Surrender to Her Spanish Husband

‘The greenhouse!’ she shouted, pointing. ‘I need to secure it so it won’t get flattened by the storm. I was going to throw the tarp over it and then fasten it to the ground to hold it.’

Comprehending, Rodrigo unceremoniously relieved her of the wildly blowing tarpaulin and then shoved one corner back into her hands. ‘Move back and we will shake it out together,’ he instructed. ‘Do you have anything to secure it?’

‘Yes.’ She quickly stooped to retrieve the long tent pegs she’d left by her feet. ‘These.’ She handed them over.

‘We need a hammer to bang them into the ground.’ Momentarily he shifted his gaze down to her feet, as if expecting to see the necessary tool lying there.

‘Oh, God.’ Biting her lip, Jenny stared back at Rodrigo with an apologetic shrug. ‘I forgot to bring the mallet with me. It’s still in the shed.’

‘I’ll get it. Stay here.’

‘It’s at the other end of the garden. Can you see it?’

‘Yes, I see it.’ Before he left, Rodrigo furnished her with a wry look. ‘And do your best not to get blown away by the wind while I am gone…I am looking forward to my full English breakfast in the morning, and that’s not going to happen without a cook!’

No sooner had he left than he was back again, a large wooden mallet clutched tightly in his hand, as if the storm and the fallen tree had been but mere annoying trifles that had not even vaguely threatened his mission. Taking charge with reassuring confidence, he yelled instructions to Jenny, helping them both negotiate the best way of working in the increasingly untamed weather.

By the time they had the tarp over the greenhouse roof and the sides rolled down securely over the glass walls—Rodrigo having deftly banged in the tent pegs through the loops to fasten it to the ground—Jenny felt as if she’d been packed in ice and left to freeze. Thank God her ex had been around to help her. That was all she could think as she took one last glance through the drowning rain at the secured tarp covering Lily’s treasured greenhouse. She’d never have managed it on her own, she realised.

Gratefully dashing into the house again, she knew she must look half-drowned, with her sodden clothing and dripping hair. Next to the efficient DIY expert, who still managed to look nothing less than gorgeous even though he was also wet through, Jenny felt like something the cat had dragged in. It wasn’t a picture she wanted to project to anyone…least of all the man that had broken her heart. But her hands were so chilled that she could barely even make a fist, and she had no choice but to leave the locking of the door behind them to Rodrigo too.

Dark hair was plastered to his well-shaped head, and Jenny watched an icy rivulet of water streak down his face over high-sculpted cheekbones and a clean-cut jaw that didn’t have so much as a smidgeon of spare flesh detracting from its perfect symmetry. On its way, the pearl of moisture flirted briefly with a corner of his mouth, making her dangerously aware of how full and sensual his upper lip was—just like one of those Italian sculptures that art-lovers gasped at because they were so beautiful.

‘Tomorrow morning I’m going to cook you the best breakfast you’ve ever had.’ She took a nervous swallow. ‘I owe you big-time for what you just did. Lily has worked so hard to grow her own vegetables, and—’

The lips that had so riveted her attention were suddenly laid over hers as gently as a butterfly wing. Shocked rigid, Jenny was nonetheless compos mentis enough to register the erotic warmth of the breath that came with it, as well as the burning heat hovering beguilingly beneath the rough velvet skin that had been rendered arctic cold from his rescue mission outside.

As soon as Rodrigo lifted his mouth away from hers her body throbbed with insistent hunger for a second helping of that incredibly arousing fleeting contact. The idea of having a properly passionate kiss from her one-time husband again made her feel dizzy with want…quite primitively crazy with it.

Fearing her gaze must easily reflect her torrid feelings, Jenny stepped away, her hands fiddling with the drenched ends of her shoulder-length hair, praying he wouldn’t guess how violently his brief kiss had affected her. ‘What was that for?’ she breathed.

