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

‘So not coffee, then?’

‘No!’

It was not the offer of coffee or any other drink he was referring to. He couldn’t stand the way that she was walking away from him. Not looking at him. Not even addressing him face on, but tossing the remarks back over her shoulder as if she didn’t care whether he heard her or not.

‘No!’

He moved after her, anger charging his strides, making them long, swift, furious. His hand came out, clamped over her upper arm, jolting her to a halt, whirling her round.

‘Joaquin!’

But he ignored her protest; heedless of whether he had caused it by the way his hard fingers were digging into the white flesh exposed by the sleeveless turquoise sundress. Burning dark eyes searched her face once more, wanting to probe deep into her mind, her soul, see what was hidden there.

‘No!’ he said again, though even he couldn’t have said with regard to what. He only knew that he didn’t like the way he was feeling. The way he had been feeling for too long.

The way she made him feel.

And the way he had never, ever felt in his life before.

He wanted his old way of life back. Wanted that feeling of being in control, of knowing where he was heading—what he wanted! He hated this sensation of being adrift in a rudderless boat—and all because of this woman.

‘All right, no coffee. Just what is the matter with you today?’

But he wasn’t ready to answer that.

‘Nothing. Nothing’s the matter.’

‘Then stop behaving like a bear with a sore head. I want a drink even if you don’t, so…’

Her gaze dropped to the strong, tanned fingers still clenched around her arm, then back up to his face, the reproach in them so strong that he instinctively released her, taking a step back.

‘Perdón.’

‘Okay.’

She flashed that meaningless smile once again. Dios, but he truly hated the insincerity of it! But then almost immediately her expression changed.

‘No, actually, it’s not okay! Not at all! There’s nothing okay about it. What do you think you’re doing—manhandling me like that?’

‘Manhandling?’

In his indignation, his accent and pronunciation mangled the word so that it was almost incomprehensible.

‘Manhandling? You call that manhandling? What has happened to you, my Cassie? You never used to be like this. You always used to like my touch…’

A rush of cold anger at her rejection, the words she had used, pushed him forward, eyes fixed on her face, noting the suddenly watchful expression, the flicker of something new and uncertain deep in those blue eyes.

‘Loved it…’

‘Well not the way you got hold of me just then! I didn’t like that! And I certainly didn’t love it!’

‘I hurt you? If I did I’m sorry—’

‘You didn’t hurt me! At least, not in the way you think!’

The defiant tilt to her chin was pure provocation; an extra spark in the brilliance of her eyes created an answering fire in the most primitively masculine parts of his body. His heart gave a sharp kick, making his blood pound heavily through his system.

And suddenly he knew that he had to touch her. Really touch her. And not in the way that she had accused him of, manhandling her. He wanted to hold her close, kiss away the blaze of rejection in her eyes…

‘And you can perdón till you’re blue in the face and it won’t do a blind bit of good!’ she flung at him furiously. ‘You’re not going to treat me like this and get away with it!’

The sting of the words made him check himself. Think.

He didn’t like the direction his thoughts led him in.

Joaquin drew his brows together sharply, not knowing in the mixture of disbelief, incomprehension and anger that was suddenly bubbling inside him exactly which emotion was uppermost. His frown revealed them all.

‘Treat you in what way, precisely, querida? Cassandra, you’re really not making sense. And just what brought on this mood in the first place?’

‘You did!’

She was treading on dangerous ground here, Cassie admitted to herself. If she wasn’t prepared to tell him the real truth, then she was taking a risk even hinting at it. She had vowed that until Joaquin himself raised the topic of their year together then she wouldn’t say a word. Wouldn’t even hint at the way it was making her feel.

But an accusation like that last one came too close to what was really tearing her up inside.

‘And you can keep your hands off me!’

‘Oh, no, my lovely…’

He shook his dark head slowly but so emphatically, his voice a predatory purr.

‘That I cannot do. It is impossible. I cannot be with you, near you, and not touch you. I only have to look at you to want you, and you know that. Even now, when you are in this wild, crazy mood, my fingers itch to touch…’

He suited action to the words, reaching out and hooking one hand very gently around the back of her neck, the warmth of his palm along the soft skin of her throat, his thumb brushing her cheek.

‘To caress you.’

That strong, broad thumb moved against her flesh, stroking delicate, erotic circles that woke every nerve, bringing their endings rushing to the surface.

‘To hold you.’

His other hand trailed softly up the right side of her neck, silky touch moving over satin and raising cold prickles of awareness all over her body as it did so, making her shiver in uncontrollable response. A moment later her face was cupped in both his hands, being drawn slowly and irresistibly towards him.

‘Kiss you…’ he murmured, his breath warm against her lips.

No! It was a cry of protest in her mind as panic set in at the thought of just how easily he could do this. How casually, how often he used the fierce, blazing, physical passion between them to avoid anything truly emotional. To dodge talking about anything that mattered.

Like their future. If they had one.