gripped her but the sensual challenge was too tempting to ignore. She could feel him against her most sensitive point when she shifted slightly. It was like a match to a flame to feel him hard and thick against her, the friction so delicious she was gasping out loud as she rode him unashamedly. She came apart within seconds, her cries of ecstasy ringing in the silence, her breathing choppy and her heart rate uneven.
He used her last few contractions to bring himself to completion, his eyes now screwed shut, his face contorted with the exquisite pleasure he was feeling. Emelia felt him empty himself, each rocking pulse of his body triggering aftershocks in hers.
She slumped down over him, more out of shyness than exhaustion, although her limbs felt leaden after so much pleasure. She felt his fingers absently stroking over each knob of her spine, lingering over her lower vertebrae, his touch still lighting fires beneath her skin.
When he spoke his voice reverberated against her chest. ‘Did that trigger anything in your memory?’
Emelia opened her eyes and, raising her head, looked down at him. Her heart squeezed in her chest as if a hand were closing into a fist around it. His dark eyes were like liquid, melted by passion, warm and softer than she had ever seen them. A feeling rushed up from deep inside her, an overwhelming sense of rightness. It was like a door creaking open in her head. Memories started filing through, like soldiers called to action. It was blurry at first, but then it cleared as she put the pieces together in her mind.
She remembered their first meeting. She remembered the way he had met her gaze across the room and how her fingers had stumbled on the piece she was playing. She had quickly looked away, embarrassed, feeling gauche and unsophisticated as she continued playing through her repertoire. She had never before reacted like that to any man who had come in. It had been an almost visceral thing. His presence seemed to reach out across the space that divided them and touch her.
She remembered how he had come over to the piano when she was packing up and asked her to join him for a drink. An hour later he had offered to drive her home, an offer she politely declined. He came the next night and the next, sitting listening to her play, slowly sipping at his drink, watching her until she finished. And each night he would offer to drive her home. By the third night she agreed. She remembered how she fell in love with him after their first kiss. She remembered how it felt to feel his arms go around her and draw her close to his body, the way her body felt in response, the way her heart beat until it felt as if it was going to work its way out of her chest.
She remembered the first time they made love. It was a month after they had met. He had been so gentle and patient, schooling her into the delights of her own body and the heat and potency of his. She could feel herself blushing just thinking about where they had gone from there. How eager she had been to learn, how willing she had been to be everything he wanted in a partner and then as his wife.
In spite of her initial reservations, she had moulded herself into the role, trying so hard to fit into his lifestyle, fashioning herself into the sort of trophy wife she assumed he wanted: a rail-thin clothes horse, a glamour girl always with a glass of champagne in one hand and a brilliant smile pasted on her perfectly made-up face. She had ignored the doubts that kept lurking in the shadows of her mind. Doubts about the way he refused to discuss his feelings, doubts about his adamantine stance about not having children, doubts about having signed the prenuptial document he’d insisted she sign, doubts about the intimidation she felt when alone at the villa with just his staff for company when he was away on business, which he seemed to be so often.
She had begun to feel she didn’t really belong in his life and that the fiery attraction that had brought them together initially was not going to be enough to sustain them in the long term. She had always known he desired her; it was the one thing she could count on. He never seemed to tire of making love with her. It had thrilled her at first but after a while she had begun to crave more from him than sex. She had fooled herself she would be able to change him, to teach him how to love her the way she loved him.
And then, in spite of what she had told him, she had begun to dream of having a baby. She silently craved to build a family with him, to put down the roots that had been denied her throughout her childhood. But she had never been brave enough to bring up the subject. She had obediently taken her contraceptive pills and done her best to ignore the screeching clamour of her biological clock until that fateful day when she had finally had enough. Finding out about his father’s will, on top of the press photo of him with the Russian singer, had tipped her over the edge. She had left him in the hope he would come after her and beg her to return. She had hoped he would insist on changing the rules of their marriage so they could have a proper fulfilling life together.
But of course he hadn’t. A man as proud as Javier would not beg anyone to come back to him. Look at what had happened between him and his father. A decade had gone past and he hadn’t budged.
‘Emelia?’ Javier’s deep voice broke through her thoughts. ‘What’s going on?’
She met his concerned gaze. ‘I remember…’
He sat upright, tumbling her onto her back, his fingers grasping her by both arms. ‘What? Everything?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Bits and pieces. Like when and how we met. Some of our time together. Most of our time together.’
One of his hands moved in a slow stroking motion up and down her arm. ‘So I was right,’ he said. ‘Your body recognised me from the first. Your mind just had to catch up.’
She touched his lips with her fingers, tracing over their contours. ‘How could I have forgotten you? I can’t believe I didn’t remember you. Were you very angry about that?’
Javier captured one of her fingers with his mouth, sucking on it erotically, all the while holding her gaze. He released her finger and said, ‘I have to admit I was angry, especially when you hadn’t forgotten Marshall.’
Her eyes dropped from his, a frown pulling at her forehead. ‘I can’t explain that. I’m sorry.’
‘It is not important now,’ he said. ‘We have to move on.’
‘Javier?’ Her soft voice was like a feather brushing along his lower spine.
Javier looked down at her tussled hair and slim naked body. His groin tightened as he thought of having her back in his life permanently. His plans to divorce her seemed so ridiculous now. He had acted stupidly, blindly and in anger. His pride had taken a hit from what had been reported in the press about her and Marshall and he had let it block out his reason. He wanted her too much to let her go. He didn’t like admitting it. He would rather die than admit it. She was the one woman who had brought him to his knees. He had nearly gone out of his head when he found she had left him. He had not realised how much he wanted and needed her until she had gone.
A part of him blamed himself. He had been so preoccupied with the Moscow takeover. It was the deal of a lifetime. The negotiations had been tricky from the get-go but he had always believed he could pull it off. His goal had been to add that Russian bank to his empire and he had done it. It was the ultimate prize, the benchmark business deal. But he just hadn’t realised it would come at such a personal cost.
He brushed some damp tendrils of hair back off her face. ‘Tired, cariño?’
She shook her head, her grey-blue eyes like shimmering pools. ‘Not at all.’ She stretched her slim body against him just like a sinuous cat and smiled. ‘Not one little bit.’
His blood rocketed through his veins and he pressed her back down and covered