He shrugged, as though amused. ‘Regard it as a thank-you from the absent Lily. No doubt she would be quite moved to learn that you care so much about her greenhouse that you were willing to venture outside in a violent storm to protect it.’ Rodrigo smiled. ‘Now…I think we both need to rid ourselves of these wet clothes before we succumb to pneumonia, don’t you?’

The suggestion sounded like something X-rated articulated in that sexy Spanish voice. So much so that Jenny felt as if a fire had been lit beneath her blood. But, with his hands on his hips, Rodrigo’s next words quickly brought her disturbing fantasies to an abrupt if regretful end.

‘We’d better not stand here talking all night. We need to get back to our rooms, change into dry clothing and then return downstairs for a hot drink to warm us up…sí?’

‘Good idea,’ Jenny muttered, wrenching her gaze determinedly away from his. Ascending the staircase, she hurried as though being chased by some dogged pursuer up to no good. But in her heart of hearts she knew it was her own tumultuous feelings that she was really hoping to distance herself from…

In the shower, as he stood beneath the needle-sharp scalding spray, Rodrigo stared through the curtain of water, filled with disbelief at what had just happened between him and his pretty ex-wife.

Recalling the incident with more intent, he remembered that her sweet-lipped cupid’s bow pink mouth had suddenly become like the most sensuous narcotic. A longing to still the tantalising little quiver he had glimpsed, to taste the heat as well as the rain-cold damp he knew he would find there, had spontaneously driven him to press his mouth against hers. What Rodrigo had not been expecting was that kissing Jenny’s soft little mouth would feel so instantly essential to him the moment he made contact.

Reliving the experience made his insides dance wildly. How could he have forgotten that she could make him feel like that? His mind moved on to a far more disturbing thought. How many lovers had she taken to her bed since they had parted? She was young and beautiful, and these dark cold nights stuck out here on her own would undoubtedly get lonely. He had no right to feel so jealous and angrily affronted by the idea. Jenny was free to do as she liked. They were divorced. But if she had not taken a lover was it because she still thought of him?

The idea sent a burning arrow of explosive heat straight to Rodrigo’s loins and he murmured an expletive in Spanish. How long since he had had a woman? He traced the outline of a circle in the collected steam on the shower stall’s glass, added a downturned mouth and scowled. Clearly long enough for it to seriously start to bother him.

It wasn’t that there was ever a lack of opportunity. Females of all ages had taken a profound interest in him ever since he’d started to hit puberty at around thirteen. But he had done nothing about more recent opportunities because he had allowed work to gobble up his free time like an insatiable termite instead. Before he’d realised it the days and weeks in his diary had suddenly revealed that a whole year had gone by—a year during which he could practically equal a Franciscan monk for lack of sexual activity. Not to mention the complete dearth of a social life or even anything remotely related to relaxation.

He was beginning to feel a little like an automated machine—going here, going there, and hardly even noticing his surroundings. It scarcely mattered whether it was some sensual eastern paradise or one of the glamorous foreign playgrounds of the rich and famous—private playgrounds to which gradually, through his single-minded dedication to his goal, Rodrigo had at last gained membership. But the successful business he’d been so focused on achieving from such a young age had gradually turned into a monster, intent on gorging every ounce of energy and life force he possessed in return for the rewards he’d once deemed so essential to his self-esteem and his life.

Frighteningly, he had experienced periods of late when his body had threatened to barely get him through the day at all. More frightening still was the fact that very little in his life—either some achievement or something material—managed to give him pleasure any more. It appeared as though he was numb to the sensation. Even this new project, installing one of his exclusive resorts in this scenic, wild and—as research informed him—desirable corner of south-west England was quickly starting to lose the excitement and appeal it had initially held. But the last thing his shareholders wanted to hear was that he had lost that lucrative, moneymaking killer instinct that had helped so spectacularly to line their pockets too.

Sighing, Rodrigo stepped out of the shower onto the aquamarine tiled floor. Reaching for a voluminous white towel that had been left warming on the radiator, he dried himself vigorously, dressed in clean jeans and a sweatshirt, combed his fingers through his still damp hair and then turned to view his scowling reflection in the steamy mirror.

