Christmas Kisses: The Spanish Billionaire's Christmas Bride / Christmas Bride-To-Be / Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

CHAPTER NINE

THROUGHOUT the delicious meal that had been placed before him Cristiano merely toyed with the food on his plate. It was as if some strange exotic disease afflicted him, making him feel light-headed almost to the point of dizziness. His heart raced and his stomach clenched as if it was trapped in a vice. And the symptoms were heightened whenever his gaze happened to alight on Dominique.

Dominique … the bewitching young woman that his irresponsible cousin had got pregnant and abandoned without even the most basic financial assistance with which to raise his child. The woman Cristiano had sworn to protect and watch over until such time as some other man … her future husband … took on the responsibility. The woman he now lusted after as he had lusted after no other woman before … Even his wife, God rest her soul.

He could hardly believe what was happening to him. Before he had pledged himself to Martina, Cristiano had enjoyed seducing women just as much as any other red-blooded male. But his need to be near Dominique—to know where she was when she wasn’t in his sight, to hear her voice, to gaze at her and wonder what it would feel like to have that long unbound hair of hers trickle freely through his fingers, to have her unique scent saturate his senses—it was like some unstoppable force of nature that he scarce had any control over.

For the past two years he had steered clear of romantic entanglements like a driver taking an immediate detour whenever a potential traffic jam loomed on the horizon. Nothing could have prepared him for the powerful feelings running through his body and mind whenever he even thought about Dominique—let alone spent time with her. And this afternoon, when he had deliberately sought her out in the library, locked the door and engaged her in the most intimate way … Cristiano almost had to suppress a groan as he recalled the experience.

As though sensing his passionate discomfort, Dominique glanced across the table at him just then, and he saw the surge of colour that tinted her cheeks to a most delightful rose-pink. Dry-mouthed, he let his glance fall to the scooped neckline of the dress she was wearing, and the enticing shadow of cleavage it revealed. She had the most lush, perfect breasts … breasts that Cristiano’s mouth had become acquainted with only a few short hours ago. When he thought of the night that lay ahead he tried to quash any qualms that arose in his mind about the wisdom—or lack of it—of what he was anticipating by fiercely asserting that he would not be reckless. He would absolutely protect Dominique against another situation like the one that had manifested itself with Ramón. And he reassured himself that their being together the way he yearned for could not be wrong when she had made it so clear to him that it was what she desired too …

Dominique had lain in the bathtub for ages after Matilde had gone to sleep. She had scattered a handful of fragrant rose petals in the steamy hot water—a gift that had been left in a beautifully presented jar, along with many other expensive toiletries on the marble surround for her exclusive use. Lounging back in the gently lapping perfumed water, she felt as close to the legendary Cleopatra as a girl could get. She might not be bathing in asses’ milk but this luxurious alternative was seriously hard to beat!

As soon as she started to relax, one subject asserted itself in Dominique’s mind above all the rest. Cristiano and his promised visit. Even though the air was filled with steam, she sensed a shiver of delicious anticipation quiver through her. Their encounter this afternoon in the library had been beyond words, but it had left her hungry for more of his thrilling touch.

Her excitement was only dampened by one question … Was she the biggest fool that ever lived where men were concerned? Why didn’t it seem to be an even halfway viable option to resist Cristiano’s devastating attraction? It was a dangerous game she was playing. And she was the one who was going to get hurt—not him.

Her disquiet increased. He had already mentioned that he expected that she would meet someone else one day and get married. Surely the subtext of that assertion was that she would then be off his hands, leaving him free to enjoy the bachelor status Dominique guessed he guarded so jealously? And why wouldn’t he, when he was rich, gorgeous and successful? Who could blame him if he wanted to play the field instead of settling down? All that was probably on the cards with him for Dominique was a brief, intense affair.

A frustrated sigh escaped her. If only Cristiano hadn’t been so persistent in trying to help her! If only he hadn’t acted so honourably on his cousin’s behalf and brought her back to Spain, united her daughter with her grandmother and given Dominique the opportunity for a far better life than she’d ever known before! All these amazing things had worked their magic on her sensitive heartstrings more than anything else—even more than the sizzling attraction that now flared between them. And now her situation was as precarious as a novice trapeze artist balancing on a high wire …

By the time she’d vacated the sensually fragrant bath serious doubt had set in about the whole affair. And once she’d dried herself off, put on a short cotton nightdress and climbed into bed, Dominique told herself that when Cristiano showed up she would tell him she’d changed her mind about them being intimate. That she’d decided it was best if they just stayed friends rather than risk spoiling everything if they became lovers …

