The Alvares Bride

by Sandra Marton

  “And for that reason, you set out to shame me in front of my guests?” His mouth twisted; he had to remind himself that she was only weeks out of the hospital so that he wouldn’t give in to what he’d wanted to do earlier and shake her like a rag doll. “What pleasure did it give you, to embarrass me tonight?”

  “Me? Embarrass you?” Carin struggled uselessly to free herself. “What about what you did to me? Flaunting your—your mistress under my nose. Inviting your friends here, to see my humiliation.”

  “Don’t talk like a little fool!”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving you, Rafe.”

  He let go of her, folded his arms and stared at her through narrowed eyes. “No, you are not.”

  “Oh, yes I am. It’s bad enough you forced me into this marriage—”

  “We have a child to consider, or are you so selfish that you still think only of yourself?”

  “Don’t you dare say such a thing to me! I’m selfish? I think only of myself?” Carin flung her hands on her hips as she raised her face to Rafe’s. “I suppose I’m the one who walked out of that bedroom that night and never looked back, that I’m the one who demanded this marriage, who set down a bunch of stupid, egocentric rules—”

  “You are selfish, not to see the necessity of giving a child two parents.”

  “And you,” Carin said, stabbing her finger into his chest, “you would give her a father who has a wife, keeps a mistress, and doesn’t give a damn who knows it.”

  Rafe caught hold of her wrist. “I do not keep a mistress.”

  “Oh, give me a break! Your mistress is right downstairs, laughing at how well the evening went.”

  Two stripes of color appeared on his cheeks. “Perhaps I should not have asked Claudia here tonight,” he said stiffly.

  “Do you think you could have kept her a secret? Even if you’d gone on being subtle, I’d have found out.” Carin twisted her hand from his. “I don’t care. I don’t care if you have a hundred other women. A thousand. You can have as many wom—”

  “If that is true,” he said with a smug little smile, “then why are you so upset?”

  “Are you dense, senhor? I’m upset because I don’t enjoy being made a fool of in what is supposed to be my home.”

  Rafe sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “This is your home.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “Carin.” He cleared his throat. “I have already admitted I probably shouldn’t have invited Claudia. I also should have told you about her.”

  Carin laughed. “That’s charming. What for? Did you think I’d give you my blessing before you took her to bed?”

  “You are my wife,” Rafe said harshly. “You are the only woman I will take to my bed from now on.”

  “Oh, that’s even better.” She swung away from him, knotted her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms. “Do you expect me to be flattered that you’d use me as a—a substitute for your lover?”

  “You mean,” he said, his voice taking on an edge, “as I was a substitute for yours?”

  “Damn you, Rafe!” She spun towards him. “That’s a lie! I slept with you because I wanted to, because you made me feel—you made me feel…”

  She stared at him, her heart pounding, wishing there was a way to call back those foolish words. Time seemed to stop. Finally, she took a step back.

  “Just—just let me go home.” Her voice was a ragged whisper. “Let me take the baby and—”

  Rafe’s hands closed on her shoulders. “What did I make you feel, querida?”

  Carin shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t know why I said that.” It was true, she didn’t. She’d never let herself really think about what she’d felt that night or why she’d gone into Rafe’s arms. And she didn’t want to think about it now, not with him a breath away. “Rafe. Please, let’s end this. We don’t have a marriage, we have a—a sad little soap opera. You married me for Amy’s sake, but she’ll sense the truth as she gets older. She’ll know—”

  His arms closed around her. She flattened her hands on his chest, tried to hold him at bay, but he gathered her to him, held her rigid body against his.

  “Answer me, minha esposa. What did I make you feel, when you gave yourself to me?”

  His eyes were dark, as dark as the night that held the quiet bedroom in its embrace. Trembling, she turned her face away, knowing it wasn’t safe to look into those eyes, or to answer his question with anything but a lie.

  “I felt—I felt nothing.”

