Kitabı oku: «His Revenge Seduction», sayfa 2

Chapter Two

‘WELL, today’s the big day,’ the cheery nurse on duty said brightly as she swished back the curtains of the private room windows where Emelia had spent the last few days after being moved out of the High Dependency Unit. ‘You’re finally going home with that gorgeous husband of yours. I tell you, my girl, I wouldn’t mind changes places with you, that I wouldn’t,’ she added with a grin as she plucked the pillows off the bed in preparation for a linen change. ‘If his looks weren’t enough compensation, just think—I wouldn’t have to work again, married to all that money.’

Emelia gave the nurse a tight smile as she tried to ignore the way her stomach nosedived at the mention of the tall, dark, brooding stranger who had faithfully visited her each day, saying little, smiling even less, touching her only if necessary, as if somehow sensing she wasn’t ready for a return to their previous intimacy. To limit her interaction with him, she had mostly feigned sleep, but she knew once she went home with him she would have to face the reality of their relationship.

She had seen how the nurses practically swooned when he came onto the ward each day. And this one called Bridget was not the only one to gently tease her about not recognising him. Everyone seemed reasonably confident her memory loss would be temporary, but Emelia couldn’t help worrying about the missing pieces and how they would impact on her once she left the relative sanctuary of the hospital.

She had spoken to the staff psychologist about her misgivings and what she perceived was Javier’s tension around her. Dr Carey had described how some partners found it hard to accept they were not recognised by the one they loved and that it would take a lot of time and patience on both sides to restore the relationship to what it had been before the accident. There could be anger and resentment and a host of other feelings that would have to be dealt with in time.

The psychologist had advised Emelia to take time to get to know her husband all over again. ‘Things will be more natural between you once you are in familiar surroundings,’ Dr Carey had assured her. ‘Busy hospitals are not the most conducive environment to re-es-tablish intimacy.’

Emelia thought about her future as she waited for Javier to collect her. She sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to think about the possibility of never remembering the last two years of her life. She had no memory of her first meeting with Javier, no memory of their first kiss, let alone their wedding day and what had followed. He had said she loved his villa but she couldn’t even imagine what it looked like. She was being taken to live in a foreign country with a man who was a stranger to her in every way.

She ran her hands down her tanned and toned thighs.

She couldn’t help noticing how slim she was now. Surely she hadn’t lost that much weight during her coma? She had only been unconscious a week. She had struggled on and off with her weight for most of her life and yet now she was almost reed-thin. Her legs and arms were toned and her stomach had lost its annoying little pouch. It was flat and ridged with muscle she hadn’t known she possessed.

Was this how Javier liked her to look? Had she adopted a gym bunny lifestyle to keep him attracted to her? How soon had she succumbed to his attentions? Had she made him wait or had she capitulated as soon as he had shown his interest in her? What had he seen in her? She knew she was blessed with reasonable looks but somehow, with his arrestingly handsome features and aristocratic bearing, he seemed the type who would prefer supermodel glamour and sophistication.

The police had come in earlier and interviewed her but she had not been able to tell them anything at all about the accident. It too was all a blank, a black hole in her memory that no attempt on her part could fill.

One of the constables had brought Emelia her handbag, retrieved from the accident, but even searching through it she felt as if it belonged to someone else. There was the usual collection of lip gloss and pens and tissues and gum, a frighteningly expensive atomizer of perfume and a sophisticated mobile phone that hadn’t survived the impact. The screen was cracked and it refused to turn on.

She took out a packet of contraceptive pills and stared at the name on the box: Emelia Mélendez. There were only a couple of pills left in the press out card. She fingered the foil rectangle for a minute and then, without another thought, tossed it along with the packet in the rubbish bag taped to the edge of her bedside table.

Emelia placed her hand on her chest near her heart, trying to ease the pain of never seeing Peter again. That was a part of her life that was finished. She hadn’t even been given the chance to say goodbye.

Javier schooled his features into blankness as he entered the private suite. ‘Cariño,’ he said, ‘I see you are all packed and ready to leave.’

