The Mélendez Forgotten Marriage (7 page)

She knew it.

Emelia looked down at her breasts, her rosy nipples just peeping out of the water amidst the bubbles, a riot of sensations rippling through her as she thought of how he had caressed her earlier. He had touched her
with such possessive familiarity. Was that why she had responded so instinctively? She felt her insides give another fluttery movement as she thought about him possessing her totally. Would she remember him in the throes of making love as he suggested? She reared back from her thoughts like a horse shying at a jump. It was too soon to be taking that step. She couldn't possibly give herself to a man she didn't know.

But you're married to him
, a little voice reminded her.

And you're attracted to him
, another voice piped up.

Emelia slipped under the water to escape her traitorous thoughts, holding her breath for as long as she dared…

 

Javier tapped on the bathroom door but there was no answer. It was quiet. Too quiet. There was not even the sound of running or splashing water.

He opened the door and when he saw Emelia's slim body lying submerged in the bath he felt a hand clutch at his insides.

‘Emelia!' He rushed to the tub and grabbed her under the armpits, hauling her upright as water splashed everywhere.

She gave a gasping cry of shock, her wet hair like seaweed all over her face. ‘What do you think you're doing?' she spluttered.

Javier waited until his heart had returned to his chest from where it had leapt into his throat. ‘I thought you were unconscious,' he explained in a voice that sounded as ragged as he felt. ‘I thought you might have hit your head again or something.'

She flashed him a livid glare as she hastily crossed
her arms over her breasts. ‘You could have knocked before you came barging in.'

‘I did knock.' He stepped out of the puddle of water he was standing in, glancing ruefully at his sodden trousers and shoes. ‘You didn't answer.'

Her knees bent upwards, shielding her chest even further. ‘You had no right to come in without my permission,' she said.

He sent one of his brows up in a mocking slant. ‘That little knock on the head has turned you into a prude, eh, Emelia? I remember a time not so long ago when you made room for me in there.' He bent down and scooped up a handful of bubbles, holding them just above her bent knees. ‘Do you want to know what we got up to?'

She stiffened as if the water had turned to ice around her. ‘Get out,' she said in a clipped voice.

Javier let the bubbles fall from his hand, his eyes unwavering on hers. He felt her tension, the way she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch as each cluster of bubbles slid down from her kneecaps and down her thighs to slowly dissipate as they landed on the surface of the water. As each throbbing second passed he could hear the soft popping sound of the lather gradually losing its vigour. Within minutes the soapy shield she was hiding behind would be gone.

In spite of her betrayal, he felt his body surge with excitement. Hot rushing blood filled his groin, the ache for release so quick, so urgent it made him realise how hard it was going to be to keep his distance from her. But then wanting her had always been his problem, his one true vulnerability.

From that first moment he had heard her clever little fingers playing those lilting cadences when he'd walked
into The Silver Room, he had felt something deep inside shift into place. She had looked up from the piano, her fingers stumbling over a note as their eyes had locked. He had smiled at her with his eyes—that was all it had taken—and she had been his.

He looked down at her now, wondering if she had any idea of the war going on inside him. She was cautious around him, understandable given she no longer recognised him, but he felt the sexual undertow of her gaze every time it meshed with his. It would not take him long to have her back in his bed and threshing in his arms as she used to do. But would that finally dissolve the anger and hatred he felt whenever he thought of her with the man she had run away to be with?

‘It is not the behaviour of a devoted wife to order her husband out of his own bathroom,' Javier said, breaking the taut silence.

‘I…I don't care,' she said, her teeth chattering slightly.

He plucked a bath sheet off the warming rail and held it just out of her reach. ‘You'd better get out. You're starting to get cold.'

Her grey-blue eyes battled with his. ‘I'm not getting out until you leave.'

He settled his tall frame into a trenchant stance. ‘I am not leaving until you get out.'

She clenched her teeth, her voice coming out as a hiss, reminding him of a snarling cat. ‘Why are you doing this? Why are you being such a beast?'

‘What is all the fuss about,
querida
?' he asked evenly. ‘I have seen you naked countless times.'

Her throat rose and fell. ‘It's different now… You know that…'

He came closer with the towel, unfolding it for her to step into. ‘Come on, Emelia. You are shivering.'

