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 flashbulb 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.
She knew it.
Emelia looked down at her
