Emma and Carlo have married there is no need for us to be together.’
‘That’s where you are wrong, because Carlo hasn’t yet inherited the business.’
‘Of course he has. He’s married—before you.’ She almost froze with shock. Some of his earlier words were now making sense, like his accusation of her acting. He’d been playing with her.
‘Yes, they are married.’ The smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. ‘But, querida, that doesn’t change anything.’
‘What do you mean?’ Confused, she stopped pushing him away. She didn’t understand. Emma and Carlo had got married before she and Santos had even arrived in Spain, making Carlo the first son to marry. ‘Why doesn’t it change anything?’
* * *
Santos struggled with his conscience. Her act of being the wounded party was very convincing, just as her act of fear of the storm had been, but he didn’t believe she’d known nothing of their plans. Why else would she have asked so seductively to stay on the yacht longer, or even agreed to leave London with him, if not to make it as difficult as possible for him to contact the outside world? She’d practically thrown herself at him, used all that a woman could to snare his interest and keep him from going back to the villa. She’d made him want her, teased and dallied with his desire since that first kiss at the party, and there was only one reason as far as he was concerned.
She’d planned it all along.
True, she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. He’d have to be blind and stupid not to see how her body responded to his slightest touch. And each time he’d kissed her the attraction between them had intensified, until they couldn’t ignore it any longer.
She’d deceived him, duped him, like all females did, with her body. And just like his father he’d ignored everything to be with her, to make her his. He’d been like a man possessed, unable to think of anything else other than Georgina. Thoughts of her had been all-consuming. He enjoyed being with women, but never had he been so completely under a woman’s spell.
Even now, when her kisses tasted of deceit, he wanted her. Passion burned in her eyes as she stood and glared at him. How dared she look so wounded? There could only be one winner in this game of passion and deceit she’d started. And that would be him.
‘It isn’t the first son to marry who inherits.’ The words slipped out effortlessly. Finally he’d got her attention. ‘But the first married son to produce an heir.’
He watched as his words slowly filtered through, like water permeating through limestone, until finally the expression on her face told him she understood the full implications.
She shook her head, backing away from him as if he was evil itself, her beautiful face ashen white, her eyes wide with disbelief. Oh, but she was a good actress. He almost believed it. Almost.
THE FIRST MARRIED SON to produce an heir.
No, she screamed in her head, whilst outwardly the shutters came down, cocooning her behind a safe barrier.
‘How long have you known this?’ How could he stand there so calmly and tell her that? He might as well say her whole plan had been a waste of time. He’d lied all this time, but she couldn’t see a trace of remorse.
‘Long enough.’
His words sent a shiver down her spine.
‘So what were you hoping for? A honeymoon baby?’ She wanted to close her eyes against the pain of shattered dreams as they splintered around her. For just one night she’d thought she could sample that dream. She hadn’t expected her attraction for him to turn into something deeper. Now it was spoilt by his admissions. His deceit. ‘No wonder you were so—what was it?—unusually relaxed about contraception.’
‘That’s absurd.’
His eyes looked dark and hostile but she stood tall, remaining as defiant as she could manage.
A ray of sunlight speared the gloom and she glanced out at the clearing sky, glad that at least one storm was over.
‘Not absurd, Santos.’ She looked directly at him, something akin to anger and disappointment flitting through her. ‘Not when you consider the clause of the will and that you knew Carlo wanted to get married. He loves my sister. Just by marrying he was a threat to you—because not only would he be the first married son, but probably the first married son to have the required heir.’
It was like a puzzle, and finally she was putting it together. She still had a few pieces to find, but it was all beginning to make sense now.
‘Why are you so against Carlo?’ She felt frustrated by those missing pieces. ‘When you could have married any one of the women you’ve dated in the past and inherited everything you believe is yours.’
She watched as he paced the room—long, lean strides that drew her attention. As if needing escape, he opened the doors to the terrace and strode out. The fresh smell of dampness after the rain rushed into the room as he left. For a moment she stood and watched him, saw his pain, his frustration, with every move he made, and something deep inside her tugged at her emotions.
She knew that kind of pain, that kind of emptiness.
She walked to the door. Santos stood looking out to sea, his broad shoulders tense and the muscles in his arms taut as he leant on the balustrade. She longed to go to him, to touch him and soothe his pain. But sense prevailed. This was all of his making. She couldn’t let him know how she felt—not when he’d used everyone as pawns in his power game.
It rushed at her so hard she almost stumbled. All her breath momentarily left her body and her heart raced like a wild horse fleeing captivity.
It couldn’t be true—it just couldn’t.
She loved him. Completely and utterly.
She pressed her fingertips to her lips to stifle a cry of distress. She didn’t want to love anyone. She couldn’t love anyone. And certainly not Santos Ramirez. Since the day her father had turned his back on them she’d watched her mother take a path of self-destruction. Her parents’ actions proved beyond doubt that love was all-consuming, but also that it hurt, left you alone and killed all joy in life when it went wrong. It was a gamble she’d never wanted to take, so how had it happened? How had she fallen in love with Santos?
‘I’m not against Carlo.’
His harsh words dragged her mind back from the pain of her past.
‘Just the marriage.’
She sensed his vulnerability as he remained with his back to her, looking out to sea, at the sky clearing and brightening after the storm. Knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to stop herself, she crossed the terrace and stood by him, her shoulder almost touching his arm as she stood surveying the view.
‘Why did your father put such a clause in his will, forcing you to marry?’ This was something that had niggled at her since Emma had first mentioned it. She’d imagined two young boys vying for their father’s attention.
