The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride (9 page)

‘Ah, Grace, you take my breath away,
cara mia
.' A familiar sexy drawl sounded in Grace's ear and she gasped and swung round, her startled gaze clashing with a pair of flashing amber eyes. ‘I too am impatient for the day that I will make you my wife.' The secretive gleam in Javier's eyes reminded Grace of just why he was so impatient. He wanted to claim his place as head of the Herrera bank. She was simply a means to an end, and possibly an amusing diversion from his usual fare of glamorous mistresses. Before long she was going to have to set down some ground rules for their marriage, she decided grimly.

‘Dance with me,
querida
?'

Before she could protest, he drew her into his arms and swept her onto the dance floor where he pulled her against the hard length of his body. It was all part of the game, Grace told herself sternly when she felt each of her nerve endings spring into vibrant life. The way he was holding her as if she was infinitely precious to him was his way of proving to the other guests that they were in love and couldn't keep their hands off one another. Only she knew that his hand was clamped to her hip like a vice, preventing her escape.

‘Is this really necessary?' she hissed when the tempo changed to a slow ballad and he held her so close that she was aware of every muscle and sinew of his powerful thighs rubbing sensuously against her. It was almost impossible to hold herself stiffly within the circle of his arms when the sensual heat from his body was inviting her to relax and rest her head on his chest. ‘I think I managed to convince the Condesa that I'm wildly in love with you.'

‘I admit I'm impressed with your acting skills,
querida
. For a moment you almost had
me
convinced.' His mocking taunt and the soft chuckle that fanned the sensitive flesh of her inner ear was the final straw.

‘Obviously I was lying through my back teeth. I can't imagine any sane woman losing their heart to you. You're utterly unlovable.'

‘My mother used to say the same thing.' Amusement still coloured his voice, but when Grace glanced up at him she found his eyes hooded, hiding his thoughts. Thoroughly disconcerted, she stumbled, and he instantly tightened his grip around her waist so that her face was pressed against the soft silk of his shirt.

‘All mothers love their children. Why would she have said that?' she mumbled, resisting the urge to lay her hand over his heart, which was thudding beneath her ear.

He shrugged indifferently. ‘Perhaps because it's true.' He looked down at her, noting her confusion and the faint flare of pity in her eyes. She was so tiny that he felt like a giant capable of crushing her in his hands. But he didn't want to hurt her. To his surprise, he realised that he was impatient to be alone with her rather than on public display at this damned party. She was a small grey dove in a room full of peacocks, but for some reason he ached to taste her again and feel the softness of her lips beneath his own.

For the first time in his life he felt compelled to try and explain why he was devoid of normal human emotions. Usually he didn't give a damn about anyone else's opinion of him, but something in Grace's gentle expression made him want to reveal a little of the man behind the mask and reveal the reasons why Javier Herrera had ruthlessly banished love from his life.

‘My mother married my father purely for his money, and possibly the prestige of becoming the next Duquesa de Herrera,' he explained dryly. ‘Unfortunately for her, my grandfather was not as gullible as his son. He issued my father with an ultimatum—if he married my mother, he would lose all claim to the
castillo
, the bank and the Herrera fortune.' Javier's lip curled into a cynical smile. ‘Being a fool, my father chose to marry my mother, and my grandfather refused to have anything more to do with him.'

‘You mean your grandfather cut your father out of his life for ever?' Grace queried, unable to disguise her shock. ‘Did he really never see him again?'

‘The Herreras' do not go back on their word,' Javier told her harshly. ‘Carlos knew that Fernando's brain was already addled by drugs, frequently obtained by my mother. He disinherited him and banished him from El Castillo de Leon.'

On the periphery of her mind Grace was aware of the music, and her feet moved automatically in time with the beat as Javier steered her around the dance floor. But she was reeling from his stark revelations about his family. Carlos Herrera must have been a cruel and heartless man to have turned his back on his own son. Was it any surprise that his grandson had inherited the same attributes? ‘But what about you—I assumed you had spent your childhood at the
castillo
.'

‘Born into unimaginable wealth, you mean?' Javier taunted her, forcing her to recall her bitter accusations when she had visited him at El Castillo de Leon. His eyes narrowed when she blushed. ‘I spent the first years of my life as a travelling peasant—a gypsy child as wild as the dogs who belonged to the circus troupe my mother worked for. When she wasn't earning a living lying on her back.'

He gave a bitter laugh, his eyes no longer gleaming gold but cold and emotionless. ‘Once she realised that my grandfather would never accept her, she turned against my father and the son that she had conceived by accident. I was a nuisance child, unlovable and unloved, and when she hooked up with a wealthy lover she abandoned me to the care of my pitiful, half-crazed father.'

‘What happed to him?' Grace whispered.

‘He died of an overdose a few months after my mother left him. Poor fool that he was, he still loved her, despite everything she'd done to him. I learned early on that love is a cruel and destructive emotion, Grace, and even as a child I vowed it would have no place in my life. My grandfather eventually learned of my father's death. Until then he'd had no idea of my existence, but he immediately brought me to the
castillo
. I discovered my heritage, and trust me,
querida
, I will stop at nothing to retain my birthright.'

Grace stared up at him, her heart in her eyes. As a child she had known nothing but love and affection from her parents, and even after her mother's illness had been diagnosed her life at Littlecote had been blissfully happy. She couldn't even begin to comprehend Javier's dismal upbringing. No wonder he quashed his emotions so ruthlessly when he had never experienced unconditional love.

For a moment she pictured him as the lonely young boy he must have been—the boy who had grown into a hard and pitiless man. Were there any chinks in his armour? And what did it matter to her? Why did she care? Her father's freedom was the
only
thing that mattered, and she would be foolish to soften her heart towards
‘el Leon'
who lived alone in his castle in the mountains.

