Bought Bride For The Argentinian (Conveniently Wed!) Page 11

  ‘I...care for him,’ she said.

  ‘Okay...’ said Marybeth, a little doubtfully. ‘Well, that’s certainly an improvement on what you were saying about him before you went to Oz. Better get going, then—and get this party started!’

  But Emily’s nerves felt jangled as she made her way towards the grand function room, despite her smooth words of assurance. She hadn’t seen Alej since the day after his shock proposal and had since been beset by a growing fear that he might have changed his mind and simply not shown up. It was only when she’d peeped out of her hotel window that morning, and seen a whole fleet of black limousines arriving, that she’d realised he wasn’t planning on reneging on his intention to make her his wife—and she’d been taken aback by the relief which had washed over her.

  In order to arrange a fancy wedding at such short notice, she had flown back from Melbourne alone, after Alej’s team had—in true fairy-tale tradition—won themselves a podium place at the city’s Grand Prix. Afterwards there had been fireworks and champagne and a party which had gone on all night, during which he had announced their surprise engagement to an already febrile press. And amid all the excitement of reporting that one of the world’s biggest commitment-phobes was finally taking the plunge into matrimony, Emily realised that her new fiancé’s political intentions had very definitely been put on the back burner.

  But he had shrugged almost carelessly when she had pointed this out. ‘A couple of weeks won’t make any difference.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Her voice had grown thoughtful. ‘We could announce it while we’re on honeymoon. It will be a good press release, especially if we pick a day when there isn’t much news around.’

  There had been an odd note in his voice. ‘You think of everything, don’t you, Emily?’

  ‘That’s what you’re paying me for.’

  His voice had mocked her. ‘No, querida. I’m paying you for a lot more than that.’

  It was an observation which caused her some disquiet and one she didn’t want to reflect on for too long—but then she’d had a lot of practice at pushing unwanted thoughts away. Life was strange, she thought as the doors of the grand salon swam into view. Hard to believe that in a few minutes’ time she would be Alej’s wife—something she’d longed for in those far-off days as an impressionable teenager. But this was nothing more than a complex game they were playing—and she should forget that at her peril.

  The sound of a string quartet greeted her as one of Alej’s hunky polo-playing friends pushed open the ornate doors and as everyone turned to look at her, for a split second, she felt beset by more nerves. She wondered if Alej’s friends were judging her and wondering why his standards had fallen so far below his usual diet of supermodels and heiresses. Yet wasn’t another part of her secretly wishing this was the real thing, instead of being the ultimate public relations gesture?

  But then she saw him waiting for her beneath an arch of flowers and felt her heart hitch beneath the silk-satin of her gown, because he looked utterly gorgeous. The most gorgeous man in the room. Wearing a suit more formal than anything she’d ever seen him in before and, with a couple of centimetres clipped from his ruffled black hair, he appeared to be a more sombre version of the man she’d known in previous guises. His new air of gravitas was slightly unsettling, emphasising again that this was simply a different mask he was wearing. Yet the moment he took her hand in his, all her determination to keep emotion at bay drained away and her heart gave a great big leap of longing.

  I don’t want to love him, she thought desperately. I don’t want to be hurt by him.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said.

  It was said presumably to add credibility, but nonetheless his words made Emily glow as she handed her bouquet to Marybeth. ‘Thank you,’ she said, hiding her excitement behind a calm smile.

  The ceremony passed without event and only afterwards did Emily realise she’d been on tenterhooks throughout the entire proceedings. Had she been afraid that his supermodel ex would burst through the doors and try to put a stop to it, like in some dramatic Hollywood film? There was a hush as Alejandro made his vows, his eyes fixed on hers with an expression of desire underpinned with something darker. Something which made her senses scream out a nameless warning, despite the sensual ache which was already starting low in her belly. Because wasn’t that hostility she could see flickering in the depths of his steady green gaze?

  Afterwards, a starry reception spilled over into an adjoining function room, filled with politicians, actors and even members of the British royal family, with whom Alej used to play polo, back in the day. She thought how easily he mixed in such an elevated section of society and how her own guest list was far more modest—though Marybeth’s family certainly made up for any paucity in numbers with their noise and laughter. And then the music began to play for the first dance and, as Alej took her hand and everyone turned towards them, Emily felt as if she was walking onto a giant stage.

  Because you are. Because this is all make-believe and none of it is real.

  But in that moment it felt real as Alej laced his warm fingers in hers and led her onto the dance floor. As achingly familiar strains filtered into her ears, she wondered if he was deliberately torturing her with a song she hadn’t heard for many years.

  ‘What made you choose this?’ she questioned, the silk of her wedding gown whispering over the marble floor as she tried and failed to erase the blissful memories of those hot, Argentinian nights.

  ‘You used to love it.’

  She shifted awkwardly but, annoyingly, it only seemed to decrease the space between them. ‘Maybe I did, but not...not any more.’

  ‘No. Your tastes are more sophisticated these days, perhaps?’

  ‘It’s not that.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘We’re not the same people any more, Alej. It doesn’t seem appropriate, somehow.’

