Christmas Kisses: The Spanish Billionaire's Christmas Bride / Christmas Bride-To-Be / Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

‘What is it?’

‘You are crying … Is it because I caused you pain?’

His concern was such that Dominique’s heart stalled. She hurried to reassure him.

‘No. No—of course not! I just …’ Hesitating over what she had been going to say—because she did not want to refer to Ramón and the intimacy she had shared with him, which had been nowhere near as satisfying—Dominique tried to explain her feelings another way. ‘I was crying because what you—what you did gave me such pleasure, Cristiano! It made me feel a little emotional … that’s all.’

‘Do you know how much more pleasure I want to give you? I am almost in physical pain with the desire to be inside you!’ Cristiano’s voice was rough with need as he slid his hand behind Dominique’s head and angled it towards him, his voracious glance devouring every inch of her startled face. ‘But I realise this is not the place for me to join with you as I long to! Tonight … after everyone has retired and Matilde is fast asleep … I will come to you. Leave your door unlocked … sí?’

Should she come to her senses and say no? All Dominique knew was that she ached down to her very soul to have him possess her in the way he so candidly described, and to refuse him would be like denying herself vital oxygen to breathe. She wasn’t about to do any such thing.

‘All right,’ she whispered, tenderly cupping his face.

He kissed her passionately then, as if to brand her with his taste and leave her with the tantalising promise of what lay ahead in the night to come …

CHAPTER NINE

THROUGHOUT the delicious meal that had been placed before him Cristiano merely toyed with the food on his plate. It was as if some strange exotic disease afflicted him, making him feel light-headed almost to the point of dizziness. His heart raced and his stomach clenched as if it was trapped in a vice. And the symptoms were heightened whenever his gaze happened to alight on Dominique.

Dominique … the bewitching young woman that his irresponsible cousin had got pregnant and abandoned without even the most basic financial assistance with which to raise his child. The woman Cristiano had sworn to protect and watch over until such time as some other man … her future husband … took on the responsibility. The woman he now lusted after as he had lusted after no other woman before … Even his wife, God rest her soul.

He could hardly believe what was happening to him. Before he had pledged himself to Martina, Cristiano had enjoyed seducing women just as much as any other red-blooded male. But his need to be near Dominique—to know where she was when she wasn’t in his sight, to hear her voice, to gaze at her and wonder what it would feel like to have that long unbound hair of hers trickle freely through his fingers, to have her unique scent saturate his senses—it was like some unstoppable force of nature that he scarce had any control over.

For the past two years he had steered clear of romantic entanglements like a driver taking an immediate detour whenever a potential traffic jam loomed on the horizon. Nothing could have prepared him for the powerful feelings running through his body and mind whenever he even thought about Dominique—let alone spent time with her. And this afternoon, when he had deliberately sought her out in the library, locked the door and engaged her in the most intimate way … Cristiano almost had to suppress a groan as he recalled the experience.

As though sensing his passionate discomfort, Dominique glanced across the table at him just then, and he saw the surge of colour that tinted her cheeks to a most delightful rose-pink. Dry-mouthed, he let his glance fall to the scooped neckline of the dress she was wearing, and the enticing shadow of cleavage it revealed. She had the most lush, perfect breasts … breasts that Cristiano’s mouth had become acquainted with only a few short hours ago. When he thought of the night that lay ahead he tried to quash any qualms that arose in his mind about the wisdom—or lack of it—of what he was anticipating by fiercely asserting that he would not be reckless. He would absolutely protect Dominique against another situation like the one that had manifested itself with Ramón. And he reassured himself that their being together the way he yearned for could not be wrong when she had made it so clear to him that it was what she desired too …

Dominique had lain in the bathtub for ages after Matilde had gone to sleep. She had scattered a handful of fragrant rose petals in the steamy hot water—a gift that had been left in a beautifully presented jar, along with many other expensive toiletries on the marble surround for her exclusive use. Lounging back in the gently lapping perfumed water, she felt as close to the legendary Cleopatra as a girl could get. She might not be bathing in asses’ milk but this luxurious alternative was seriously hard to beat!

