Книга - Forgotten Husband

Forgotten Husband
HELEN BIANCHIN


They said he was her husband… But Elise didn't feel married. Nor did she feel pregnant… .The accident had destroyed all memory of the past few months for her and, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember pledging her heart and soul to this rich, gorgeous, formidably sophisticated stranger, Alejandro Santanas.Elise sensed the chemistry between them, sparks of secret passion that made her feel alive. But was she in love with him - and he with her? Had she lost the most precious part of her life - forever?Helen Bianchin imbues her characters "with an intensity that is spectacular." - Romantic Times









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u70e08074-5e99-5bfc-8d17-1119fbd84bc6)

Excerpt (#u9e848bd9-2fcc-5072-9315-6f16c81dcc11)

About the Author (#u4aee37a8-4fca-5bdf-b758-b6880573070c)

Title Page (#u15d3e600-bc2a-5705-874b-af83006db7ce)

Chapter One (#u3ed4c951-0bf5-5c07-a3a9-4f10dbbc6885)

Chapter Two (#u92fbf0db-d667-58bd-87f9-24ecdd9581c5)

Chapter Three (#u6a7ceeb1-9519-51b2-8706-cd344a8c4e57)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“Don’t look at me like that!”


Alejandro growled the command in husky chastisement.



“You don’t understand!” The air seemed charged with emotional intensity.



“You think not?”



Elise gained nothing from his tone of voice. “Alejandro—”



“It is no less difficult for you to be faced with a husband you fail to recognize than it is for me to have the woman who is my wife look at me as if I were a stranger!”


HELEN BIANCHIN was born in New Zealand and traveled to Australia before marrying her Italian-born husband. After three years they moved, returned to New Zealand with their daughter, had two sons, then resettled in Australia. Encouraged by friends to recount anecdotes of her years as a tobacco sharefarmer’s wife living in an Italian community, Helen began setting words on paper, and her first novel was published in 1975. An animal lover, she says her terrier and Persian cat regard her study as theirs as much as hers.




Forgotten Husband

Helen Bianchin







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_28988b89-ecb6-5432-b826-e0aeac2d9a01)


SHE didn’t want to open her eyes. Not yet. For when she did, he would be there.

The man they said was her husband, seated in a chair to one side of the bed where she’d been told he had maintained an almost constant vigil for days after her admission.

For the past week he had confined his visits to three each day—early morning, mid-afternoon, and evening.

The nurses had commented on it when they thought she was asleep…and relayed it in informative, faintly envious tones when she was awake. Together with the added news, her initial admission had caused a furore. It appeared that within an hour of being transported unconscious by ambulance from the accident scene to a nearby public hospital all hell had broken loose, and she had been transferred post-haste to this exclusive and very expensive private establishment with its coterie of consultant specialists.

‘Elise.’

The voice was a deep, faintly inflected drawl, and its timbre succeeded in tripping her pulse into an accelerated beat.

Damn. Now she would have no recourse but to acknowledge his presence. Her lashes trembled fractionally, then fluttered slowly upwards.

His physical impact was such that it took considerable effort not to close her eyes again in an attempt to shut out the sight of him.

A tall man, whose impressive breadth of shoulder and impressive frame, even in relaxed repose, was intimidating. Broad, sculptured facial features were harshly chiselled, all angles and planes as if etched from stone, and his eyes were so dark that they appeared black—almost as black as his wellgroomed hair.

Beneath the cool mantle of his sophisticated façade he bore the look of a hunter, as untamed as a savage jungle beast and just as dangerous.

Alejandro Santanas. Even his name was unusual, and the relayed information she had been given was merely statistical, rather than enlightening.

He was in his late thirties and he headed a financial empire whose very name was regarded with due reverence in the business sector.

A very wealthy man, one of the nurses had revealed, whose entrepreneurial skill ranked him high among the upper echelon of the country’s rich and famous.

Elise didn’t find it surprising, for there was an inherent degree of power, a ruthlessness lurking beneath the surface, which she found vaguely frightening.

The knowledge that she was his wife had initially shocked and dismayed her, for each individual nerve-end had screamed out in denial that she could be bound to him in any way.

Dammit, she didn’t feel married, she agonised silently.

Nor did she feel pregnant. Yet there was an ultrasound picture as proof that the seven-week foetus in her womb had suffered no harm.

His child.

Never in a million years could she imagine that she’d fallen in love with him…or he with her.

Yet there were wedding-photos taken six months previously to prove their legal alliance, and not once during the many times she’d examined them had she been able to detect anything other than pleasure in her captured smile.

Depicted on celluloid, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, lending her slender frame a visual fragility. Honey-blonde hair worn in a shoulder-length bob framed a finely boned face, and her eyes were wide-spaced, her mouth a generous curve.

Yet when she looked in the mirror she saw a stranger, with pale symmetrical features and topaz-flecked green eyes.

Losing one’s memory, even temporarily, was akin to standing in front of a door to which there was no key, she thought in silent anguish. The answers lay out of reach on the other side.

Amnesia after such an accident was not uncommon, and in her case the condition was temporary. With no indication of when her memory would return, she’d been advised that while some patients regained total recall within days, others experienced intermittent flashes over a period of several weeks before everything finally fell into place.

‘Good morning, querida. You slept well?’

His voice was deep and vaguely husky, and Elise watched with detached fascination as his wide mouth curved into a warm smile.

Why ask, she felt like querying, when you’ve undoubtedly elicited that information from the attendant sister before entering my suite?

‘Yes.’ The monosyllabic response held restraint, and she silently examined her need of it. ‘Thank you,’ she added politely, all too aware of the studied darkness evident in his eyes.

Shouldn’t there be some level of recognition deep within her psyche, anything that would allow her to know him? Even if her mind failed to acknowledge him in any intimate capacity, surely an instinctive sixth sense would force some kind of awareness?

Dammit, she cursed silently. It wasn’t enough to have to believe that Alejandro Santanas had swept her off her feet in a whirlwind courtship. The fact that they had married a month later in Sydney left too many details unexplained.

A natural curiosity about her background had been partially satisfied by examining a thick album containing family snapshots, although there was a sense of disappointment when not one of them managed to rouse a spark of recognition.

