November Harlequin Presents 2(75)
It was a pity that black seemed to drain the colour from her face, she decided after she had swept her hair into a severe knot and stood back to inspect her reflection. Even with a touch of pink lip-gloss she resembled a governess in period costume rather than a blushing bride-to-be. But it was too late to change now, and besides, she thought with a spurt of rebellion, she refused to allow Javier to dictate how she should dress. He was obviously used to his minions obeying his every command, but he would have to learn that she wouldn’t be a pushover.
He was waiting in the lounge. Grace swept along the corridor with her head held high, refusing to acknowledge that her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. As she neared the doorway she halted and stared at him. He was something else, she thought weakly, feeling her bravado trickle away. His impeccably tailored black dinner suit accentuated his height and the width of his broad shoulders. His exquisitely chiselled profile could have been hewn from marble, but when he turned and saw her the fire in his golden eyes warned that he was alive, and at this precise moment breathing fire.
‘What the devil are you wearing? Dios, you look as though you are about to attend a funeral rather than celebrate our engagement.’
‘Perhaps that’s because I consider our engagement as little to celebrate,’ she replied, stung by his mocking disdain. She didn’t look that bad, for heaven’s sake. ‘Funereal black is a fitting colour to match my mood.’
‘I swear you would test the patience of a saint, Miss Beresford,’ Javier growled as he strode across the room and gripped her shoulders. Before she could remonstrate, he spun her round and propelled her back along the corridor to her room. ‘And I am the least saintly man on this planet. You have two minutes to change out of the widow’s weeds and into the blue dress.’
‘Or…?’ Grace challenged him, her cheeks on fire and her hands coming to rest belligerently on her hips. She had never felt so angry in her life. Gone was mild-mannered Grace Beresford, and in her place a bubbling cauldron of fury. Javier Herrera was insufferably arrogant and downright rude. She would wear what she damned well liked, and how dared he try to lay down the law?
‘Or I will strip you faster than you can blink.’ Javier’s mouth curled into a smile that held no warmth. ‘Although I confess it may take me considerably longer to dress you again,’ he murmured coolly. ‘It might even result in us being late for the banquet, but our hosts would surely forgive the heated passions of a betrothed couple, and the stain of sexual warmth on your cheeks would be preferable to you looking like a wan ghost.’
‘You are despicable, and I won’t go through with this.’ Grace felt tears of rage sting her eyes, and she blinked furiously, determined to stem their fall. ‘I couldn’t remain married to you for five minutes, let alone a whole year.’
Javier shrugged his shoulders indifferently and took his mobile phone from his jacket pocket. ‘Fine—we’ll call the whole thing off.’ He paused fractionally and then added softly, ‘I thought you cared about your father, but obviously I was wrong. The only person you care about is yourself, isn’t that right, Grace?’
‘You know I would do anything for him,’ she whispered thickly. Javier had the upper hand and they both knew it. If she refused to marry him, he would easily find another bride—his multi-million-pound fortune guaranteed that. But she had no other way of saving her father from prison. She was trapped; there was no way out. Frantically she moistened her suddenly dry lips with her tongue and could not bring herself to meet his gaze.
‘Two minutes, Grace,’ he warned, handing her the blue dress, and with a muttered oath she swung round and marched into the bathroom.
If she was honest it was a beautiful dress, and the colour complemented her delicate colouring far better than black, she noted sourly. With narrow diamanté shoulder straps and a neckline that plunged lower than anything else she had ever worn, the gown was both elegant and sexy. The fluid silk seemed to caress her skin, skimming over her curves with a lover’s gentle touch…
For heaven’s sake! She glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Where Javier was concerned it was imperative that she keep her wits about her, not drift off into some fantasy world where the sensual heat she’d seen reflected in his amber eyes transmuted into the feel of his hands exploring her body. She didn’t even like the man, she reminded herself irritably. In fact, she loathed him. He was too big, too powerful, and altogether too much, and the less time she spent with him during the coming year the better.