The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride (16 page)

‘I'm all yours,
querida
—be gentle with me,' he teased, his eyes dancing with amusement at her flushed face. ‘But I'm not sure you should strip me in the hall. Your aunt may not approve.'

‘You really are the devil's own, Javier Herrera,' Grace told him crossly, her brief spurt of temper lost beneath the tumultuous pleasure of his mouth hungrily claiming hers. When he hauled her up against the hard length of his body, she clung to him, uncaring that his wet clothes were soaking through her thin shirt. She was on fire for him. A familiar ache started low in her stomach, and when he cupped her breast in his hand she moaned and strained against him, wishing that they really could dispense with their things so that she could feel him, skin on skin.

‘Come home with me, Grace—you belong with me,' he muttered hoarsely when at last he lifted his head and traced the swollen contours of her lips with his thumb pad.

Was he referring to the terms of their marriage contract? Suddenly it no longer seemed to matter, Grace thought softly. All she cared about was being with the man she loved—for however long he wanted her. And, giving him a smile that pierced his soul, she hurried up the stairs to pack.

‘I
HAVE
to be in Madrid for a few days,' Javier told Grace when he parked in the underground car park of his apartment block and ushered her into the lift. ‘I thought you might like to spend some time in the city before we return to the
castillo
.'

She didn't mind where she was as long as she was with Javier, Grace thought silently, hoping that her cool smile disguised the frantic excitement that had been building inside her since she'd stepped aboard his private jet. She'd missed him during the few weeks they'd spent apart, but it was only now, as she studied the harsh planes of his face, that she realised just how much she had ached for him.

How would she ever survive without him? she wondered fearfully as they travelled up in the lift. Nine months from now their contract would expire and they would go their separate ways, but she would never be free of him. Her soul had recognised him as her other half, and when they parted she would spend the rest of her life feeling incomplete.

‘It's getting late and you must be tired—you've spent most of the day in the air,' she murmured, glancing at him across the large and rather soulless lounge. ‘Where did you put my case? In the master bedroom, I suppose,' she added, a tremor running through her at the thought of sharing his bed once more. She'd never slept with him at the apartment, and the thought of staring up at the mirror above his bed and watching the reflection of his golden limbs caused liquid heat to flood through her veins. Surely tonight he would follow up the promise in his eyes and take her into his arms, rather than keeping strictly to his side of the mattress?

Javier strolled over to the bar and offered her a drink. When she shook her head he poured a measure of whisky into a glass and gulped it down. ‘I put your bag in the bedroom at the end of the hall, where you slept before.' He paused fractionally and then continued, ‘From now on I've decided you will sleep in your own room, both here and at the
castillo
.'

Grace felt her heart plummet to her toes at his unexpected statement. ‘I see,' she murmured, not seeing at all. What had she done wrong? He couldn't have made it clearer that he no longer wanted her, and she must have been mistaken when she'd thought she'd seen desire in his eyes.

Javier seemed to be fascinated by the night-time view over Madrid and stared resolutely out of the window. ‘I was wrong to demand that you share my bed…or to expect you to sacrifice the values that are so important to you,' he told her harshly. ‘You'll have to put it down to the fact that I've never met a woman with principles before—but then, you're not like other women, are you,
querida
?' He turned his head then and his mouth curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes as he absorbed her stunned expression.

‘I can't claim to share your blind faith in everlasting love and fairy-tale happy endings, but I've realised that I have no right to try and destroy your beliefs, or to spoil your sweet innocence with my cynicism. For the remainder of our marriage, I promise that you will spend every night in the privacy of your own room.'

Grace blinked at him, lost for words. ‘Thank you,' she croaked at last. He was obviously expecting her to be pleased with the new sleeping arrangements, and her pride wouldn't allow her to reveal that she was devastated at the prospect of losing the intimacy they'd once shared.

‘You don't look very happy. What's wrong now?' he queried, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sudden droop of her mouth.

‘I was simply curious about your sudden change of heart,' she muttered. ‘I assume it has something to do with your mistress staying here with you while you left me behind in Granada?'

His brows rose fractionally. ‘I don't have a mistress.'

