The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
such studied neutrality that she knew it wasn’t accidental. It was hiding the truth, whatever that was.
“My parents are wedded to the old halls of our family estate. They would never dream of leaving. In fact, if my parents died and Renzo left it to rot, I can assure you my father would haunt him from beyond the grave and rattle his chains over the unpolished silver.”
Cristian studied her closely, a strange light in his eyes. “Do you imagine your father will be in chains in the afterlife?”
“I was being dramatic. I’m Italian. We are also capable of exaggerating for dramatic effect, if you didn’t realize.”
He looked up, somewhere past her, the sunlight shining in his eyes, revealing the deep, rich coffee color of his eyes, revealing that they weren’t pure black. That there was humanity behind them. “My father is most certainly in chains. If there is justice in the next life, that is.”
“I certainly hope there is. There is rarely justice in this one.”
He looked around the room. “Do you find this situation unjust?”
“How could I find it anything else?”
He lifted a hand. “You are in a multimillion-dollar home in one of the most beautiful parts of Spain. You have a man with a title—and several billion dollars—willing to marry you and give your child legitimacy. I would say many people would not feel quite so persecuted.”
She arched a brow, not to be undone. She would never be undone by Cristian again. “Those who would not feel persecuted by the situation couldn’t possibly know you as well as I do.”
He took a step toward her, his eyes glittering like black diamonds. “Ah yes, and you do know me, don’t you? Intimately.”
She despised the heat that washed over her face, and the color that no doubt accompanied it. She despised that he could affect her so. “I don’t think that counts. As far as I knew, you were Death.”
“Very romantic. Conquering Death by taming him. However—” he rubbed his hand over his chin, the sound of his whiskers whispering over his skin strangely arousing “—I was not tamed.”
“I’m actually fine with that. Were you ever to be tamed, Cristian, I should hope that it isn’t by me. I don’t wish to be stuck with you as a child might be stuck with a dog that followed them home.”
She knew, the moment those words left her hot mouth, that she had made a mistake. She knew it, even as he advanced on her, but she found herself frozen, unable to move. Then, as he drew closer, she took a step backward, then another step. Her back came into contact with the wall behind her, and she was thrown back into a flash of memory. From that night. From when Cristian had put his hands all over her, from when he had made her lose her mind, and her purity, in that one brilliant blaze of shameful glory in a quiet palace corridor.
“I am not a dog,” he said, his voice low. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, but he didn’t touch her. Shamefully, wantonly, she felt her body begin to soften for him. Felt a dull ache begin to grow beneath her thighs, beating a tattoo in time with her heartbeat.
“I think it much more likely, Allegra, that I should tame you. I think it is you who could be brought to heel.” He tilted his head to the side, studying her closely. “Yes. Even now, you want me. You can say you didn’t know who I was, you can talk of despising me all you like. But you want me. As much now as you wanted me then. You want me now, even knowing who I am.” He pushed away from her, and she let out a breath, feeling nearly dizzy with the effort that had been put into holding it before. “Interesting.”
“There is nothing interesting about this,” she said, holding her jaw tight as she spoke. “Disgusting is more like it.”
She and Cristian had always fought. Always. But this had a new edge to it. So sharp she feared it might cut her straight through.
“So disgusting that you wish to be filled with me even now. What does that say about you?”
She gritted her teeth against the rising heat and humiliation inside of her. “I do not understand the point of you baiting me, Cristian. I will agree to the marriage, but you will not touch me. And you will not wed me in a church. Even I have my limits.”
“Pity. I find that I don’t.”
“The state of your eternal soul is your affair. I would like mine to remain as unscathed as possible.” She didn’t want to lie in front of her parents, but she would. Lying in a cathedral was a step too far.
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