Proud Revenge Passionate Wedlock Page 8

  “I made the mistake of discussing my business plans to my lover,” he said, giving her a bit of insight into his reasoning because he was tired of her harping about this desire to talk about anything and everything he did in a day. “I vowed never to do it again.”

  “Why? Did she trade company secrets or something?”

  “Sí. She closed on the deal I had been working on.” He dropped the louver for a window into place and secured it with two iron hooks, blocking the remnants of light but not the bitter memory of being young and green and trusting of a woman.

  “Who was she?” she asked.

  He debated all of two seconds whether to tell her. Why the hell not? She’d likely guess it anyway.

  “Tara McClendon,” he said.

  Her mouth dropped open, then shut with a clack of teeth. “She betrayed you, yet you did business with her again?”

  He waved a hand to dismiss the matter. “One had nothing to do with the other.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because this last deal was strictly business and she is an astute businesswoman.” The fact she could not understand that proved she let her emotions rule her.

  “Our marriage never stood a chance,” she said with a surfeit of sarcasm that scraped along his nerves as she stood in the flickering light like a wraith while thunder rocked the walls surrounding them. “What you didn’t dictate about our life together, your mother did. I had no say regarding the house or my own daughter.”

  His jaw clenched so tight he heard the bones grate. Didn’t she realize that she’d been as dominant and demanding as he in the bedroom? That he’d reveled in her aggressive bent with lovemaking? That no woman had ever compared to her?

  “The casa has been my madre’s home for thirty-five years,” he said. “It was my home, my heritage. You knew that when we married.”

  “Yes, a huge hacienda with lots of space.” She glared at him, but he caught the sheen of hurt in her eyes. “Yet this was my prison. You even hired a guard to watch me.”

  Which he’d regret for the rest of his life, but then he’d never suspected his pregnant wife would break her marriage vows. “¡Maldita sea! I hired him to protect you because I knew the dangers. I’d lost my brother to kidnappers, and I wasn’t about to let you become their next victim.”

  A tense hum of quiet expanded in the room as she took that in with wide eyes. “Would it have hurt you to tell me that?”

  He made a slashing motion with his hand, unwilling to discuss the demons that drove him with her now. “I told you there were those in Mexico who made a living off kidnapping the wealthy. That should have been explanation enough.”

  “It was, but I’d have understood your reasoning far better if I’d known you’d suffered such a personal tragedy,” she said. “But then you never shared your hopes and fears with me.”

  Nor would he! He’d wanted to weave dreams with her, but he was afraid to let himself love at that depth. He’d held back revealing too much of what was in his heart for fear he’d lose her, and that would destroy him.

  “What did you expect of me, querida?” he said, slamming the door on those feelings that weakened a man—the ones that tried to gain a foothold now. “A cottage with gardens and a husband who came home every night?”

  Her chin came up at that, and he admired the fact she hadn’t given in to tears or theatrics even while he hated that she’d drawn him into this dialogue. “Yes, maybe I did.”

  His English rose was far out of her league, a fact he’d been aware of when he first met her. “You should have used more precaution then, querida, for our child tied you to my world and to me.”

  “Of course, I forgot this was all my fault,” she said, her pale cheeks crimson. “I trapped you into marriage by getting pregnant. You, the billionaire with a string of celebrity lovers. The man who seduced me on my own private beach.” She marched up to him, fire and hurt and passion glittering in her eyes. “If you didn’t wish to create a child, you should have used protection. But then it seems you still expect a woman to take full responsibility.”

  He grasped her upper arms and pulled her against him, his blood pumping hotter as her hardened nipples pressed against his chest. “Know this, Allegra. I never regretted marrying you or having our daughter. Until you took both from me.”

  Allegra slammed her fists against the hard wall of his chest, fed up with hearing that she’d been the one to destroy their marriage, their future. But getting this close and touching him was a mistake. She knew that the second energy shot up her limbs and set her on fire.

  “You walked away from our marriage two months before Cristobel was born, Miguel. You!”

  “Out of concern for your condition,” he said, trapping her fists and bringing her even closer to him. “The doctor made it clear that you were to have bed rest or risk losing our niña. He emphasized private bed rest.”

  “So you moved out of the house?”

  “I had business that took me away,” he said.

  “How convenient!”

  Heat of an entirely different kind flowed into her, turning her limbs languid, her thoughts muzzy. Her body responded to the intense charge of his despite the provocation he stirred in her. But then this energy that arced between them had been magnetically fierce from the moment she’d met him.

  She’d known when they touched that he was the only man for her. That she’d never feel the same intensity of passion or depth of love with any one else. Just Miguel.

  “I barely heard from you in three months. You weren’t around enough to even know your daughter!”

  He muttered a vulgarity. “You are not the only one with regrets, querida.”

  So he hadn’t learned to cope with that truth on his own terms yet. “A shame you didn’t bother to share that confession with me sooner, but then that would have necessitated you spending more than ten minutes with us.” She glared at him. “But then, you’d have had to talk to me.”

