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.