As soon as she started to relax, one subject asserted itself in Dominique’s mind above all the rest. Cristiano and his promised visit. Even though the air was filled with steam, she sensed a shiver of delicious anticipation quiver through her. Their encounter this afternoon in the library had been beyond words, but it had left her hungry for more of his thrilling touch.

Her excitement was only dampened by one question … Was she the biggest fool that ever lived where men were concerned? Why didn’t it seem to be an even halfway viable option to resist Cristiano’s devastating attraction? It was a dangerous game she was playing. And she was the one who was going to get hurt—not him.

Her disquiet increased. He had already mentioned that he expected that she would meet someone else one day and get married. Surely the subtext of that assertion was that she would then be off his hands, leaving him free to enjoy the bachelor status Dominique guessed he guarded so jealously? And why wouldn’t he, when he was rich, gorgeous and successful? Who could blame him if he wanted to play the field instead of settling down? All that was probably on the cards with him for Dominique was a brief, intense affair.

A frustrated sigh escaped her. If only Cristiano hadn’t been so persistent in trying to help her! If only he hadn’t acted so honourably on his cousin’s behalf and brought her back to Spain, united her daughter with her grandmother and given Dominique the opportunity for a far better life than she’d ever known before! All these amazing things had worked their magic on her sensitive heartstrings more than anything else—even more than the sizzling attraction that now flared between them. And now her situation was as precarious as a novice trapeze artist balancing on a high wire …

By the time she’d vacated the sensually fragrant bath serious doubt had set in about the whole affair. And once she’d dried herself off, put on a short cotton nightdress and climbed into bed, Dominique told herself that when Cristiano showed up she would tell him she’d changed her mind about them being intimate. That she’d decided it was best if they just stayed friends rather than risk spoiling everything if they became lovers …

But midnight came and went, and there was no sign of the man whose visit she’d anticipated with such nervous excitement and trepidation. Hurt that he’d obviously come to the conclusion himself that their nocturnal assignation wasn’t a good idea, Dominique switched off her bedside lamp and lay back in the darkness, feeling slightly ill. Why hadn’t he come? Had he recognised somehow that she was too needy and been put off? God knew she had tried so hard to contain her emotions and feelings around him, tried to let him see only that her intention was to be independent and not depend upon any man again! But then she had been so eager when he had kissed her, touched her. She had hardly pushed him away! Oh, God … why couldn’t she ever get it right? Turning her face dejectedly into the pillow, Dominique reluctantly closed her eyes. As profound disappointment and an inevitable sense of rejection washed over her, she prayed she would soon escape her distress in the dreamy avenues of sleep …

‘Buenos diás, Dominique.’

Everything in her tightened at the sound of that arresting rich voice, but she did not glance round. In the large but homely kitchen, giving her daughter her breakfast, Dominique was halfway to Matilde’s mouth with a spoonful of oatmeal when Cristiano finally put in an appearance. The other members of his family had long since eaten and gone out again, leaving her with some precious time to spend alone with Matilde. She wondered that Cristiano had the nerve to wish her good morning after so casually standing her up last night, but told herself that whatever happened she mustn’t let him see how upset she was.

‘Morning.’ Dominique murmured the word beneath her breath, and was startled when Cristiano dropped down onto the bench opposite her at the long pine table, ruefully tunnelling his fingers through his midnight-black hair. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, as if he had hardly slept, but she steeled herself against feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for him.

‘I am sorry about last night,’ he ground out, the huskiness in his voice making her spine tingle.

‘Are you?’ Scooping another spoonful of cereal from the cheerful yellow bowl in front of her, Dominique briskly popped it into Matilde’s eagerly waiting mouth. ‘I’m not. With hindsight I can see that it would have been the very worst of mistakes, and you not showing up has thankfully helped me come to my senses!’

‘Please do not say that!’

When Cristiano would have reached for her hand, Dominique deliberately moved it out of his way.

‘I wanted to come to you … more than you can even imagine!’ he insisted. ‘But I asked myself if I was being entirely fair to you, Dominique. You have already had cause to doubt the integrity of one Cordova … I did not want to put you in a similar position again. I did not want you to think that I was taking advantage of you simply because you are staying in my house and we have developed an attraction for one another.’