  “We are talking now, and it is solving nothing!”

  Allegra shoved away from him, feeling the discordant throb to her soul. “We are arguing, which is better than what we had for most of our marriage.”

  “We had great sex.”

  He reached out and grazed a knuckle down her flushed check, his touch setting off a firestorm within her that flowed down her body and settled in her womb, making it tremble for something she could never have again.

  “It wasn’t enough,” she said.

  She made to shove his hand away, but he caught her wrist in the blink of an eye. Though his restraint was a gentle manacle, his features were as hard and cold as the cobalt tiles they stood on.

  “Why did you turn to Amando Riveras after Cristobel was born?” he asked.

  Allegra stared at him, disgusted that he still chose to believe she’d been unfaithful. His mind was set.

  Well, so was hers. Only she remembered those long, lonely nights spent at this hacienda, waiting for the husband who rarely came home. When he did, he preferred to sleep alone.

  She moved in the same tight circle as he, hands clenched and heart thundering. It felt so good to be angry at him. To vent the frustrations that had festered in her for so long.

  “For the last time, Amando wasn’t my lover,” she said.

  “Then why did you leave the casa every day?” He stared at her, one hard, mean, unforgiving man who looked capable of violence.

  Well, she could be hard and unforgiving in this, too, for he’d not only abandoned her, but he’d forsaken a promise to the people he’d promised to help.

  “I was helping Amando with the humanitarian work you’d begun and abandoned,” she said, letting her pride ring in her voice. “I was making a difference in your world, Miguel.”

  He yanked her against him, nostrils flared and eyes snapping with fury and some emotion she’d never seen before. “¡Hostias! What did you get involved in?”

  “What you’d promised to do for the refugees yet abandoned to build a bigge
r empire for yourself.”

  “No!”

  “Yes!” She shoved him hard and twisted to break free.

  He teetered on the edge of the pool, eyes wide, sensual mouth parted. Then with a wicked smile, he yanked her against him and sent them toppling backward into the pool.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BEFORE his back hit the tranquil surface, his mouth fused with hers—hungry, demanding, passionate.

  The kiss stole her breath away and breathed life into her just the same. She clung to Miguel and the promise in his kiss, dimly aware of the warm water rushing over them.

  He was strong and passionate and hers.

  She tore at his shirt, tugging the wet cloth away from the expansive breadth of his chest. Even in the water his skin was warm to the touch. Warm and hard and silk-on-steel smooth.

  Her legs tangled with his for a moment, then he pushed them to the surface. He pressed her against the blue-tiled side of the pool and tore his mouth from hers. His breath escaped him in short, angry puffs. The mouth that had ravished her looked so grim she wanted to scream.

  Just like that and he could turn off his desire. Not so for her. Her body hummed with restless energy.

  “You will not beguile me again,” he said, and she wondered if the admonition was for her or him.

  “I didn’t initiate the kiss.”

  “Sí, you did with your enticing body and mouth that begged to be kissed. But I will not risk another pregnancy.”

  She stared up at him, trapped by his masculine power and the raw need coursing through her. Her pride urged her to withhold the truth, but her foolish heart couldn’t bear the thought of deceiving him.

  “The chances of me getting pregnant are highly remote,” she said, the words still painful to admit even after all this time.

  His brow closed together over his patrician nose. “How can that be when you admitted you weren’t on the Pill or using any means of birth control?”

  “The accident,” she said simply.

  “Explain this to me.”

  Was he serious? He had to know the details of her injuries, yet the tense cant of his head and that impatient questioning glint in his dark eyes screamed bewilderment.

  This hadn’t been some frivolity their families had omitted telling him about. They’d kept pertinent details from her husband. And instead of searching for answers himself, he’d taken their word as truth.

  “I nearly bled out before reaching the hospital,” she said, earning her a darker scowl. “But because it was internal, nobody realized the danger I was in until it was nearly too late.”

  “Why wasn’t I told about this?” He had been so devastated by the loss of his daughter and the news of Allegra’s infidelity that he had believed all he had been told about the accident—at the time Allegra’s was not a voice to be trusted.

  “Ask your mother that question. Uncle Loring told me that she came to the hospital the night of the accident, and again after I’d had surgery.”

  His dark eyes snapped with anger. “You spoke with her as well?”

  “No,” she said, the memory of waking alone and terrified was still fresh. “I was unconscious when they brought me in. By the time I awoke, my uncle was the only person attending me.”

  A ruddy flush streaked across his cheekbones, but that was the only indication he experienced any guilt for not being there for her. “I want to doubt you are telling the truth, but I sense there is more going on here than I was told.”

  She went still, absorbing what he was saying. Her pulse sped up and her heart warmed with the first rays of hope.

  Miguel had never questioned his madre’s word.

  But it was obvious he was doing so now. He’d been kept in the dark much like Allegra had been, with their families striving to separate lovers when they needed each other the most.

  She hated her uncle for his part in this as much as she despised his conniving mother. It was obvious her uncle strove to protect her from the husband who was causing her nothing but heartache.