In the past week she had leafed countless times through the many pages filled with glossy prints depicting her from infancy through childhood, highlighting scholastic and sporting achievements, accenting her chosen career as a paediatric nurse. There were photos of her parents, the mother she had lost at an early age, and several of her father, whose affection for his only child was achingly apparent … all the more poignant, given that he had recently died. Holiday snaps taken with friends she was unable to identify. The suburban family home Alejandro informed her she had shared with her father until her marriage. Altogether they encapsulated the past twenty-five years of her life.

‘Your hand?’ Alejandro queried lightly. ‘It is less painful this morning?’

‘A little,’ she responded stiffly, refusing to relay that her ribs and her shoulder still ached, and that her heavily bandaged right hand, in which surgeons had inserted titanium pins to align several fractured bones, felt stiff in its supportive splint. It could have been worse, the medics had assured her, considering that the other vehicle had run through a ‘Stop’ sign and ploughed head-on into the passenger side of her car.

‘Is there anything you need?’

Elise closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. ‘You send me flowers every day.’ Unbidden, her gaze skimmed to the huge bunched masses of exotic blooms—roses, varying in hue from pale cream to the deepest red, their long stems and velvet petals attesting expensive hothouse origin, exquisite arrangements assembled with delicate artistry and dispensed, according to one of the nurses, from one of Sydney’s most exclusive floral boutiques. ‘And fruit.’ A bowl containing a varied selection stood within easy reach. ‘I have so many magazines…’ She made a visible effort to inject a little warmth into her voice.’ What more could I possibly want?’

‘To come home, perhaps?’ Alejandro queried with teasing indolence, his dark eyes intently watchful as she attempted to veil her startled expression.

Dear God, no. It was a silent scream dredged up from some hidden recess deep within her soul. The hospital, this particular suite, represented a sanctuary she was reluctant to leave. Yet she couldn’t stay indefinitely.

She swallowed, aware of the slight lump that had risen in her throat, and her fingers began pleating the sheet’s hem in abstracted agitation. ‘I am to be released?’ She looked at him carefully, attempting to read something more from his expression, yet his features were relaxed and his mouth curved to form a warm smile.

‘The neurologist and obstetrician have each assured me there is no reason why it should not be this afternoon.’

So soon. Why couldn’t it be tomorrow, or the day after? At least then she would have time to get used to the idea.

Now, the thought of re-entering the home she purportedly shared with him filled her with inexplicable dread.

It was difficult to pinpoint her reluctance. Was it because there had been no one, other than Alejandro Santanas, to visit her?

She could accept that she had no immediate family, but what of her friends?

Was he such a possessive man that he wanted her entirely to himself, to the exclusion of all others?

She searched his features and saw the assurance evident, the strength of character, and perceived that he was a force to be reckoned with, a man no adversary would choose to have as an enemy.

And as a lover? A shiver of apprehension slithered down the length of her spine. One couldn’t live with such a man as he and be unaware of his sexuality…or remain unawakened to her own. Without doubt he would have introduced her to every intimacy, every sensual pleasure, and taught her precisely how to respond in kind.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Alejandro growled in husky chastisement.

Elise closed her eyes in silent chagrin, then opened them again, her gaze wide with a mixture of puzzlement and confusion. ‘You don’t understand.’

The air seemed charged with emotional intensity, and she seemed to be having trouble regulating her breathing.

‘You think not?’

She gained nothing from his tone of voice. ‘Alejandro——’

‘It is no more difficult for you to be faced with a husband you fail to recognise than it is for me to have a woman who is my wife look at me as if I were a stranger.’

In seeming slow motion she watched as he clasped her uninjured hand and lifted it to his lips, and a gasp emerged from her throat as he gently turned it palm upwards and buried his mouth in the soft hollow.

Acute sensation arrowed with unerring accuracy to the core of her femininity, flooding it with a heavy languorous warmth, and she was held mesmerised by the depth of emotion evident in his eyes.

‘Do you have any conception what it does to me to see your eyes dilate with apprehension every time I touch you? To be aware you would prefer my lips brush your cheek, rather than possess your mouth?’

The room, its contents, faded to the periphery of her vision, and she could only look at him, unable to utter so much as a word, the moment seemingly freeze-framed in time.

The knock at the door proved an anticlimax, and she hurriedly tugged her hand free as the kitchen orderly carried in a breakfast-tray.

‘Morning,’ the woman greeted cheerfully as she placed the tray on the bed-trolley, then slid it into position before turning towards the man seated close to the bed. ‘Can I bring you some coffee, Mr. Santanas?’

Alejandro’s smile curved the edges of his mouth, deepening the vertical creases that slashed each cheek. ‘Thank you, no.’

Elise watched as he unfolded his lengthy frame from the chair. Leaning forward, he covered her mouth lightly with his own, and her lips trembled beneath the brief contact.

‘Your discharge is scheduled for two o’clock. Hasta luego, querida.’

For one crazy second she felt strangely bereft, almost wanting more than that fleeting touch, and something flickered in the depths of his eyes before it was successfully hidden, then he straightened and moved towards the door.

Elise watched his departing figure with perplexity. The warmth of his lips against her own, the restrained degree of passion that lay just beneath the surface had stirred her senses, almost as if some inner being were intent on forcing recognition.

‘There you are, Mrs Santanas,’ the kind-faced kitchen orderly declared as she undid a mini packet of cereal and added it to the bowl of fresh fruit. ‘Which spread would you prefer on your toast?’

Hospital routine ensured that there was little time in which to brood, Elise accorded wryly, for within ten minutes of the breakfast tray being removed a nursc arrived to assist her in the shower, followed by the doctor’s round, physiotherapy, morning tea, the daily visit from the hairdresser—arranged, she had been informed, by her husband.

It was a thoughtful gesture, although she couldn’t help attempting to analyse his motivation. And that proved detrimental, for it only brought her relationship with Alejandro Santanas to the fore, and incurred a renewed bout of soul-searching.

It seemed ludicrous to doubt Alejandro’s depth of caring when there was every evidence of his devotion in this room: the cards carefully placed together in the drawer of her bedside pedestal, each bearing ‘Love’, written in black ink, and signed ‘Alejandro’ in a powerful slashing hand.

More importantly—did she love him? Certainly she’d married him, but was love her motivation?

