The Alcolar Family: The Twelve-Month Mistress / The Spaniard's Inconvenient Wife / Bound by Blackmail

The sooner his brother left the better, as far as he was concerned. With Ramón there, acting like a guard dog, watching every word of the conversation, there was going to be no chance of Cassandra letting anything slip. He couldn’t wait to be left alone with her and try to probe for answers. The time between now and then was going to seem far, far too long.

The time Joaquin’s brother had spent with them had passed far too quickly, Cassie told herself as she stood watching, waiting until Ramón’s car had totally disappeared from view before slowly shutting the door and going back, reluctantly, into the house.

She had tried everything she could to make him stay longer. Offering him another drink, food—anything to delay the time when, inevitably, he would leave and she would have to face the fact that she was now on her own with Joaquin and she had no idea at all how to behave.

She didn’t even know how to face him, was terrified of looking him in the eyes, wondering just what she would see. And even worse was the thought that he would look into her face and see…

And see what?

That there was so much that she was keeping from him?

Could he sense the secrets that came between them, like smoke hanging in the air? Would he not rest until he had winkled them out of her, picking away at her defences until she gave everything away?

Or would he just watch her and wait, knowing when she was not telling the truth, when she was dodging the issue, knowing that one day, inevitably, she wouldn’t be able to keep it all back any longer, and she would have to let it out.

And would that be worse than the distinct possibility that he could just wake up one morning—any morning—even tomorrow—and find that his memory had come back? That the missing month was all there, clear in his mind, in perfect recall. And what would she see in his face then? What sort of accusations would he throw at her—and would he even wait for the answers?

How could she live with the tension, the uncertainty, the fear? How could she get through each day not knowing what was going to happen next?

And what about the nights?

That was something she just wasn’t ready to face until she felt a lot braver, and had managed to drag together some sort of composure. So she deliberately avoided going back into the room where she knew Joaquin was waiting for her, heading instead for the kitchen, finding herself an endless string of unimportant and largely unnecessary tasks to keep her occupied. She washed up the coffee mugs by hand instead of simply putting them in the dishwasher, washed and sliced a salad to go with their evening meal, wiped every possible surface within reach, set about mopping the floor…

‘Are you trying to avoid me?’

Joaquin’s voice, mild enough but with an edge that might have been curiosity, or perhaps something else, came to her from the open door, making her jump in nervous shock.

He was standing in the doorway, dark and, to her already nervous mind, disturbingly dangerous. The dark bruise that had spread across his forehead was already turning into different colours, deep burgundy at the centre, yellow at the edges like some malign sunset, adding to the impression of menace.

‘Avoid? N—no. Why would I want to do that?’

‘I don’t know—you tell me.’

This time it was definitely challenging, making her heart thud in uneasy response.

‘I had things to do if we’re going to eat soon.’

‘To tell you the truth, I’m not that hungry. Except for two things.’

‘What two things?’

Did she have to ask? Weren’t they there, in the darkness of his eyes, the set, controlled expression on his face?

‘Facts…’

‘Oh, now you know I can’t tell you anything. The doctors were insistent about that. We have to wait—’

‘For my memory to come back; I know,’ Joaquin supplied, his tone sending chills down her spine.

Forcing herself not to react, she turned her attention to an imaginary spot on the already immaculate worktop surface, rubbing at it hard with a cloth.

‘And the other?’

‘Oh, come on, Cassandra,’ Joaquin mocked, sending even more shivers along every nerve, but in a very different way from before. ‘You know. I want you.’

The cleaning cloth froze mid-rub and Cassie stared down at it, but blindly, seeing nothing.

He was right; she had known this was coming. But not so soon. Not yet! Not when she was still totally unprepared to handle it.

‘That isn’t a very good idea, is it?’

She jumped almost sky-high as strong, tanned fingers closed over her own hand, stilling the nervous movement and holding her there.

‘Why not?’

She flicked a nervous, uncertain sidelong glance in his direction and then away again, meeting the black, searching eyes only for a moment. Her heart was racing in a way that had nothing to do with the shock of his sudden grab at her hand, but everything to do with the stinging awareness of the size and strength of his body so close to hers.

She could feel the heat of his skin where her arm touched him, seemed to be surrounded by the clean, intimate scent of his body, and he was so close that his breath caressed her cheek as he spoke, its warmth stirring her hair, drying her mouth.

‘You—you know why!’

‘No.’

The cloth was plucked from her nerveless fingers, tossed in the vague direction of the sink, and then he took hold of her arms, spinning her round so that she had no option but to face him. But she couldn’t look up so as to meet his gaze, instead staring fixedly at the point where the open neck of his white shirt lay open revealing the bronze skin and muscular strength of his throat, and just the beginning of his broad chest.

Even that was bad enough.

Her fingers itched to touch, to slide in at the open edges of the shirt and feel the warm satin of his skin, the crisp curl of body hair under their tips. Her lips actually tingled, knowing that all she had to do was to purse them slightly, lean forward a little, and they would rest against the muscles, the sinews, under the tanned covering of his flesh. In spite of herself, she inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of him, drawing in as much of him as she could without actually making contact.

‘Tell me why. And don’t mention the damn doctors!’

That brought her head up, sharply, protest flashing in her eyes. She would have pulled away but the strength of his arms, linked apparently loosely, at the base of her spine held her back. If she pulled against it, she knew that that seemingly gentle hold would tighten. She would be held a prisoner, fighting a futile battle against his superior strength. And that would give too much away. Much more than she dared risk anyway.

‘That just isn’t fair and you know it. I have to mention the doctors—I don’t have any alternative! They only let you home on the condition that I looked after you and in order to do that I have to follow their instructions—to the letter.’

Joaquin’s silence made her even more uncomfortable than ever. He had narrowed his eyes until only the jet gleam showed through the curtain of long black lashes and his mouth had completely stopped smiling and was clamped into a thin, hard line. Every instinct she possessed warned of danger but she couldn’t heed the caution. This was no longer a question of concern for herself, but for his health.

For that she was prepared to fight him as hard as she could.

‘You were told to take things easy and I intend to make sure that you do just that! And I don’t think that—that what you have in mind is taking it easy.’

She could almost read his train of thought in his face as a gleam started up in those newly opened eyes and a wicked grin played over the sensual mouth.

‘It could be, if we let it.’

One strong hand strayed upwards, drifted over her hair, smoothly it softly, the tenderness of the gesture pulling at her heart.

‘I could take it very easy…’