The Spaniard's Blackmailed Bride

The Spaniard's Blackmailed Bride
Trish Morey

Blackmailed into marriage to save her family, Briar Davenport aims to remain a virgin bride–for she despises her husband, Diablo Barrentes!But when the sexy Spaniard touches her, Briar loses all her resolve and reason! Yet despite their passion, can a marriage of convenience–born out of revenge–ever be anything more? As secrets are revealed, Briar comes to realize that with Diablo it is better the devil you know….

The Spaniard’s Blackmailed Bride

Trish Morey

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For Anne Gracie, who introduced me to Diablo.

One fantastic author.

An even better friend.

Thanks, Anne, this one’s for you!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS much too late for a social call.

Briar Davenport crossed the entrance hall uneasily, the click of her heels on the dusty terrazzo tiles echoing in the lofty space while a premonition that all was not right in the world played havoc with her nerves.

Late-night visitors rarely meant good news.

The chimes rang out yet again and she reined in an unfamiliar urge to yell for whoever it was to hang on. But Davenports never yelled through doors—even when their senses were strained tight from trying to work out which family heirloom to send next to auction—it was bad enough that these days they were reduced to opening them.

Her hand hovered over the door handle for a moment while she took a deep breath, trying to calm her frayed nerves and think logically. It didn’t have to be bad news. Sooner or later their run of bad luck had to change. Why not tonight?

Then she pulled open the door and bad luck just got worse.

‘You!’

Diablo Barrentes leant into the open doorway, one arm propped high above her head, his black-clad torso arching over hers, and it was all she could do not to reel back from the sheer force of his hard-wired body. In the spill of the entry lighting he looked more like an extension of the night sky than a man—dark and filled with untold dangers. Tonight his shoulder-length black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail that did nothing to detract from his masculinity and everything to emphasize his dramatic buccaneer looks, but it was the flash of triumph in those black-lit eyes, the slight upturn at the corners of his full lips, that turned her thoughts to sudden panic and had her fingers itching to jam that piece of timber right back where it had come from.

Instead she forced herself to stand her ground, jagging her chin higher as if it might increase her already not insubstantial height. In heels her eyes fell but an inch short of his.

‘What do you want?’

‘I’m surprised,’ he said, one side of his mouth rising higher as if amused by her efforts to match his height. ‘I half expected you to slam the door in my face.’

Oh, Lord, the last thing she needed was to be reminded of how much her fingers itched to do just that. Already her grip on the door had turned her knuckles white as she schooled her voice to clipped civility. ‘Then I don’t need to tell you you’re not welcome here.’

‘Still, I am here.’

Four words, four simple words, and yet spoken in the remnants of that rich Castilian accent like a threat. Fear tracked a spidery path through her veins.

‘Why?’

‘And how delightful to see you too, Briar,’ he said, ignoring her question while emphasizing her incivility. But being polite was hardly a concern to her right now. Not when his accent curled around her name as if he were devouring it.

As if he were devouring her.

She shivered. If he thought that, then he was definitely reading the wrong menu.

‘Believe me,’ she squeezed out, battling to keep her voice even, ‘the pleasure is all yours.’

He laughed, barely more than a chuckle, a low sound that rumbled, somehow insinuating itself into her flesh and right through to her bones.

‘Sí,’ he agreed, his eyes making no apology as they traversed her length, all the way from her eyes, searing a trail over her curves and down her designer denim-clad legs to her pink leather boots, and then all the way up again.

The slow way.

The hot way.

His eyes, heavy with raw heat and firm possession, finally returned to hers and it was all she could do to remember to breathe.

‘It’s been my pleasure, indeed,’ he murmured.