Dear heaven, she wasn’t the sort of woman who had deliberately contrived to trap a wealthy man by using feminine wiles…was she?

Elise closed her eyes in silent anguish, then slowly opened them again.

‘Time, patience,’ the neurologist had stressed solemnly. Yet such an answer was as frustrating as it was ambiguous.

Lunch was a delectable bowl of beef consomme, followed by thin slices of roast beef with accompanying vegetables, and segments of fresh fruit for dessert.

Apprehension began to knot in the region of her stomach, only to intensify a short while later as a nurse entered the suite.

‘Your husband will be here to collect you in half an hour,’ she informed Elise with a bright smile. ‘I’ll help you dress, then pack your things.’

I don’t want to go, an inner voice screamed in silent rejection. Several jumbled thoughts raced through her head. Perhaps she could dream up a mild complication—the onset of a headache, her hand—anything that would delay her departure.

Yet even as she contemplated such an action she dismissed it as futile and, pushing the bedcovers aside, she slid to her feet, watching with detached fascination as the nurse moved to extract clothes from a nearby closet.

Sage-green trousers in uncrushable silk, a cream silk blouse, wispy briefs and bra in matching cream silk and lace, low-heeled shoes. Each item looked incredibly expensive, and undoubtedly was, given the evident reverence with which they were handled.

Elise stood still as her nightgown was removed, an exquisite garment in peach satin-finished silk and lace, which made up a set with its matching négligé.

Obediently she stepped into the briefs and helped draw them up, then the trousers.

‘I’ll use the outermost clip,’ the nurse declared as she carefully slipped the bra into place before adding the blouse. ‘If it’s not comfortable, we’ll take it off. Would you like some help with your make-up?’

There was a case holding everything imaginable, but all she’d chosen to use over the past week was moisturiser and a pale lipstick. Perfume? Her fingers hovered near the curved glass bottle of Dior, then retreated. She hadn’t bothered to use it in hospital, so why begin now?

Elise watched with idle fascination as the nurse extracted a valise and began filling it with all her belongings.

‘Please,’ Elise intervened as the girl caught up a variety of glossy magazines. ‘Keep them.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. And the flowers,’ she added. ‘Divide them among the day and night staff. And the fruit, the chocolates.’

The nurse’s features mirrored her gratitude. ‘Thanks. They’ll be appreciated.’

Elise’s mouth curved into a soft smile. ‘You’ve all looked after me with great care.’

They had, despite it being their job to do so. Yet there had been a marked degree of dedication to this particular patient.

Because of the man whose very presence demanded nothing less? Or was it the faint air of mystery, the haunting vulnerability of the attractive girl who had occupied this suite?

‘Sister will be here in a moment to formally sign you out of the hospital system.’

Elise murmured something suitable in response, and gazed sightlessly after the nurse’s departing form.

Why did she feel so uncertain and so damnably insecure? A natural reaction, an inner voice assured her, in tones remarkably like those of the consultant neurologist.

The door swung open and she turned towards the ward sister, accepted the relevant appointment cards, and listened to the professional advice which concluded with, ‘Don’t attempt anything too strenuous too soon.’

‘I will personally see that she doesn’t,’ a faintly accented masculine voice assured her from the doorway, and Elise turned slowly to face her husband.

The business suit he had worn that morning was absent, replaced by dark trousers and a polo shirt unbuttoned at the neck. The casual knit fabric emphasised his breadth of shoulder, the long sinewed sweep to his taut waist, and revealed powerfully muscled forearms liberally sprinkled with dark hair.

His smile was warm, and Elise idly watched the nurse’s reaction with detached fascination, aware of the faint appreciative gleam evident beneath the professional façade.

Did all women respond to Alejandro Santanas in this way? Elise wondered silently. Such thoughts were hardly conducive to her peace of mind, and she stood very still as he moved towards her and brushed his lips against her temple.

‘I have the car waiting outside.’

Her indecision must have been apparent, for his gaze narrowed slightly as it took in her pale features and the degree of uncertainty evident in her deep green eyes.

‘You have no need to feel apprehensive,’ he assured quietly.

Are you kidding? she wanted to scream. I’m being taken to a home I can’t remember with a man I feel I hardly know.

With a sense of desperation she sought to elicit some sort of recollection—anything that would provide her with a measure of reassurance.

Yet there was nothing, and she cursed herself afresh for attempting to force a situation over which she had no control.

‘If you’d care to follow me,’ the ward sister suggested, ‘I’ll accompany you to the main entrance.’

His frame seemed to overpower hers as they traversed the carpeted corridor, and her stomach executed a series of painful somersaults as she caught sight of a large, expensive-looking vehicle parked immediately adjacent to the main doors.

Indisputably his, it looked as powerful as the man who owned it, and she slid carefully into the passenger seat, unconsciously holding her breath as he leaned forward to attend to her seatbelt.

His hand brushed against her breast, and her pulse leapt, then set up an agitated beat as he carefully fastened the clip in place, leaving her feeling helplessly trapped.

Oh, God. She had to control her over-active imagination, she counselled silently as he closed the door and crossed round to slide in behind the wheel.

The car eased forward and she experienced the insane desire to tell him to stop and let her out, which was crazy, for where could she go?

Minutes later the large vehicle emerged into the steady stream of traffic, and with a sense of resignation she focused her attention on the scene beyond the windscreen.

Houses constructed of bricks and mortar; neat garden borders bearing a variety of brightly coloured flowers; carefully tended lawns; trees lining the streets, their wide spreading branches providing shade from the sun’s shimmering rays; numerous electronically controlled intersections; shops.

It all appeared so normal, so everyday. Yet none of it looked familiar.

Some of her tension must have made itself felt, for Alejandro turned slightly and cast her a discerning glance.

‘You are uncomfortable?’

Her eyes widened slightly as she met his dark gaze, and she uttered a polite negation before he returned his attention to the road.

The car’s air-conditioning reduced the force of the midsummer heat, and Elise breathed a silent sigh of relief as he activated the stereo system, glad of the music’s soothing qualities, for it precluded the necessity to converse.

With seeming fascination she observed the quality and style of the houses lining the wide arterial road begin to change, from small, dark, weathered brick structures sited on small blocks of land to those of larger and more stately design.