‘Well … whatever your reasons, you did me a big favour, Cristiano! I’m obviously too damn trusting for my own good! This latest incident has only confirmed that. There’s no need for you to give it another second’s thought. Let’s just put it behind us and carry on as normal until I leave to go back to England—okay?’

‘Como? Since when did you decide that you were going back to England?’

Even as he asked the question, everything in Cristiano clamoured silently in violent protest. Fear of risking his heart and his soul had kept him out of Dominique’s bed last night, and this was the price he was to pay for it! Dios mío! He had wrestled with the twin demons of fear and desire all night, and now he realised his decision not to go to her was going to drive her away. He could see by the hurt and confusion on her lovely face that she had taken his non-appearance as nothing less than pure rejection, and he could hardly blame her.

‘Since I woke up this morning! Anyway … I told you I wasn’t sure if I would stay on after Christmas. It doesn’t mean I won’t keep in touch with Consuela and the rest of the family. I’ll come back for visits whenever I can.’

‘No! That is not good enough!’

His fist came down on the table and rattled the crockery. Matilde’s lips trembled and she stared at Cristiano in obvious trepidation. Seeing her sweet little face very close to tears, Cristiano was immediately contrite—though no less angry with Dominique for her disagreeable announcement.

‘I am sorry, mi ángel … I did not mean to frighten you,’ he murmured to the baby and, leaning towards her, tenderly stroked her cheek. Lifting his gaze to Dominique, he ruefully shook his head. ‘Do not punish my family because you are mad at me,’ he said gruffly. ‘They want you to stay … I want you to stay!’

‘Matilde needs a wash. Excuse me.’

Getting to her feet with the baby in her arms, Dominique barely glanced at Cristiano. Again he silently cursed himself for making her distance herself from him like this when secretly he craved anything but distance between them!

‘Come back and have a cup of coffee with me?’ he suggested lightly.

He could see by the look in her blue eyes that she was torn for a moment, and Cristiano felt hope flare in his heart. But then she wrenched her glance free and walked to the door.

‘I have some Christmas cards to write,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Back in the library after dinner, still brooding over what had happened the previous night, and still hurt that Cristiano had not sought her out for a private conversation for the rest of the day since their encounter at breakfast, Dominique found herself once again drawn to the group of photographs she had been going to examine yesterday.

One large colour portrait dominated all the rest. It consisted of three men in a formal family pose. In the centre was an older man, with thick greying hair and rather kind dark eyes, and on either side of him stood Ramón and Cristiano. The picture must have been taken a good seven or eight years ago at least, Dominique reflected, because Ramón looked not much more than a boy. Her heart squeezed as a shaft of pain went through it. It was hard to believe he was dead.

But, despite her sorrow at a young life taken too soon, it was Cristiano’s image that drew her gaze the most. It was almost a shock to see him apparently so relaxed and happy—happier than Dominique had ever seen him. And what caught her eye too was the glint of gold on what would be his wedding finger. Her stomach executed a dizzying somersault. What had happened to his wife? Why was she never mentioned by anyone? Were they divorced? Had she had left Cristiano for another man? Such a scenario seemed hardly conceivable!

Behind her the door creaked open, and with a frisson of surprise she saw the man she’d been contemplating in the photograph standing there in the flesh.

‘I have been looking for you,’ he told her.

‘Have you?’ Wary of letting her guard down around him again, Dominique shrugged. ‘And I thought you’d been avoiding me for most of the day!’

‘Then you thought wrong.’ He sighed. ‘That was taken about seven years ago,’ he commented as he walked towards her, his glance leaving her to settle on the photograph she’d been studying. ‘The man in the centre is my father, José. I suppose you have been looking at Ramón?’

Drawing the vivid blue shawl that Cristiano had bought her at the gypsy market more securely about her shoulders, Dominique glanced up at him, and she was certain her heart missed a beat. The pain in his voice as he’d asked the question was palpable, and her sudden need to help ease it in some way was intense.

‘Actually … I was looking at you,’ she confessed, her blue eyes directly meeting his.