A Spanish Marriage (6 page)

Strangely enough, he hadn't. Javier's eyes narrowed on her delectable profile.

‘It's such a beautiful day.' A small, self-contained smile was aimed somewhere behind his left shoulder. ‘I think I'll take a walk.'

In Sherman's direction? Javier's eyes snapped. No way! A strong hand descended on her shoulder before she could make good her intentions.

‘You need to pack,' he stated firmly. ‘I want to leave for the London apartment before noon.'

This time Zoe looked directly at him, a frown peaking her brows above dismayed eyes. The city would be alien, hot and airless, clogged with traffic and tourists, and, ‘Boysie,' she objected. ‘I can't leave him, he'll really miss me. He'd been abandoned when I found him—he'll think it's happening all over again!'

Quite apart from the likelihood of the little dog pining, here, with vast expanses of countryside to lose herself in, the home she was now totally comfortable with, she could hold her own in this strange marriage. She could take a crash course of driving lessons with a professional to pass some of the time, decide on a career as backup if her hopes to be a real wife to Javier, mother of his children, came to nothing. ‘Why can't we stay here?' she asked, her voice rising with desperation.

Any excuse to stick around, close to her lover? Every nerve in Javier's body tightened. ‘The dog will be fine,' he incised, holding onto his temper, hating the shaft of jealousy that churned his insides. He had never been jealous of anyone in his entire life. He sure as hell wasn't starting now! ‘Will Ethel neglect to feed him? Will Joe kick him?'

His obvious sarcasm stinging, Zoe had to admit that he was right on that point. Both Ethel and Joe doted on the dog. Not wanting to leave him had just been an excuse. A poor one, too, she conceded as he told her firmly, ‘The world doesn't owe me a living, I have to work.'

A dig at her? Did he think she was a parasite, content to live off the wealth her father had worked his socks off to accumulate? Her spine stiffened even as she felt hot colour flood her cheeks. She would just have to show him differently!

‘I could work from here,' he conceded bluntly. ‘But don't forget, the Ramsays were originally employed by my parents. There's a strong bond of loyalty. As you'll have noticed they've always been treated like
part of the family. My dear mama will be on the phone on a daily basis, checking up on the newlyweds! We can't hide separate rooms from Ethel and I'll be damned if I'm going to bed down on that uncomfortable sofa for the foreseeable future.'

Her lovely mouth was sulky, her eyes downcast. In the sunlight her hair was the colour of champagne. His throat constricted and his voice emerged thickly, gently. ‘Start packing. And if it eases your conscience, we can visit your pets each weekend. I can put up with that sofa for one night out of seven.' And make sure she didn't wander Sherman-wards.

It was the voice of a man humouring a child, making concessions in return for good behaviour, Zoe recognised, furious with herself. Her error had been in making that instinctive objection in the first place. Her head coming up, a slight smile in place, she remedied it. ‘I hadn't looked at it in that light. You're right, of course. Ethel's got sharp eyes and it would be difficult to keep up a lovey-dovey act for her benefit. Drive us both insane.' The smile slanted wider as unconcealed surprise glinted in his eyes. ‘I'll go and pack.'

 

The London apartment was just as she remembered it from the overnight stay before she and Javier had flown out to Spain that Easter. She'd taken in every detail with eyes greedy for everything that made up his personal space.

The plastic-card-activated lift took them directly to the foyer, cool off-white walls, a single Venetian salon chair, a mahogany door that led into a long sitting
room, one wall entirely of glass giving fabulous views over the city. A minimum amount of furniture, understated, expensive, classy. It needed a woman's touch, Zoe thought now as she'd thought then, when her feet had first touched the bland oatmeal-coloured carpet. Flowers, jewel-coloured cushions, bright paintings to break the severity, a clutter of magazines and books to make it look more home-like.

Was this to be her home for the next two years? Sterile, to suit a sterile marriage? Her stomach curdled. Then she railed at herself for being such a wimp. Two years gave her enough time to make him fall in love with her!

Taking her small suitcase from him, she told him calmly, ‘I take it I'll be using the room I had before? I remember the way.' She gave him the smallest glance. Too dangerous to allow her eyes to linger on her stunningly gorgeous new husband. He made her heart turn over, pound and clatter, drying up her throat, made the softness of love shine from her far-too-revealing eyes. She'd once made the crass mistake of telling him she loved him. By now he would have written it off as silly girlish infatuation. Let him keep his misconception.

Almost as soon as she had started to walk away she turned again to face him, very slowly. ‘Look, I'm fully aware of why you married me, Javier—to stop me making a fool of myself with unsuitable people. I admire your sense of duty.'