‘Oh, come on, I may be innocent but I'm not stupid. On each occasion I phoned you, a woman answered my call—and it wasn't Lucita,' she added sharply, unable to disguise the sick jealousy in her voice.

‘No, Lucita's staying with her cousin on the other side of town,' Javier agreed equably. ‘The only woman who has been here is Pilar—my housekeeper,' he explained when Grace frowned.

‘I see.' She recalled with sudden, stark clarity the moment she had let herself into Richard Quentin's flat and discovered him in bed with his housekeeper. Then she had been devastated by the cruel betrayal of the man she had believed she loved, but now, as she imagined Javier rolling around on the sheets with the exotic beauty who staffed his apartment, she wanted to be sick. ‘Pilar—is she as gorgeous as her name and voice portray?' she said thickly. ‘Does she take care of your
every
whim, Javier?'

‘She's certainly a good cook,' he replied, clearly puzzled by her hostility. ‘But I fear that her arthritis is getting so bad that she'll soon want to retire and move in with her daughter and grandchildren. She's staying there now for a few days,' he added helpfully. ‘But she made your bed up before she left.'

‘Right.' Grace wished she could crawl away and hide under a stone. ‘Thank you for making that clear. I think I'd better go to bed before I embarrass myself any further. Goodnight,' she said stiffly and groaned silently at the glimmering amusement in his eyes.

‘Goodnight,
querida
—sleep well,' he bade her in a teasing voice that made her
squirm
with mortification, and with a brisk nod she hurried down the hall to her room.

Moving like an automaton, Grace showered, blow-dried her hair and slid into bed where she eventually fell into a restless sleep. She woke the hour before dawn, and as the memory of the wild accusations she had flung at Javier returned she groaned and dragged a pillow over her head. How could she have been so
stupid?
Thanks to her childish outburst of jealousy, she must have given the game away. By now Javier would have put two and two together and realised that she had feelings for him.

And what feelings! she acknowledged dismally. Since the moment she'd set eyes on him at Aunt Pam's, her traitorous body had been clamouring for him to appease the feverish passion that only he could arouse. She wanted him so much that desire pulsed through her veins in a slow, slumberous beat until her entire body throbbed with need.

With a groan of frustration she threw back the covers and padded into the bathroom, hoping that a cold drink would cool her scorching temperature. The sight of her reflection made her gasp, and she stared at her glazed, heavy-lidded eyes and the moistness of her full, slightly parted lips with a sense of inevitability. In Javier she had found her destiny—albeit a brief one, she conceded painfully, thinking of the divorce he would insist upon in nine months' time. But she loved him. The promises she had made on her wedding day hadn't been lies, she'd meant every word she'd said—although she hadn't realised it at the time. She would love Javier in sickness and in health for the rest of her life, and she longed to honour him with her body every night for the remaining months of their marriage.

Without giving her doubts time to regroup, she hurried down the hall like a silent wraith and hovered outside his bedroom door, her heart pounding so loud that she was surprised the whole apartment block didn't shake. He would be asleep, she reassured herself. And, when he awoke and discovered her lying next to him, she would tell him that she must have been sleepwalking. The chemistry between them wasn't only on her side—all her feminine instincts told her that he still wanted her, despite his declaration that they would occupy separate beds from now on. With any luck he would take her into his arms before he was properly awake, and then who knew what might happen?

Cautiously she pushed open the door and her heart stood still when a pair of honey-coloured eyes focused on her from across the room.

‘Grace! Is something wrong?'

So much for him being asleep, she thought ruefully. He was propped up on the pillows, the sheet draped over his hips, leaving his chest and taut stomach bare to her feverish gaze. The powerful muscles of his abdomen rippled as he shifted position, and she couldn't prevent her eyes from straying to the mass of dark hairs that arrowed down his torso and disappeared beneath the sheet. Sinfully sexy and wide awake, his raw male beauty made her feel weak and she licked her lips nervously.

‘Nothing's wrong, I just…' She broke off helplessly, mesmerised by the molten heat in his eyes. ‘Hang my principles Javier!' she burst out on a surge of bravado. ‘I want you to make love to me.'