He saw the flicker of uncertainty in her grey-blue gaze before she lowered it. ‘There wasn’t much to pack,’ she said, slipping off the bed to stand upright.

He put out a hand to steady her but she moved out of his reach, as if his touch repelled her. He set his jaw, fighting back his fury. She didn’t used to flinch from his touch. She used to be hungry for it. He thought of all the times he had taken her, quickly, passionately, slowly, sensually. She hadn’t recoiled from his lovemaking until Marshall had come back on the scene. Javier’s gut roiled with the thought of what she had got up to while his back was turned. How convenient for her to forget her perfidy now when the stakes had changed. The way she had received the news of Marshall’s death confirmed her depth of feeling for him. She hadn’t forgotten her lover and yet she had forgotten him—her legal husband.

Javier clenched his fingers around the handle of the small bag containing Emelia’s belongings. A tiny flick knife of guilt nicked at him deep inside. He had to admit there were some things he hoped she wouldn’t remember about their last heated argument. He had lost control in a way that deeply ashamed him. Had his actions during that ugly scene driven her into her lover’s arms? Or had she been planning to run away with Marshall in any case?

What if she never remembered him?

No. He was not going to think about that possibility, in spite of what the doctors and the psychologist had said. He lived for the day when she would look at him with full recognition in her grey-blue eyes. For the day she would smile at him and offer her soft, full beestung mouth for him to kiss; she would give him her body to pleasure and be pleasured until every last memory of her dead lover was obliterated.

And then and only then he would have his revenge.

‘My car is waiting outside,’ Javier said. ‘I have a private jet waiting for our departure.’

She gave him one of her bewildered looks. ‘You…you have a private jet?’

‘Sí,’ he answered. ‘You are married to a very rich man, mi amor, or have you forgotten that too?’

She bit into her bottom lip, her gaze falling away from his as she continued walking by his side. ‘Dr Carey, the psychologist, told me some husbands find it very hard to accept their wives don’t remember them,’ she said. ‘I know this must be hard for you. I know you must feel angry and upset.’

You have no idea how angry, Javier thought as he led the way out of the hospital. Anger was like a turbulent flood inside him. His blood was surging with it, bulging in his veins like red-hot lava until he felt he was going to explode with it. How could he conceal the hatred he felt for her at her betrayal? The papers were full of it again this morning, as they had been for the past week.

Every headline seemed to say the same: the speculation about her affair with Marshall, their clandestine dirty little affair that had ended in tragedy. Javier knew he would have to work harder at controlling his emotions. This was not the time to avenge the past. What was the point? Emelia apparently had no recollection of it.

He cupped her elbow with the palm of his hand as he guided her into the waiting limousine. ‘I am sorry, querida,’ he said. ‘I am still getting over the shock of almost losing you. Forgive me. I will try and be more considerate.’

She looked at him once he took the seat beside her, her eyes like luminescent pools. ‘It’s OK,’ she said in a whisper-soft voice. ‘I’m finding it hard too. I feel like I am living in someone else’s body, living someone else’s life.’

‘It is your life,’ Javier said. ‘It is the one you chose for yourself.’

She frowned as she absently stroked her fingers over the butter-soft leather of the seat between them. ‘How long did we date before we got married?’

‘Not long.’

She turned her head to look at him. ‘How long?’

‘Six weeks.’

Her eyes went wide, like pond water spreading after a flood. ‘I can’t believe I got married so quickly,’ she said, as if talking to herself. She shook her head but then winced as if it had hurt her. She lowered her gaze and tucked a strand of her honey-blonde hair back behind her ear, her tongue sweeping out over her lips, the action igniting a fire in his groin despite all of his attempts to ignore her physical allure. Sitting this close, he could smell the sweet vanilla fragrance of her skin. If he closed his eyes he could picture her writhing beneath him as he pounded into her, his body rocking with hers until they both exploded. He clenched his jaw and turned to look out of the window at the rain lashing down outside.

‘Was it a white wedding?’ she asked after a little silence.

Javier turned and looked at her. ‘Yes, it was. There were over four hundred people there. It was called the wedding of the year. Perhaps if you see the photographs it will trigger something in your memory.’

