A Price Worth Paying(37)

‘That’s all?’

‘Okay, it did help when I mentioned who your best man was.’

He laughed. ‘You are an amazing woman, Señora Esquivel.’

She blinked up at him and wished things could be different. ‘And you are an amazing man.’

He pulled her to him and they shared that moment as he spun her around the dance floor, and this time she let herself relax and be held because it felt so good when this man held her and she knew it wouldn’t last.

It didn’t last. Barely a minute into the dance they heard the cries of panic.

It only took a second to work out why the music and dancing had stopped.

Felipe had collapsed on the dance floor.





CHAPTER NINE



‘YOU SEEM tense,’ Alesander said, as the car cruised through the quiet streets, his arm wound around her shoulders, his warm fingers tracing patterns on her skin.

‘Do I?’ She wasn’t really surprised. She’d thought she was relaxed when they’d left the hospital. She’d accepted his arm around her shoulders and let herself tap into his strength, but on reflection she hadn’t been relaxed at all. She’d just been relieved—that Felipe, in his weakened state, had simply overdone things and would be released after a night’s observation. But the relief hadn’t lasted long. Because almost as soon as the car had left the hospital she’d realised where they were headed.

To Alesander’s apartment.

To Alesander’s bed.

And the relief at knowing Felipe was in good hands for the night was no match for the apprehension that had followed. The pressure of his arm around her shoulders—the stroke of his fingers across her skin—the press of his strong thigh against hers—all of these sensations only served to ratchet up her tension and heighten her anxiety.

Because he had decreed that in spite of the agreement they’d both signed—the agreement that stipulated that this was a marriage in name only—that he intended to exercise all of his marital rights and bed her.

No, she thought on reflection, not decreed. Because this man had blackmailed her to make it so.

The fact he’d waited until their wedding night for it to happen didn’t help at all.

Not now that night was here.

‘The doctors say Felipe will be all right,’ he said beside her, squeezing her shoulder, trying to reassure her, misinterpreting her nervousness. And that only made her angrier. Because this marriage was a device—a convenience—nothing more. Alesander didn’t know the first thing about her. He didn’t know what made her tick. He had no concept of what was troubling her like a man who loved her—like a real husband—would.

And yet he was expecting to take her to his bed and share the ultimate intimacy, as if he were that real husband—as if he actually cared about her.

Damn him! They’d made an agreement. They’d both signed it, only for him to go and change the rules mid-play, and all because he couldn’t handle the thought of a woman who wasn’t interested in him, who didn’t throw herself at his feet as he was used to.

‘That must be a disappointment for you,’ she countered, shifting herself as far as she could along the seat, wanting to put distance between them, or at least distance between their warm thighs, ‘or it might have been the shortest wedding in history. You could already have been halfway to owning the entire vineyard.’

Something hard and sharp glinted in his eyes as they met hers. ‘I guess we are stuck together a little longer, in that case. And as much as that might bother you and inconvenience us both, luckily there is a silver lining attached to every dark cloud.’

She gave an unladylike snort. ‘Really? So name it.’

‘That’s easy,’ he said as he smiled and touched his hand to her forehead, where the ends of a stray curl had tangled in her lashes. With an all too gentle swipe of his fingers against her brow, he pulled the offending curl free. She shivered under the touch of his fingertip on her skin, and at the tug of hair against lash. She shivered again when she realised how much his touch affected her and how very much she didn’t want it to. ‘Because I get to make love to you, of course. What else could it be?’

And if she didn’t already harbour enough resentment towards this man, she could hate him for the smug certainty that tonight it would happen. That tonight they would make love.

And even as he sought to relax her with the touch of his hand and the stroke of his fingers across her skin, instead his hand felt like the weight of obligation on her shoulders, his fingers heavy at the expectation of what this wedding night should bring.