to know what we’re having. Not until it’s born.’
‘Why would you choose not to know?’
‘I want the surprise,’ she said with a shrug.
‘You do not think the baby will be a surprise in and of itself?’ he teased.
She tried to fight the temptation to banter with him. To succumb to his many, many charms. She’d done that once before and it had been disastrous.
‘You’re missing the point,’ she said with an attempt at coldness.
‘No, querida.’ He shook his head. ‘You are missing the point. We will decorate the room. We can paint it yellow. We can paint it green. We can paint it black, for all I care. We will make it a baby’s room rather than this. Just as I do not care if you go back to work or not. I am showing you my house, and showing you how I think it can accommodate you and our family, and your future. I am trying to show you that I have thought this through, that I want this to work, just like you asked of me, yet you seem to want to argue with me at every turn. Why is that?’
She couldn’t speak. Her heart was pounding, her mind was racing and her body was in flux. She was hot, despite the air-conditioning, and her cheeks felt flushed.
He took a step towards her, and then another, so that his strong body was almost touching hers. She stared up at him, her pale blue eyes meeting his stormy black ones and charging with electrical awareness. ‘You are nervous,’ he said simply.
‘I’m not nervous,’ she lied, her tongue darting out and licking her lower lip.
‘You are nervous,’ he said again. ‘Because you are my wife, and I am your husband, and you do not know what that means. We married for a baby, but we never talked about this.’
‘About what?’ The words came out as a husky croak.
‘About the fact that whatever madness drove us into bed that one time is still here, flaming at our feet.’
She drew in a sharp breath, surprise making her skin flush with goosebumps. ‘No, it’s not,’ she said, raising her chin in a gesture of defiance that was completely belied by the way her eyes clung to his lips. ‘Believe me, Antonio, I’m not so stupid that I’d make that mistake twice.’
His expression was scepticism itself. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ She nodded sharply. ‘Sex has no part of this marriage.’
His smile was slow to unfurl and deadly in its danger to her. Because her heart began to beat off-rhythm and her pulse was thready. Legs that had been perfectly fine only minutes ago were wobbling now, threatening to give way.
‘Do you realise how easily I could disprove that statement?’
She swallowed but it was useless, her mouth remained dry, as though coated with sawdust.
‘Perhaps not,’ he said, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, but oh, his body was so close she could feel his warmth through the fine fabric of her clothes and her body swayed forward of its own accord, so that her too sensitive nipples brushed against his chest and a soft, husky moan escaped her lips unbidden.
‘You have no real experience,’ he said, low and throaty. ‘But what you’re feeling now is desire.’ He rocked his hips a fraction, so his arousal brushed against her and her eyes swept shut at his nearness and her needs.
‘I’m feeling...’ she said, searching for something, anything she could offer that would dispel his assertion. But nothing came to mind.
‘Desire,’ he supplied and then lifted a hand so he could smooth the ball of his thumb over her cheek.
‘I don’t...want you, like that,’ she denied, so much more weakly than she would have liked. Her body—traitor that it was—pressed closer to his and when she blinked up at him her eyes were awash with desire and invitation.
His smile showed cynicism at her words, and then he stepped back. ‘Yes, you do, hermosa, and I’m going to enjoy proving that to you.’
AMELIA FELT AS though she’d slept for three weeks and on a cloud. She awoke the next day completely relaxed, her body comfortable, her mind blank.
And then she looked around the room and it all came rushing back to her.
Holy heck, she was in Antonio’s house. Her house. Their house! Because they were married!
The brief, but legally binding, ceremony came to her, and all that had taken place afterwards. She pushed out of bed, reaching for her phone—it sat on the bedside table. It was almost mid-morning!
She’d never slept so long in her entire life!
She was still wearing her wedding dress—if it could be called that. She’d worn it on the flight from England, and it wasn’t even something she’d bought new for the event. She’d refused to observe any such kowtowing to tradition when their wedding was little more than a contractual agreement.
Yes, you do...and I’m going to enjoy proving that to you.
Awareness, hot and undeniable, pooled low in her abdomen. She galvanised her legs into action and made her way to the en-suite bathroom, where she freshened up. Her suitcase had been brought to this room at some point during her long rest. She cracked it open and pulled out a pair of shorts and a simple T-shirt, uncaring at how casual they were, refusing to feel the same insecurity when compared to Antonio’s usual choice of lover.
Did it matter that the women he routinely slept with would probably swan about, draped in the latest couture dresses, all elegant and unapproachable, like this house?
Not to Amelia.
She wasn’t going to let the ghosts of lovers past undermine her sense of self. With a nod to that commitment, she ventured out into the villa in search of Antonio.
Only the tour he’d given the day before, which had seemed to make perfect sense at the time, was a jumble in her mind. She found her way to the room he’d proposed using for the baby, and she saw it now with fresh, rested eyes and could admit it made perfect sense. In addition to being large, it was L-shaped, and she could imagine it with a small sofa and an armchair for nursing and, as he grew older, a little desk for his books and at which he could sit and do craft. It also lacked a terrace, and her concern for his safety made her glad for that.
The space beside the baby’s room wasn’t familiar to her. She pushed the door inwards and let out a gasp of surprise.
It was a library! A proper library. With thousands and thousands of books!
Antonio temporarily forgotten, she pushed deeper into the room, her breath unconsciously held as she scanned the spines. Many of the books were in Spanish; her heart dropped, but then it lifted once more.
So what? She had to learn the language—more than the bad words—at some point. Their son would be born in Spain, and his father was Spanish.