She flattened her mouth and, giving him another livid glare, stood and grasped for the towel, covering herself haphazardly, but not before he feasted his eyes on her slim feminine form. There were catwalk models who had less going for them, Javier thought. With her coltish long legs and beautifully toned arms and those small high breasts with their delectable rosy nipples, it was all he could do not to pull her out of the slippery tub and crush his body to hers. How many times had he tasted the sweet honey of her feminine body? How many times had he plunged into her, his cataclysmic release unlike any he had ever experienced with anyone else? As much as it felt like a dagger in his gut, he wondered how it had been with her lover. Had she gone down on him with the same fervour? Had she whispered words of love to him in the afterglow of lovemaking? Javier felt his top lip curl as he watched her try to cover herself more effectively. ‘You are wasting your time, Emelia,' he said. ‘I know every inch of your body and you know every inch of mine.'

Her eyes shifted away from his, her throat doing that nervous up and down thing again. ‘I would like some privacy,' she said, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. ‘I…I'm not feeling well.'

Javier's brows shot together. ‘Why didn't you tell me?' he asked. ‘What is wrong? A headache? The doctor said headaches are common after—'

‘It's not a bad one, just an ache behind one eye.' She brushed at her damp brow once more, this time with a corner of the towel. ‘It's making me feel a little nauseous. Perhaps it's the change of climate. It's a lot hotter here than in England.'

‘You were only in London a week,' he pointed out. ‘Hardly time to be reacclimatising, don't you think?'

Her gaze returned to his, two small frown lines sectioning her forehead. ‘Oh…yes…yes, of course…I forgot.' She pressed her lips together and looked away.

Javier saw the shadow of grief pass through her eyes before she averted her gaze. He fought down his anger, reminding himself she was with him now. His rival was dead. It was just Emelia and him now, to get on with their lives as best they could. ‘Dinner is not long away,' he said. ‘I will need to get changed. Do you want me to escort you downstairs or do you think you will find your way?'

She clutched at the towel as she looked at him with her guarded gaze. ‘I'll find my own way…thank you.'

He gave a brisk nod and left the bathroom.

Emelia opened the wardrobe and, searching through the array of clothes, selected a simple black dress and heels to match. As she dressed she couldn't quite suppress the feeling that she was dressing in someone else's clothes. The dress was made by a French designer and must have cost a fortune; the shoes, too, were a brand celebrities and Hollywood stars regularly wore. She used the cosmetics in the drawer in the en suite bathroom, but only lightly and, after drying her hair with a blow-dryer, she left it lying about her shoulders.

As she came down the grand staircase she heard Javier's voice from the study. He was speaking in Spanish and sounded angry. Emelia knew it was probably beneath her to eavesdrop but, even so, she couldn't resist pausing outside the closed study door. Of course hearing only one side of a conversation was not all that revealing and, although she understood very
basic Spanish, he spoke so rapidly she found it hard to follow everything he said. One or two sentences did stand out, however.

‘There is not going to be a divorce.'

Emelia's eyes widened as she listened even harder, wincing as one or two expletives were uttered before his next statement.

‘The money is not yours and never has been and, as long as I live, it never will be.'

The phone slammed down and, before Emelia could move even a couple of paces down the hall, Javier came storming out of the study. He pulled up short as if someone had jerked him back by the back of his jacket when he saw her standing there with guilt written all over her face.

‘How long have you been standing out here?' He almost barked the words at her.

Emelia took a layer of her lip gloss off with the nervous dart of her tongue. ‘I…I was just walking past. I heard you raise your voice.'

His expression was thunderous but Emelia had a feeling the anger was not directed at her. He raked a hand through his hair and released a heavy sigh, as if deliberately trying to suppress his fury. ‘Just as well you don't remember any Spanish,' he said. ‘I don't usually swear in the presence of women, but my father's third wife is nothing but a gold-digging, trouble-making tramp.'

Emelia wondered if she should tell him she could speak and understand a little of his language, but in that nanosecond of hesitation she decided against it. Wouldn't it seem strange that she couldn't remember him and yet she could remember every word of Spanish
she had learned over the past two years? After all, he had already implied she might be pretending. Why he would think that was beyond her, although, given the conversation she had just overheard, it made her wonder if their marriage had been as happy as he had intimated. She had just heard him say there was not going to be a divorce. Did that mean there had been recent speculation about their marriage ending? Javier had mentioned how the press had made some scurrilous comments about her relationship with Peter Marshall. There would be few men who would cope well with their private life being splashed all over the papers and gossip magazines, but Javier struck her as a particularly proud and intensely private man. There was so much she didn't know and she didn't feel comfortable asking in case the answers he gave were not the ones she wanted to hear.

‘It must be very difficult for you, under the circumstances,' she offered.

He gave her a long look and sighed again, taking her elbow to lead the way to the dining room. ‘My father was a fool leaving Izabella's mother for Claudine Marsden. That woman is a home wrecker. Why he couldn't see it is beyond me.'