‘Perhaps…’ She looked away and began chewing on her bottom lip, her brow furrowing once more.

Javier watched her in silence, mulling over what to tell her and what to leave well alone. The doctor had advised against pressuring her to remember. She was disoriented and still suffering from the blow of losing her lover. Apart from that first show of grief, she hadn’t mentioned Peter Marshall again, but every now and then he saw the way her eyes would tear up and a stake would go through his heart all over again.

She suddenly turned and met his gaze. ‘Do you have family?’ she asked. ‘Brothers or sisters and parents?’

‘My mother died when I was very young,’ he said. ‘My father remarried after some years. I have a half-sister called Izabella.’ He paused before adding, ‘My father left Izabella’s mother and after the divorce remarried once again. As predicted by just about everyone who knew him, it didn’t work out and he was in the process of divorcing his third wife when he died.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said quietly. ‘Did I ever meet him?’

Javier stretched his lips into an embittered smile.

‘No. My father and I were estranged at the time. I hadn’t spoken to him for ten years.’

Her expression was empathetic. ‘How very sad. How did the estrangement come about?’

He drew in a breath and released it slowly. ‘My father was a stubborn man. He was hard in business and even harder in his personal life. It’s why each of his marriages turned into war zones. He liked control. It irked him that I wanted to take charge of my own life. We exchanged a few heated words and that was it. We never spoke to each other again.’

Emelia studied his stony expression, wondering how far the apple had fallen from the tree. ‘Were you alike in looks?’ she asked.

His eyes met hers, so dark and mysterious, making her stomach give a little unexpected flutter. ‘We shared the same colouring but had little else in common,’ he said. ‘I was closer to my mother.’

‘How old were you when she died?’ Emelia asked.

His eyes moved away from hers, his voice when he spoke flat and emotionless. ‘I was four, almost five years old.’

Emelia felt her insides clench at the thought of him as a dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy losing his mother so young. She knew the devastation so well. She had been in her early teens when her mother had died, but still it had hit hard. Her adolescence, from fourteen years old, had been so lonely. While not particularly close to either of her high-flying parents, there had been so many times over the years when Emelia had wished she could have had just one more day with her mother. ‘Are you close to your half-sister?’ she asked.

His lips moved in a brief, indulgent-looking smile which immediately softened his features, bringing warmth into his eyes. ‘Yes, strangely enough. She’s a lot younger, of course. She’s only just out of her teens but, since my father died, I’ve taken a more active role in her life. She lives in Paris with her mother but she comes to stay quite regularly.’

‘So…I’ve met her, then?’ Emelia asked, trying to ignore the way her stomach shifted in response to his warmer expression.

His eyes came back to hers, studying her for a pulsing moment. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ve met her numerous times.’

Emelia moistened her lips, something she seemed to do a lot around him. ‘Do we…get on?’ she asked, choosing her words carefully.

His unreadable gaze bored into hers. ‘Unfortunately, you were not the best of friends. I think it was perhaps because Izabella was used to having my undivided attention. She saw you as a threat, as competition.’

She frowned as she thought about what he had said about his sister. The girl sounded like a spoilt brat, too used to having her own way. No wonder they hadn’t got on. ‘You said Izabella was used to having you to herself. But surely you’d had women in your life before…before me?’

‘But of course.’

Emelia felt a quick dart of jealousy spike her at the arrogant confidence of his statement. Just how many women had there been? Not counting him, for she could not recall sleeping with him, she had only had one lover. She had been far too young and had only gone out with the man to annoy her father during one of her teenage fits of rebellion. It was not a period of her life she was particularly proud of and the loss of self-esteem she had experienced during that difficult time had made it hard for her to date with any confidence subsequently.

Her belly gave another little quiver as she thought about what Javier might have taught her in the last two years. Had he tutored her in the carnal delights he seemed to have enjoyed so freely?

His dark eyes began to glint as if he could read her mind. ‘We were good together, Emelia,’ he said. ‘Very, very good.’

She swallowed tightly. ‘Um…I…it’s…I don’t think I’m ready to rush into…you know…picking up where we left off, so to speak.’