Old mingled with new, their elegant façades revealing a visual attestation of wealth.

The celluloid print Alejandro had shown her of their home in suburban Point Piper revealed a large double-storeyed mansion overlooking the harbour. How long before they reached it?

‘A few more minutes,’ Alejandro told her quietly, almost as if he knew the passage of her thoughts.




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b233a318-9f81-5ae1-9c40-64474f7ca2fc)


THE large vehicle slowed to a halt before a set of ornate steel gates which opened at the touch of an electronic modem, then closed just as quietly behind them as Alejandro eased the car along a wide sweeping driveway.

The double-storeyed house was an architectural masterpiece in cream cement-rendered brick and floor-to-ceiling tinted glass, its tiled roof a dazzling silver-white, and set well back from the road in beautiful sculptured grounds, whose neat garden borders and profusion of flowers and shrubs were visual proof of a gardener’s loving care.

The car drew to a halt at the main entrance where an impressive set of heavy panelled doors was offset by a pair of large ornamental urns, and once inside Elise was unable to prevent a faint gasp in awe of the spacious foyer.

The central focus was a tiered marble fountain, complete with gently cascading water, above which an ornate crystal chandelier hung suspended from the high glass-domed ceiling which lent spaciousness and light. A wide double staircase curved up to an oval balcony from which opposing hallways led to two separate wings.

Exotically designed panels of stained glass in the huge atrium shot brilliant prisms of multi-coloured light on to the pale walls, magnifying their pattern in an ever-changing sweep controlled by the direction of the sun’s rays.

‘It’s beautiful.’ The words slid unbidden from her lips, and she moved forward to pause at the marble fountain. ‘Were you responsible for the design?’

His eyes were dark, almost still, then he smiled. ‘To some degree—yes. I consulted with numerous experts in order to achieve this result.’

She put out a hand and trailed her fingers through the water, soothed by its soft flow against her skin, then she turned slightly towards him.

‘You must entertain a great deal.’

His slow smile held warmth. ‘There are occasions when it is more relaxing to invite business associates to one’s home,’ he responded indolently.

‘With their wives?’ Where did that come from? A natural assumption, she assured herself silently. Successful men had wives or mistresses. Some presumably had both.

Did Alejandro possess a mistress?

He took the few steps necessary to her side and placed a hand beneath her elbow. ‘Let us go into the lounge. Ana will have made tea, and prepared a few delicacies to tempt your appetite.’

At the silent question mirrored in her expression, he added quietly, ‘Ana takes care of the house and does the cooking. Her husband José looks after the grounds, the cars, and acts as general handyman.’

His nearness bothered her more than she was willing to admit, and she walked at his side as he ushered her into a beautifully furnished room which commanded a splendid panoramic view of the inner harbour.

Expensive works of art were spaced at intervals on the silk-covered walls, and provided an elegant backdrop for the magnificent Chinese rugs that covered the marble floor. Predominantly pale blue, employing a delicate mix of cream and the palest pink in their patterned design, the large rugs were a perfect foil for the cream-upholstered sofas and chairs, the rosewood cabinets and profusion of glass-topped occasional tables.

No sooner had Elise selected a single chair and settled comfortably into its cushioned depths than a pleasantly plump woman of middle years entered the room, wheeling a trolley on which reposed two steaming pots, milk, sugar, cream, and various plates containing a selection of small cakes, pastries, and delicate sandwiches.

‘It is so good to have you home again,’ Ana greeted as she poured tea, added milk and sugar, then placed the cup and saucer within easy reach on a glass-topped table beside Elise’s chair.

‘Thank you.’ It seemed strange to be faced with a woman she must have dealt with on a daily basis in the six months of her marriage.

‘I will make dinner for seven o’clock. Is there anything special you would like?’ The smile broadened with pleasure. ‘You have often complimented Ana on her chicken soup.’

Elise injected warmth into her voice. ‘Chicken soup will be fine.’

‘And afterwards? An omelette, with mushrooms, some cheese, a little tomato, ham?’

‘That sounds delicious,’ she qualified, watching idly as Ana poured coffee into a demitasse and handed it to Alejandro before leaving the room.

The tea tasted like liquid ambrosia, and Elise took a small sandwich, savouring the delicate smoked salmon and cream-cheese filling, accepted another, then declined anything further.

‘More tea?’

‘Please,’ she acceded gratefully, watching his lengthy frame unfold from the chair. His movements were measured and concise, his hands sure and steady as he refilled her cup and replaced it within easy reach.

‘Have you lived here for very long?’ The need to converse seemed paramount, and her fingers shook slightly as she lifted a hand and smoothed back an imaginary lock of hair behind one ear.

His eyes flared slightly at the nervous gesture, and she made a conscious effort to dampen the edge of panic threatening to assume unmanageable proportions.

‘A few years. I had the original house removed, then began from scratch.’

She felt as if she were on a conversational rollercoaster that she couldn’t stop. ‘During the past week I’ve looked at photograph albums which mean very little, and you’ve provided essential information. Tell me more about how we met, and why.’

His smile assumed musing indulgence. ‘The need to fill in some of the gaps?’

‘There are so many.’

‘And you are becoming impatient.’

‘Frustrated,’ Elise corrected. ‘I seem to have a hundred questions.’

‘All of which you want me to answer at once?’

Her eyes took on a haunted quality. ‘I need to know.’

‘You walked into my office demanding a minimum five minutes of my time.’

‘Why?’

‘Your father had borrowed extensively from my merchant bank, and you refused to accept my decision not to extend the loan or the term.’

She digested the information slowly. ‘You own a merchant bank?’

‘I have many investments,’ he revealed solemnly.

‘Was I successful in overturning your decision?’

He seemed to take his time in answering. ‘You could say we eventually reached an understanding.’

‘You asked me out.’ This much she knew, because he had told her.

‘You opposed me as no other woman had, questioning my business acumen and condemning me for my lack of compassion.’ Warmth gleamed in the depths of his dark eyes. ‘Your fierce loyalty impressed me, and I was sufficiently intrigued to insist we share dinner. Within twenty-four hours I had persuaded you to marry me.’

‘And arranged for the wedding to take place a month later.’ Dear God. Such omnipotence was devastating. She found it vaguely shocking that she had given her consent. ‘Am I supposed to believe you’re an honourable man, or go with reality?’