Was there a trace of utter wickedness as her sexy mouth curved in a slight smile that held his fascinated
gaze? Probably. She could be a witch when she wanted to be.

‘And I accepted because it was a way out of an empty, pointless life.' Amazed that her face hadn't gone fierily red at the outright lie, Zoe reminded with commendable cool, ‘You offered your guidance. And I'll take it. But we need to discuss my place in this marriage. This evening, if you have no other plans?'

Definitely a challenge in those beautiful golden eyes. A sexual challenge? Something gave a violent wrench inside him. Was she about to tell him that she wanted her place to be in his bed? Watching the sensual sway of her body as she finally walked to the door that accessed the rest of the penthouse apartment, he wondered if he would have the strength to resist.

His breath felt hot in his lungs. The way the little minx could get under his skin was beginning to seriously annoy him. Behaving with natural, almost childlike innocence at one moment, sulking because he was keeping her away from her lover the next, then acting like a poised adult.

And all the time the undercurrent of hot sex…

His smoky eyes grim, he stalked after her. No one was going to run rings round him! They could have that discussion right here and now. And if she so much as hinted at a desire to make this marriage a real one he'd shoot her down in flames and throw the fire extinguisher straight out of the window.

He didn't knock. Just walked right in. Her suitcase was open on the bed. And in answer to his terse question, she merely straightened, hooked a strand of silky
hair behind one ear and gave him the bland smile that made him grind his teeth because it just made him want to use his own mouth to ravage it away, and casually answered him, ‘I'm your wife. I only wanted to know whether you expect me to do wifely things—cook your meals, iron your shirts, that sort of stuff.'

Minutes later, closing the door of his home office behind him, Javier couldn't remember what answer he'd given back. None, probably.

And just why had her prosaic reply—the last thing he'd expected to hear—flooded him with cold disappointment?

E
NTERING
the silent apartment, Zoe dropped her handbag on the nearest coffee-table and walked out of her high heels. Once again the long evening stretched emptily ahead and depression settled heavily on her slim shoulders.

Next month they would be celebrating their first wedding anniversary, though celebrating was hardly the word to use, she amended with a tight laugh that wasn't a laugh at all. Halfway through the time Javier had allotted their marriage. And what, exactly, had she achieved?

Zilch! In fact, the miracle of having Javier fall headlong in love with her simply wasn't going to happen and she might as well face it.

Her shoulders drooping, she walked through to her bedroom on leaden legs. She'd given it her best shot, turned herself inside out trying to become special to him, a woman he could respect, admire—a woman he could find desirable and eventually grow to love.

Getting out of her tailored primrose-yellow suit, she took her usual quick shower and dressed in light cotton trousers and toning dark green shirt, avoiding her eyes in the mirror because she couldn't bear to see defeat looking back at her.

She knew she should make herself something to eat but couldn't be bothered. She'd have something
to drink when she'd glanced at the post that had arrived after she'd left. A couple of bills, a letter for Javier addressed in a flowing female hand and something for her.

An invitation to Guy and Jenny's wedding. She must have been an afterthought because the ceremony was to take place this coming weekend, she decided with a wry smile. Javier had effectively taken her out of circulation, so her friends would have as good as forgotten about her.

The ceremony was to be held at the village church, she noted, the reception at the White Boar.

So those two had decided to formalise their sizzling relationship—they would have a proper marriage…

Unlike hers.

And she'd have to pass. Javier had made no secret of his dislike and distrust of her wild friends. She laid the invitation back on the pile of post awaiting Javier's return and the wall-mounted phone rang as she was reaching for a carton of fruit juice from the fridge.

Javier!

Her stupid heart gave its all-too-familiar lurch. He always phoned from his hotel room at around this time when he was working away, a state of affairs that had become far more frequent over the past three months.

Checking up on her? What else? Certainly not for the pleasure of hearing her voice!

‘How was your day?'

‘Fine.' Her reply was just as predictable, as was the potted run-down that he always expected her to give.
Reminiscent of a father asking a child what it had done at school all day.

‘The usual Thursday afternoon meeting,' she told him dully. He'd been instrumental in getting her on the committee of a charity working with the homeless, and she'd found the work challenging, absorbing and deeply rewarding, but the enthusiasm was missing from her voice today as she enlightened him. ‘We're in the throes of organising a late autumn fund-raising thrash; you'll have to dragoon your wealthy friends into buying tickets. They'll cost an arm and a leg.'

Acid in her voice there? Probably.