  “Ah. Nothing. Of course, I should have known.” Gently, he captured her chin and made her look up at him. “That was why you trembled then, as you are trembling now, why you came apart in my arms.” He smiled and took his handkerchief from his pocket. “I wonder what would have happened, if you had looked like this the night we met.” Gently, he wiped away all traces of the purple lipstick. “I like to think I would have seen past the ugly dress, querida, but the lipstick…I don’t know.”

  It was impossible not to give a shaky laugh. “Oh, hell,” she said, “what must your friends think?”

  “I will tell them it is an old North American custom,” he said solemnly. “I will say that a bride is supposed to come to her groom looking as unattractive as possible, that it is a test of his feelings for her, to see if he still wants her, even if she wears a dress the color of…” He ran the back of his hand over the ruffle at her throat. “What is this color? Does it have a name?”

  “Hideous Green. And you’ve completely changed the subject. Is Claudia your lover?”

  “Não.” Rafe’s smile faded. “She is not.”

  “Is she your mistress?”

  “No.”

  “What is she, then? Is there some special term in your language for the part she plays in your life?”

  “It is the same as in yours. She is only a friend.”

  “An extremely friendly friend.”

  “Yes, well…” He shrugged his shoulders. “I apologize, querida. I never realized she does so much, ah, touching. And, as I said, I should have told you about her.”

  “But you were engaged to be married.”

  “It was a long time ago. Five years. More than that. And I was the one who ended it.” He slid his hands down Carin’s arms, clasped her wrists. “She is a spoiled girl, not a woman, querida, and she is no more faithful to a man today than she was then.” He drew a deep breath. “I believe that when a man takes a woman as his wife, they are obligated to honor their marriage vows. One man, one woman. No one else.”

  “She still—she still wants you.”

  “She flirts with every man she knows…” Rafe expelled a breath. “Yes. I suppose it’s true. I advise her on business affairs but perhaps it’s time she sought advice from someone else.”

  “You don’t have to give her up on my account,” Carin said stiffly.

  “I gave her up years ago, querida.” He smiled, lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them. “Besides, you are much more beautiful than she is.”

  “Do you really think I care about…” She hesitated. “Am I? Prettier than Claudia?”

  He grinned. “Definitely—lthough it was a bit difficult to see tonight.”

  “You mean, you don’t like this dress?” Carin lifted her chin. “Well, it was your fault. You had no right to order me to move into this room.”

  “I had every right.” He softened his words by drawing her into his arms. “You are my wife.”

  Don’t melt against him, she told herself, oh, don’t…

  “We are married, amada. Why should I lie to myself, or to you?” He kissed her mouth. “I want you. And you want me.”

  She looked up into his dark eyes and asked the question that had haunted her all these months.

  “Why did you steal away from my bed that night?”

  “You locked yourself in the bathroom.” His tone hardened. “You made it clear I was no longer needed.”

  She sighed and laid her hands on his chest.
“I only did that because—because I was ashamed of what I’d done.”

  “Sleeping with a stranger,” he said quietly.

  She nodded. “And—I’d been so—so wild…”

  He groaned, gathered her against him and kissed her. She held back, but only for a heartbeat. This was her husband. She had the right to want him, to give herself to him, even if their marriage wasn’t based on love. For the first time since the night they’d created Amy, Carin let herself melt into Rafe’s arms.

  “I’ve never forgotten that night,” he said against her mouth. His voice was rough and low but his hands were gentle as they stroked down her back. “It was—it was like nothing I’ve ever known before.”

  She sighed and leaned back in his arms. “For me, too.”

  Rafe cupped her face and stroked his thumbs over the bones in her cheeks. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered…Beautiful, and fragile, he thought, and frowned. She weighed nothing; he knew that from having carried her to the house earlier in the day. Now, he realized that the bones in her cheeks were pronounced. There were shadows under her eyes, too, dark as bruises. “You are exhausted, querida, and I am to blame. Your doctor tells you that you are well and what do I do? I invite half the world to dinner—”

  She smiled. “Maybe not quite half the world.”

