how to handle it. I can’t possibly imagine the misery I put you through. I can never make up for it. If you want to leave me, you have every right and reason. I won’t fight you.”
Lucy could read the sincerity on his hard face, hear it in his voice. His strong hands clasped hers, but gently. She knew that if she pulled away, he would let her go immediately.
There was a part of her that wanted to do just that. A part of her that wanted nothing more than to hurt him. To make him pay. But that part was growing smaller by the second.
Because she loved him. Even after all he’d done, she loved him far more than she wanted his pain. Far more, even, than her own deep wounds. She had long believed that made her the worst kind of fool. But maybe, she thought now, just maybe love was bigger than foolishness, too.
“And what,” she asked, her voice the barest whisper, “if I don’t want to leave you, after all?”
Powerful emotion moved across his face then, making his beautiful eyes gleam silver. His hands tightened around hers.
“Then I will tell you that I love you,” he rasped out. “That I always have, from the first moment I met you. And I will never be ashamed of that again.”
She said his name and tasted salt, only then realizing that she was crying.
“I have never had any use for love,” he said urgently, hoarsely. “Marriage is supposed to be for political alliance. For power and greed. Love is for fairy tales.”
“And for us,” she whispered. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his forehead. “For us, Rafi.”
When she moved to his mouth, he met her. Their kisses were hesitant at first, then sweeter, hotter, longer. Lucy felt the fire build within her again, shot through this time with the wild joy that he loved her.
Rafi loves me.
She knew that life with this man would never be easy, but as long as he loved her, they could make it work. Would make it work.
And then there was no more thought, only sensation.
Much later, they lay stretched out in front of the fire in the shade of the makeshift Christmas tree he’d put together just for her. Rafi looked down into her face and shuddered slightly at how close he’d come to losing her.
“I don’t know how you will ever forgive me,” he said fiercely. “I will never forgive myself.”
Lucy smiled, her brown eyes shining with the love he did not deserve, the happiness on her lovely face humbling.
“You will have to work at it, I think,” she said, her voice light. She tangled her fingers in his hair, and drew him down to her. “Every day. It will be hard and difficult work, Rafi, but then, you are a very determined man. I have faith that someday, you will make it up to me in full.”
She was teasing, he knew, but he took her words with all the force of a blood oath. He met her gaze.
“I will,” he vowed. “Believe me, Lucy. I will.”
She searched his eyes for a moment, her own wide and gleaming, and then nodded. She smiled again.
“Then kiss me,” she whispered. “It’s Christmas.”
About the Author
REBECCA WINTERS, whose family of four children has now swelled to include five beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wild flowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her Mills & Boon® romance novels because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.
Rebecca loves to hear from her readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website at www.cleanromances.com.
Look for new novels from Rebecca in Mills & Boon®’s Cherish™ series.
CHAPTER ONE
Puerto d’Ara
A COLD winter sun glinted on the sign posted at the side of the treacherous snow-packed mountain road. Desidiero Pastrana, known to a few close friends as Des, glimpsed it just before the faded pink ball disappeared behind the majestic Pico d’Ara, which was 3,000 meters high. In the twinkling of an eye, light turned to dark. With Christmas only three days away, night fell fast over the Pyrenees.
Just after leaving the northern city of Jaca, where he’d been on business, Des had gotten that queasy sensation again. He hadn’t been feeling like himself for the past few days. It was probably something he’d eaten, or he’d come down with a cold. Either way, he was anxious to reach the year-round mountain resort village of Puerto d’Ara and call it a night.
Of all the hotels owned by the Pastrana family in the province of Aragon, he preferred the Posada d’Ara, a former 17th-century monastery that had since been converted into an inn. Only two kilometers from the border separating the Spanish and French Pyrenees, Des used it as a base to indulge his passion for climbing.
He was planning to do some winter camping and serious ice climbing over the next ten days. Then after New Year’s, he’d get back to work and sit down with Miguel Torrillas, the affable manager of the Posada d’Ara, to do the requisite end-of-year inventory. Des was the CEO of the Pastrana Corporation and known for his hands-on approach to running the company.
He was also known to his family for avoiding spending the holidays with them. He’d purposely arranged this trip so that he could skip Christmas with his family.
And, he thought, hopefully skip the reminders of last Christmas. A grimace crept over his dark Castilian features. At this time the year before, the woman he’d planned to marry had sued his corporation after he’d taken her climbing and she’d been mildly injured.
His fiancée hadn’t been a winter-sports person, but he’d wanted her to understand his passion for it. His skills could have compensated for her inexperience—but they couldn’t compensate for her utter refusal to heed his instructions while they’d been climbing.
After a few minutes on the mountain she’d suddenly told him she’d changed her mind and wanted to go back to the hotel. He’d asked her to wait for him, but in a huff she’d started off without him and slipped. He’d gotten to her as quickly as he could, managed to extricate her ankle from where she’d wedged it and rushed her to the clinic.
The doctor had said that it wasn’t a major injury and she should just stay off her leg for a few days to avoid the pain until it was gone. She’d left the clinic without speaking to Des.
A week later the corporate attorney for the Pastranas showed Des the petition from her attorney wanting restitution and compensation for his client’s injury. Des had been incredulous. His fiancée was suing him? He’d asked her for an explanation, convinced it had to be a mistake.
“It’s nothing personal against you, amado,” she’d said with a winsome smile. “The insurance will cover it.”
The