During the first months of their paper marriage she'd been introduced to his circle of high-flying friends. Sophisticated dinner parties mostly, the spiky chatter way over her head, an odd overheard remark about child brides and the common sense of marrying for money even if one did already have simply oodles of one's own, dahling.

She'd been put under the microscope and had endured it with outward serenity to please Javier. She hadn't gone off on one—

‘I thought I'd be able to make it back in time to go to Wakeham as usual on Saturday morning.' She tuned in to what he was saying.

She could hear voices in the background, the husky sound of female laughter. He was entertaining. People he'd met while checking up on progress at the site? Or was the husky woman his regular travelling companion? she wondered on a sickening surge of jealousy.

‘But something's come up, so I'm afraid I'll be stuck here in Cannes until some time next week. So,' he came out with the next stock question, ‘what are you doing this evening?'

As if he cared! She swallowed hard on the rising bubble of rage. Stuck in Cannes—oh, what a terrible shame! Throwing a party in his hotel suite—oh, how absolutely dreadful for him! No doubt being hit on by some fascinating full-blown woman—oh, she could weep for him, poor darling!

Zoe bit back the sarcastic comments and instead of telling the boring truth—ironing, reading or watching something on TV; what else was she to do?—she fibbed tightly, ‘I'm going out. Hitting the town and seeing what turns up. See you next week, then.' And cut the connection and burst into tears.

By the time she'd used the last tissue in the box Zoe was struggling to pull herself together. She had to get right down to face a few unpleasant facts. Such as it was time she started living in the real world and stopped inhabiting a dream that had no chance of coming true.

For the last eleven months she'd been sweetness and light, never complaining, not even when he'd grown more and more remote, his eyes turning to brooding charcoal whenever he happened to look at her, regularly jetting off to sites all over the world. Leaving her to—

Miss him so badly she ached all over.

Instead of getting despondent over the way things were turning out, she'd gritted her teeth and clung onto her new maturity, thrown herself into her charity
work, planned the welcome-home dinner she'd cook, stored up amusing anecdotes to entertain him with, shopped for the restrained and classy clothes she knew he preferred his women to wear…

His women!

He was a highly sexed male animal. Sophie—or had it been Glenda?—had actually and hatefully boasted of that fact during a session of babysitting holiday duties. She hadn't wanted to hear that, she remembered, had been physically sick with jealousy.

Had he found a new woman to satisfy his needs? That would explain his increasing absences, wouldn't it? The woman whose husky laughter she'd heard in the background only minutes ago! While his wife sat meekly at home, untouched, pure and properly behaved!

Well, not any more! It was time she cut free, saved herself a load of heartache. Acknowledged finally that what she had hoped for would never happen. Javier would never see her as a real woman, a woman he could fall in love with. To him she would always remain in permanent childhood, a self-inflicted duty. Something he would put up with until she came into her inheritance and could be trusted to behave sensibly!

Her golden eyes sparking rebelliously, her stomach churning sickly with a horrible mixture of jealousy and hopelessness, she punched in the Wakeham Lodge number and when it was picked up launched straight in.

‘Ethel, I'll be driving down tomorrow. No, Javier won't be with me, he's working in France. I'm going
to a local wedding on Saturday —you remember Guy and Jenny? And I'll probably stay at Wakeham until the middle of next week.'

And Javier, returning to an empty apartment, could make what he liked of that. As for her, she was going out. This sham of a marriage was over.

 

Nearly midnight, and the wedding party was still going full blast. Lights strobed, moody blues and purples, couples dancing to the frenetic music. There were mostly young people left, the older guests having called it a night a couple of hours ago, the newlyweds having left for their honeymoon well before that.

Jenny had looked fantastic in her beautiful wedding gown. The adoration between the couple as they'd exchanged their marriage vows had been real enough to reach out and touch.

So different from her own wedding, almost a year ago. Zoe's eyes misted as her throat tightened. She swallowed hard. She wouldn't look back to the futile, juvenile hopes she'd harboured at that time. She would not! It was time to move on. Tonight was the start of the process.

And she'd been having fun, hadn't she? Of course she had!

In the early evening, after the wedding breakfast, she'd changed here at the White Boar hotel from the summery suit she'd worn to the church service into a flirty scarlet chiffon dress with a dipping halter neckline, a narrow waist and a short flared skirt that made dancing a pleasure, freeing her movements. And it
had been great to catch up with friends she hadn't seen for a year.

Pleading aching feet, she'd rid herself of the latest batch of would-be partners, excused herself when they'd shown the inclination to linger. She'd had fun but it was time to get back to Wakeham and spend the next few days considering her future, walking the dog and generally chilling out.