‘Some men are like that,' she said. ‘My father is the same.'

He glanced down at her as they came to the dining room door. ‘Did your father contact you while you were in hospital?' he asked.

Emelia's mouth tightened. ‘No, why should he? As far as he is concerned, I am as good as dead to him. He told me he never wanted to see me again. I have no reason to suspect he didn't mean it.'

Javier pressed his lips together, a frown creasing his
forehead as he led her to the table. ‘People say all sorts of things in the heat of the moment.' He paused before adding, ‘I should have phoned him. I didn't think of it, I'm afraid. There was so much going on at the time. He should have been notified about the accident.'

‘Did I at some point give you his contact details?' Emelia asked.

‘No, but it wouldn't have been all that hard to track him down,' he said. ‘Would you like me to make contact now, just to let him know you are all right?'

Emelia thought about her father with his new wife, who was only three years older than her. After their last insult-throwing argument, she couldn't see him flying all the way to Spain with flowers and a get well card in hand. He was probably sunning himself at his luxurious Sunshine Coast mansion with his child bride waiting on him hand and foot. ‘No, don't bother,' she said, trying to remove the bitterness from her tone. ‘He's probably got much more important things to see to.'

Javier gave her a thoughtful look as he drew out her chair.

Emelia took the seat, waiting until he sat down opposite to say, ‘Our backgrounds—apart from the level of wealth—are very similar, aren't they? Your father was estranged from you and mine from me. Is that something that drew us together when we first met?'

His dark eyes held hers for a moment before he answered. ‘It was one of many things.'

‘What were some of the other things?' she asked.

He poured wine for each of them, his mouth tilting slightly. ‘Lust, lust and more lust,' he said.

Emelia pursed her lips, hating that she was blushing,
hating him for watching with such mocking amusement. ‘I can assure you I would never fall in lust with someone,' she said. ‘I would only ever love someone I admired as a man, for his qualities as a person, not his possessions or social standing. And I most certainly wouldn't marry a man on physical attraction alone.'

His mocking smile was still in place. ‘So you must have loved me, eh, Emelia?' He flicked his napkin across his lap, his eyes still tethering hers. ‘The thing is, will you remember to love me again?'

E
MELIA
placed her own napkin over her lap, all the time avoiding those black-as-pitch eyes. The hairs on the back of her neck were tingling and her stomach was rolling like a ball going down a very steep hill. Had she felt like this during their marriage? Had her skin felt prickly and sensitive just with his gaze on her, let alone his touch? She desperately wanted to remember everything about him, everything about them—their relationship, the love they supposedly had shared.

Or had they?

The thought slipped into her mind, unfurling like a curl of smoke beneath a closed door. Did he love her the way she had evidently loved him? It was so difficult to know what he felt; he kept himself to himself most of the time. She understood his reluctance to reveal his feelings, given her loss of memory. He might resent looking a fool if she never regained her memory of him. In any case, the doctors had warned him not to pressure her. Was that why he was acting like the perfect stranger, polite but aloof, with just occasional glimpses of his personality? There was so much she didn't know about him, things she would need to know in order to
navigate her way through the complex labyrinth her mind had become. With an effort she raised her eyes back to his. ‘I feel such a fool for not asking you this earlier, but what is it you do for a living?'

‘I buy and sell businesses,' he said. ‘I own and head an international company. We do work all over the world. That was why I have been in Moscow a lot lately. I have a big deal I am working on. It requires a lot of intense negotiation.'

Emelia sat quietly absorbing that information, hoping it would trigger something in her brain. She looked at his hands as they poured wine into both of their glasses. She could imagine him being a formidable opponent in business, his quick mind and sharp intelligence setting him apart from his rivals. ‘What sort of businesses do you buy?' she asked.

‘Ailing ones,' he said. ‘I buy them and reinvent them and sell them for a profit.' He hitched one shoulder indifferently. ‘It's a living.'

Emelia picked up her crystal wine glass. ‘Apparently quite a good one.' She took a tentative sip and put the glass back down. ‘Was your father in the same field of work?'

‘No, he was in retail,' he said. ‘Electrical, mostly. He had several outlets in Spain. He expected me to go into the business with him but I never wanted that for myself. Selling refrigerators and televisions and toasters never appealed to me. I wanted more of a challenge.'

‘Is that what caused the rift between you?'

‘That and other things,' he said, frowning slightly as he returned his glass to the table.