‘Grace!' Her name escaped his lips on a low groan and she trembled beneath the stark intensity of his gaze. ‘You shouldn't say things like that.'

‘Why not? It's the truth,' she murmured. She took a few steps closer to the bed, emboldened by the flash of hunger on his face. ‘I want to be your wife in every sense of the word.' Her nightgown was a floor-length wisp of ivory silk drawn up at the neck by a ribbon. With one swift movement she unfastened it so that the material slid down and pooled around her feet, leaving her pale, delicately rounded curves unashamedly naked.

‘I should send you away,' Javier muttered hoarsely. ‘I am not the man for you,
querida
, but your loveliness would tempt a saint—and I have never professed to piety.'

He twitched back the sheet and Grace caught her breath as she took in the length of his arousal. Her earlier doubts were forming thick and fast, but he took her hand and drew her down onto the bed.

She was shaking—or was it him? she wondered when he lifted her hand to his mouth and grazed his lips over her knuckles. ‘Don't look at me like that. We'll take it slowly. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Do you trust me?' He tilted her chin so that she was forced to look at him, and the tender passion in his eyes caused her to nod wordlessly.

She gave him a tentative smile and heard his harsh intake of breath before he lowered his head and claimed her mouth with a slow, sensual expertise that left his desire for her in no doubt. The provocative thrust of his tongue between her lips inflamed her senses and she clung to him as he deepened the kiss to a level that was flagrantly erotic.

‘You are so small, so perfect,' he whispered before trailing a path of kisses along her jaw, and then down to the pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat. He cupped her breast in his palm and stared down at her nipple before taking it into his mouth and feeling it harden to a tight peak beneath the gentle lash of his tongue. When she whimpered, he transferred his attention to its twin, and felt a surge of male satisfaction when she twisted her hips restlessly. He knew what she wanted, his beautiful English rose, and with deliberate intent he pushed her legs apart and trailed his fingers through the tight curls at the apex between her thighs.

She was ready for him, and for a second he almost lost control and plunged into her with primitive force. Instead he drew on his formidable willpower and stroked his finger gently up and down the entrance to her vagina until she parted for him and he slid in deep, focusing on her face as he watched her eyes dilate with pleasure.

‘Javier…please,' she whispered against his throat, and he smiled, confident that he would give her more pleasure than she had ever known. He might not know much about emotions, but he was a skilled and generous lover. Although where Grace was concerned perhaps not a very patient one, he conceded ruefully, feeling his penis throb unbearably with the urgent need to experience sexual release.

He couldn't wait much longer. He hadn't felt as hot and hard as this since he'd been a teenager. He took her lips again and felt the sweetness of her tongue inside his mouth, building the desire that coiled low in his stomach. Stifling a groan, he reached into the bedside drawer and dealt with the protective sheath with swift efficiency born of plenty of practice.

‘Javier…!' Grace cried out when she felt him ease away from her. Was he going to stop? The idea was unbearable. Her entire body was trembling with the need to feel him inside her, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to urge him down onto her. She felt him slide his arm under her bottom and lift her hips, and with an instinct as old as time she spread her legs so that the solid ridge of his penis rubbed against her moist opening. Slowly and with infinite care he eased forwards and she felt her muscles stretch to accommodate him.

‘Am I hurting you?' His voice was rough and low-pitched, and when she stared at him she noted the beads of sweat on his brow. His face was a taut mask, and his amber eyes seemed to burn into her soul.

‘No,' she lied. ‘Don't stop.' It didn't really hurt, it was just so new and overwhelming, but the last thing she wanted was for him to withdraw from her. She offered him a shy smile and he paused fractionally, and then gave one hard thrust that wrenched a sob from her throat. Almost instantly the discomfort subsided to be replaced with a wondrous sense of fullness, and she wriggled her hips experimentally as she revelled in the delicious sensations he was arousing within her.

‘Forgive me,
querida
,' he whispered, resting his brow against hers and smoothing her damp hair back from her face. ‘Do you want me to stop?'

‘No!' Her reply was instant and unequivocal, but just to make sure she wrapped her legs around his back. ‘Don't stop; I like it,' she whispered.