One eyebrow slanted in mocking cynicism. ‘Which reality would you prefer, querida?’

‘You have the advantage,’ she managed, with a degree of sadness. ‘While I possess none.’

‘Finish your tea,’ he commanded quietly. ‘Then I will take you upstairs to rest.’

She wanted to say that she wasn’t in the least tired, but the thought of being free from his disturbing presence for an hour or two was attractive, and she replaced her cup on its saucer.

‘I have a house overlooking the ocean at Palm Beach. It’s an ideal location for you to relax and recuperate.’

‘You mean for both of us to stay there?’ Not alone, surely? she agonised, aware that he had caught the fleeting emotions apparent on her expressive features.

He lifted a hand and brushed warm fingers across her cheek. ‘Of course. Your welfare is very important to me.’

For some inexplicable reason she felt the faint stirring of apprehension feather insidiously down her spine.

Why? she queried silently as they moved towards the magnificent staircase. Yet with every step she took, her sense of anxiety increased.

The entire floor was covered in thick-piled powder-blue carpet, providing a cool tranquillity that was pleasing.

Elise caught glimpses of rooms employing muted shades of pale green and peach, delicate pinks and greens, the softest shades of blue and cream, all so beautifully co-ordinated that she began to suspect he had enlisted the services of an interior decorator.

The master suite held a king-sized bed and two finely crafted rosewood chests of drawers, with matching cabinets and bedside pedestals. The drapes and bedcover were of a bold design in cream, pale lilac and blue.

She watched as he crossed to the bed to turn back the cover, then with deft movements he retrieved several pillows from a cabinet and assembled them into a comfortable nest against the bedhead.

‘There’s an intercom device on the pedestal,’ Alejandro informed her as she slid off her shoes, then sank back against the pillows.

The breath caught in her throat as he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her own in a provocative caress before straightening and moving back a pace.

‘I’ll be in the study for an hour or two. If you need anything, just activate the intercom. Rest well, querida,’ he bade gently, then he turned and left the room.

There was a collection of magazines conveniently placed within easy reach, and Elise idly browsed through two before discarding them, her eyes heavy with a weariness she could no longer fight.

Her sleep was dreamless, and when she woke it was to see Alejandro standing a short distance from the bed, his eyes dark and faintly brooding as they examined her pale features.

‘I’ll have Ana bring you a tray.’ He reached out a hand and tucked a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear. ‘Come,’ he commanded, sweeping the sheet aside. ‘I’ll help you undress.’

No, a silent voice screamed from deep within. ‘I should be able to manage,’ she voiced in strangled tones.

‘I doubt it,’ Alejandro returned, his eyes darkening measurably at her evident reluctance. ‘Think of me as a nurse,’ he drawled, taking in her cleareyed resolve with a narrowed gaze as she got to her feet.

No nurse of the male species could possibly look as he did, nor create such havoc with her senses.

Calm deliberation was evident in his actions as his fingers undid first one button, then another.

‘The thought of a man you can’t remember removing your clothes,’ Alejandro pursued in a silky voice, ‘a man who as your husband has lain with you every night in this bed, tasted every inch of you, and placed the seed of his child in your womb…frightens you?’

‘Unnerves me,’ Elise corrected shakily, almost hesitant to voice the words that had tortured her since she had been made aware of her pregnancy. ‘Had we planned to have this child?’

His eyes took on a gleaming warmth as he leant down and brushed his lips to the edge of her mouth. ‘The choice and timing of conception was your decision.’ His fingers freed the third button, then moved to the fourth. ‘Rest assured, I could not be more delighted.’

The last button slid undone, and she stood helplessly still as he slipped the silk blouse free from her left arm, removed the sling supporting her injured right hand, then carefully drew the blouse free.

When he reached for the clip fastening on her bra she was unable to prevent an intake of breath or govern the erratic beat of her heart, and she would have given anything not to be dependent on his help.

‘Close your eyes, if you must,’ he advised with amused indulgence. ‘Unfortunately I cannot do the same, for fear I might cause you unnecessary pain.’

He was amused, damn him! Resentment flared, lending her eyes a brilliant sparkle as she sprang into barely restrained speech.

‘You think I enjoy being dependent on you?’ Stupid tears welled up and threatened to spill.

‘Your reticence is somewhat misplaced,’ he chastised as he freed the clip, then eased the straps off each shoulder, and his eyes narrowed as she lifted an arm to cover her breasts.

A protesting gasp escaped from her lips as he caught hold of her left wrist and carefully pulled it away.

She closed her eyes, aware of her bruised shoulder. The colour had changed from dark red to purple. Now it was a deep bluish-green.

‘Por Dios.’ The soft curse slipped into the stillness of the room, and his eyes darkened in silent anger as he saw that the bruising extended the length of her ribs on the right side.

The silence stretched between them, and began to play havoc with her nerves.

‘It could have been worse,’ she offered, and saw his expression harden into a frightening mask.

‘Yes,’ Alejandro agreed with brutal cynicism. ‘That young fool behind the wheel could have been responsible for your death.’

His eyes travelled to the soft swell of her breasts, and she remained helplessly still as he trailed gentle fingers over their rounded contours, shaping first one, then the other, before brushing a thumb-pad across one tender peak.

Elise gasped out loud as pure sensation shot through her body, arrowing down to focus at the junction between her thighs, unleashing a multitude of feelings she wasn’t sure how to handle.

A distressed whimper escaped her lips. ‘Please,’ she begged, her eyes clouding with anguish as he traced a path to the soft hollows at the base of her throat, then lingered over the rapidly beating pulse for a few heart-stopping seconds before trailing up to rest at the edge of her mouth.

‘You look so incredibly fragile, it robs me of breath,’ he ventured slowly, his dark eyes so deeply piercing it seemed as if he possessed licence to see into the depths of her soul.

Elise swallowed convulsively, and let her lashes flutter down to form a protective veil, only to have them fly open as the tip of his finger slowly outlined the generous lower curve of her mouth, teasing the soft fullness until it parted involuntarily, allowing him to continue the sensual probe.

A slight tremor shook her slim frame, and she was powerless to move as he slowly lowered his head to close his mouth over hers in a provocative, sensual tasting that was so incredibly gentle it almost made her weep.

