to say sorry?’
There was a slight pause before he answered. ‘I am not good at admitting it when I am in the wrong. I guess I take after my father more than I would like in that regard.’
‘We all have our pride,’ Emelia conceded.
‘Yes.’ He gave her another brief rueful twist of his mouth. ‘Indeed.’
He moved over to a large walk-in wardrobe and opened the sliding doors. ‘Your things are in here. You might feel more at home once you are surrounded by your own possessions. The travelling bag you had with you in London was destroyed in the accident.’
Emelia looked at the rows and rows of elegant clothes and shelves of shoes and matching bags. Again, it was like looking into someone else’s life. Did she wear all these close-fitting designer dresses and skyhigh heels? Her eyes went to the other side of the wardrobe where the racks and shelves were empty. She turned and looked at Javier. ‘Where are your things?’ she asked.
His eyes became shuttered. ‘I had Aldana move them into one of the spare rooms for the time being.’
Emelia felt a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment. The relief she could easily explain. The disappointment was a complete mystery to her. ‘So—’ she quickly ran her tongue over her lips ‘—so you’re not expecting me to…to sleep with you…um…like right away?’
He hooked one dark brow upwards. ‘I thought you said you don’t usually sleep with perfect strangers?’
She frowned at his tone, not sure if he was teasing her. ‘Technically, you’re not a stranger, though, are you?’ she said. ‘I might not remember you, but there’s enough evidence around to confirm we are married.’
A glint appeared in his dark-as-night gaze as it held hers. ‘Are you inviting me to sleep with you, Emelia?’
Emelia felt her belly fold over itself. ‘Er…no…not yet…I mean…no. No. It wouldn’t be right for me or even fair to you.’
He came up close, lifting a portion of her hair, slowly twirling it around his finger until she felt the subtle tension on her scalp as he tethered her to him. ‘We could do it to see if it unlocks your memory,’ he said in a voice that sounded rough and sexy. ‘How about it, querida? Who knows? Perhaps it is just your mind that has forgotten me. Maybe your body will remember everything.’
Emelia could barely breathe. His chest was brushing against her breasts; she could feel the friction of his shirt through her clothes. Her nipples had sprung to attention, aching and tight, looking for more erotic stimulation. A warm sensation was pooling between her thighs, a pulsing feeling that was part ache, part pleasure, making her want to move forwards to press herself against the hardness she knew instinctively would be there. Her mouth was dry and she sent the point of her tongue out to moisten it, her heart slipping sideways when she saw the way his eyes dropped to follow its passage across her lips.
The pad of his thumb pressed against her bottom lip, setting off livewires of feeling beneath her sensitive skin. ‘Such a beautiful mouth,’ he said in that low sexy baritone. ‘How many times have I kissed it, hmm? How many times has it kissed me?’ He pressed himself just that little bit closer, pelvis to pelvis, the swell of his maleness heating her like a hot probe. ‘What a pity you can’t remember all the delicious things that soft full mouth of yours has done to me in the past.’
Emelia swallowed tightly, the sensation between her thighs turning red hot. She could imagine what she had done; she could see it in his eyes. The erotic pleasure he had experienced with her seemed to be gleaming there to taunt her into recalling every shockingly intimate moment.
His thumb caressed her bottom lip again, pushing against it, watching as it bounced back to fullness as it refilled with blood.
Emelia couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth; the enigmatic tilt of it fascinated her. The way he half-smiled, as if he was enjoying the edge he had over her in knowing every sensual pleasure they had shared while she remained in ignorance. Her spine loosened with each stroke of his thumb, the tingling sensation travelling from her lips to every secret place.
‘Do you want me to tell you some of the things you did with me, Emelia?’ he asked in a gravel-rough tone that made the hairs on the back of her neck lift one by one.
She stood silently staring up at him, like a small nocturnal animal caught in the high beam of headlights: exposed, vulnerable, blinded by feelings she wasn’t sure belonged to her. ‘I…I’m not sure it would be a good idea to force me to…to remember…’ she faltered.
He smiled a lazy smile that made her spine loosen even further. His palm cupped her cheek, holding it gently, each long finger imprinted on her flesh. ‘You were shy to begin with, cariño,’ he said. ‘But then perhaps you were shy with your other lovers, sí?’
Emelia frowned. ‘But I have only had one lover. I must have told you about it, surely? It happened when I was singing in a band in Melbourne. I was too young and didn’t realise what I was getting into with someone so much older and experienced. I should have known better, but I was in that rebellious stage a lot of teenagers go through.’
His hand moved from her cheek to rest on her shoulder, his eyes still holding hers like a searchlight. ‘You told me some things about it, yes,’ he said. ‘But then perhaps there are other things you didn’t tell me. Things you preferred to keep a secret from me even during our marriage.’
Her frown deepened across her forehead. ‘Like what?’
He gave her an inscrutable look and dropped his hand from her shoulder. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘You can’t remember, or so you say.’
The ensuing silence seemed to ring with the suspicion of his statement.
Emelia sat on the bed in case her legs gave way. ‘You think I’m pretending?’ she asked in an incredulous choked whisper. ‘Is that what you think? That I’m making my memory loss up?’
His eyes bored into hers, his mouth pulled tight until his lips were almost flattened. ‘You remember nothing of me and yet you grieve like a heartbroken widow over the loss of Marshall.’
She pushed herself upright with her arms. ‘Have I not got the right to grieve the loss of a beloved friend?’
His jaw tightened as he held her stare for stare. ‘I am your husband, Emelia,’ he bit out. ‘Your life is with me, not with a dead man.’
She glared back at him furiously. ‘You can’t force me to stay with you. I might never remember you. What will you do then?’
‘Oh, you will remember, Emelia,’ he said through clenched teeth, each bitten out word highlighting his accent. ‘Make no mistake. You will remember everything.’
Emelia felt a rumble of fear deep and low in her belly. ‘I don’t know you. I don’t even know myself, or at least that’s what it feels like it,’ she said. ‘I don’t know who I’ve become over the past two years. Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to step back into the life that was supposedly mine when I don’t recognise a thing about it or me?’
He let out a harsh breath. ‘Leave it. This is not the time to discuss it.’
‘No I can’t leave it,’ she said. ‘You don’t seem to
