The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride(37)

The thought was enough to make her feel weak and she gasped when his deep sexy drawl sounded from the doorway.

‘Gracias, Consuela, you can leave us now.’ He addressed the maid but his eyes were focused on Grace and she swallowed at the smouldering heat in his gaze. Too late, she thought wildly, her eyes huge in her pale face, their expression unconsciously pleading as she absorbed his height and the inherent strength of his broad chest.

‘I wasn’t expecting you to desert your guests and follow me,’ she muttered.

‘I’ve left them to it,’ he replied laconically as he closed the door after Consuela and locked it before pocketing the key. ‘Don’t worry, Torres will ensure that nobody will disturb us,’ he added, mistaking the reason for her horrified gasp. ‘We will enjoy total privacy for the rest of the night, querida.’

‘What about my privacy?’ Grace demanded huskily, taking a step backwards as he strolled over to her. He reminded her of a panther—sleek and dark and very, very dangerous—although to be fair she wasn’t afraid of him, she conceded dismally. It was herself and her shocking reaction to him that scared her. ‘I want to sleep in my own room,’ she stated baldly. ‘I’m tired…and I’ve got a headache.’

‘Poor baby.’ He moved closer until Grace found herself backed up against the dresser.

Someone had placed the pale pink roses that had been her bridal bouquet in a vase so that their exquisite perfume filled the room. Their tight buds were already unfurling, and she watched helplessly as Javier selected a bloom and stroked it gently down her cheek.

‘Did you like your flowers today?’ he murmured, his eyes narrowing as she moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

‘They’re beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘Roses are my favourite flowers.’

‘I know.’ His slow smile told her he was thinking of the first time they’d met, when she had stolen a rose from his garden. ‘They remind me of you, delicately beautiful and perfectly formed—but with thorns that can cause real damage,’ he added a shade ruefully. For some reason Grace’s eyes were drawn to his hand. She’d noticed the small bandage around it earlier and now she frowned at the visible bloodstain on the cloth.

‘What did you do to your hand?’

‘It’s nothing.’ He shrugged and stroked his fingers through her hair. His eyes were hooded and slumberous with sensual heat. She should move, Grace thought frantically, but her feet seemed to be welded to the floor, and when he cupped her chin and lifted her face to his she couldn’t prevent herself from swaying towards him.

He kissed her with a slow thoroughness that drugged her senses and dismantled her barriers with terrifying ease. How could she fight him, when her heart was pounding in her chest so hard that she could barely breathe? Would it really be so wrong to give in to the thunderous desire that was coursing through her veins? she wondered feverishly. He was her husband—but their marriage was a sham and she didn’t love him.

His lips trailed a path down her throat and settled on the pulse beating frantically at its base. His male scent and the heat emanating from his body inflamed her senses to an unbearable degree, and she gasped her pleasure when he nipped her earlobe with his teeth before claiming her mouth once more in a burning kiss that revealed his impatience to take her to his bed.

‘Javier—no.’ She could feel his fingers on her spine, freeing the tiny pearl buttons that fastened her dress, and from somewhere she found the strength to push against his chest. ‘I meant what I said. I won’t sleep with you.’ She dragged air into her lungs and stared at him wildly. ‘I don’t want you.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ His mocking grin and supreme arrogance made her grit her teeth. ‘I’m not blind, querida, I have visible evidence that I turn you on.’ His eyes settled on the hard peaks of her nipples straining against the bodice of her wedding dress. ‘You are as hungry for me as I am for you—what’s the point in denying the passion your body so clearly craves?’

‘My body may react to your undoubted expertise, but my heart and mind reject you—and they’re what count,’ she told him so fiercely that his eyes narrowed.

‘But you’re my wife.’ Before she had time to think, he spun her round and continued to unfasten her dress until he lost patience and wrenched the material apart so that the little pearls pinged in all directions.

‘Don’t!’ With a sharp cry Grace held the bodice against her breasts. ‘My beautiful dress—you’ve ruined it,’ she flung at him, appalled by his casual desecration of the fairy-tale gown that she had fallen in love with the moment she’d seen it. ‘You’re a…barbarian! Is it any wonder that I can’t bear you anywhere near me?’