He didn’t like what he saw. The confirmation of his thoughts about the lack of relaxation in any form was written clear in the dullness of his eyes, in the new lines he spied round his mouth and gouged into his forehead. Even through the steam they mercilessly confronted him.

A picture came into his mind of his angelic-looking ex-wife. Would a hot night of unconstrained lust in her bed, with soft sighs, mutually hungry needs passionately met, cure him of the dullness in his eyes? Would it help him regain some of the strength and vitality that lately he sensed he had lost?

Grimacing as another wave of erotic heat seized his body, Rodrigo didn’t doubt it would. But after the way he had treated her would Jenny even consider it?

As he turned to leave the room he silently acknowledged that it wasn’t just the promise of a warming nighttime drink he was hoping for…

She was standing by the stove, watching over a simmering pan of milk. Somehow knowing he was there, she turned towards him and, surprisingly, gifted him with a smile. Her lovely face was scrubbed clean as a child’s and her huge china-blue eyes set up such a violent longing in Rodrigo that he barely knew how to handle it. It wasn’t just the natural healthy longing of a sexually aroused male at the sight of an attractive woman either. It was the totally contradictory yearning for an impossible dream that he usually dismissed as viciously as swatting an annoying fly—a dream that he had had within his grasp but had incredibly let go. But sometimes—like now—it broke through his insatiable need for success and acceptance by the world and almost throttled those desires by the throat. Yet its tantalising promise could never be forhim. He was a pragmatist, a realist…a man a million miles away from ever putting his faith in such an impossibly unattainable idea. No doubt his lovely ex-wife would back him up on that.

Wearing a full-length cream dressing gown, its lapels patterned with tiny sprigged red roses, little Jenny Wren radiated the kind of innocence and purity that made Rodrigo briefly mourn for the hopefulness and joy of his early youth. Before he had discovered that in his ardent pursuit of success the world would extract every ounce of that hopefulness and joy and pay him back with constant growing tension and a vague unease that all was not right.

Rubbing his hand over his chest in a bid to ease the sudden clutch of discomfort that had collected there, he appreciatively registered that Jenny’s golden hair had been left to dry naturally, in almost too tempting to touch blonde ringlets. Finding himself in a trance, he paused in the doorway just to gaze at her…enjoying the stirring sight she made as if paying homage to an exquisite work of art in a gallery.

‘I’m making hot chocolate. Is that okay?’

‘It is more than just okay. I could not think of a more perfect ending to a night like this.’

Liar, his silent inner voice mocked as he easily thought of a far more exciting and alluring alternative. But, as if to illustrate his comment, a violent blast of furious thunder overhead made the whole house feel as though the very walls were about to disintegrate into a pile of rubble.

‘Sit down. I’ll bring it over to you when it’s ready.’

‘I get the feeling that there’s no one around tonight but us. Am I right in thinking I’m the only guest staying here?’

‘You are. Like I said…’ she whipped up the milk in the pan with a tiny whisk as if she was no stranger to the task ‘…we’re pretty quiet at the moment. The summer holidays are long over, and it probably won’t get busy again until nearly Christmas.’

‘And will you still be here then, helping Lily out?’

Jenny’s slender shoulders visibly stilled. ‘No. I won’t. I told you…she’s due back in a couple of weeks and I’ll be returning to London.’

‘To the house you grew up in as a child.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yet you seem more at home here than anywhere I’ve seen you before.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because this rural environment suits you…In fact, it wouldn’t require a great stretch of the imagination to see you as a country girl, Jenny. Yes, I can visualise you sitting in your cosy little stone cottage each evening as the sun goes down, the tantalising smell of the day’s fruitful baking lingering in the air.’

‘And in this tantalising little scenario am I on my own?’ The catch in her voice had Rodrigo frowning deeply.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘You tell me.’ Even though his voice was calm, it felt as if an icy boulder had taken up residence inside his belly.