  ‘What would you rather they played?’ He spun her round, his eyes glinting hard and green. ‘“Money, Money, Money”?’

  She didn’t react to the taunt. ‘Let’s try to keep the hostilities to a minimum for the duration of the reception, shall we?’

  ‘Then try smiling, Princesa. Instead of looking as if you’re standing on the edge of a deep precipice.’

  ‘And if I told you that was exactly how I felt?’

  His eyes bored into her. ‘And why might that be?’

  She hesitated. ‘Because I’m finding this all harder than I imagined it would be.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  Three beats of music followed and Alej tightened his fingers around her waist, because it was the first time she’d let that cool mask of composure slip and inexplicably he found himself wanting to see what was behind it. ‘Do you miss your family?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘Do you wish your mother was here today?’

  She tilted her head back and he could see her throat constrict, and the tiny pearl which hung from the end of a fine gold chain quivered at her neck.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted, her voice breaking a little, her free hand reaching up to touch the necklace. ‘It’s stupid, but I do. She was a terrible mother in many ways but she was still my mother.’

  ‘Is that her necklace?’

  She nodded. ‘My father bought it for her before they were married. She hardly ever wore it—said it was too cheap—but I love it. Far more than any of those flashy jewels which Paul bought her and which she ended up pawning anyway.’

  Alej felt a wave of something approaching sympathy until he quickly reined it back in. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for her. He wanted to feel only the things he could deal with—like lust and anger and the hot, sweet release of fulfilment. Because she’d never given a damn about him and his family, had she? Never even stopped to find out what had happened to his mother. His lying, cheating mother, but—as she herself had just said—his mother all the s
ame. His mouth twisted. Of course she hadn’t. Because the little people were invisible to people like Emily. She might have affected to despise her snobbish stepfather, but maybe she’d absorbed more of his values than she’d been aware of.

  He put his lips close to her neck, his voice growing husky. ‘I’m bored with dancing and bored with people watching our every move. How soon before we can escape so that I can consummate this marriage of ours, because I am aching for you, Emily? Can you feel how much?’

  ‘We can’t...’ Her words tailed off as he slid his thigh between hers. ‘We can’t just leave the reception early in order to go to bed.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because that’s not playing the game we’re supposed to be playing,’ she said sternly, her voice taking on a note of firmness. ‘We have to at least look as if we love each other, even if it isn’t true—otherwise the marriage will appear to be a stunt instead of looking authentic, and that could easily backfire on you.’

  ‘So how would you like me to manifest my “love” towards you, Emily?’ he taunted, pleased to see her cheeks flush a deep pink in response to his swirling movement, which was making his hardened pelvis thrust against the slippery silk of her wedding gown.

  ‘We could try having a conversation, rather than making out on the dance floor.’

  He bit back a reluctant smile. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  Her fingers curled against his chest, her hand a pale starfish against the dark material of his suit jacket, and he found himself covering it with his own.

  ‘What we’re going to do for our honeymoon, for a start.’

  With an effort, he dragged his thoughts away from the sensation of her breasts pushing against his torso, which was resulting in a punishing hardness in his groin. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘We take my plane wherever you want to go and stay in five-star luxury along the way.’

  ‘Not the best idea.’ She shook her head. ‘I think that will be counter-productive.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘It will continue to make you look like some aimless playboy with more money than he knows what to do with and no general purpose in life.’

  ‘You may or may not be aware that wherever in the world I am, I work—and I work hard,’ he said coldly. ‘It is possible to do such things remotely these days.’

  ‘I know it is. But there will be no real focus for me, will there?’ She shrugged and seemed to find it difficult to meet his eyes. ‘It’ll just be all about...sex.’

  ‘It’s a honeymoon, Emily,’ he pointed out.

  ‘But not a real one,’ she reminded him sharply.

  ‘Are you telling me you’re unhappy about the idea of having wall-to-wall sex? That’s certainly not the impression you’ve given me so far.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. But I’m still going to be working for you—and when we decide to call time on the marriage, I want to have achieved what I set out to achieve. Call it professional pride, if you like.’ She waited until the Argentinian ambassador had danced past them with a complicated sashay of his hips. ‘Do you remember my original brief to you in Melbourne?’

  ‘I’ve scarcely thought of anything else,’ he said sardonically.

  ‘When we talked about simplifying your life, you decided to sell off your home in France because, if you’re planning to be based in Argentina, it makes no sense for you to have a base in Paris. So couldn’t we...couldn’t we use the honeymoon to go there—and afterwards maybe go to your estancia?’

  ‘Why?’

  Because although I know it’s a kind of madness, I want to see some of the different facets of your life. I want to glimpse the private man behind the glossy façade. I want to see your homes—not just the fancy and impersonal five-star hotels you seem to spend your life in.

  But Emily had no intention of revealing her foolish thoughts to him, so instead she gave a careless shrug. ‘It might be an idea to choose whichever sentimental items you want to keep before your Parisian apartment goes on the market. It might be very satisfying to tidy your life up like that.’

  ‘I can think of only one thing which will satisfy me right now,’ he growled. ‘And it has nothing to do with the marketing of property and everything to do with the removal of your clothes.’