He elevated one of his dark brows. ‘No?’

Emelia pressed her trembling thighs together, the heat that had pooled between them both surprising and shocking her. ‘The doctor said not to rush things. He said I should take things very slowly.’

The little gleam in his eyes was still there as he held her gaze. ‘It would not do to go against doctor’s orders, now, would it?’

She couldn’t stop herself from looking at his mouth. The sensual curve of his lips made her heart start to race. How many times had that mouth sealed hers? Was he a hard kisser or soft? Fast and furious with passion or slow and bone-meltingly commanding? The base of her spine gave a shivery tremor, the sensation moving all the way up to nestle in the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

Her thoughts went racing off again.

Had he kissed her there? Had he stroked his long tanned fingers over the nape of her neck? Had he dipped his tongue into the shell of her ear?

Her heart rammed against her ribcage.

Had he gone lower to the secret heart of her? Had he explored her in intimate detail, making her flesh quiver and spasm in delight? What positions had they made love in? Which was their favourite? Had she taken him in her mouth; had she…? Oh, God, had she…?

She sneaked a quick glance at him, her face flaming when she encountered his unknowable eyes.

He lifted his hand and with a barely there touch tracked the tip of one of his fingers over the curve of her warm cheek. ‘You don’t remember anything, do you, querida?’ he asked in a husky tone.

Emelia pressed her lips together in an effort to stop them from prickling with sensation, with an aching burning need. ‘No…no…I’m sorry…’

He gave her a crooked smile that didn’t quite make the full distance to his eyes. ‘It is no matter. We can take our time and do it all again, step by step. It will be like the first time again, sí?’

Emelia felt her heart start to flap as if it had suddenly grown wings. ‘I wasn’t very experienced…I remember that. I’d only had one lover.’

‘You were a fast learner.’ His eyes dipped to her mouth, lingering there for a moment before coming back to her eyes. ‘Very, very fast.’

She swallowed again to clear the tightness of her throat. ‘You must find this rather…unsettling to be married to someone who doesn’t even remember how you kiss.’

His fingers went to her chin, propping her face up so she had to lock gazes with him. ‘You know, I could clear up that little mystery for you right here and now.’

She tried to pull back but he must have anticipated it as his fingers subtly tightened. ‘I…I wasn’t suggesting…’ she began.

‘No, but I was.’

Emelia felt her skin pop up in goosebumps as he angled his head and slowly brought his mouth within touching distance of hers. She felt the warm breeze of his breath waft over her lips, a feather-light caress that made her mouth tingle with anticipation for more. She waited, her eyes half closed, her heart thudding in expectation as each second passed, throbbing with tension.

His fingers left her chin to splay across her cheeks, his thumbs moving back and forth in a mesmerising motion, his eyes heavy-lidded as they focused on her mouth. She sent her tongue out to moisten her lips, her heart giving another tripping beat as his mouth came just that little bit closer…

‘It might complicate things for you if I kiss you right now,’ he said in a rumbling deep tone. ‘It wouldn’t do to compromise your recovery, now would it, cariño?’

‘Um…I…I…It’s probably not a good idea right now…’

He gave a low deep chuckle and released her, sitting back in his seat with indolent grace. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I thought not. But it can wait. For a while.’

Emelia sat in silence, trying to imagine what it was like for him. Of course he would find this situation unbearably frustrating. He was a full-blooded healthy male in the prime of his life. And for the last two years he had been used to having her as his willing wife. Now she was like a stranger to him and him to her. Would her reticence propel him into another woman’s arms? The thought was strangely disturbing. Why would the thought of him seeking pleasure in another woman’s arms make her feel so on edge and irritable? It wasn’t as if she had any memory of their time together.

Emelia looked down at the rings on her finger. It was strange but the weight of them was not as unfamiliar as the man who had placed them there. She turned them around; they were loose on her but she had lost even more weight from being in hospital. She hadn’t noticed it earlier but she had a slight tan mark where the rings had been, which put to rest any lingering doubts about the veracity of their marriage. She glanced at him and found him watching her with a brooding set to his features. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I just hope the flight will not be too tiring for you.’