Aldana came in with their starters and, while she was serving them, Emelia thought about Javier's back
ground. There was no shortage of wealth; the private jet, the villa and grounds and the staff to maintain it must cost a fortune. Had he inherited it from his father or accumulated it himself? He must be very good at what he did. No one could buy a company without a huge amount of money behind them. And if he was buying and selling more than one and all over the world, he must be far more successful than she had thought. She decided to check out his profile on the Internet later, to see a little more into the man she was married to.

‘
Gracias
, Aldana,' Javier said as the housekeeper left with a sour look in Emelia's direction, which she was sure he didn't see. Emelia wondered if she should comment on it but then decided against it. Maybe Javier would think she was making trouble. Aldana seemed very much a part of the woodwork of the villa. But it worried Emelia that the housekeeper had not warmed to her over the last two years. She was not used to people disliking her on sight. It made her feel as if she didn't know herself any more. Who was she now? Why had the housekeeper taken such an active dislike to her?

A moment or two of silence passed.

‘Is the wine not to your liking?' Javier asked. ‘It used to be one of your favourites.'

Emelia wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry, I guess my palate has changed or something. I'll stick to water. I need the fluids, in any case.'

‘Would you like me to call a doctor?' he asked. ‘You might have picked up a bug in the hospital.'

‘No, I'm fine.' She twisted her mouth wryly. ‘To tell you the truth, I'm a little sick of doctors. I just want to get well again.'

He gave her a tight smile. ‘Of course.'

Emelia picked at her main course after Aldana had brought it in, but with little appetite. The tight band of tension around her forehead she had been trying so hard to ignore was making her feel ill again. All she could think of was retreating to the sanctuary of bed.

‘You're really not feeling well, are you?' Javier asked once the housekeeper had cleared the plates.

Emelia gave him an apologetic grimace. ‘I'm sorry. My headache's been getting worse all evening.'

He rose from the table and gently helped her out of her chair. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘I'll take you upstairs and help you get settled. Are you sure about the doctor? What if I just make a call to ask his opinion?'

‘No, please don't bother. Dr Pratchett told me headaches are common sometimes up to weeks after a head injury. I just need a painkiller and sleep.'

Javier left the bedroom while Emelia changed into nightwear and after a few minutes he came back in with a glass of water and a couple of painkillers. Once she had taken them, he took the glass and set it down on the bedside table. ‘I have to fly back to Moscow tomorrow,' he said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. ‘I just got a phone call while I was downstairs. I am sorry about the short notice but, with the accident and everything, I had to cut short my business there.'

‘I'm sorry to have been such a bother—'

He placed a hand over hers, silencing her. ‘I have given Aldana and the others instructions to keep a watch over you. I will only be away two days, three at the most.'

‘I'm perfectly able to look after myself.' She pulled her hand out from under his and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I don't need to be watched over like a small child.'

‘Emelia, there are journalists lurking about looking for a story,' he said. ‘If you set foot outside the villa grounds you will be under siege. You are not well enough to fend off their intrusive questions. You will end up even more confused and disoriented.'

Her grey-blue eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Are these precautions for me or for you?'

He squared his shoulders. ‘What exactly are you implying?'

She bit down on her bottom lip so hard it went white. ‘I don't know what's going on,' she said. ‘I don't know what's what any more. You say we were happily married, but you don't seem to like me, let alone love me.'

Javier placed his hand on the curve of her cheek, turning her head to face him. ‘This is not the time to be talking about my feelings,' he said. ‘This is the time for you to concentrate on getting well again. That's why I want you to stay within the confines of the villa grounds.'

‘What did I used to do to occupy myself when you went away on business?' she asked.

Javier would have dearly liked to ask her the same thing. How long had her affair gone on, for instance? How many times had she met her lover while he was abroad on business? How many of her ‘shopping trips' to London been a cover for other activities? ‘You used the gym in the building near the pool and you occasionally practised the piano.'

She frowned as she looked down at her manicured hands with their elegant French-polished nails. When had she stopped biting her nails? And how on earth did she play the piano with them so long? She looked up at him after a moment. ‘So I wasn't teaching?'

‘No. You said you were no longer interested in teaching children,' he said. ‘You said it didn't suit your lifestyle any more.'

She was still frowning. ‘
I
said that?'

Javier studied her for a moment. ‘You said a lot of things, Emelia.'

‘What other things did I say?' she asked.

‘You didn't want children, for one thing,' he said. ‘You were adamant about it.'

Her eyes widened. ‘Not want children?'

He nodded. ‘You didn't want to be tied down.'

She put a hand to her head, as if to check it was still there. ‘I can't believe I didn't want kids. That seems so…so selfish.' She looked at him again. ‘Did
you
want children?'