‘It's such an awful story. I don't know what to say,' she murmured, unable to prevent the faint tremor of her lower lip. Javier's gaze focused intently on her mouth as he wrapped a strand of her long hair around his hand and jerked her head up.

‘I do not require you to say anything other than “I will” at our wedding. At all other times I suggest you keep your mouth closed—apart from when I kiss you, of course.' His words grated harshly. Already he was regretting his mad impulse to confide in her, and hated the idea that he was in any way vulnerable. He needed to impose his mastery again before she thought him weak.

He captured her lips with his own, smothering her soft cry as his tongue forced entry and explored her with such skilled precision that Grace was powerless to resist him. She couldn't fight him, not when fire was sizzling through her veins, setting her senses ablaze. Her soft and pliant body was no match for the dominant strength of his. She could feel the drumbeat of his heart, and more shockingly the throbbing force of his arousal pushing between her thighs.

An ache started low in her stomach and quickly built to a frantic, clamouring need that only he could assuage. She'd never felt like this before, never experienced the agony of white-hot, piercing desire. The stroke of his tongue was sending her wild, and when he slid his hand down to her bottom and dragged her hard against his pelvis she trembled with longing. Never mind that they were in the middle of the dance floor, she wanted him to drag her skirt up to her waist and take her right now.

Dear God!
What was she thinking? From somewhere she found the strength to tear her mouth from his. The triumphant gleam in his amber eyes made her feel sick and she wanted to tell him that this was
not
meant to happen. Instead her tongue seemed to be cleaved to the roof of her mouth, the words wouldn't come, and she stared at him helplessly through a shimmer of tears.

Any minute now he would destroy her with a sarcastic comment. He had a cruel tongue and would no doubt use it unsparingly. She watched the way his eyes darkened and felt the sudden tension in him. It was like waiting for the executioner's axe to fall, but to her surprise he turned abruptly and led her off the dance floor without saying a word.

‘Javier, may I steal you from your fiancée for the next dance?' the Condesa murmured, flicking a brief glance at Grace before her eyes settled on Javier's handsome face.

‘I'm afraid not,' Javier replied coolly. ‘We're leaving. Grace has had a long day and needs to get to bed.'

The Condesa pouted. ‘She looks a fragile flower, Javier; take care you don't wear her out
before
your wedding night.'

There was no answer to that, or not one that Grace could think of in her numbed state. She couldn't bring herself to look at Javier, and stared miserably at the floor. The day seemed to have lasted for ever. Was it only this morning that she had gone to the castle and offered to work for him in return for her father's freedom? Instead he had demanded a year of her life, but she vowed that her duties as his wife would end at the bedroom door. He couldn't force her to share his bed, she told herself. But, after the passion he had aroused in her tonight, perhaps it wasn't him that she had to worry about.

The paparazzi were still camped outside the hotel, but to Grace's relief Javier had lost interest in courting them and shielded her with his body as he hurried her out to the waiting limousine.

‘Are you sure you don't want to pose for more pictures of the happy couple?' she queried, clutching at sarcasm to hide how strongly he affected her.

‘I think we've successfully established that we are marrying for all the right reasons, don't you,
querida
?' he replied. ‘Tomorrow morning most European papers will carry the story of our whirlwind romance.'

As the limousine purred through the busy streets, Grace stared out wearily at the myriad car headlights. Something about Javier's last statement bothered her, but she was too tired to work out why. Her head was throbbing and she felt as though she could sleep for a year—alone, in her own bed, she thought, feeling her heart lurch in apprehension. She might be inexperienced but she wasn't blind. She'd seen the hunger in Javier's eyes, and the memory of his boldly aroused body pressing against hers still burned in her mind. Would she have to do battle with him tonight? She prayed not, because she wasn't at all certain that she would win.

Lulled by the smooth motion of the car, her eyelids drooped and her head suddenly felt too heavy for her neck. Beside her, Javier tensed and glanced down at her head resting on his shoulder. In the dim interior of the car her long lashes cast dark shadows on her cheeks. Her lips had parted as she slept, and she looked as innocent as a child.

An illusion of course, he reminded himself cynically. Grace was a grown woman who knew
exactly
what she was doing. Somehow she'd realised that her air of timidity and the way she blushed whenever he looked at her turned him on, but none of it was real. Beneath the façade of sweet shyness she was as calculating as every other woman he'd ever met. A spoilt bitch who had allowed her father to risk everything just so that he could continue to pay for her extravagant lifestyle, and who was prepared to sell herself like a common whore for financial gain—although admittedly she seemed motivated by the desire to spare Angus Beresford from a prison sentence.

She did not stir when the limousine drew up in the underground car park. Javier put his hand on her shoulder to shake her awake but she looked so heartbreakingly young that his heart clenched. Muttering an impatient oath, he lifted her into his arms and held her against his chest while the lift carried them up to the penthouse apartment.

He must be growing soft, he thought derisively as he laid her on her bed and eased the zip of her dress down her spine. In her white lacy bra and panties she was a delectable temptation that he forced himself to resist, despite the gnawing ache in his gut. There would be plenty of time after their wedding to ignite the explosive sexual chemistry that existed between them. He had a whole year to enjoy her deliciously sensual nature, and she would enjoy it too—he was a generous lover, and he would take pleasure in ensuring her sexual satisfaction as well as his own.

Was it madness to suddenly find he was looking forward to the coming year with anticipation rather than as a penance? he wondered. There was no easy answer to that, and he swiftly drew the bedcovers over her and doused the light before striding into the lounge to pour himself a large and much-needed Scotch.