The Spaniard's Stolen Bride. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
about it. Because she had never felt anything like this. Nothing quite so dangerous, nothing quite so exhilarating. Her life had been lived entirely to please her father. Entirely to live up to the memory of her mother.
Lusting for dark and dangerous men fit nowhere in that. But Diego had swept into her father’s house like an undeniable force. Indeed, he had swept into her bedroom tonight like one as well. And at the moment there was nothing she could do.
She was being whisked away, after all. She could hardly leap from the helicopter.
And the fact that he made her stomach sink, made it swoop like a butterfly whose wings had been torn, one that was falling out of the sky, toward its inevitable demise... Well, right now there was nothing she could do about that.
“If you truly wanted to marry me, you could have spoken to my father,” she said, her voice small.
“You don’t understand,” Diego said. “I must prevent my brother from marrying you.” He turned to face her for a moment, his lip curled into a sneer. “If he marries you, then he gains the inheritance of the ranch. I want you, and I want the rancho. My marriage ensures that I get it. And that is why you must marry me. The fact that I have fantasies of tearing that virginal nightgown from your body is only a bonus.”
His words rolled over her like a poison. He didn’t want her, not really. He didn’t want to marry her because he had any finer feelings for her. He wanted to marry her because of an inheritance.
Matías wanted to use her as well, wanted to use her to forge an alliance with her father, and apparently, to get an inheritance. But that didn’t bother her. Because when it came to Matías, she had only been following her father’s orders.
Her feelings for Diego had nothing to do with orders.
“If my brother has had you, that makes no difference to me. In fact, I shall take a great joy in wiping your memory of him from your mind.”
She realized what he meant, though it took a moment, and shock rolled over her.
She had not been with Matías. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. She didn’t know why, but for the moment it felt like a small bit of power.
He said that he didn’t care, but the fact he had mentioned it made her think that perhaps he did.
And so she said nothing. She simply sat with her hands folded, staring straight ahead into the darkness as she was taken further and further away from any kind of certainty and deeper into this madness of Diego’s making.
DIEGO WATCHED HIS captive closely as they walked from the helicopter toward his home. If she was expecting that there would be anyone here who might become sympathetic to her plight and offer her assistance, she would be sadly mistaken. He had taken pains to clear his house of all the usual staff, leaving it stocked with everything they would need to get through the next period of time without drawing attention to them.
He paused at the beginning of the walkway that led up to the old manor that looked near consumed by ivy where it was pressed deep into a rocky hillside.
He extended his gloved hand, and she took it, and he could feel her delicate fingers, could feel the heat of her body through the black leather.
He felt a bit like Hades, leading Persephone down into the underworld.
Some men might be consumed with guilt at that easy comparison. The idea that they might be the devil himself.
Diego suffered from no such guilt.
Diego did not suffer from a conscience at all.
Liliana was silent, and she looked like a very small ghost shrouded in her white nightgown, her pale hair blowing in the breeze.
“Where are we?”
“On a private island,” he said. “Near enough to Spain, but far enough as well. This is mine. And no, my brother does not know.”
“It’s... It looks rather English.”
“The English like Spain,” he said. “At least, they like to get drunk in Spain.”
“Is that what you like about Spain?”
“I am Spanish, querida.”
“Of course,” she said, her cheeks coloring slightly.
How funny that she could be embarrassed over making a faux pas with him. Her kidnapper. How charming that she would care at all.
“I take that as a compliment on the proficiency of my English,” he said. His lips curved into a smile. “But not as much of a compliment on my character.”
“Were you looking for compliments on your character, Diego? Because if so, you might have stopped short of the kidnapping.”
He chuckled. “I was not. It is delightfully freeing when you don’t care about your own morality. If you just sink into turpitude, I find that it has a very warm embrace. And there are a host of fabulous side effects. A lack of caring what anyone thinks. Least of all your own conscience.”
“Some of us don’t live exclusively for ourselves,” she said softly.
“Your father?” He wondered if the poor creature imagined her father to be a good man. Why wouldn’t she? She was... She was sweet. And in this world that was a rare and precious thing. A thing he was going to destroy. He should care about that. He found he didn’t. “What a fantastic paragon for you to live for.”
He began to walk more quickly, drawing her into the entryway of the house, and pressing his thumb against the door to unlock it. “My thumbprint only, tesoro,” he said.
“Does that include getting out as well?”
He laughed. “You know it does. Again, I would not conduct a kidnapping without being thorough.”
“I suppose I should appreciate that as a commentary on my fortitude and ingenuity.”
“I feel that you should be flattered by this entire caper.”
“Should I?”
“Indeed. I’ve gone to quite a lot of trouble to procure you.”
“More due to the relationship with your brother than anything to do with you.”
“Yes. But if I did not find you enticing in your own right then I would simply have held on to you until the date on my grandfather’s great edict expired.”
“Lucky me.”
“Many women would say that you were lucky. Being fought over by the Navarro brothers as you are.”
“And yet, I feel more like a wretched hen between the jaws of two posturing dogs.”
“Or, a precious gem being traded amongst thieves. Pick your metaphor, tesoro. I would pick the more flattering of the two.”
“I don’t have the motivation. Flattered or not, I remain kidnapped.”
“Perhaps you will in time.” He brought her inside, closing the door behind them. The lock clicked with a delicious, satisfying finality.
“What are you going to do with me?” For the first time, she looked afraid. No, more than afraid—terrified. And two things dawned on him in that moment. That she had not looked truly frightened this entire time, which was an oddity. She seemed to have accepted her kidnapping with a remarkable aplomb. She had not fought him. In fact, she had clung to him, long after her safety had depended on it.
She had opened the window for him.
Something about that kicked masculine triumph through his veins. She did not hate him. That much was clear.
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