breathe into his soul.
“Because we meant nothing,” she said softly, her hands finding his chest and pushing at it. She ignored the pang of guilt – the guilt that Joshua’s existence spawned inside of her. Their son.
God. What had she done? She’d thought she was a different woman, less needy, less easy, and yet she’d fallen into his bed yet again, just like before. Fool! Idiot!
She needed to get out of his hotel, away from him, away from this.
“Sleeping with me isn’t going to change the facts. You’re obviously not going to remember me. The truth is, what we shared wasn’t worth remembering.” The words hurt. They cut so deep inside of her. “Okay?” She pushed away from him, standing with an attempt to hide how unsteady she felt. When had he removed her underwear? Somewhere between the lounge area of the suite and this palatial bedroom. She hadn’t even noticed. She looked around, vulnerable and exposed.
“No. That is not okay.” He, on the other hand, was completely dressed. He stood, turning his back on her for a brief moment so he could dispose of the condom and zip his pants back up, and then he was Xavier Salbatore once more. Unattainable, strong, intimidating.
Lying. Cheating.
She clamped her lips together, and turned her back on him. She had to get out of there.
“It’s the truth,” she insisted.
“There’s no way we felt like that and it didn’t mean anything.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t make any the sense.” He ground his teeth together, expelling a guttural noise of impatience. “My English isn’t as good since the damned accident.”
More sympathy. More ache. She forced herself to remain strong.
“It isn’t possible for you to have felt like that in my arms and not meant something to me. Or for me to have meant something to you.”
You meant everything to me. She wanted to shout the words, she wanted to throw them at him, so that he would know how badly he’d hurt her. How completely she’d lost herself with their affair.
But she’d be a fool to give him that kind of power over her. She wouldn’t do it. He would never, for as long as they lived, know how easily he could hurt her.
“It was sex,” she snapped. “Get over it, Xavier.”
He was silent, regarding her as though she were an alien.
“Don’t you stand there judging me,” she bit out. “You were the one who was engaged. You were the one who got married months later.”
“When were we together?” He demanded, moving closer towards her. She stepped back and then turned, walking away from him. He followed.
“I was in London right before the accident. And three months prior to that. You said ‘four years ago’, so it must have been around the time I had the crash?”
She swallowed, the past all so close. She scooped up her dress and tried to step into it, but her legs were wobbly and her eyes were blurred by the threat of tears she was too proud to let fall.
“Does it matter?” She demanded.
“Yes. To me it matters very much.”
She pressed her back against the door, giving up on the dress for the moment.
“I cannot live with these gaps in my memory. I hate it. I want you to tell me everything, even if it hurts you, even if it hurts me. It is not fair that you have our relationship in your mind and I do not. Were it not for the accident, I would be standing here in full possession of the facts of what happened between us. I’m asking you to be fair. To be reasonable.”
“To be fair?” She disputed hotly, hating how his words burrowed into her flesh and spread through her veins. “You really think you can ask me to be fair when you turned me into an unwitting mistress?”
A muscle throbbed in his jaw.
“Tell me everything,” he insisted. “So at least I know why you are so angry with me.”
Her eyes jerked to his. “Haven’t I already?” She demanded scathingly. “You were engaged when we slept together. You got married after we slept together.”
“An
d what happened in between?” He demanded. “I want to understand everything. Tell me what my memory won’t.”
“Fine,” she pulled at her dress and it made a ripping noise, so she swore under her breath, leveraging it into place while a fever of emotions was storming her body. “I was working at the theatre and you were charming and unlike anyone I’d ever met. I had no idea who you were, only that you were dynamic and enchanting. You said you felt the same about me,” she murmured, the words hollowed out by disgust. Disgust at his silver-tongue and her gullibility. “You saw the show but you came to me at intermission and told me you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me. You begged to take me to dinner afterwards. I agreed. Stupid, stupid me. I should have known better!”
His eyes narrowed but he didn’t speak. In fact, he stood across the room almost with his breath held, his eyes on hers, his manner strained.
“Dinner was foreplay. Every word made me ache for you, and you knew it. I was inexperienced…”
“You were a virgin?”
“No.” Her cheeks flushed. “But I might as well have been. I’d had a boyfriend in high school. Years before we met. And it was… short-lived.” She stared at the carpet at her feet. “I had no experience with men like you, and you made short work of my hesitation. We didn’t leave your hotel room all weekend. Not for food, not for air. We needed nothing but each other.”
He nodded, but his easy acceptance of that angered her.
“Oh, that’s what I thought at the time. Now I see the truth for what it was. You didn’t want to go out because you couldn’t be seen with me. Not everyone was as naïve as I was. People knew you. People even took your photo, I discovered later. There are paparazzi photos of you all over the internet. You couldn’t go out and risk being seen with me, because you were engaged.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw and he took a step towards her, then another.
Claiming his Secret Baby & Blackmailed by the Spaniard (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 4) Page 4