One Night in Buenos Aires: The Vásquez Mistress. Sarah MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
worrying because we’re not together any more and I don’t want to owe you anything.’
‘Now I’m starting to wonder whether your brain might be damaged after all.’ He stood looking at her, his legs planted firmly apart in a stance that shrieked control. ‘Did you walk under that car on purpose?’
She gasped with shock. ‘No! How can you ask me that?’
‘Because I don’t shirk from the difficult or the awkward,’ he ground out. ‘Unlike you. You were upset.’ His hard stare allowed her no escape and Faith felt a sudden stab of agony.
Upset?
It was such an insignificant word to describe the utter devastation inside her. ‘Of course I was upset. And that’s why I didn’t look where I was going.’ She’d been blind with misery, her brain disconnected from everything except the enormity of her loss.
‘You told the hospital that you had no next of kin. I can’t believe that you were capable of such unbelievably selfish behaviour. Why didn’t you call me?’ His tone was thickened by raw, red, molten anger and this time when she looked at him her eyes were dry.
‘Why would I have called you?’
His features were set and grim. ‘It should have been obvious to you to let me know that you were safe.’
‘I had no reason to believe you’d even care.’
‘Now you’re being childish.’
‘I’m being honest! Our last meeting was hardly a loving encounter—you hurt me, Raul. You hurt me so much.’
‘I was honest about my feelings.’ His savage rejoinder showed no hint of self-reproach or apology and her shivering intensified, as if someone had dropped her in the Arctic wearing nothing more than her underwear.
‘You don’t have feelings and I can’t do this, Raul. I don’t know you any more. You’re not the man I was with.’ Her head was spinning alarmingly and her stomach rolled and lurched. ‘Go away. Just go away. It’s over, Raul.’
He swore softly and fluently and turned away from her, as if he didn’t trust himself to look at her and not explode. ‘Perhaps you didn’t want to know me. This is who I am, Faith. The real me. You saw only what you wanted to see. What suited you.’
‘That isn’t true. I know you can be ruthless in business, but you’re not cruel, I know you’re not.’ The threat of tears was back with a vengeance and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision. ‘Up until our wedding day you were—’
‘What?’ He turned, his dark eyes glinting hard. ‘I was what? A complete fool? A trusting idiot?’
‘I don’t think it’s foolish to trust the person you—’ She just stopped herself saying the word ‘love’ because she knew now that he’d never loved her. ‘Marry,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s not foolish to trust the person you marry.’
‘Oh really?’ His tone was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Perhaps that depends on the reason for the marriage. In our case it was based on deceit. Hardly a firm foundation for trust.’
‘I did not deceive you! And I don’t even understand why you would think that. Is this because of your money? Is this some sort of billionaire thing? What, Raul? You have so much money and you’re such a fabulous catch that women are going to go to any lengths to trap you? Is that what this is about?’
Raul ran a hand over his face. ‘We will leave this subject aside for now.’ His voice shook with emotion. ‘You’re not up to discussing it and frankly I’m not sure I am either.’ It was a measure of his focus and determination that he was capable of moving on from a subject that was burning both of them up inside. ‘You could have been killed.’
‘And that would have solved your problem, Raul.’
‘Dios mío, that comment is totally unjustified.’ His tone was savage and loaded with contempt. ‘Never at any point in this whole miserable mess have I wished you dead.’
Her head throbbed and her mouth was dry as a desert. Seeking any excuse to look away from him, Faith reached for the lemonade again but her hand was shaking so much that half of it slopped over her dress.
Raul stood still, exasperation flickering across his handsome face as he watched her efforts. Then he gave a soft curse and took the glass from her hand, his mouth compressed into a thin line as he held the glass to her lips. ‘Drink.’ His sharp command made her flinch but although there was no sympathy in his tone, he held the glass carefully, allowing her to take small sips before placing the glass back on the table.
But his attentiveness, albeit reluctantly given, simply made things worse.
He was so close to her and she breathed in his clean, male scent and felt her insides stir. It was as if her body recognised him and despite the heat, her shivering intensified.
Why couldn’t he be less of a man?
Maybe then her brain and body would have worked in harmony instead of battling like opposing forces.
‘Stop shivering.’ Raul delivered the order in a driven tone but when his demand had no effect he reached for his phone. ‘I will get the doctor back up here.’
‘No.’ Her teeth chattering, Faith shrank away from him, exhausted and wishing that he was easier to understand. He’d made it obvious that he bitterly regretted their wedding and yet he’d sought her out and brought her back to Argentina. ‘Why did you bring me back here, Raul? Why?’
‘You’re my wife. You belong by my side and in my bed.’
That simple statement encompassed everything it meant to be married to an Argentine male and she closed her eyes briefly. So it was all about possession. There was no love there at all.
‘I didn’t want this to happen to us—’
‘Yes, you did.’ His words and his tone were brutal, leaving her no escape. ‘You made this decision. You rolled the dice and you gambled. At least have the courage to face what you did to our relationship.’
The sick throbbing in her head intensified. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
He gave a bitter laugh. ‘And that from a woman? Talking is what women are supposed to do best, isn’t it, Faith? You think that every problem can be solved if it’s talked through.’
Not every problem.
‘I have nothing more to say to you, Raul. You’re angry and bitter and I just don’t know you any more.’
Something flickered across his dark, handsome face—dangerous shadows, a suggestion of something ugly lurking deep, deep inside.
‘I can’t be married to a man who doesn’t love me,’ Faith whispered. ‘I want a divorce. Give me whatever you need me to sign and I’ll sign it.’
Her flat statement drew no response from him and in the end she looked back at him, only to find that he’d walked towards the pool and was standing with his back to her.
Faith stared at him helplessly. Even from the back he was spectacular. His shoulders were wide and powerful, his legs strong and well-muscled. He carried himself with confidence, the astonishing success he’d made of his life evident in every aspect of his demeanour and behaviour.
Once, she’d believed he was hers.
She’d truly believed that they shared something special and the knowledge that for him their relationship had been empty hurt more than any of the wounds she’d incurred in the accident.
He turned suddenly, feeling her gaze on him with that instinctive awareness that had always bound them together. ‘You went to all those elaborate lengths to get me to the altar and now you want a divorce?’ His mouth twisted into a mocking