November Harlequin Presents 2(89)

She was married. Grace nervously twisted the plain gold band on her finger and found that it was stuck tight. Earlier in the day Javier had slid it onto her finger with ease, but then she had been so cold—due as much to nerves, as to the cool interior of the ancient chapel—that she had been forced to bite her lip to prevent her teeth from chattering. Now the warmth and hubbub of voices in the banqueting hall made her feel hot, and the glass of champagne she had bolted down with the wedding feast had caused hectic colour to stain her cheeks.

It had been a long day and she couldn’t wait for it to end, but from the gleam of anticipation in Javier’s amber eyes the night promised to be even more traumatic than her wedding day. The thought caused her stomach to lurch and she cast a furtive glance around the room, her eyes homing in on her husband with the accuracy of a missile.

With the meal finished, most of the guests were moving around the room, chatting and drinking. Javier was standing with a group of people she’d never met before today and whose names she doubted she would remember. She guessed that most were business associates, although he had introduced her to a few of his family members, notably his cousin, Lorenzo Perez—the man who would have usurped Javier’s place as head of the bank if he had failed to choose a bride.

Was Lorenzo aware of the true reason for their hasty marriage? she wondered. Did anyone else present know, other than the lawyer Ramon Aguilar? Javier had insisted that he wanted it to remain a secret. He was a proud man, and she sensed that he had been not just angered but bitterly hurt by his grandfather’s lack of faith in him.

He was a complicated man, she conceded with a sigh, unable to tear her eyes from his wickedly handsome face. When she’d first caught sight of him waiting at the altar, looking cold and remote and yet devastatingly gorgeous, she’d felt overwhelmed by his raw sexual magnetism. Her legs had suddenly seemed incapable of holding her upright, and she had clung to Torres’s arm as he’d escorted her into the chapel.

The marriage ceremony had been deeply moving—more so than she’d expected—and tears had filled her eyes when she’d made her vows in a voice that trembled with emotion. How often had she dreamed of marrying a man who was the other half to her soul? She believed that marriage was a lifelong commitment, and for a while she’d thought that Richard Quentin was that man. His betrayal had shattered her trust and caused her to doubt her judgement, and now she was trapped in a loveless union   with a man whose ruthlessness was legendary and who was often referred to by his staff as el Leon de Herrera.

‘Try not to look so tragic, querida, or our guests will think we’ve had our first lovers’ tiff.’ A familiar mocking voice sounded in her ear. Javier’s sudden presence at her side made Grace jump, and she glared at him. He moved with the silent stealth of a big cat, she thought irritably, and right now she felt like his prey waiting in trepidation for him to strike. ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded, his keen gaze noting the faint shadows in her eyes. He drew out a chair and sat down next to her, so close that she caught the sensual musk of his cologne mixed with another indefinable scent that was pure male.

‘Nothing…I was just thinking about my father and wishing he was here.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘I never imagined that I would be alone on my wedding day, without either of my parents.’

‘There are four hundred guests here—you’re hardly alone,’ Javier said harshly.

‘But I don’t know any of them. They’re not my friends—although I’m curious to know if any of them are yours, or is our wedding just some wonderful networking opportunity for your business associates?’ she muttered cynically.

‘Well, you won’t have to suffer their presence for much longer, querida,’ he said icily. ‘The party will be over within the hour and nobody will dare linger. They must know how impatient I am to take my new bride to bed—but just in case they have any doubts…’ He dipped his head and captured her mouth with unerring precision, imposing his will with a mastery that left her breathless. One hand slid the length of her slender neck, exposed where her hair was piled on top of her head and secured there with an ornate pearl-and-diamond tiara. His lean fingers gripped her neck, holding her fast while he proceeded to demonstrate to the wedding guests his eagerness to carry his duquesa up to bed.

She should resist him, Grace thought numbly, putting her hand on his chest to push him away. Throughout the meal she had been searching for the right words to tell him that she had no intention of consummating their fake marriage. She had lied in the chapel when she’d made her vows, but she would be true to her own heart—she refused to give her body to a man she didn’t love.