Page 11 of Claiming His Wife

His slow smile was indulgent, his eyes lazy. 'You have an opinion, Cassandra; I am merely doing you the courtesy of listening to it. So far you've not said anything that invited comment.' His brows lifted just slightly. 'I'm patiently waiting to hear what you have about the—what did you call it?—the Bed thing’

Patronising horror! But losing her temper wouldn't help. 'Exactly,' she said grittily. 'Just putting the picture straight. ‘So sorry to bore you. If you can't be up-front about it and tell Delfina and your family to get lost instead of insisting on this subterfuge to get you out of a corner—'

Now she was being sarcastic. She really couldn't afford to ruffle his feathers, so she deliberately re­laxed her shoulders and sugared her tone a little. "What I'm trying to say is, I've agreed to live with you for three months. To the interested parties back at the finca, it will appear that we're making our marriage work. That's enough. They won't have posted spies here, or put hidden cameras in all the rooms. There's absolutely no need for us to actually sleep together.'

There, she'd said it. Holding her breath, feeling the prickle of perspiration gather on her forehead, she waited for his reaction. Surely he would recognise that her being here with him was enough to get Darling Delfina and his matchmaking relatives off his back? Surely he could have no wish to repeat the frustrating and humiliating experiences of three years ago?

Smoky eyes regarded her narrowly. He stretched his endless legs further under the table and clasped his hands behind his head. In the green shade of the almond tree his expression was shadowed, un­readable.

'Are you on the pill, Cass?'

She widened her eyes at him. With a handful of words he'd pushed her thoughts right out of gear. What had her being on the pill got to do with any­thing?

'Are you?'

'Yes,' she grudged, and felt her face go hot.

'Ah. I see.' His tone might be smooth, but some­thing dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes as he shifted his position, leaning slightly forwards. 'Who's the lucky man? My cousin Guy? He ogled you when he thought no one was looking, when you visited that first time. You certainly headed in his direction when you left me.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' She moved uncomfortably in her seat. Poor Guy. She'd had no idea he'd thought of her in that way. On that fatal visit she'd had eyes for no one but Roman.

'Who, then?'

He looked unpredictable, dangerous. His pose might be studiedly relaxed but she knew better. He was like a coiled spring. Touch him and he'd snap every which way.

Despite being separated for a year, they were still man and wife. If he thought she'd been making love with someone else after rejecting him, the knife-thrust to his monumental Spanish pride would pro­duce an explosion of awesome proportions.

'No one. My GP recommended I go on the pill to regulate my monthly cycle. It had gone haywire. No other reason. Unlike you, I don't look on sex as being the be-all and end-all of everything,' she said stiltedly.

"Of that, mi esposa, I am fully aware.' His mouth curled wryly as he swung down his arms and pushed back his chair. 'So I choose to believe you. I had to ask you understand. One of us has to use protection.' So he wasn't prepared to listen to reason! Her heart leapt and fluttered like a frightened bird. But he wasn't to know that. She wouldn't give him de satisfaction of seeing her in a panic.

Protection? Here was I, thinking that the only reason you married me was to get an heir!' Her voice as commendably cool, she'd even managed a slight underlying note of amusement. And knew she'd hit a nerve when his face tightened.

"I do want an heir. But not one given grudgingly.' Grudgingly? What did he know about it? What did be know about the lonely heart that had wished things could have been different, wished he could have understood her fears, the way she'd hated and dispised herself for her failings?

She would have loved to have had his child, a real and loving home with him, away from his critical relatives.

She stood up quickly; the way he was looking at her was making her jittery. If he weren't so gorgeous she could handle him bet­ter. Forget that once she had loved him. .And now they were too close. Cassie took a quick step back, trying not to think that when he made her keep her side of their fiendish bargain they would be a whole lot closer. No point in getting in a state before she had to!

'So—' One large, finely made hand gestured vaguely at the table. 'We clear away? Wash the dishes? Then, maybe, siesta?'

His abrupt change of mood, that slow sexy smile, took her breath away all over again. But she recov­ered it, recovered herself, turned away and told him, 'You dismissed the staff. You do the dishes. And sex in the afternoon wasn't part of the bargain, as I remember.’

She walked away.

As she stepped beneath the rose-covered arch in the stone wall that separated the courtyard from the extensive gardens her skin prickled, the fine hairs standing on end. It felt as if an army of ants wearing red-hot spiky boots were marching all over her body. Knowing him, he would command her to come right back—and if she refused he'd make her.

But he didn't. Only the sleepy sound of the doves, the faint rustle of a breeze in the gently swaying tops of the eucalyptus trees disturbed the peace of the slow Spanish afternoon. She expelled a shaky breath.

Reprieve.

But not for long. Only until tonight.

And did she mind? Really mind?

The sudden, unwelcome question had her rooted to the spot, her feet seemingly glued to the narrow, paved path. Something sharp and fierce twisted deep inside her, making her squeeze her eyelids together. Her lungs expanded as she dragged air into them, baling the scents of the billowing borders, heady hot spicy geraniums, sweet oleander... She forced her eyes open. What kind of stupid —question was that? Of course she minded! She hated the thought of being used to satisfy his warped curiosity, of being punished for what her twin had done.

What sane woman would want to be forced to Roman's bed? Loads, she answered herself truthfully. And it wouldn't be a question of forcing, feeling uncomfortable with the way her thoughts shaping, she marc

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