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I’d stopped flat in the hallway, unable to look away from the muscular planes of his bare chest, laced with dark hair, or the powerful lines of his body, to the slim hips barely covered by the clinging white terry cloth.
Alejandro had greeted me with a sensual smile. “Good morning, querida,” he’d purred, then lifting a wicked eyebrow as if he already knew the answer, he’d inquired, “I trust you slept well?”
But I was starting to get my revenge. His lips were now set in an annoyed line as he kept his eyes on the road, pressing on the gas of his very expensive, very fast sedan. “We are husband and wife now, Lena. You must accept that.”
“Oh, I do,” I assured him. “But we’re a husband and wife who happen to hate each other. So perhaps just not talking is best.”
Alejandro exhaled in irritation, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. I turned away, staring out wistfully at the scenery of Spain flying past us. In any other circumstance I would have been in awe at the magnificent view. The farmland and soft hills of central Spain were turning to a drier landscape. Lovely thick bushes of pink and white oleander flowers separated the highway, a vivid, wild, unexpected beauty, much like Spain itself.
Oleander. I shivered a little. So beautiful to the eyes. But so poisonous to the heart.
Just like Alejandro, I thought. I wouldn’t let him in. Husband or not, I’d never let him close to me. In any way.
We’d stopped only once since we left Madrid, to feed and change the baby, and to put gas in both cars. Alejandro offered to take a small detour and stop for lunch in Córdoba, to show me the famous cathedral that had once been a Great Mosque. But I’d refused. I didn’t want him doing me any favors. Though later I regretted it, because I heard a lot about the famous Mezquita.
As the car flew south, turning on a new road, I blinked in the bright sun flooding the windows. After weeks of rain in San Miguel, and London’s drizzle and overcast skies, the Spanish sun had come as advertised, with a wide blue horizon that held not a single cloud. The arid landscape suddenly reminded me of Mexico. Which reminded me of the freedom and independence I’d had so briefly.
And Edward.
I’ll be back for you, Lena.
“Stop it,” Alejandro growled.
I nearly jumped in the smooth leather seat. “What?”
“I can hear you. Thinking about him.”
“You can hear me thinking?”
“Stop,” he said quietly, giving me a hard sideways glance. “Or I will make you stop.”
“Make me—” I snorted derisively, then I looked at him, remembering his last ruthless kiss in the cloakroom. And the one before it, which had been even more dangerous. I remembered how it had felt, surrendering to his embrace, how it had made my whole body tremble with need.
“You’re such a jerk,” I muttered, folding my arms mutinously. “My thoughts are my own.”
“Not if they are of a man like St. Cyr. Thoughts lead to actions.”
“I told you, I don’t even like him anymore!”
He snorted. “And that is supposed to inspire trust? You’ve made it plain you did not wish to marry me. Perhaps you’re wishing now you took the other choice.”
I looked at him. “What other choice?”
“A war between us,” he said grimly. He was staring forward at the road, his jaw tight. “St. Cyr would be eager to help you with that.”
My arms unfolded. “No.” I frowned. “I don’t want war. I’d never deliberately hurt you, Alejandro. Not now.”
“Really,” he said in clear disbelief.
“Hurting you would hurt Miguel.” I looked out the window and said softly, “We both love him. I realized the truth last night, even before your marriage ultimatum—neither of us wants to be apart from him.” Blinking fast, I faced him. “You’re right. We’re married now. So let’s make the best of it.”
“Do you mean it?” he said evenly. I nodded.
“Let’s make sure Miguel has a wonderful childhood and a real home, where he’ll always feel safe and warm and loved.”
His hands seemed to relax a little around the steering wheel. He looked at me. There was something strange in his eyes, something almost like—yearning—that made my heart twist.
