November Harlequin Presents 2(82)

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.





CHAPTER SIX




SHE had to go home! Grace’s eyes flew open as the thought filtered into her brain. Last night she had been too tired and emotionally drained to work out what was bothering her, but now she recalled Javier’s satisfaction that the media interest would ensure the story of their engagement would be headline news around the world. What would her father make of it? He wouldn’t understand what was going on and would be desperately worried about her. Knowing his fragile state of mind, that was the last thing she wanted.

She threw back the covers, frowning at the realisation that she had slept in her underwear rather than a nightshirt. The blue dress Javier had demanded she wear to the banquet was hanging over the back of the chair but she had no recollection of putting it there. The last thing she remembered was sitting in the car, on the way back to Javier’s apartment. She must have fallen asleep, but did that mean that he had carried her up to bed? And who had undressed her? It must have been his housekeeper, she decided, relief flooding through her as she dismissed the disturbing image of his hands easing the blue silk dress from her shoulders while she slept.

Cursing her overactive imagination, she scrambled out of bed. When they had stopped briefly at her hotel in Granada the previous day she had hurriedly collected her few belongings while Javier settled her bill. Incensed at his high handedness, she had argued with him bitterly for much of the flight to Madrid, but now, as she rummaged through her case, her heart plummeted. Her passport and return flight ticket were missing. Had she put them in the bedside drawer at the hotel and forgotten to pack them? She was certain she’d left them in her case but they weren’t there now, and the only explanation she could think of was that she had left them in Granada.

In desperation she tipped the contents of her suitcase onto the floor and carefully sifted through everything, but to no avail; the documents weren’t there. Maybe Javier could phone the hotel and enquire if anyone had handed them in, she thought frantically. With no thought in her head other than the urgent need to find her passport, she shot down the hall and rapped on his bedroom door. There was no answer, and she hopped impatiently from foot to foot. She had no idea of the time, but it was imperative that she return to England and speak to her father before he learned of her forthcoming marriage from a newspaper.

She knocked again and then cautiously opened the door. Javier’s bed was empty and she swallowed at the sight of the burgundy silk sheets in rumpled disarray. His apartment was very much a bachelor pad, and from the look of it this was the seduction suite complete with a huge bed draped with a plush velvet throw and—oh goodness—an enormous mirror on the ceiling. Her wayward mind dwelled on the erotic image of his naked body lying on those sheets, his long limbs entwined with hers while she lay back on the pillows and watched their reflection—dark golden skin sliding against her paler flesh…