The Mélendez Forgotten Marriage (6 page)

He placed his hand under the curtain of her hair, his
fingers warm and dry against the sensitive skin of her neck. ‘Where do you think we went?' he asked.

Emelia's teeth sank into her bottom lip, her brain working overtime. ‘Um…Paris?'

His hand stilled and one of his dark brows lifted. ‘Was that a guess or do you remember something?' he asked.

‘I've always dreamed of honeymooning in Paris,' she said. ‘It's supposed to be the most romantic city in the world. And I saw the stamp on my passport so I suppose it wasn't such a wild guess.'

He continued to hold her gaze for endless moments, his fingers moving in a rhythmic motion at her nape. ‘Your dream came true, Emelia,' he said. ‘I gave you a honeymoon to surpass all honeymoons.'

She sucked half of her bottom lip into her mouth, releasing it to say, ‘I'm sorry. You must be thinking what a shocking waste of money it was now that I can't even recall a second of it.'

He gave a couldn't-care-less shrug. ‘We can have a second honeymoon,
sí
? One that you will never forget.'

Emelia's eyes went to his mouth of their own volition. He was smiling that sexy half-smile again, the one that made her blood race through her veins. What was it about this man that made her so breathless with excitement? It was as if he only had to look at her and she was a trembling mass of needs and wants. She felt the tingling of her skin as he touched her with those long fingers. The fingers that had clearly touched her in places she wasn't sure she wanted to think about. He knew her so well and yet he was still a stranger to her.

A second honeymoon?

Her belly turned over itself. How could she sleep
with a man she didn't know? It would be nothing but physical attraction, an animal instinct, an impulse she had never felt compelled to respond to before.

Or had she?

How did she know what their history was? She could only go on what he had told her. She hadn't thought herself the type to fall in love so rapidly, to marry someone within weeks of meeting them. But then maybe she hadn't fallen in love with him. Maybe she had fallen in lust. She shied away from the thought but it kept creeping back to taunt her. He was so dangerously attractive. She could feel the pull of his magnetism even now, the thrill of him touching her, the stroke of his fingers so drugging she could feel herself capitulating second by second. His eyes were dark pools of mystery, luring her in, making her drown in their enigmatic depths. She felt her eyelids come down to half mast, her breathing becoming choppy as his hand stilled at the back of her neck, pressing her forwards with a gentle but determined action as his mouth came within a breath of hers.

‘D-don't…' Her voice came out hoarse, uncertain and not at all convincing.

His hand still cupped the nape of her neck, warm and strong, supportive and yet determined. ‘Don't what?' he asked in a low deep burr.

She swallowed. ‘You know what…'

‘Is it not right for a husband to kiss his wife?' he asked.

‘But I…I don't feel like your wife,' Emelia said breathlessly.

There was a three beat pause as his dark eyes locked on hers.

‘Then it is about time you did,' he said and, swooping down, covered her mouth with his.

E
MELIA'S
heart almost stopped when his mouth touched down on hers. The raw male scent of him was intoxicating, dangerous, and that alone would have had her senses spinning, but the pressure of his lips upon hers drew from her a response she wasn't entirely sure she should be giving. He cradled her head in his hands, giving her no room to pull away even if she had the wherewithal to do so. The contact of his mouth on hers was explorative at first, light, tentative almost, but then, with just one very masculine stroke of his tongue, everything changed.

Her lips opened to him as if of their own volition, instinctively, welcoming him inside the moist cave of her mouth. Her tongue met his briefly, flirting around it, dancing with it until finally mating with it at its command. He subdued her with the power of each stroke and thrust of his tongue, teasing her into submission, relishing the victory by crushing his mouth to hers with increasing pressure. Emelia felt the surge of his body against her, his arousal so thick and hard it made her realise how much history existed between them, a history she had yet to discover. Her body, however,
seemed familiar with it. It was reacting with fervour to every movement of his mouth on hers, her arms automatically going around his neck, holding him to her as if she had done it many times before, her pelvis seeking the hardened throb of his, her inner core melting with longing. Her breasts bloomed with pleasure against the contact with his hard chest, her nipples tightening to buds, aching to feel the slippery warmth of his mouth and tongue.

His mouth moved from hers on a searing pathway down the side of her neck, slowly, sensuously bringing every nerve to gasping, startled life. Goosebumps rose all over her skin as he discovered the delicate scaffold of her collarbone, his tongue dipping into the tiny dish of her tender flesh. His lips feathered against her skin as he spoke in a low sexy tone. ‘You taste of vanilla.'

Emelia felt electric jolts shoot up and down her legs at the thought of where that mouth and tongue had been on her body. She could almost feel its pathway now, the way her secret feminine flesh was pulsing, as if in anticipation of him claiming it. She clutched at his head with her fingers, feeling the thick strands of his dark hair move like silk beneath her fingertips.

‘I want you.' He mouthed the words against her neck, making her nerves leap and dance again. ‘God, but I want you.'

