Christmas Kisses: The Spanish Billionaire's Christmas Bride / Christmas Bride-To-Be / Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses. Alison Roberts
‘No! That is not good enough!’
His fist came down on the table and rattled the crockery. Matilde’s lips trembled and she stared at Cristiano in obvious trepidation. Seeing her sweet little face very close to tears, Cristiano was immediately contrite—though no less angry with Dominique for her disagreeable announcement.
‘I am sorry, mi ángel … I did not mean to frighten you,’ he murmured to the baby and, leaning towards her, tenderly stroked her cheek. Lifting his gaze to Dominique, he ruefully shook his head. ‘Do not punish my family because you are mad at me,’ he said gruffly. ‘They want you to stay … I want you to stay!’
‘Matilde needs a wash. Excuse me.’
Getting to her feet with the baby in her arms, Dominique barely glanced at Cristiano. Again he silently cursed himself for making her distance herself from him like this when secretly he craved anything but distance between them!
‘Come back and have a cup of coffee with me?’ he suggested lightly.
He could see by the look in her blue eyes that she was torn for a moment, and Cristiano felt hope flare in his heart. But then she wrenched her glance free and walked to the door.
‘I have some Christmas cards to write,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Back in the library after dinner, still brooding over what had happened the previous night, and still hurt that Cristiano had not sought her out for a private conversation for the rest of the day since their encounter at breakfast, Dominique found herself once again drawn to the group of photographs she had been going to examine yesterday.
One large colour portrait dominated all the rest. It consisted of three men in a formal family pose. In the centre was an older man, with thick greying hair and rather kind dark eyes, and on either side of him stood Ramón and Cristiano. The picture must have been taken a good seven or eight years ago at least, Dominique reflected, because Ramón looked not much more than a boy. Her heart squeezed as a shaft of pain went through it. It was hard to believe he was dead.
But, despite her sorrow at a young life taken too soon, it was Cristiano’s image that drew her gaze the most. It was almost a shock to see him apparently so relaxed and happy—happier than Dominique had ever seen him. And what caught her eye too was the glint of gold on what would be his wedding finger. Her stomach executed a dizzying somersault. What had happened to his wife? Why was she never mentioned by anyone? Were they divorced? Had she had left Cristiano for another man? Such a scenario seemed hardly conceivable!
Behind her the door creaked open, and with a frisson of surprise she saw the man she’d been contemplating in the photograph standing there in the flesh.
‘I have been looking for you,’ he told her.
‘Have you?’ Wary of letting her guard down around him again, Dominique shrugged. ‘And I thought you’d been avoiding me for most of the day!’
‘Then you thought wrong.’ He sighed. ‘That was taken about seven years ago,’ he commented as he walked towards her, his glance leaving her to settle on the photograph she’d been studying. ‘The man in the centre is my father, José. I suppose you have been looking at Ramón?’
Drawing the vivid blue shawl that Cristiano had bought her at the gypsy market more securely about her shoulders, Dominique glanced up at him, and she was certain her heart missed a beat. The pain in his voice as he’d asked the question was palpable, and her sudden need to help ease it in some way was intense.
‘Actually … I was looking at you,’ she confessed, her blue eyes directly meeting his.
‘Oh?’
‘You look—you look so content … And I noticed that you’re wearing a wedding ring?’
Before she’d spoken Cristiano had appeared as though he was going to smile at her, but the instant Dominique mentioned the wedding ring his face changed completely. The deeply contoured slashes that denoted his cheekbones were sucked in sharply, and the broad banks of his wide shoulders seemed to visibly tense in what appeared to Dominique to be a potentially explosive cocktail of pain and anger.
‘That was another life. One that I do not particularly want to discuss in casual conversation!’
Stung, Dominique retaliated. ‘Just because I mentioned the fact you were wearing a wedding ring doesn’t mean that I treat the idea of your marriage remotely “casually”, Cristiano! Anything but! Something told me when we first met that you had been badly hurt by someone. Until last night I thought that we—that we were becoming close … that you might trust me enough to confide in me. Don’t you think it’s absolutely normal that I might be interested in your past? It’s not my intention to hurt you by bringing it up!’
‘You do not have to intend hurt … Talking about that particular phase in my life inevitably does inflict pain, Dominique!’
Sensing the debilitating tightening in the area of his chest that always responded thus at the memory of his wife and baby, Cristiano fought to get past the waves of grief so that what he said would make some sense. Strangely, he suddenly realised that he did not feel as vehemently opposed to discussing what had happened as he usually did. Was that because he did indeed feel that he could trust Dominique with knowledge of the most tragic event of his life and knew she would not abuse that trust?
He had come in search of her because he could barely stand another second of being without her company, and he’d wanted the opportunity to try in some way to heal the rift that had come between them since this morning. Cristiano did not want to give the appearance of rejecting her again by refusing to be drawn about his past.
‘Martina and I were married for three years. Just over two years ago she died, giving birth to our baby. Our child did not survive. The surgeons could not save either of them.’ He had automatically crossed his arms over his chest, as if subconsciously protecting his heart, and he sensed Dominique’s little sigh of shock feather softly over him. Cristiano grimaced. ‘She knew she was taking a huge risk in becoming pregnant, given her history—but she kept the knowledge from me until it was too late.’
‘Cristiano—I’m so sorry!’
Her lovely blue eyes were glassy with tears, and instead of dwelling on his own tragedy, Cristiano found himself wondering how anyone could thoughtlessly cause this incredible woman pain when she clearly had a heart wider than any ocean on the map?
Suddenly the need to have her in his arms became overwhelming, and he closed the gap between them in one stride, drawing her urgently against his chest. Before Dominique could utter a word Cristiano desperately sought her mouth, claiming a hard, hot kiss that he honestly wished could go on for ever. But at some point he did come up for air, and when he glanced down into Dominique’s flushed, beautiful face, he registered the piercing need her features revealed with a bone-deep ache unlike any he had ever known before …
‘Tonight,’ he murmured, unable to deny her need any longer. ‘Will you allow me to come to you?’
Equally unable to deny him, despite the heartbreak of the night before, Dominique nodded her acceptance …
Her heart seemed to be breaking with sadness. She was dreaming of snow and Christmas trees, and her mother not loving her, and a tear slid from beneath her lashes and dampened her cheek. Something gentle brushed it away and a soft sigh escaped her.
The wonderful sensation of warm hands cupping her face made Dominique suddenly turn rigid as she realised this was no dream, and her eyelids flew open in shock. In the moonlight that filtered into the room through the partially opened drapes, Cristiano’s dark eyes gleamed back at her, and his sensual lips curved into a smile that was as seductive as it was concerned.
‘You were crying.’ His rich velvet voice was pitched deliberately low in deference to the baby sleeping peacefully in her crib.
‘A bad dream …’ Husky with sleep,