Some deep intrinsic need prevented her from moving away, and she bore the light sweep of his tongue as it explored the sweet recesses of her mouth, creating an acute sense of loss as he slowly withdrew. For several long, timeless seconds her eyes were held mesmerised by his, then his lips curved into a slow, warm smile as he reached for her nightgown and eased the straps over her injured hand, then her head, before pooling the silk at her waist while he removed her trousers and briefs.

‘Do you need help in the bathroom?’

‘No,’ she refused, infinitely relieved that this was an area there was no need for him to invade.

‘I’ll be back with a tray in ten minutes.’

Oh, dear God, she breathed silently as the door closed behind him. What was happening to her? How could she react so damnably with someone her conscious mind failed to recognise?

She had made no effort to move away from the touch of his mouth, merely stood mesmerised as he had initiated a sensual foray that had played havoc with her vulnerable emotions.

‘There are two dinner-plates,’ Elise declared with a slight frown as Alejandro re-entered the room and set the covered bed-tray into position across her lap.

One eyebrow lifted in quizzical query as he subjected her to a long, considering look from beneath dark-fringed lashes. ‘You imagined I would leave you to eat alone?’

She had hoped he might. He emitted a sensual vibrancy that was intense—dangerous. To envisage him as a lover was sufficient to set alarm bells jangling inside her brain, awakening feelings deep within that raised questions she had no desire to answer.

‘Eat, Elise,’ Alejandro commanded. ‘Before the food becomes cold.’

Obediently she picked up the spoon and started with the soup, then when it was finished she used a fork to dissect the omelette.

It was impossible not to be aware of him as he sat a few feet distant in a comfortable chair. His movements were economical, and her eyes were drawn to the strength of his jaw, his mouth.

Remembering how that mouth had felt against her own brought a flood of soft colour to her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would like to be kissed by him…really kissed, not the controlled brushing of his lips against hers that had been little more than an affectionate salutation.

He looked the sort of man who would consume a woman—with a deep, drugging passion that gave no quarter, demanding an abandonment so complete that there could be no room for reticence.

She did not know the measure of her own personality, or the strength of her emotions. Yet even in her wildest imagination she couldn’t imagine acting like a wanton in his arms.

He had said he had tasted every inch of her. He couldn’t mean…

‘You have finished?’

His query startled her, and she met his unfathomable gaze with widened eyes. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’ll be fine now,’ she added quickly in dismissal, and saw his eyes narrow slightly as he removed the tray.

He regarded her steadily, his expression revealing, and there was latent steel beneath the velvet tone of his voice. ‘The bed is sufficiently large to accommodate both of us.’

The thought of sharing the bed with him made her stomach knot with unenviable nerves. ‘I’d prefer a room of my own.’

‘No.’

It was a categorical refusal. One that made her uncommonly resentful. ‘I think——’

‘Don’t think,’ Alejandro advised with dangerous softness, and her eyes acquired an angry sparkle.

‘How can I not?’ she declared, with a degree of asperity. ‘I have no knowledge of you in any sexual sense. I know I’m not ready to resume intimacy. Dammit,’ she flung heatedly, ‘I can’t even remember if we’re——’

‘Sexually compatible?’ he drawled in silky query. ‘I assure you we are, mi mujer. Passionately, primitively so.’

The retort she wanted to fling at him died in her throat as he began unbuttoning his shirt. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t prevent her gaze from focusing on him, watching beneath lowered lashes as deft fingers competently dealt with remaining shirt-buttons before moving to free the belt at his waist. Seconds later the shirt was tossed over a nearby chair, closely followed by his trousers.

It was impossible not to be aware of his impressively muscled frame: broad shoulders, chest tapering down to a trim waist, slim hips and long, powerful thighs.

Something deep inside her stirred, then slowly unfurled at the sight of his chest, liberally covered with whorls of dark hair which arrowed down over a taut waist to disappear beneath black silk briefs.

‘Are you going to join me in the shower?’

He had to be joking!

Elise’s eyes widened measurably, then grew dark as her gaze shifted to a point somewhere beyond his right shoulder, and she was powerless to stop the faint flood of colour covering her cheeks as her imagination ran riot.

‘I can cope on my own,’ she managed in strangled tones, hating him as he calmly scooped her to her feet.

She wanted to hit him, or at the very least hurl abuse at his merciless head. Sparks of topaz accentuated the green of her eyes, and her chin tilted in open defiance. ‘I hate having you play nursemaid,’ she said with a degree of anguish as he carefully undressed her.

‘I refuse to stand by and have you inflict further damage on your shoulder out of a foolish need for modesty.’

The tone of his voice should have warned her, but she was too angry to take any notice. ‘And I dislike the thought of a husband who practises voyeurism.’

He stiffened, his large frame an awesome sight as he held himself severely in check. Anger emanated from every pore, and his eyes were so dark that they resembled polished onyx. ‘Perhaps you should give thanks to the good Dios,’ he intoned in a hard voice. ‘If it were not for your injuries, I would teach you a lesson you would not easily forget.’

As he had in the past? Dear God, was he an abusive man? she agonised in shocked silence. Her features paled at the thought, and she heard him utter a string of viciously soft incomprehensible words.

‘Go and have your shower, Elise,’ he commanded with dangerous silkiness.

She needed no second bidding, and her mouth set in mutinous lines as he followed her into the bathroom and switched on the water, tested its temperature, then stood aside as she stepped into the large stall.

Despite the rising cloud of steam she was aware of his presence a few feet distant on the other side of the glass screen, and she gritted her teeth against rising anger, feeling no remorse for taking longer than necessary before closing the taps.

He was waiting as she slid open the glass door, and her eyes waged a silent battle with his as he stepped forward and removed the waterproof covering from her bandaged hand, then collected a towel and began blotting the dampness from her body.

‘I’m quite capable of completing the task,’ Elise said tightly, and almost swayed beneath his long, intent gaze.

Did he have any idea of how vulnerable she felt? How damnable it was to have to stand naked before him and suffer his ministrations?

‘Of course,’ he drawled with hateful amusement as he discarded his briefs and stepped into the shower.