‘W-we can't…' Emelia gasped as his mouth showered kisses all over her face: over her eyelids, over her cheeks, her nose and so temptingly close to her tingling, swollen lips.

‘What's to stop us?' he said in a husky tone as he pressed a hot moist kiss to her trembling mouth. ‘We are married, are we not?'

Emelia was too drunk on his kiss to answer. His tongue went in search of hers again, mating with it in an erotic tango that left her gasping with need. His kiss was hungry, demanding, leaving her in no doubt of where it was leading. It was a pre-sex kiss, blatant in its intent, shockingly intimate as his hands moved from cradling her head, sliding down her bare arms to encircle her wrists. The latent strength of him sent a shiver of reaction through her. He was so strong; she was so weak, but not just in physical strength. Her will-power seemed to have totally evaporated. She was molten wax in his arms, fitting to his hard form as if she had known no other place.

He released her hands and moved his up under her top, sliding his warm palms over her belly and her ribcage. Her heart gave a lurching movement as his fingers splayed over her possessively. Emelia thought she would die if he didn't touch her breasts and she moved against him, silently pleading for him to pleasure her.

His hand cupped her and she let out a tiny whimper of pleasure, for even through the fine lace of her bra she could feel the tantalising heat of his touch. ‘You want more,
querida
?' he asked softly, seductively.

Emelia gasped as he pushed aside the cobweb of lace, his fingers skating over her burgeoning flesh. His thumb lingered over her engorged nipple, moving back and forth, hot little rubs that lifted every hair on her scalp.

‘You want this,
sí
?' he said and bent his mouth to her breast and suckled softly at first and then harder.

Emelia's fingers clutched at his hair, trying to anchor herself as delicious sensations washed through her. ‘Oh… Oh, God…' she whimpered.

‘You like this too,' he said and swept his tongue down the outer curve of her breast, licking like a jungle cat, the sexy rasp of his tongue melting every vertebrae of her spine into trembling submission.

‘And this,' he added, pressing her back against the desk, his thighs parting hers with shockingly primal intention.

Emelia's passion-glazed eyes flew open and her hands thrust against his chest. ‘N-no…' she said but it came out so hoarsely she had to repeat it. ‘No…no, I can't.'

One of his dark brows hooked upwards, his body still poised against hers. ‘No?'

She shook her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as her eyes momentarily fell away from his.

He let out a theatrical sigh and straightened, pulling her upright against him, his hands settling on her waist, his powerful body, hot, aroused and hard, just a breath's distance away. ‘That wasn't what you used to say,' he said with a taunting gleam in his dark eyes. ‘This was one of your favourite places for a quick—'

Emelia pushed two of her fingertips against his mouth, blocking off the coarse word she was almost certain he intended to use. ‘Please…don't…' she said hollowly.

He peeled her fingers away from his mouth, kissing the tips one by one, his bottomless eyes holding hers. ‘Don't you want to be reminded of how sensually adventurous you were, Emelia?' he asked.

Her throat rose and fell over a tight swallow. ‘No…no, I don't.'

He pressed a soft kiss to the middle of her palm and then dipped his tongue right into the middle of it, hotly,
moistly, his eyes still locked with hers. ‘I taught you everything you know,' he went on. ‘You were so eager to learn. A straight A student, in fact.'

She closed her eyes tight. ‘Stop it. Stop doing this.'

‘Open your eyes, Emelia,' he commanded.

She scrunched them even tighter. ‘No.'

His hands went to her waist, holding her against his rock-hard arousal. ‘This is what you do to me,
querida
,' he said in a sexy growl.

Emelia wrenched out of his hold with a strength she had no conscious knowledge of possessing. Her chest heaved with the effort as she stood, trembling and shaken, a few feet away. She folded her arms across her chest, fighting for breath, fighting for control, fighting for some self-respect, which seemed to have gone AWOL some minutes ago.

Javier gave her an indolent smile. ‘What are you frightened of,
mi amor
?' he asked.

‘I don't know you,' Emelia said.

‘But you want me, all the same.'

‘I'm not myself right now.' She tightened her arms beneath her breasts. ‘I don't know what I want.'

‘Your body remembers me, Emelia. It wants me. You can't deny it.'

Emelia moved even further away because she had a sneaking suspicion what he said was true. Every sense was alive to him, to his presence and to his touch. She could still taste him in her mouth, the musky male heat of him lingering there like a fine wine on her palate. Was he an addiction she had developed over the last two years? How could any woman resist such incredible potency? He oozed sensual heat through the pores of his skin. She felt the
waves of attraction tighten the air she breathed in. Every part of her body he had touched was still tingling with the need for more. His incendiary suggestion was still ringing in her ears, making her mind race with erotic scenarios: of her spread before him like a feast; her legs open to his powerful thrusting body, her senses in a vortex of sensation, her back arching in pleasure, her mouth falling open in sharp, high cries of ecstasy.