He leaned forward to say something to the driver. Emelia felt the brush of his thigh against hers and her heart stopped and started at the thought of how many times those long strong legs had been entwined with hers in passion. He had held off from kissing her but how long before he decided to resume their physical relationship in full? She squeezed her thighs together again, wondering if she could feel where he had been; might it have been only just over a week ago?

They boarded the private jet after going through customs. She couldn’t remember flying on a private Gulfstream jet before. She couldn’t recall even seeing one other than in a magazine. Even her father, as wealthy as he was, always used a commercial plane, albeit business or first class. Had travelling in such opulent luxury and wearing diamonds that were priceless become commonplace to her in the last two years?

Even though Emelia could see her married name on her passport, it still seemed as if someone had stolen her identity. The stamps on her passport made no sense to her. She had been to Paris, Rome, Prague, Monte Carlo and Zurich and London numerous times yet she remembered nothing of those trips.

The jet was luxuriously appointed, showcasing the wealth Javier had alluded to earlier. He was clearly a man who had made his way in the world in a big way. The staff members were all very respectful and, unlike some of the wealthy men Emelia had met amongst her father’s set, Javier treated them with equal respect. He addressed each of them by name and asked after their partners and family as if they were as important to him as his own.

‘Would you like today’s papers?’ one of the flight attendants asked once they were settled in their seats.

‘Not today, thank you, Anya,’ Javier said with a ghost of a rueful smile.

Emelia suppressed a little frown of annoyance. She would have liked to have read up on the news. After all, it was a different world she lived in now. She had two years’ worth of news and gossip to catch up on. And then another thought came to her. Maybe there was something about the accident in the papers, some clue as to what had caused it. Peter, as the manager of a trendy hotel, well frequented by the jet-setting crowd of London, had been a popular public figure. Surely she had a right to know what had led up to the tragic accident that had taken her friend from her.

‘Don’t pout, querida,’ Javier said when he caught the tail end of her look. ‘I am trying to protect you.’

Emelia frowned at him. ‘From what?’ she asked.

He gave her one of his unreadable looks. ‘I think you should know there has been some speculation about your accident,’ he said.

Her frown deepened. ‘What sort of speculation?’

‘The usual gossip and innuendo the press like to stir up from time to time,’ he said. ‘You are the wife of a high profile businessman, Emelia. You might not remember it, but you were regularly hounded by the press for any hint of a scandal. It’s what sells papers and magazines, even if the stuff they print isn’t always true.’

Emelia chewed on the end of one of her neatly manicured nails. She was the focus of the press? How could that be possible? She lived a fairly boring life, or at least she thought she had until after she had woken up from her coma. She had long ago given up her dreams of being a concert pianist and was now concentrating on a career in teaching. But the sort of fame or infamy Javier was talking about had definitely not been a part of her plan.

She dropped her finger from her mouth. ‘What are the papers saying about the accident?’ she asked.

His dark eyes hardened as they held hers. ‘They are saying you were running away with Peter Marshall.’

Emelia opened her eyes wide. ‘Running away? As in…as in leaving you?’

‘It is just gossip, Emelia,’ he said. ‘Such things have been said before and no doubt they will be said again. I have to defend myself against similar claims all the time.’

She pressed her lips together. ‘I might not be able to remember the last two years of my life but I can assure you I’m not the sort of person to run away with another man whilst married to another,’ she said. ‘Surely you don’t believe any of that stuff?’

He gave her a slight movement of his lips, not exactly a smile, more of a grimace of resignation. ‘It is the life we live, querida. All high profile people and celebrities are exposed to it. It’s the tall poppy syndrome. I did warn you when we met how it would be. I have had to live with it for many years—lies, conjecture, gossip, innuendo. It is the price one pays for being successful.’

Emelia gnawed on her fingernail again as the jet took off from the runway. She didn’t like the thought of people deliberately besmirching her name and reputation. She wasn’t a cheater. She believed in absolute faithfulness. She had seen first-hand the damage wrought when a partner strayed, as her father had played around on each of his wives, causing so much hurt and distress and the betrayal of trust.