There was an enviable selection of toiletries to choose from atop the long marble vanity unit, and after making use of a few Elise collected a large towel and was about to secure it sarong-wise around her body when the water stopped.

Seconds later the door slid open and Alejandro emerged from the stall.

Elise hastily averted her eyes from the electrifying image of his superbly muscled frame, with its generous mat of curling chest-hair arrowing down in a fine line past his navel to join the hair couching his manhood.

There was something incredibly erotic about glistening water droplets caught in male body-hair, the fluid grace of strongly honed muscle-fibre moving beneath satiny, lightly bronzed skin.

The degree of restrained power in repose was an intensely disturbing entity, and her fingers shook as she caught up a brush and stroked it vigorously through the length of her hair, increasingly aware of his every action as he towelled himself dry.

As he reached for a black silk robe she stepped quickly into the bedroom, almost succeeding in donning her nightgown before firm fingers eased the straps over her injured hand, and she stood helplessly still as the silk hem whispered down past her hips.

Impotent resentment darkened her eyes, and Alejandro cast her a long, thoughtful look which she found increasingly difficult to hold as the seconds ticked slowly by.

He lifted a hand and slid firm fingers beneath the hair at her nape, then in seeming slow motion his mouth claimed hers with an element of possession she instinctively knew would harden should she attempt to pull free of him, and she swallowed convulsively as pleasure overtook warmth, touching each nerve-end as it coursed through her body.

She felt strangely afraid—not of him, but of herself, and the wild sweetness that swirled within, encouraging a response she was hesitant to give.

His tongue sought out every secret recess, every ridge, before lightly stroking her own tongue in an erotic dance that reached deep into her feminine core, unleashing emotions almost beyond her control.

She was slowly melting, awash in a sea of delicious sensation, totally unaware of voicing a faint murmur of regret as he slowly lifted his mouth from her own.

‘Into bed, querida,’ Alejandro bade firmly.

Within minutes of her head touching the pillow her eyes became heavy, and it was easier to give in to somnolence than fight it.

Alejandro stood for a long time in contemplative silence, his gaze dark and brooding as he surveyed her finely boned features, the sweep of blonde hair, the delicate texture of her skin, the long, thick eyelashes and the sweet curve of her generous mouth, softly swollen from his kiss.

A muscle tightened at the edge of his jaw, then he reached forward and switched off the lamp on the nearby pedestal before crossing to the other side of the bed to ease his long body carefully between the sheets.

Seconds later he snapped off his own lamp, and focused his attention on the shadowed ceiling.




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c95be62f-0e66-5aeb-994f-2346a2910a46)


THE heat of the summer sun was reduced to a comfortable level by the car’s air-conditioning, and Elise leaned back against the leather-cushioned seat as Alejandro slotted a disc into the stereo system.

‘This is a beautiful car,’ she commented with genuine appreciation as it swept noiselessly along the arterial road heading north.

‘A Bentley,’ he enlightened her, shooting her an amused glance.

‘It looks expensive.’ The words slipped out unbidden, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

‘A luxury that affords me pleasure,’ he responded in a soft drawl that sent a shivery sensation feathering down the length of her spine.

As I do? Is that all I am to you…a possession?

Permitting her thoughts to travel such a path was both fruitless and detrimental; it served no purpose.

‘You have been remarkably docile all morning,’ he relayed musingly. ‘I could almost believe you are treading eggshells.’

‘I woke early, and couldn’t get back to sleep,’ she proffered, for it was no less than the truth.

He slanted her a frowning glance. ‘You should have woken me.’

‘Why?’ She attempted a smile, and almost made it. ‘So we could both have lain awake?’ How could she tell him that she had experienced a gamut of emotions as she had watched him sleep? His strongly etched features had been barely visible in the darkness and then, as the dawn sky began to lighten the room, she had been held spellbound by the stark beauty of his countenance in repose. The harshness was gone, his jaw and mouth relaxed, and his lashes curled slightly, their length and shape dark and lustrous. Fascinated, she had wanted to reach out and place a finger against the edge of his mouth, to trace a slow pattern over the firm curve and watch him stir into wakefulness, to open his eyes and witness their warmth as he caught sight of her. Instead, she had feigned sleep the instant he looked like rousing, and only stilled the pretence when she had felt him rise from the bed.

Afterwards she had managed to dress herself, and on descending the stairs a startled Ana had immediately led her out on to the terrace to join Alejandro for breakfast.

‘The car I was driving…was it badly damaged?’

Alejandro slowed the Bentley to a halt at a set of traffic-lights, then turned to slant her a probing glance.

‘You are more important to me than any vehicle.’

Was she? ‘You didn’t answer the question.’

‘It will be several weeks before you gain medical clearance to get behind the wheel of a car. And, when you do, it won’t be a fashionable sports model. Meantime, José can drive you wherever you need to go.’

She looked at him in stunned silence for several seconds before venturing in protest, ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Unequivocally.’

Elise added another quality to his character. Inflexibility. ‘Are you usually this…overbearing?’

‘Protective,’ he corrected. ‘You could have lost the child. Worse, I could have lost you.’

The lights changed, and his attention returned to the road ahead. As the Bentley gathered speed Elise evinced an interest in the passing scenery.

There were many coves and inlets, picturesque beaches, crisp sand, softly waving tree-branches stirring beneath a gentle breeze, and an expanse of glorious blue sea that stretched out to the horizon to merge with the sky.

‘How long before we reach Palm Beach?’

‘About forty minutes, depending on traffic.’

It was just after midday when Alejandro swung the car into a driveway leading to an imposing double-storeyed house overlooking the ocean.

It was the antithesis of what she had imagined a beach-house to be, and once inside there was a sense of unreality as he led her through several rooms on the lower floor. Beautifully furnished, it was almost as magnificent as the Point Piper mansion. There was even a swimming-pool adjacent to the terracealmost a decadent addition, given the accessibility of the ocean a few short steps distant.

The upper floor held four bedrooms with en suite facilities, and as she followed Alejandro into the largest suite Elise couldn’t help but wonder how frequently he made use of the house.

‘Do you come here often?’ she queried, watching as he deposited their bags.

‘Whenever I can manage a few days away.’

Crossing to the large picture window, she moved the curtain fractionally to admire the view. Sundappled water, a few cruisers anchored offshore, young children, supervised by their mothers, playing happily in the sand. ‘It looks so peaceful.’

