The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride(50)

‘I see.’ She recalled with sudden, stark clarity the moment she had let herself into Richard Quentin’s flat and discovered him in bed with his housekeeper. Then she had been devastated by the cruel betrayal of the man she had believed she loved, but now, as she imagined Javier rolling around on the sheets with the exotic beauty who staffed his apartment, she wanted to be sick. ‘Pilar—is she as gorgeous as her name and voice portray?’ she said thickly. ‘Does she take care of your every whim, Javier?’

‘She’s certainly a good cook,’ he replied, clearly puzzled by her hostility. ‘But I fear that her arthritis is getting so bad that she’ll soon want to retire and move in with her daughter and grandchildren. She’s staying there now for a few days,’ he added helpfully. ‘But she made your bed up before she left.’

‘Right.’ Grace wished she could crawl away and hide under a stone. ‘Thank you for making that clear. I think I’d better go to bed before I embarrass myself any further. Goodnight,’ she said stiffly and groaned silently at the glimmering amusement in his eyes.

‘Goodnight, querida—sleep well,’ he bade her in a teasing voice that made her squirm with mortification, and with a brisk nod she hurried down the hall to her room.

Moving like an automaton, Grace showered, blow-dried her hair and slid into bed where she eventually fell into a restless sleep. She woke the hour before dawn, and as the memory of the wild accusations she had flung at Javier returned she groaned and dragged a pillow over her head. How could she have been so stupid? Thanks to her childish outburst of jealousy, she must have given the game away. By now Javier would have put two and two together and realised that she had feelings for him.

And what feelings! she acknowledged dismally. Since the moment she’d set eyes on him at Aunt Pam’s, her traitorous body had been clamouring for him to appease the feverish passion that only he could arouse. She wanted him so much that desire pulsed through her veins in a slow, slumberous beat until her entire body throbbed with need.

With a groan of frustration she threw back the covers and padded into the bathroom, hoping that a cold drink would cool her scorching temperature. The sight of her reflection made her gasp, and she stared at her glazed, heavy-lidded eyes and the moistness of her full, slightly parted lips with a sense of inevitability. In Javier she had found her destiny—albeit a brief one, she conceded painfully, thinking of the divorce he would insist upon in nine months’ time. But she loved him. The promises she had made on her wedding day hadn’t been lies, she’d meant every word she’d said—although she hadn’t realised it at the time. She would love Javier in sickness and in health for the rest of her life, and she longed to honour him with her body every night for the remaining months of their marriage.

Without giving her doubts time to regroup, she hurried down the hall like a silent wraith and hovered outside his bedroom door, her heart pounding so loud that she was surprised the whole apartment block didn’t shake. He would be asleep, she reassured herself. And, when he awoke and discovered her lying next to him, she would tell him that she must have been sleepwalking. The chemistry between them wasn’t only on her side—all her feminine instincts told her that he still wanted her, despite his declaration that they would occupy separate beds from now on. With any luck he would take her into his arms before he was properly awake, and then who knew what might happen?

Cautiously she pushed open the door and her heart stood still when a pair of honey-coloured eyes focused on her from across the room.

‘Grace! Is something wrong?’

So much for him being asleep, she thought ruefully. He was propped up on the pillows, the sheet draped over his hips, leaving his chest and taut stomach bare to her feverish gaze. The powerful muscles of his abdomen rippled as he shifted position, and she couldn’t prevent her eyes from straying to the mass of dark hairs that arrowed down his torso and disappeared beneath the sheet. Sinfully sexy and wide awake, his raw male beauty made her feel weak and she licked her lips nervously.

‘Nothing’s wrong, I just…’ She broke off helplessly, mesmerised by the molten heat in his eyes. ‘Hang my principles Javier!’ she burst out on a surge of bravado. ‘I want you to make love to me.’

‘Grace!’ Her name escaped his lips on a low groan and she trembled beneath the stark intensity of his gaze. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’

‘Why not? It’s the truth,’ she murmured. She took a few steps closer to the bed, emboldened by the flash of hunger on his face. ‘I want to be your wife in every sense of the word.’ Her nightgown was a floor-length wisp of ivory silk drawn up at the neck by a ribbon. With one swift movement she unfastened it so that the material slid down and pooled around her feet, leaving her pale, delicately rounded curves unashamedly naked.