He came to where she was standing, her back pressed against the bookshelves, his eyes smouldering so darkly they seemed to strip her bare. ‘Maybe it was a mistake for me to move out of our room,' he said. ‘Perhaps I should insist on you sleeping with me, even though you can't remember me.'

Emelia's back felt as if it was being bitten into by the shelves. ‘You c-can't mean that,' she said croakily.

He tipped up her chin, holding her frightened gaze with the powerful beam of his. ‘Making love with me might trigger something in your brain. It might be the part of the missing puzzle,
sí
?'

His disturbing presence was triggering all sorts of things in her body, let alone her brain, Emelia thought in rising panic. She placed her hands on his chest with the intention of pushing him away again, but the feel of his hard muscles under her palms sent off a little flash-bulb in her head. It was a tiny spark of memory, a pinpoint of light in the darkness. She splayed her fingers experimentally and, as if of their own accord, her fingertips began moving over his hard flat nipples, over his perfectly sculptured pectoral muscles and up to his neck, where she could see a pulse beating like a hammer beneath his skin. She moved her fingertips to the raspy
skin of his lean jaw, the prickle of his stubble sending tantalising little tingles right up her arms.

‘What is it?' he asked, holding her hand against his face with the broad span of his. ‘Have you remembered something?'

She frowned as she fought to retrieve the fleeting image. It was like the shadow of a ghost, barely visible, but she could sense its presence. ‘I don't know…' She bit down on her lip, pulling her hand out from under his. ‘I thought for a minute…but I just don't know…'

He picked up her hand again and held it against his mouth, his lips feathering against her curled up fingers as he spoke. ‘Touch me again,
cariño
,' he commanded softly. ‘Touch is an important part of memory. Taste and smell, too.'

Emelia uncurled her fingers and carefully traced the outline of his lips, her fingertip grazing against his stubble again. She felt transfixed by the shape of his mouth, the way his top lip was carved almost harshly and yet his lower one was so generous and sensual. He drew her fingertip into his mouth and sucked on it. It was such an intimate thing to do, flagrantly sexual, especially when his eyes captured hers and glinted at her meaningfully. She pulled out of his hold once more, gathering herself with an effort. ‘I'm sorry,' she said crisply. ‘I don't remember anything.'

His expression gave little away but Emelia sensed a thread of anger stringing his words together as he spoke. ‘I will leave you to rest before dinner. Leave this.' He indicated the broken glass on the floor. ‘I will get Aldana to clean it up later. If you need anything just press nine on the telephone by the bed upstairs. It is a
direct line to Aldana's quarters. She will bring you some tea or coffee or a cool drink if you should require it.'

She watched as he strode out of the library, the squeak of the expensive leather of his riding boots the only sound in the silence.

 

Emelia woke from a nap feeling totally disoriented, her heart beating like the wings of a frightened bird as she sat upright on the big bed. She put a hand to her throat, trying to control her breathing to bring down her panic to a manageable level. She dragged herself off the bed and stumbled into the en suite bathroom. Seeing her reflection was like looking at another version of herself, a more sophisticated and yet unhappier version. She put a fingertip to each of her sharp cheekbones. Her mouth was pulled down at the corners as if smiling had become a chore. Her eyes looked tired but also a little haunted, as if they were keeping secrets they didn't really want to keep.

She washed her face with cold water and then turned and looked longingly at the huge spa bath next to the double shower cubicle. She had at least an hour before dinner and the thought of sinking into a huge bath tub full of fragrant bubbles was too much for her to resist.

The water lapped at her aching limbs as she lowered herself into the bath, the scent of honeysuckle filling the air, reminding her of the hot summers and long lazy days of her childhood back in Australia. She closed her eyes and laid her head back, her body relaxing for the first time since she had woken from the coma.

Even in her languid repose, it was hard not to think of Peter. The thought of him lying in a cold dark grave was surreal when it seemed only a few days ago they
were having coffee together at the end of her session at The Silver Room. The police had told her it had been a high speed accident but the knowledge hadn't sat well with her. Peter had lost a close mate in a car accident when he was a teenager. His intractable stance on reckless and dangerous driving was one of the things she had admired about him—one of the many things. During their youth, he had hinted more than once that he wanted more than a platonic friendship from her but she had let him down as gently as she could. While they had been close friends and had many interests in common, she had never envisaged him as an intimate partner. She had always looked on him as a brother. There was no chemistry, or at least not from her point of view. She knew it was different for men, and Peter had not been an exception. She had seen his head turned by many beautiful women who came into his hotel bar. She knew men's desires were more often than not fuelled by their vision. Sex was a physical drive that could just as easily be performed with a perfect stranger.

Emelia felt her belly give a distinct wobble when she thought of the stranger who was her husband. She saw raw unbridled desire in Javier's eyes; it smouldered there like hot coals every time he looked at her. He had openly declared how much he wanted her. She had heard the erotic promise in the words. It was not a matter of
if
but
when
.

He knew it.