Claiming His Convenient Fiancée. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
didn’t get the chance to breathe, let alone reply. Because he’d bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. It was the softest, lightest kiss and not at all what she’d have expected. Silenced, stilled, she waited. There was another light, gentle caress—lips on lips. And then another.
That was when she realised he was the kind of lover who would take his time. Infinite time and care, to arouse her. The thing was, she didn’t need that much time. Her toes curled in the ends of her shoes as he kissed her again and she couldn’t help her slight gasp, the parting of her suddenly needy mouth. But he didn’t press closer, harder—instead, he kept the kiss light, almost sweet, and he was utterly in control. There was just that underlying edge as she absorbed the rigidity of his body...and started to realise that the tightness of his grasp on her wrists was no longer to hold her in place, but to hold himself back.
She looked up at him, bemused by his tender, go softly approach. He threw her a small smile, as if he knew exactly how much she’d anticipated a punishing kiss from him—all frantic passion and a duelling race to the finish line.
And she was not disappointed it hadn’t become that kind of kiss. Nor was she yearning for another.
‘That wasn’t enough?’ he teased knowingly. ‘You want a little more?’
‘That was more than enough,’ she lied with a little shrug. ‘I guess this is where you say we English have no passion.’
‘I’ve yet to meet a woman who doesn’t feel passion when she’s with me—’
‘You mean anger? Rage?’
He chuckled and brushed his thumb across her hyper-sensitised lips. ‘Too easy.’
Awareness rippled down her spine, a warm tide of liquid desire. It was impossible that she be so drawn to this man. He was a philanderer—a total playboy who’d had more lovers than she had freckles. And she had a lot of freckles.
He was just toying with her—too aware of his sensual power and utterly assured of his success.
‘I won’t be another of your numbers.’ She promised herself that.
‘No?’ He laughed and shook her gently. ‘You already are. More than that—you’re my fiancée.’
She died of mortification all over again. In the heat of that kiss she’d forgotten that nightmare moment. ‘Why didn’t you deny it?’ She swallowed.
‘I don’t like seeing anyone ganged up on,’ he said simply. ‘I dislike bullies. It was evident what was going on.’
What would the supremely successful Alejandro Martinez know about bullies? As she frowned at him another emotion flickered across his face. But he suddenly stepped back, looking as suavely in control as ever. He extended his hand to her and waited. That he was so astute surprised her. Now she knew why he hadn’t denied that outrageous engagement story to Sarah. He’d felt sorry for her. She felt worse than ever.
She hesitated, looking into his eyes, unable to read him at all now.
‘Let’s go back inside,’ he said quietly.
With a small sigh she put her hand in his and walked back into the house. But they didn’t return to the packed ground floor reception rooms; instead he led her up the stairs that she had previously used to get to the private library.
‘Stay here awhile, make yourself at home,’ he teased wolfishly as he showed her into the room.
She should have known that moment of kindness and humanity wouldn’t last in him.
‘Where are you going?’ She eyed him suspiciously.
He had his phone out and a key in his hand—one of the large old-fashioned keys that fitted the internal doors in this house.
‘I’m going to get rid of all my guests. I can do that better if you’re not with me.’
‘And you’re going to lock me in here while you do that?’ She folded her arms and called him on it. ‘What if there’s a fire?’
‘I’ll play the hero and rescue you.’ He simply smiled and looked rakish.
‘You’re no hero—you’re all villain.’
He flashed another smile. ‘Women always like the bad boy, isn’t that so?’
That was not so. She felt like flinging the cushions at him, except she wasn’t that childish. Guiltily she remembered her lies downstairs. She’d definitely acted like a proud, childish idiot then.
‘Don’t fret.’ He winked at her just before closing—and locking—the door. ‘I won’t be long.’
He was an inordinately long time. Eventually she heard voices spilling out into the street and resisted the urge to stand at the window and scream for a saviour. She’d made enough of a fool of herself here tonight. What had she been thinking when she’d led Sarah to think Alejandro had bought the house for her? That they were engaged?
Tired defeat permeated her. She’d been up since six, ready to get the train from Cornwall back to London. She’d not eaten on the journey and now she felt queasy. She turned off the main light and switched on the reading lamp, pouring herself a finger of whiskey from the decanter still on the table in the study.
She rarely drank spirits but right now she needed something and she trusted her father’s old single malt more than the concoctions that had been on offer downstairs. And, anyway, this was for medicinal purposes. The liquid hit her stomach and lit a ball of fire in it. She breathed out and closed her eyes, aching to relax properly. She’d spark up again when Alejandro returned. She just needed a bit of a rest now.
The heat drained from her. That kick of adrenalin vanished, leaving her tired and with a headache threatening. She kicked off her shoes and walked to the deep leather sofa that had been in her father’s study all her life, trying not to remember the number of times she’d curled up on it and waited late into the night for him to get home.
She’d spent so long trying to get her father’s attention. But he’d been preoccupied lecturing Teddy, the son and heir, and he’d been too busy wooing the glamorous women he’d had affairs with. She’d gifted him her best sculptures as a kid. She’d poured her heart into them, only to see them admired for a half second and then relegated to a bottom shelf to gather dust. They were never properly displayed, never shown off with pride, merely indulged for a brief moment before he turned elsewhere. Which was exactly the way he treated her.
All she’d wanted was for him to know her, to love her, to let her be... She was such a needy fool.
She’d thought James had understood and that he’d be true to her. But he’d been even worse. At least her father had never hidden his affairs from everyone.
‘I was just... I couldn’t help myself.’ Her father had tried to explain it to her the last time she’d seen him, just after she’d broken up with James, and she’d railed at him for being the same kind of cheat.
Impulse. Making that snap decision that was so often wrong. She’d inherited that faulty gene from him. Not when it came to lovers, but in every other aspect of her life for sure.
Her father had made bad business choices; he’d needed to sell property to get a cash injection because he’d known his time as a businessman was up. He’d wanted to retire to his flash estate in Corsica while he still could. And so he had. Leaving Teddy and her alone. But they were almost twenty-four and able to look after themselves.
Now she was exhausted from maintaining smiles in front of all those people. From restraining herself from losing her temper with Alejandro in front of them all. From reining in her reaction to the torment of his touches. From hiding the heartbreak at being back here and knowing she no longer belonged. That she’d never really belonged. There was nothing here for her any more.
She curled her legs under her on the sofa and told herself to shrug it off. She was fine. She’d