The Alcolar Family. Kate WalkerЧитать онлайн книгу.
the frustration of breaking off lovemaking when her senses were already fully aroused. And she had been aroused. He had known it. Sensed it in the yielding suppleness of her body, the way she had swayed towards him, the way her mouth had opened under his and she had returned his kiss with every ounce of the intensity that he had put into it for her.
She had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. And breaking off as abruptly as she had done must have left every nerve in her body screaming, her senses desperate for appeasement.
And she had had to break away because of concern for his health. No wonder she had reacted so violently.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I understand.’
Right now he really did understand. Along with the ache of frustration, an uncomfortable pounding had started up inside his head. If he needed any indication of the fact that Cassandra was right and he had been pushing things, then that was it.
‘Okay,’ he said abruptly. ‘We’ll eat instead.’
The look she turned on him was pure Cassandra, exasperation evident in the flash of her eyes, the irritated exclamation. But at least this time he knew what was going on, and recognised what was pushing her. And knew that she recognised what had brought about his hasty capitulation.
‘You see!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was right!’
‘Yeah,’ Joaquin admitted wryly. ‘You were right. I think I’ll go and sit quietly by the pool for a while.’
‘You do that.’
It was so prim and smug that it tugged at the corners of his mouth, quirking them into a reluctant grin.
‘And don’t gloat,’ he flung at her.
Cassandra’s smile was instant, wide and spontaneous.
‘Would I?’ she teased. ‘You’ve admitted I was right—what more do I need? Now go and sit down.’
‘Sὶ, senorita!’
His response was light, flippant, relieved. This was the Cassandra he remembered. The Cassandra he wanted in his life. That other woman was a stranger; one he didn’t understand.
But perhaps he was the one who was behaving like a stranger. Perhaps he had been so shaken up by the accident—and he had to admit that being in hospital for the first time in his life had rocked him badly—that he wasn’t thinking straight.
Cassandra wasn’t the one who had changed but him.
‘I promise. For the rest of the night, I will do exactly as you say. Follow the doctors’ orders to the letter.’
‘If I could believe that, I’d relax a lot more.’
It was said with such feeling that he couldn’t stop himself. He had to reassure her. Had to let her know that he understood, and appreciated, her behaviour.
Walking over to her, he reached out a hand, put it under her chin, and lifted her face to his so that wide, brilliant blue eyes locked sharply with deep, intent black.
‘Believe it,’ he declared huskily. ‘To the letter.’
And then, because he just had, he dropped a firm, swift kiss onto her mouth, just enough pressure to communicate how much he meant what he’d said. And knew immediately that it was a mistake.
His still-hungry body wasn’t lying quiet as he had thought. The carnal craving that he had for this woman had only been subdued, not suppressed. And as soon as his mouth touched hers it sprang to hard and brutal life again, clawing at him mercilessly, making him want to grab at her, fling her to the floor, tear that dress…
No!
He had to get out of here. Get away and calm down, cool down. Think of something—anything else.
He had promised her he would do as she asked. And he’d meant it. So now he had to stick to it.
Ruthlessly suppressing the hungry clamour inside him, he looked her deep in the eyes one last time before dropping a kiss down on the delightful, faintly upturned tip of her nose. Just a brief butterfly kiss. There and then away again, because he didn’t trust himself not to do anything else if he lingered.
‘To the letter,’ he promised again. Then made himself walk away, heading for the door out into the garden.
It was as he stepped out in to the shadowy warmth of the evening that he turned to glance back and saw her still standing where he had left her, watching him, wide-eyed. Her right hand had been lifted to her mouth and was covering her lips, fingertips pressed against their softness.
But it was something in her expression that caught on his nerves, jagged and twisted uncomfortably.
And suddenly all the hard-won peace of mind that he had fought for vanished, evaporating swiftly, and he knew once again that nagging feeling of edginess and uncertainty that had so unsettled him all day.
Cassie didn’t know how she managed to prepare the meal without slicing into her finger or putting salt into the fruit salad. She couldn’t force her mind to concentrate, and the knowledge that this was only the beginning was what made things so much worse.
She had managed to deal with things this time, had got Joaquin to understand this once—but what would happen next time?
And there would be a next time, of that she was sure. Joaquin might have seemed understanding and reasonable tonight, but she couldn’t rely on him being in the same mood again. For one thing, it was the lingering after-effects of his accident that had pushed him into an unexpectedly swift capitulation. But with each day that passed he would grow stronger, getting his health back as quickly and efficiently as he did anything.
The bruise on his head wasn’t likely to be a problem for very much longer.
The memory loss was a very different matter indeed. And it kept her trapped in that very uncomfortable cleft stick for as long as it took for the events of the past four weeks to come back into Joaquin’s mind.
Just how uncomfortable her situation could become was brought home sharply to her at the end of the evening. And it hit her all the harder because of the way she had actually managed to relax in the end.
Joaquin had stuck strictly to his promise. He would follow her orders to the letter, he’d said—and that was just what he did.
As soon as she said that the meal was ready, he came to help her carry plates through into the dining room. Then he joined her at the table, ate what she put in front of him, stuck strictly to mineral water for himself, but offered to open a bottle of wine for her. An offer that Cassie decided it was more than wise to refuse. She needed all her wits about her at the moment, and, although the thought of the relaxing effects of a little alcohol were appealing, there was always the danger that, feeling as uptight as she did, she might indulge in one glass too many, relax way too much—and let slip things that she really should keep to herself.
But in the end she found that she didn’t really need the wine. Joaquin kept the conversation light, and on strictly neutral topics, never once straying into controversial or problematic territory. He managed to steer his way perfectly between the twin problems of assuming too much and behaving like the lover he had been, and that of being almost a complete stranger, so that the evening had to be spent dancing round each other mentally, not knowing how much to say, how much to reveal.
It was only later, when she had gone to bed and was lying wakeful in the darkness, that Cassie realised that the behaviour that had made her feel so much better during the evening should in fact have acted as a warning. It revealed that Joaquin was very much alert to the way she was feeling. That he had noticed her unease, and was determined, for that night at least, to ease it. As a result he had lulled her into what might well be a totally false sense of security.
But by the time that darkness had fallen and the silence of the night had gathered round them, she had just been so thankful that they had got through the evening without any