Married For Convenience: Forgotten Husband / The Marriage Arrangement / The Husband Test. HELEN BIANCHIN
could there have been distaste that they were merely lusting after your body? Not to mention your——’ she hesitated deliberately, then finished with considered delicacy ‘—impressive skill in the bedroom.’
‘Only in the bedroom, mi mujer?’ he mocked cynically. ‘I retain a vivid recollection of several enjoyable…encounters, shall we say?’ he suggested, slanting one eyebrow. ‘When we shared the shower, the spa.’ His eyes gleamed as soft pink coloured her cheeks. ‘Shall I continue?’
‘You’ve had plenty of practice, damn you!’
‘You are jealous, querida, that any one of my former lovers might possibly have meant more to me than you do?’
Elise felt her eyes widen with shock. Was she so transparent? Could he be aware of how much she hated the thought of his splendidly muscular body engaged in the act of lovemaking with another woman…? Women, she corrected. Past and present.
‘How could I be jealous,’ she countered, with as much pride as she could muster, ‘when you clearly defined the reason for our marriage, allocated a price-tag and specified a time-limit?’
‘That bothers you?’
It bothered her like hell, but she was damned if she would admit to it. ‘About as much as the fact that you’ve chosen to retain Savannah as your mistress.’
‘The term mistress conveys a woman kept by a husband while still co-habiting with his wife.’ His eyes were dark, and held latent anger. ‘You imagine I would insult you in such a manner?’
I don’t know. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would at least keep the…liaison discreet.’
There was a perceptible pause, one in which it seemed that even a pin falling to the floor would result in cacophonous sound. ‘Am I to understand that you give your sanction to such a relationship?’
No. The silent negation screamed inside her head. It took tremendous effort to effect a slight shrug. ‘Would anything I say make a difference?’
He appeared to be marshalling his anger, confining it beneath a mantle of superb control. ‘We have a dinner engagement,’ he reminded her icily. ‘I suggest you get changed.’
The thought of sitting through a formal dinner in the company of some of the city’s social glitterati was more than she could bear. ‘Forgive me, Alejandro,’ she said with bitter cynicism, ‘but I can’t bring myself to play pretend tonight.’ Her eyes sparkled with emerald brilliance. ‘I’m sure you can come up with some valid excuse that will explain my absence.’ A devilish imp prompted her to add, ‘Savannah will be delighted.’
He looked at her for what seemed an age, his expression a compelling mask from which she inwardly shrank. ‘You tempt me to the brink of violence,’ he said in a voice that was so dangerously quiet it raised all her fine body-hairs in silent fear.
Without a further word he discarded his clothes and strode into the bathroom. He didn’t slam the door, and she found that infinitely more disquieting than if he had resorted to an outward display of anger.
Ten minutes later he emerged, a towel hitched low over his hips, and she moved hastily to her feet as he began to dress.
‘Ask Ana to prepare you something to eat.’
‘It’s her night off,’ Elise managed in a stilted voice. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing her.’ She crossed to the door. ‘I’m quite capable of fixing something myself.’
She didn’t wait for Alejandro to respond, and on reaching ground level she made her way to the kitchen.
The refrigerator was well stocked, so too was the pantry. It was just a matter of making a decision. An omelette would suffice, with cheese, tomato, ham, mushrooms…Not that she felt in the least hungry. If anything, the thought of food made her ill.
She removed a skillet, assembled the ingredients on the bench-top, then chopped, sliced and diced with methodical stoicism.
Alejandro entered the kitchen as she turned the omelette on to a plate, and she willed her hands not to betray her as she turned down the gas.
His raking appraisal unsettled her more than any words he could have chosen to utter, and she turned away from him as she carried her plate to the wide servery bench, then returned to collect cutlery.
She sensed rather than heard him move, and seconds later she felt his hands close over her shoulders as he turned her towards him.
For one achingly long moment their eyes clashed, then his head lowered in seemingly slow motion, and a strangled cry of dissent lay imprisoned in her throat as his mouth closed over hers in a hard merciless kiss that tore at her defences and reached right down to the depths of her soul.
It became a ruthless invasion that bordered on violation, and when at last he lifted his head, she could only stand in shocked immobility. If he had wanted to punish her, he’d succeeded, she decided numbly.
She felt raw, her whole body consumed by an emotional pain so intense that it was almost a tangible entity. Her eyes began to ache, then glistened with tears she refused to allow to fall.
His features were harsh, and with a muttered imprecation he turned and strode from the kitchen.
Minutes later she heard the muted sound of a car engine start up, then its refined purr diminished as it reached the end of the driveway.
She hugged her arms together, and tried valiantly to maintain a measure of control.
How long she stood there she had no idea, for she had no sense of the passage of time as she attempted to rationalise the foolishness of pitching her strength against a man whose physical and emotional strength were infinitely superior to her own.
It was only the prosaic need for food that refocused her attention, and with determined resolve she collected cutlery and systematically divided the cold omelette into bite-sized portions, forking them automatically into her mouth.
When she had finished, she cleaned the skillet, rinsed the plate and cutlery, and placed them in the dishwasher.
The house seemed incredibly silent, the lounge much too large for her to sit in alone. Feeling thoroughly unsettled, she wandered into the informal sala, collected a magazine, and sank into one of the deep cushioned seats. The pages were not able to capture her interest, and she discarded the magazine, choosing instead to use the remote module to switch on the television. Surely there would be something she could become involved in, she thought with despair, as she clicked one channel after another.
Two half-hour comedy shows provided some light relief, but her appreciation of the humour portrayed was only superficial, and when they were over she roved between the channels in search of a movie that might prove interesting.
There was not much selection, and she crossed to the cabinet and browsed through the collection of videos, discarding all but one. It was a dark Gothic piece that had earned critical acclaim, but she found it too intense, and was quite pleased when the credits finally rolled.
Elise crossed back into the kitchen and filled a glass with ice from the freezer, then added orange juice and slowly sipped the contents.
What time would Alejandro come home? If he came home, a tiny voice taunted. Dammit, of course he would. He had never stayed out before, so why would he begin now?
Maybe because you virtually gave him carte blanche to spend time with Savannah, the same tiny voice reminded her with devilish glee.
A glance at her watch revealed it to be after ten, and with sudden decisiveness she finished the juice, then made for the stairs. She would have a shower, then go to bed.
Twenty minutes later she slid beneath the cool linen sheets, snapped off the light, and closed her eyes.
Sleep did not provide the release she craved, and half an hour later she gave a muttered groan and slid out of bed, choosing to curl up in a chair close