  “We should have spent the evening alone. I should have put you to bed hours ago.”

  “Put me to—Rafe? What are you doing?”

  “What I should have done instead of tormenting you with Claudia.” He had turned her so that her back was to him. Now, he was unhooking the awful ruffled neckline, pulling down the zipper of the dress. “I’m putting you to bed.”

  “No! I mean, I can do it myself…”

  “Shh.”

  He bent forward as the gown slid from her shoulders and pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck. A soft moan rose in her throat and the sound of it, the knowledge that she wanted him and was no longer denying it, turned him as hard as stone.

  But he would not make love to her tonight. She was exhausted, and it was his fault. She was hurt, too, and that, also, was his fault. He had forced her into a marriage instead of leading her into it, he’d stolen her from her own life.

  He would make it up to her, starting now. He would not make love to her. It was true that he had waited for this night, but there would be others. Many others. He smiled, thinking of all the years that stretched ahead. He could build a life with this woman. They would share passion, share respect, share the love of their daughter.

  He had never been foolish enough to believe in the kind of love that was supposed to exist between men and women. He knew there was no such thing, not after having been raised on his mother’s sad, silly, sentimental stories…and on the reality of her life.

  A successful marriage could be built on many things. Love did not have to be one of them.

  Gently, slowly, he lowered the gown, eased it down Carin’s hips, to her feet. She stepped out of her shoes and he kicked them away, his heart racing as he felt her tremble under his touch, felt her skin heating under his mouth and hands. He stroked his hand down her spine, spanned her waist with his hands, kissed her shoulders, and groaned with the pleasure of it. She tasted of honey and moonlight, of flowers and of desire.

  Desire, for him.

  Rafe took a deep breath. Then he turned her towards him and looked at her.

  She was even lovelier than he’d remembered. Her breasts rose in creamy swells above a white lace bra; she wore tiny white lace panties and sheer white hose that clung to the tops of her thighs.

  He whispered something in Portuguese, lifted a hand and ran it lightly over her breasts, watching her face as he touched her, as he stroked her belly, then slid his hand between her legs and cupped her.

  She was hot and wet, and knowing how much she wanted him almost drove him to his knees.

  “Do you like it when I touch you, querida?” he said softly.

  “Yes.” The word sighed from her throat. “Oh, yes, I—”

  She cried out as he undid her bra. Her breasts tumbled into his waiting hands.

  “Deus.” He groaned, ran his thumbs over her nipples, his eyes hot on hers as her head fell back in a posture of total abandonment. “You are so beautiful, minha esposa. You steal my breath away.”

  “I—I gained weight,” she whispered. “I thought—I wondered what you’d think, if you saw me. I wasn’t sure—”

  Rafe bent his head, kissed her breasts, licked the tightly puckered tips. He ached to kiss her thighs, to put his mouth at their apex and inhale her scent but he knew, if he did, he would come apart.

  Instead, he stood up straight, kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket and undressed, taking off everything but his black silk shorts.

  Carin’s gaze swept over him. She hadn’t really seen him clearly the night they’d been together all those months ago. Things had moved too fast for that. Now, she could see the beauty of the man she had married. The hard, muscled shoulders and arms. The black, silky hair on his chest. The flat belly, narrow hips, long legs…

  The heaviness of his erection, pushing against the black silk.

  Heat swept through her like wildfire. She felt her knees buckle. “Rafe,” she whispered, swaying towards him, and he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  He drew back the covers, gently laid her back against the pillows. Then he came down on the bed beside her and gathered her into his arms. Deus, how he longed to strip away the last bit of lace that protected her from him. To part her legs and bury himself deep, deep inside her.

  No, he told himself, no. Not tonight.

  “Carin.” He brushed her hair back from her hot face. “Do you realize that you have never slept with me?”