‘No, absolutely not,' he said. ‘Children need a lot of attention. They can be a strain on a strong marriage, let alone one that is suffering some teething problems.'

Her forehead creased again. ‘So we were having some problems?'

Javier carefully considered how to answer. ‘Very few relationships don't go through some sort of adjustment period. It was hard for both of us initially. I travel a great deal and you were new to my country and my language. In any case, it wasn't always convenient to take you with me because I like to concentrate on business when I am away. On the few occasions you did come with me, you were bored sitting around waiting for me. Some meetings go on and on until things are sorted out to everyone's satisfaction.'

‘So I decided to stay at home and play the corporate wife role…' She chewed her lip again, as if the concept was totally foreign to her.

‘Emelia.' He took her hand in his again, stroking the back of it with his thumb. ‘It was the way things were between us. It was what we both wanted. You seemed happy with the arrangement when I asked you to marry me. You understood the rules. You were happy to play the game. You slipped into the role as if you were born to it.'

She looked at their joined hands, a sigh escaping from her lips. ‘When I was a little girl I used to wish I could see into the future.' She looked back up into his gaze. ‘But now I wish I could see into the past.'

He let her hand go and stood up from the bed. ‘Sometimes the past is better left alone,' he said. ‘It can't be changed.'

She pulled the sheet up to her chest, her forehead still creased in a frown. ‘Will I see you before you leave tomorrow?' she asked.

He shook his head. ‘I am leaving first thing.' He bent down and brushed his mouth against hers.
‘Buenas noches.'

‘Buenas noches.'
Her voice was a soft whisper that feathered its way down his spine as he left the room.

 

Aldana was in the kitchen when Emelia came downstairs the next morning. The atmosphere was distinctly chilly but she decided to ignore it. Ignore the bad, praise the good seemed the best way to handle a difficult person, she thought.

‘Good morning, Aldana,' she said with a bright smile that she hoped didn't look too forced. ‘It's a beautiful day, isn't it?'

The housekeeper sent her a reproachful look. ‘I suppose as usual you will turn your nose up at the food I have set out for you?'

Emelia's smile fell away. ‘Um…actually, I am quite hungry this morning,' she said. ‘But you shouldn't have gone to any trouble.'

Aldana made a snorting noise and turned her attention to the bread she was making. ‘I am paid to go to trouble,' she said. ‘But it is a waste of my time and good food when people refuse to eat it.'

‘I'm sorry if I've offended you in the past,' Emelia said after a tense silence. ‘Would it help if I sat down with you and planned the week's menus? It would save you a lot of trouble and there would be less waste.'

Aldana dusted her hands on her apron in a dismissive fashion. ‘You are not the right wife for Señor Mélendez,' she said. ‘You do not love him as he deserves to be loved. You just love what he can give you.'

Emelia tried to disguise her shock at the housekeeper's blunt assessment by keeping her voice cool and controlled. ‘You are entitled to your opinion but my relationship with my husband is no one's business but my own.'

Aldana gave another snort and turned her back to open the oven, signalling the end of the conversation.

Emelia decided to carry on as if things were normal, even though it troubled her deeply that the housekeeper thought her so unsuitable a wife for Javier. She had always imagined she would make a wonderful wife. After all, she had learned what not to do by watching first her parents' disastrous and volatile marriage, and then her father's subsequent ones after her mother had died. She had determined from a young age to marry for love and love only. Money and prestige would hold no sway with her. But now she wondered how closely she had clung to her ideals.

She ate a healthy breakfast of fruit and yogurt and toast and carried a cup of tea out to a sun-drenched terrace overlooking the villa's gardens.

The scenery was breathtaking and the fresh smell of recently cut grass teased her nostrils. Neatly trimmed box hedges created the more formal aspect of the garden, but beyond she could see colourful herbaceous borders and interesting pathways that led to various fountains or statues.

After she carried her cup back into the kitchen, Emelia went on a tour of the garden. The sun was warm but not overly so and a light breeze carried the delicate scent of late blooming roses to her. She stopped and picked one and, breathing in its fragrance, wondered how many times she had done exactly this. She poked the stem of the rose behind her ear and carried on, stopping at one of the fountains to watch the birds splashing and ruffling their feathers in the water.

The sound of a horse whinnying turned her head. In the distance Emelia could see a youth leading a magnificent looking stallion to what appeared to be a riding arena near the stables a little way from the villa. She walked back through the garden and made her way to where the youth was now lunging the horse on a lead rope. He was a powerful-looking animal with a proud head and flaring nostrils, his tail arched in defiance as his hooves pounded through the sand of the arena.