Page 12 of Claiming His Wife

hed on, covering all the wind- paths that curved around the massive flowerbeds passing the airless summer house covered with red roses. She finally came to a halt at the bar-of wooden poles that overhung the deep and v ravine.

Steep sides and tall trees offered shade, and far she could hear the stream from the hills fall rocks and chatter its way between moss-covered . It was tempting. Up here, at this time of aid at this time of year, the Andalusian sun was merciless.

She felt as if she were melting, her clothes sticking overheated body, an ache building up at the of her eyes. But the only way down was a steep staircase of stone and her legs felt so wobbly she

didn’t think she'd be able to make it.

Roman, she thought crossly, was probably lolling in the salon, an electric fan cooling the air, a glass something long and cold to hand. While she—

'You punish yourself.' His voice was slow and soft, the hands he placed on her shoulders gut-wrenchingly gentle.

She hadn't heard him walk up to her, but the sound of his voice in the sleepy silence of the garden, the touch of his hands, hadn't startled her. Almost as if she had known he would come and she'd been wait­ing.

The tips of his fingers moved over her burning skin and she thought: No, you punish me. You make me face the things about myself I don't like—the fear, and the cowardice that stopped me doing any­thing about that fear. I should have told you I was afraid, and made you listen. I wasn't brave enough.

'Too much sun, your skin burns.' He lifted the heavy swathe of hair away from the back of her neck and her breath snagged as his lips touched her nape. 'You taste of salt.' His voice purred. 'And woman.'

Her head was beginning to swim, and it wasn't just the effects of the hot afternoon sun. She wanted to move away, to reinforce the distance that had been growing between them ever since their wedding night, but couldn't make her legs function.

Instead she said shakily, 'I was thinking of climb­ing down there, into the shade,' and sagged weakly back against him as his hands slid down her naked arms, cupping her elbows.

A year ago, if he'd come to her, touched her like this, she would have leapt away like a startled rabbit, terrified to let things go further and allow him to rediscover just how frigid she was.

Now, she was incapable of any movement at all; her body wanted to stay exactly where it was, close to him, and her brain had gone AWOL.

'I've got a better idea.' His hands slid around her body, resting on her midriff. The light pressure of his fingertips sent a shock of feverish tension zinging through her. She could feel the hard jut of his pelvis against the lower part of her back and felt faint at the contact, desperately willing his hands to move higher to cup her breasts, to discover for himself the evidence of erect nipples that strained against the in­substantial barrier of silk.

She wanted to cry out, to beg him to touch her, and almost did, but was achingly glad she hadn't when he said lightly, 'We go back to the house and you can shower and rest. Alone. I won't bother you—if that's why you're staying out here and in­viting sunstroke. Later, we'll go out for supper. I can't face doing any more dishes!'

He moved away, walking back towards the house, his stride loose and graceful, and Cassie followed, her face flaming.

He hadn't noticed how her body had become so supple and willing, so eager for his touch, how her breath had shortened. But then, why should he? In his limited experience of her, she had never re­sponded. He wouldn't expect anything to have changed.

Which begged the question of why he had stipu­lated that they share a bed at all.

To punish her.

Which meant he was cruel, had an unfeeling heart and thought of her as nothing more than an experi­ment. With the side-effect of getting Delfina and his family off his back.

Well, for Roy's sake she could get through the next three months. Roman expected a wooden woman in his bed and that was what he'd get. The aching desire she'd felt just a few moments ago was nothing to worry about.

She'd wanted Roman to make love to her on their wedding night, but when it had come right down to it she'd turned into a block of ice. The same thing would happen again. He'd soon tire of the silly game and remove himself to another room.

And that would be the end of it.

CHAPTER SIX

'You are safe to walk -home?' Roman's voice was threaded with dry amusement and Cassie's amber eyes answered his relaxed mood, gleaming up at him.

Moonlight suited him; he looked really spectacu­lar. But then, when did he not?

'I may have had one glass of Rioja too many—'

'Don't forget the Manzanilla—'

'I'm not.' She wrinkled her nose at him. 'Besides, I ate like a horse—those langostinos were to die for, and that sauce!' She kissed her fingers in the air and swallowed a husky giggle. 'Besides, what option do I have? Unless you're offering to carry me?'

For answer he gave her a long assessing look, sweeping from head to toe. Cassie felt the sexual awareness that had been hovering between them all evening crank up another notch or two. Or two hun­dred. The breeze was moulding the fine cotton of the understatedly elegant shift dress she was wearing tightly to her body and his eyes lingered like a lover's touch on each and every lush curve.

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