The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride(48)

There was still a way to go, she realised as she leant forwards and kissed Angus on the cheek. He would continue to take medication for clinical depression for many months yet. Susan’s death had plunged him into the depths of despair, and for a little while he had truly lost his mind. There were still great gaps in his memory, and she was sure he recalled few details of his last year as manager of the bank, or his desperate attempts to deal with his escalating financial problems.

She certainly wasn’t going to remind him, Grace thought protectively. Thanks to Javier, Angus was free from prosecution, he was no longer in debt and he was safe and cared for with Aunt Pam. She was determined that he would never learn the price she had paid for his freedom—a year of her life given to a man she despised.

But of course she didn’t despise Javier, she acknowledged painfully. It was impossible to think she had ever hated him when her love for him filled her heart to overflowing.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the peal of the doorbell, followed by excited yapping from Aunt Pam’s three terriers. ‘Come on, Misty, into the kitchen—and you, Moppet, and stop chewing my slippers. Grace, do you think you could get the door?’ came her aunt’s faintly desperate plea.

Trying not to smile, Grace hurried down the hall and opened the front door. Her heart almost leapt from her chest when she stared into a familiar golden-eyed gaze. ‘Javier…What—what are you doing here?’ she stammered, filled with sudden dread. ‘Luca…?’

‘Is recovering quicker than even the vet predicted,’ he swiftly reassured her. ‘I’m here to take you home, of course,’ he told her with a flash of the haughty arrogance she knew so well. But the warmth in his eyes, the flare of hunger that he couldn’t disguise, told her he was not as in control of his emotions as he would like her to believe. ‘I’ve decided that my wife has been away long enough.’

‘But you knew I was coming back tomorrow. You arranged my flight,’ she said dazedly, struggling to think when the sight of him seemed to have turned her brain to the consistency of cotton wool. He was wearing faded denims and a black leather jacket that emphasised the width of his broad shoulders. His hair needed cutting and curled over his collar, and his jaw was shaded with dark stubble, as if his trip to England had been a mad impulse and he’d been in too much of a hurry to shave.

‘Patience has never been my strong point,’ he drawled with a complete lack of remorse. ‘My private jet is waiting on the runway at the local airport—go and get your things.’

‘You mean you want to leave right now? But I’m not packed or anything. What is this really about, Javier?’ Grace demanded, her voice thick with hurt. ‘Did you think I might break our deal? I gave you my word that I’d come back to you, but you obviously don’t trust me.’

‘It’s not a question of trust,’ he growled, his smile fading as he caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

‘Then why the sudden urgency?’ she muttered. ‘You look as though you fell out of bed this morning straight onto the plane.’

He shrugged and suddenly seemed determined to avoid her gaze. ‘The urgency is because we’ve spent almost a month apart. I was held up in Madrid for longer than planned and then you came here to celebrate your father’s birthday.’ Incredibly, he appeared embarrassed as his eyes briefly met hers and quickly veered away. ‘I…missed you.’

‘Oh!’ A choir of angels burst into song inside Grace’s head and she gave him a shy smile. ‘I…missed you too,’ she whispered. She stared at him, willing him to look at her, and her heart began to pound when his mouth curved into a slow, sensual smile that promised heaven.

‘Grace…’ He looked deep into her eyes and she quivered as a current of electricity arced between them.

‘Yes?’ she murmured breathlessly.

‘Do you think I could come in out of the rain before I drown?’

‘Oh! Yes, of course. I’m so sorry!’ Cheeks flaming, she stepped back and ushered him into the hall. He was so wet that water ran in rivulets down his face and he lifted a hand to slick his dripping hair from his brow. ‘You’re soaked to the skin—here, let me help you take off your clothes,’ she fussed, tugging at his jacket.

‘I’m all yours, querida—be gentle with me,’ he teased, his eyes dancing with amusement at her flushed face. ‘But I’m not sure you should strip me in the hall. Your aunt may not approve.’

‘You really are the devil’s own, Javier Herrera,’ Grace told him crossly, her brief spurt of temper lost beneath the tumultuous pleasure of his mouth hungrily claiming hers. When he hauled her up against the hard length of his body, she clung to him, uncaring that his wet clothes were soaking through her thin shirt. She was on fire for him. A familiar ache started low in her stomach, and when he cupped her breast in his hand she moaned and strained against him, wishing that they really could dispense with their things so that she could feel him, skin on skin.