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