Placing her glass of iced water on one of the small tables that bordered the banquet hall, she felt hard fingers bite into her wrist.

‘Been avoiding me, Zo? Given hubby the slip?'

Oliver. As the answer to both questions was obvious and affirmative she didn't bother to answer. Just, ‘Let go of me, please.'

He didn't. Simply tugged her closer. He was sweating. He looked drunk. It had been over twelve months since she'd last seen him. In that time his pretty-boy features had grown blurred, his waistline hinting at an incipient paunch. Shock stilled her tongue; in any case it was pointless to tear him off a strip for that vile message he'd sent with those horrible flowers. It all seemed part of a different life…

‘Nothing to say to an old mucker?' Whisky fumes soured his breath. ‘Ever wondered what you'd missed when you turned me down?'

‘Never!' The more she tried to pull free, the harder his fingers gripped. And no one was taking any notice. Dim lighting and everyone absorbed in dancing to something slow and smoochy now, locked together, clinging, totally oblivious.

‘Then what say I show you?' His free hand dived
beneath her halter top, hot and sweaty, squeezing, hurting. Her raised knee didn't have time to connect in self-defence before he had her off balance, thrust back against the wall, a heavy thigh pushed between her shaking legs, his hands all over her, making her want to retch.

And then, like a miracle, she was free, Oliver hurtling backwards, falling against one of the tables. She was panting, her breath coming in shallow frightened gasps. Her eyes felt so dazed she could scarcely see. She forced them wide. Was she facing a knight in shining armour or an even greater threat?

Javier!

Big, dark and coldly furious.

Relief washed through her in huge convulsive waves. Levering herself away from the wall, she laved her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and shakily blurted the first thing that came into her head. ‘I thought you said you wouldn't be back for days.'

‘Obviously.' His voice was dryer than a Saharan wind. The background music picked up in tempo. Oliver, she noted, had scuttled away. Javier said, ‘Out!' and jerked his head in the direction of the doorway.

Glad to, Zoe headed for the exit to the hotel foyer, her scarlet skirts swaying around her long legs, aware of his eyes pinned on her. She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life, and as soon as they reached the well-lit foyer, the relative silence, she turned to him, the colour she'd lost starting to steal back into her face. ‘Thanks. I'll just fetch my things.'

She sounded breathless, she knew she did; she had
hardly been able to get those few words out. Her whole body was shaking with reaction. She turned jerkily towards the lift that would take her to the room she had changed in after the wedding breakfast, unprepared for his, ‘Not now. I want you out of here.'

His words felt like bullets in his throat. Anger and hostility burned in his brain. He had never lifted a finger against a woman in his life, never wanted to. But now he wanted to turn her over his knee and paddle her delightful backside! But he would never betray his honour by doing any such thing.

An insistent hand on the small of her back was sufficient to guide her unresistant body out through the main doors, into the quiet night. There was nothing quiet about his thoughts. How long had Sherman and his wife been mauling each other, propped up against that wall? How long before the two of them would have sneaked away to somewhere more private?

‘Get in.' He opened the passenger door of his Jaguar. Zoe lifted her head to look into his face. All hard angles and sharp planes, his eyes like lasers. She had never faced such savage anger before. Her throat went dry. No knight to the rescue. More like an avenging angel.

She shivered as the night air cooled her overheated skin, pulling herself together, remembering that he was no longer part of her life. ‘I've got my own car.' The Lotus, parked right beside his, he couldn't have failed to see it. ‘The keys are in my hotel room. I'm going back to get them and check out. You can't tell
me what to do, not any more. The stupid farce of our marriage is over.'

Javier ignored that. He picked up on the damning evidence, and his voice pulsed with outrage. ‘Then it's a pity you and Sherman didn't use the room you'd booked instead of having sex in full view of half the county.' He dragged in a tight breath. ‘Get in.'

In this mood there was no talking to him, Zoe recognised, her heart sinking. Just for a moment she'd had the fleeting thought that, not believing he was rescuing her from a hateful, scary situation, he'd actually been jealous. Not the case. Hadn't she learned enough during the last eleven months to stop herself hoping for the impossible? The primary source of his anger stemmed from what people might say about his wife's behaviour, making him look like a cuckolded fool! How he would loathe that!

Wordlessly, she folded herself into the seat, shuddered as he slammed the door closed and hated him for the power he had to hurt her time after time. Then as he took his seat behind the steering wheel she asked in a viciously tight voice, ‘So what brought you back from the delights of Cannes?'