  His mother had never believed Allegra good enough. She’d hated Allegra for trapping Miguel into marriage.

  But dwelling on hatred only made it fester.

  “I won’t forgive you so easily for giving up on us,” she said. “But I still want you.”

  She pressed her palms over his chest and trailed them down into the water, tracing the ridges of his pectorals before venturing lower. The desire he’d carefully banked broke free, blazing in his eyes and quickening his breathing.

  He groaned and lifted her from the water, coming up and over her in one powerful surge. His eyes were near black with desire—his body hard against her yielding one.

  “This could all be a lie.”

  “You know it’s not, but believe what you will, Miguel,” she said. “You always have before.”

  “Bruja,” he growled without animosity. “I am immune to your spell.”

  “I wish I could say the same about you,” she said, for in his arms her will to remain aloof deserted her.

  “Then let us burn together again.”

  Before she could think to answer, his head lowered. His lips grazed hers. Once. Twice.

  She quivered, moaned, then lifted her face to his.

  For a long moment he didn’t move. She was certain he didn’t breath, either. God knew she held her breath, wondering if he’d kiss her again.

  Would he deny them what they both wanted?

  His mouth settled over hers with a groan.

  Of surrender? Yes, but surely it was she who capitulated, for her arms slid around his neck and she stopped trying to rationalize. She just gave over to feeling the sensuous power of this man at this moment.

  For after all was said and done, she wanted him. She wanted to forget the hell they’d been through and be the lover in his arms once more.

  That soft moan of surrender was all it took for Miguel’s mind to click off, for the recriminations and warnings to go silent. This need to have her was stronger than the raging tempest, more powerful than sanity.

  He wasn’t alone in his passion. Her small hands slid down his chest, tracing ribs and sinew and setting off explosions of raw need within him.

  He tore off her clothes and his, nearly losing it as their bare flesh came together with sizzling need. Surely they set off sparks.

  “You’ve been working out,” she said as she ran her hands over his pectorals.

  He’d done no such thing, but he hadn’t the patience or inclination to explain the changes in his body. With her hands freely exploring him and sending his libido into overdrive, he was doing good to fish a foil condom packet from his discarded trousers.

  He’d thrown himself into work so he’d be too exhausted to be haunted by the tragedy. Yet even then thoughts of Allegra intruded his sleep.

  Now she was in his arms, and the reality was so much sweeter than any dream.

  She arched and pulled him close, and he drove into her in one long, smooth thrust. An explosion of heat jetted through him.

  The fit was exquisite, the sense of rightness all encompassing. This was the home he’d mourned, the melding of two hearts that called to him in the dead of night.

  He pumped into her, taking pleasure in her matching his thrusts, his arousal spurred on by the sexy mewling sounds she made. Her legs clung to his hips while her fingernails raked his back.

  This was raw, carnal need. Nothing more.

  Each thrust and drugging kiss crackled with erotic frenzy, as if they only had a stolen moment together, as if they couldn’t get enough of the other.

  And they couldn’t.

  He could not tell who was more demanding. Him or her.

  Time fell away as their desire roared to life. He was taking her with the same fierce need that had gripped him the first time they’d made love. She was welcoming him with the same unbridled passion, clinging to him, bucking with each thrust, sucking him deeper into the silken web of her sensuality.

  He wanted to go slo
w, draw the pleasure out until she begged for release. But it would be easier to order the wind to cease than to dominate this moment.

  It was a race and a duel of wills, each pushing the other, each demanding more. He felt her coming and pushed her over the edge of desire, following her over into that tumultuous vortex of satiation, controlling this tiny moment that presented itself.

  She dug her fingernails into his buttocks and arched into him, his name bursting from her trembling lips in a sultry whisper, her body quivering and convulsing around him until he could hold back no longer. One final thrust and he gave in to the primal mating call.

  Their gazes locked as they climaxed together, breaths mingling, hearts beating as one. But what he saw in her eyes terrified him, for it was a reflection of his own vulnerability with her.

  He could feel the heat of her throb within his soul, giving him life again in a heartbeat, joining him to her through an eternity of need.

  His lungs burned as he rolled off her and sprawled on his back, breath sawing deep and ragged. Outside the hurricane roared like a savage beast loosed from hell, but it was tame compared to the emotional storm churning within him.

  He’d planned to use her for his pleasure then dump her as punishment for the pain she’d put him through. But he hadn’t considered having sex with her would make him feel whole again.

  He hated her more for stealing his heart than for the fortune in jewels she’d taken. He hated her for taking Cristobel from him. He hated her for leaving him for another, despite her denial to the contrary.

  Yet the image of her offering herself to him was branded on his soul. But it was the ruptured condom that had his fingers curling into tight fists.

  He rolled to his feet and shrugged into his trousers. The quiet finally penetrated his anger.

  Either the worst of the storm had passed over, or there was a break in the tempest. It couldn’t come at a better time.

  “How long before you have your next cycle?” he asked.

  He heard her rise followed by the rustle of clothes. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t conceive.”