Nena had barely spoken to him, and when she did she was grudgingly polite. They’d spent several stonily silent hours on the beach, on the yacht, driving around the island. If he proposed a plan she agreed neither happily nor unhappily.
Indifferent.
That was what she was. And it was driving him crazy. He could have handled raw anger, tears, a show of passion. But this blatant unresponsiveness and determination to remain as distant from him as possible was intolerable.
He sent her a scorching glance across the table which had been tastefully laid on the terrace. The moon was rising and the night was dotted with stars. The perfect night to be with a woman, he thought. They could have spent wonderful hours together, yet she refused to budge from this tenacious position she’d assumed. What was going on inside that lovely head? he wondered. What thoughts rankled? What was it that was eating her?
‘Nena, I think that if there is something disturbing you, you should tell me about it. I’ve tried to be as accommodating as possible,’ he added, thinking of the separate bedrooms he’d instructed the staff to arrange, ‘but I think you owe me an explanation.’
‘An explanation?’ She lowered her fork to her plate and sent an icy stare across the crisp white cloth. ‘I don’t think I owe you anything, Ramon. Neither of us owes the other. We cut a deal. We each, apparently—though I don’t quite see it that way—are supposed to benefit from this arrangement. I can see the advantages for you. I have yet to find out what mine are.’
‘Is that how you see this? Purely as a business arrangement?’ he said, shocked that someone so young could be so level-headed, so…
‘That’s exactly how I think of it. And the sooner you do so as well, the better it will be for both of us. Why don’t we end this farce of a honeymoon at once and get back home?’
‘We are home,’ he replied coldly. ‘Home, from now on, is where I reside. My homes have now become your homes.’
‘I have to go back to my grandfather,’ she said doggedly staring at her plate.
‘I have no objection to remaining in England for the present. But in our home.’
‘But—’
‘There are no buts,’ he returned autocratically. ‘We shall stay with my parents. I have instructed my estate agents to look for a place for us.’
‘I don’t want to go to Eaton Square,’ Nena muttered through gritted teeth, her fingers clenched as she tried not to cry. ‘I want to go home—to Thurston. Why don’t you just go back to Buenos Aires and—?’
She stopped herself in time from saying back to your mistress. He had no idea that she’d seen the pictures of him and Luisa Somebody-or-other in Hola! magazine. The pictures had been taken in Gstaad, where they’d been winter sporting. In fact Ramon had no notion that she knew about his lifestyle. She had found out quite by chance about the woman in his life, as she’d flipped through an old copy of the magazine that Doña Augusta had brought for her grandfather.
And, surprisingly, it had hurt.
It didn’t matter that she despised the man for agreeing to marry her, despised his motives and everything he stood for. The sight of him—arm possessively around the shoulders of a lush, luscious, stunning brunette, obviously a highly worldly and sophisticated woman, near to his own age—had left her inordinately troubled. Not that it was anything to do with her, she’d reasoned then as she did now. What did she care how many women he slept with? She had no intention of being one of them, did she?
Ramon leaned forward and touched her hand. ‘Nena, I have no objection to your visiting your grandfather, spending time with him, and of course there will come a time—’ He cut off, unwilling to say the words he knew would hurt her so much, while deeply aware that it was his duty to prepare her for what he suspected would take place in a very short time. ‘But I do require that your official and permanent residence be under my roof,’ he finished firmly as she drew her trembling fingers from his grasp. ‘I will not allow my wife to live anywhere but with me.’
He’d never thought he would feel so strongly possessive the day he married. Had never thought about it much at all. But now that it had happened he felt a need to control, to be in the driving seat. He had never bothered being jealous in the past. If a woman lost interest—why, he usually had long before, and was sticking around out of courtesy.
But Nena was different. He sensed it deep down in a part of himself he hadn’t known existed, some deep, primeval instinct that he’d tapped into on his wedding day and wouldn’t leave him be; the same instinct that was leaving him ever more antsy as he passed her closed door each night on his way to bed.
Patience, he repeated to himself once again. She’s young. Give her time. But it was becoming increasingly difficult.
That night Nena was unable to sleep. She had slipped on one of the beautiful, flimsy, spaghetti-strapped lawn nightdresses that were part of her hastily put together trousseau, chosen by her personal shopper. She looked down at it and sighed. She’d taken no interest in her trousseau, had merely agreed with anything Maureen had shown her. Now, half-afraid, she looked at herself in the mirror. She could see the shadow of her body peeping through the thin fabric and closed her eyes. How hard it was to admit to herself that despite her wish to alienate him, she was constantly thinking of her husband, that when he came close to her every nerve vibrated, that a new, torrid heat she’d never known charged through her being with an alien vibrance that left her damp in places she was embarrassed to think of. Desperately she searched for answers, unable to pinpoint this new, unquenchable thirst that had invaded her being and couldn’t be satiated.
Angry with herself, and desperate to be in the open, she moved out onto the vast balcony that contoured the upper story of the villa. Leaning her hands on the balustrade, her long hair flowing about her shoulders, Nena gazed out over the Aegean at the starlit night and listened to the sea softly lapping the shore. This was her honeymoon, and should have been the most wonderful moment of her life, yet here she was, miserable in more ways than one. She let out a long sigh.
‘Aren’t you sleepy?’ The deep husky voice just behind her made her spin round and gasp, another thrust of emotion rushing through her.
Ramon stood before her, more handsome than ever in silk pyjama pants, the top open revealing an expanse of bronzed chest. In the pool of lantern light she could see a gleam flashing in his golden-flecked chestnut eyes as they flicked over her, taking in each detail of her body in a cool, possessive manner, as an owner might look over a thoroughbred. The thin nightdress, she knew, left little to the imagination.
Ashamed, Nena moved her hands behind her against the balustrade, unaware that by doing so her small, delicious breasts were thrust towards him invitingly as her hair fell back from her shoulders and her perfect throat glistened in the moonlight.
God, she was lovely, Ramon acknowledged, a shaft of untamed desire taking hold once more as he moved towards her, unable to resist. And she was his wife. He had every right to possess her.
‘Nena,’ he whispered, his voice low and sultry, ‘let me love you. Let me be your husband.’
‘I—I can’t—’ she responded hoarsely, only too conscious of his scent, of the maleness of him, of everything about him that drew her even while she tried desperately to remind herself of all the reasons why she couldn’t let it happen.
‘I promise not to hurt you,’ he said reasonably, leaning his hands