She sensed rather than heard him move to stand behind her, and sensation stirred deep within, lending an awareness that made her feel acutely vulnerable. His body warmth seemed to enfold her, and all the fine hairs on her skin rose up in instinctive self-defence.

‘The precise reason why I bought the place,’ he told her.

‘An escape from the wheeling and dealing of high-powered executive city living?’

Was that why she felt such an empathy with the house? Because it represented a refuge? From what…whom? The man who owned it?

She gave a sudden start as his hands rested lightly at her waist, and there was no way she could disguise the frisson that shook her slim frame as his lips settled against the curve of her neck.

‘Alejandro…’ Her voice faltered, then regained a measure of strength. ‘I’d like to go downstairs,’ she said, on a note of desperation. He was too close, much too close. It bothered her, and she couldn’t reason why. ‘Lunch,’ she elaborated, and felt immeasurably relieved when he disengaged his clasp and moved fractionally away.

‘Then we shall eat. The fridge and pantry are well-stocked.’

Elise turned slowly to face him. ‘You’re going to play cook?’

He lifted a hand and trailed gentle fingers across her cheek, letting them slide down the edge of her jaw to tilt her chin.

She gazed at him in mesmerised silence, taking in the hard planes and angles of his broad facial structure, the vertical crease that slashed each cheek, the powerful sweep of his jaw, the wide mouth.

‘You find the prospect of being alone with me so daunting?’

He was teasing her, and suddenly it seemed so unfair that he had the advantage while she had none.

Indecision and a fleeting sense of mild panic coursed through her veins, visible in the dilation of her eyes as she gazed at him.

His eyes darkened and became almost black. ‘Little fool,’ he growled gently. ‘You look at me as if you are struggling with fear. What manner of man do you imagine I am?’

‘I don’t know,’ she was forced to own, aware that it was nothing less than the truth. Of all the details she had been made aware of, few had given a hint of his character.

‘Come,’ Alejandro directed, releasing her chin. ‘We’ll go down to the kitchen and find something to eat.’ He bent down and brushed his lips against her own with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing. ‘In a few days you will become accustomed to having me around.’

Somehow she doubted it. Yet she accepted that she had no choice but to try.

In the kitchen he retrieved cooked chicken from the refrigerator, divided it into portions, and placed several on a platter to heat in the microwave. Then he prepared a wholesome salad with a deftness Elise found surprising. Within a matter of minutes there was food on the table.

‘Please,’ she protested as Alejandro began filling her plate. ‘That’s too much.’

‘Eat what you can,’ he bade easily, employing his cutlery to divide her food into bite-sized segments which she could manage with a fork.

There was a studied intimacy in his actions, a familiarity she tried desperately to recognise, yet she could recall nothing that gave a hint of the many meals they must have shared together.

‘Why the slight frown?’

‘Did we socialise much?’ she ventured, quickly qualifying the question. ‘Both your homes are large.’

‘It is all too easy to gather a coterie of acquaintances who are active on the social circuit,’ he answered. ‘Unless you become selective, it is possible to spend three nights out of every seven at one dinner party or another.’ His eyes assumed a teasing warmth. ‘Since our marriage, I have chosen to entertain only when necessary, and much prefer dining à deux with my beautiful wife.’

Yet a man of his calibre would be in demand, his friends many and varied. Her position as his social hostess seemed a foregone conclusion.

‘Why not eat?’ he suggested quietly. ‘The chicken will become cold.’

It looked appetising and, aware of her own hunger, she picked up her fork and speared some chicken, then salad, repeating the action until she felt replete.

‘Some fruit?’

She selected an apple, its white flesh crisp and tangy, and when she’d consumed it she sat back in her chair.

‘Iced water?’ Alejandro queried, and she shook her head in silent negation. ‘Why not go upstairs and rest?’ he prompted gently. ‘I’ll take care of the dishes, then join you.’

‘Your solicitude is overwhelming,’ Elise said quickly, alarmed at his intention. ‘But hardly necessary, when you must have calls to make, people you should contact.’

His gaze was remarkably steady, and a faint smile lifted the edge of his mouth. ‘And you prefer to be alone,’ he drawled.

‘Yes,’ Elise answered honestly, and glimpsed a degree of humour lurking in the depths of his eyes. Because you scare the hell out of me, she added silently. Every defence mechanism I possess screams out a warning of one kind or another, yet I’m unable to fathom why.

It was a relief to reach the sanctuary of the bedroom, and she selected a magazine, then sank back against the pillows.

She dozed, and when she woke there was a note, scripted in black ink, signed by her inimitable husband, informing her that he was in the study.

It took only minutes to freshen up and go downstairs, and Alejandro glanced up from a sheaf of papers he was examining as she entered the study, a slow, teasing smile curving the edges of his mouth.

‘You look rested,’ he commented musingly, and her heart tripped its beat, accelerated for a few seconds, then settled into a steady pattern.

His smile was lazy, extending to the depths of his eyes, and he rose to his feet with a lithe indolence, crossing round the desk in a few easy strides.

His head lowered to capture her lips with openmouthed gentleness, and she felt like crying Don’t out loud as she stood helpless against the trembling sensation slowly consuming her body. The desire to sway towards him shocked her, and she experienced a mixture of emotions as his lips left hers.

Relief, dismay—regret? She didn’t want to analyse her emotions, and she gave a shaky smile as he caught hold of her hand.

Alejandro exchanged long trousers and shoes for shorts and Reeboks, insistent that Elise discard sandals for Reeboks too—an action which set the butterflies inside her stomach fluttering into a nervous dance as he hunkered down to effect the change.

It was a glorious afternoon, the sun’s summer warmth caressing her skin as they wandered slowly along the hard-packed sand, which was still slightly damp from an outgoing tide. A gentle breeze teased the length of her hair, causing a few tendrils to drift across her cheek.

There was a sense of freedom apparent, a lightness resulting from confinement in hospital for the past ten days, and she allowed herself several shallow breaths in order to drink in the salty smell of the ocean, the cleanliness of unpolluted air.

A few children were at play in the distance, their chatter and laughter barely audible as they darted back and forth, heads bent in their quest for seashells.





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