‘Do not trouble yourself about it for now,’ Javier said into the silence. ‘I wouldn’t have mentioned the press except they might be waiting for us when we arrive in Spain. I have made arrangements with my security team to provide a decoy but, just in case, do not respond to any of the press’s questions, even if they are blatantly untrue or deliberately provocative. Do you understand?’

Emelia felt another frown tug at her brow. ‘If they are as intrusive and persistent as you say, I can’t evade the press for ever, though, can I?’ she asked.

His eyes were determined as they tethered hers. ‘For the time being, Emelia, you will do as I say. I am your husband. Please try to remember that, if nothing else.’

Emelia felt a tiny worm of anger spiral its way up her spine. She squared her shoulders, sending him a defiant glare. ‘I don’t know what you expected in a wife when you married me, but I am not a doormat and I don’t intend to be one, with or without the possession of my memory.’

A muscle clenched like a fist in his jaw, and his eyes became so dark she couldn’t make out where his pupils began and ended. ‘Do not pick fights you have no hope of winning, Emelia,’ he said in a clipped tone. ‘You are vulnerable and weak from your injury. I don’t want you to be put under any more pressure than is necessary. I am merely following the doctor’s orders. It would help if you would do so too.’

She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts. ‘Do not speak to me as if I am a child. I know I am a little lost at present, but it doesn’t mean I’ve completely lost my mind or my will.’

Something about his expression told Emelia he was fighting down his temper with an effort. His mouth was flat and white-tipped and his hands resting on his thighs were digging into the fabric of his trousers until his knuckles became white through his tan.

It seemed a decade until he spoke.

‘I am sorry, cariño,’ he said in a low, deep tone. ‘Forgive me. I am forgetting what an ordeal you have been through. This is not the time to be arguing like an old married couple.’

Emelia shifted her lips from side to side for a moment, finally blowing out her cheeks on a sigh. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m just not myself right now.’

‘No,’ he said with an attempt at a smile. ‘You are certainly not.’

She closed her eyes and, even though she had intended to feign sleep, in the end she must have dozed off as when she opened her eyes Javier was bringing his airbed seat upright and suggested she do the same, offering her his assistance as she did so.

Within a short time they were ushered through customs and into a waiting vehicle with luckily no sign of the press Javier had warned her about.

The Spanish driver exchanged a few words with Javier which Emelia listened to with a little jolt of surprise. She could speak and understand Spanish? She hadn’t spoken it before coming to London. Had she learned in the last couple of years? Why, if she could remember his language, could she not remember the man who had taught it to her? She listened to the brief exchange and, for some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she didn’t let on that she understood what was being said.

‘Ella se acuerda algo?’ the driver asked. Does she remember anything?

‘No, ninguno,’ Javier responded heavily. Not a thing.

During the drive to the villa Emelia looked out at the passing scenery, hoping for a trigger for her memory, but it was like looking at a place for the first time. She felt Javier’s gaze resting on her from time to time, as if he too was hoping for a breakthrough. The pressure to remember was all the more burdensome with the undercurrent of tension she could feel running beneath the surface of their tentative relationship. She kept reassuring herself it was as the doctors had said: that Javier would find it difficult to accept she couldn’t remember him, but somehow she felt there was more to it than that. Even the driver’s occasional glances at her made her feel as if she were under a microscope. Was it always going to be like this? How would she bear it?

When the car purred through a set of huge wrought iron gates, Emelia felt her breath hitch in her throat. The villa that came into view as they traversed the tree-lined driveway was nothing if not breathtaking. Built on four levels with expansive gardens all around, it truly was everything a rich man’s castle should be: private, imposing, luxurious and no expense spared on keeping it that way. Even from the car, Emelia could see a team of gardeners at work in the grounds and, as soon as the driver opened the car door for her and Javier, the massive front doors of the villa opened and a woman dressed in a black and white uniform waited at the top of the steps to greet them.

‘Bienvenido a casa, señor.’ The woman turned and gave Emelia a haughty look, acknowledging her through tight lips. ‘Señora. Bienvenido a casa.’

‘Thank you,’ Emelia said with a strained smile. ‘It is nice to be…er…home.’