  “But—but I did. Of course, I did. That night—”

  “Não, querida. We did not sleep together. You left the bed, and my arms.” He smiled, took her mouth in a lingering kiss. “Will you sleep with me, now? Truly sleep with me, I mean, nothing else. Will you curl up in my arms, close your eyes and give yourself over to sleep?”

  Carin pressed her palms to either side of his face. “Rafe.” Her voice trembled. “You’re being very—very generous, but I—I can feel what you really want. I’m tired, yes, but you’re my husband…”

  He kissed her again, drew her close. “Sim. I am your husband, Carin. And I can wait.”

  My husband, Carin thought, as Rafe stroked his hands down her back, kissed her temples, her hair. Oh, my husband…

  She sighed, closed her eyes, relaxed in his protective embrace.

  Within moments, she was asleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CARIN had slept through the night. Rafe had not. How could a man sleep with a warm, sweet-smelling woman in his arms?

  A woman who was his wife.

  She lay with her head on his shoulder, her face inches from his, one hand splayed across his chest. As dawn touched the windows with soft, rosy light he rolled carefully to his side, still holding her to him.

  He wanted to start the day by drinking in the sight of her beautiful face.

  He smiled. Ah, but she was lovely. And a night’s rest had done her good. She had awakened only once, stirred from sleep by instinct, he supposed, for he had surely not heard Amy crying.

  “The baby’s hungry,” she’d murmured, and Rafe had taken her in his arms, carried her to the nursery and watched, his heart filled with tenderness, as she nursed their daughter.

  “We’ve been giving Amy some formula feedings,” the nanny had said softly. “You needn’t worry about the morning, senhor.”

  The woman had smiled, and Rafe had smiled, and then he’d lifted his wife again, carried her to their bed, held her as she sighed, curled against him with her head on his shoulder and fell asleep.

  Yes, today, the shadows beneath her eyes were gone. She still seemed too thin but he knew how to fix that. From now on, they’d take all their meals together. He’d introduce her to the
delicious foods of his childhood, not the sophisticated stuff he ate now but the rich, spicy dishes that kept a hungry belly filled. And he’d organize a churrasco. There was nothing quite like a Brazilian barbecue. He’d invite the da Sousas and everyone else he knew, ask them to bring their kids, and introduce his wife to people who would like her and make her feel welcome.

  As for Claudia…when he spoke with her again, he would make it clear that it was time for her to find another financial advisor, that he was a married man, that he would tolerate no disrespect towards his wife, no matter how subtle, because Carin deserved his respect, and his loyalty, and, most of all, his lo…

  Rafe caught his breath.

  Carefully, he took Carin’s hand from his chest, then drew his arm from beneath her shoulders. She gave a murmur of protest and reached for him in her sleep. Her hand curled around the nape of his neck and she sighed, moved closer and snuggled against him.

  Time stopped.

  He stared up at the ceiling, his mind a blank, the only sounds in the universe the tick of the wall clock and the soft murmur of Carin’s breath.

  What nonsense was this? There was no such thing as love. He hadn’t ever deluded himself to think there was. Passion—lust—was an understandable emotion. A marriage could be built on it, so long as you added other things. Respect. Loyalty. Fidelity. Friendship.

  He believed in those principles. His wife would, too. He would demand them of her. One man, one woman. No one else. He had told her that, last night. Lust was what had drawn them together. Principle was what would keep them together, when desire was gone.

  Carin sighed again and burrowed closer to him, her breath warm on his throat. A fist seemed to close around his heart. He wanted to gather her against him again, kiss her awake and what was that, if not lust? He recognized the emotion; he had been with many women, over the years, he knew what it was to come awake with his blood hot, his body hard. It was only that this was different. He felt—he felt…

  Rafe groaned, gave up thinking, and gathered his wife into his arms. He put his mouth to her temple, to her cheek; when she sighed he eased her onto her back, stroked her hair, gently kissed her lips.