  ‘Alej Sabato! You are outrageous!’

  But he paid her half-hearted protest no heed, dancing her smoothly out of the ballroom and into the discreet elevator, which had exclusive access to the hotel’s newly designed honeymoon suite. The elevator doors had barely slid shut before he pushed her up against a rose-tinted mirror, his hand sliding inside the bodice of her wedding gown as he started to kiss her.

  ‘People will notice we’ve gone,’ she gasped against his urgent mouth, as, blindly, he jabbed at the top-floor button with his finger.

  ‘Who cares? We’re married, Emily. This is legal.’

  There was champagne on ice and roses everywhere but the moment their suite door swung closed, their only focus was on pulling at each other’s clothes. His suit hit the deck and her wedding dress lay abandoned on the carpet and soon they were naked on the great big honeymoon bed—save for the coronet of roses still pinned in her hair.

  Emily could see her wedding ring glinting gold as Alejandro pulled her into his arms, his eyes a blaze of green as he began to plunder her mouth once more. ‘Oh,’ she said breathlessly, as his hand slid searchingly over every naked curve, his unsteady survey of her flesh making it feel as if he were discovering her by touch alone. As if it were an eternity since they’d lain together rather than a matter of days. His name trembled on her lips. ‘Alej.’

  ‘Shh...’

  Afterwards she was glad he had quietened her because hadn’t she felt a compelling urge to tell him how much she’d missed him during their days apart—and if she started indulging in that kind of revelation, who knew where it might end? So she kissed him hard instead, mounting her own survey of the flat planes of his magnificent physique—perfect save for the jagged scar on his back, which he had refused to discuss. Her orgasm came quickly—powerfully intense as it racked through her body in a way which made her feel momentarily helpless. Did her choked mewl of fulfilment touch something inside him? Was that why his arms tightened around her and he buried his face in her hair before groaning out his own shuddering pleasure?

  She must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes again, it was to see early stars already beginning to pepper the sky outside the un-shuttered windows. Still sleepy and caught in the half-world between wakefulness and slumber, her mind drifted around tantalising pathways. Was it possible they could make this marriage work? she wondered fleetingly. Could they compromise somehow? Forget about the bad stuff and concentrate on the good stuff and learn to love one another all over again?

  ‘Are you awake?’ she whispered.

  ‘I am now.’ Alej rolled over and studied her. Awake and already hard and wanting more—for that was the effect she had on him. The effect she’d always had on him. He ran his fingers over her pale and quivering body, watching her nipples harden as he scratched his nails lightly over the soft fuzz of hair at her groin, before dipping his head to it.

  ‘Alej?’ she said, in a voice which sounded slurred although he knew she had drunk nothing stronger than water at the reception.

  ‘I’m not in the mood for conversation right now,’ he ground out.

  He parted her thighs gently and began to minister to her with his mouth, hearing her moan as he slowly licked her damp folds. He flicked the tip of his tongue against her tight bud, enjoying her unique taste and the way her nails scrabbled helplessly at the petal-strewn duvet as he quickened the movement. And in a moment of disturbing clarity, he realised he had only ever done this with her. It had been just one of the myriad ways they had pleasured each other without the actual act of penetration, when she had been so young. The memory o
f that had stayed stubbornly with him and the thought of laying his mouth so intimately against another woman had repulsed him. Yet even that simple fact had maddened him, for he saw it as a weakness and unwanted dependence upon the woman who had rejected him. He wanted to draw his mouth away in order to frustrate her but instead he found himself revelling in the taste of her. Musk and honey, he thought achingly, and he hardened as she began convulsing against his lips.

  There was another condom close by but, although he was rock-hard and eager to enter her, something held him back. Instead, he watched until her shuddered breathing had steadied itself and then her eyelids fluttered open, as if she had suddenly become aware that his gaze was on her. He saw the trace of uncertainty which crossed her face and for some reason that gave him pleasure as he lay back against the bed and, with a careless flick of his hand, indicated the throbbing hardness at his groin.

  ‘Now you,’ he said softly. ‘Your turn.’

  Still dazed after her orgasm, Emily felt suddenly wary about what he wanted her to do, yet surely that was completely illogical. After all, she’d done it many times in the past—not just in the stables but outside in the lush pastures, where the fresh Argentinian air had helped provide her with a liberating sense of freedom. But back then they had been close. Young and passionate—with none of all the bad history or hang-ups which had stood between them like a barrier ever since. Suddenly she felt almost shy about what he wanted her to do—and she needed to lose that attitude quickly. She was a grown-up, she reminded herself. And now a wife.

  So she wriggled down the bed to position her head close to his groin, running light fingertips over his erect shaft and registering the instinctive shudder which racked through his body as she did so. Up and down, her thumb and forefinger moved with feather-light touch, revelling in the sensation of his silk-encased hardness. She continued with this stealthy rhythm until she saw his eyelids flutter to a close, and only when she was sure she wasn’t being observed did she bend her head to him. He moaned as she took him into her mouth and already she could feel the sticky wetness on his tip as she began to suck him.