But midnight came and went, and there was no sign of the man whose visit she’d anticipated with such nervous excitement and trepidation. Hurt that he’d obviously come to the conclusion himself that their nocturnal assignation wasn’t a good idea, Dominique switched off her bedside lamp and lay back in the darkness, feeling slightly ill. Why hadn’t he come? Had he recognised somehow that she was too needy and been put off? God knew she had tried so hard to contain her emotions and feelings around him, tried to let him see only that her intention was to be independent and not depend upon any man again! But then she had been so eager when he had kissed her, touched her. She had hardly pushed him away! Oh, God … why couldn’t she ever get it right? Turning her face dejectedly into the pillow, Dominique reluctantly closed her eyes. As profound disappointment and an inevitable sense of rejection washed over her, she prayed she would soon escape her distress in the dreamy avenues of sleep …

‘Buenos diás, Dominique.’

Everything in her tightened at the sound of that arresting rich voice, but she did not glance round. In the large but homely kitchen, giving her daughter her breakfast, Dominique was halfway to Matilde’s mouth with a spoonful of oatmeal when Cristiano finally put in an appearance. The other members of his family had long since eaten and gone out again, leaving her with some precious time to spend alone with Matilde. She wondered that Cristiano had the nerve to wish her good morning after so casually standing her up last night, but told herself that whatever happened she mustn’t let him see how upset she was.

‘Morning.’ Dominique murmured the word beneath her breath, and was startled when Cristiano dropped down onto the bench opposite her at the long pine table, ruefully tunnelling his fingers through his midnight-black hair. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, as if he had hardly slept, but she steeled herself against feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for him.

‘I am sorry about last night,’ he ground out, the huskiness in his voice making her spine tingle.

‘Are you?’ Scooping another spoonful of cereal from the cheerful yellow bowl in front of her, Dominique briskly popped it into Matilde’s eagerly waiting mouth. ‘I’m not. With hindsight I can see that it would have been the very worst of mistakes, and you not showing up has thankfully helped me come to my senses!’

‘Please do not say that!’

When Cristiano would have reached for her hand, Dominique deliberately moved it out of his way.

‘I wanted to come to you … more than you can even imagine!’ he insisted. ‘But I asked myself if I was being entirely fair to you, Dominique. You have already had cause to doubt the integrity of one Cordova … I did not want to put you in a similar position again. I did not want you to think that I was taking advantage of you simply because you are staying in my house and we have developed an attraction for one another.’

‘Well … whatever your reasons, you did me a big favour, Cristiano! I’m obviously too damn trusting for my own good! This latest incident has only confirmed that. There’s no need for you to give it another second’s thought. Let’s just put it behind us and carry on as normal until I leave to go back to England—okay?’

‘Como? Since when did you decide that you were going back to England?’

Even as he asked the question, everything in Cristiano clamoured silently in violent protest. Fear of risking his heart and his soul had kept him out of Dominique’s bed last night, and this was the price he was to pay for it! Dios mío! He had wrestled with the twin demons of fear and desire all night, and now he realised his decision not to go to her was going to drive her away. He could see by the hurt and confusion on her lovely face that she had taken his non-appearance as nothing less than pure rejection, and he could hardly blame her.

‘Since I woke up this morning! Anyway … I told you I wasn’t sure if I would stay on after Christmas. It doesn’t mean I won’t keep in touch with Consuela and the rest of the family. I’ll come back for visits whenever I can.’

‘No! That is not good enough!’

His fist came down on the table and rattled the crockery. Matilde’s lips trembled and she stared at Cristiano in obvious trepidation. Seeing her sweet little face very close to tears, Cristiano was immediately contrite—though no less angry with Dominique for her disagreeable announcement.

‘I am sorry, mi ángel … I did not mean to frighten you,’ he murmured to the baby and, leaning towards her, tenderly stroked her cheek. Lifting his gaze to Dominique, he ruefully shook his head. ‘Do not punish my family because you are mad at me,’ he said gruffly. ‘They want you to stay … I want you to stay!’

‘Matilde needs a wash. Excuse me.’

Getting to her feet with the baby in her arms, Dominique barely glanced at Cristiano. Again he silently cursed himself for making her distance herself from him like this when secretly he craved anything but distance between them!

‘Come back and have a cup of coffee with me?’ he suggested lightly.

He could see by the look in her blue eyes that she was torn for a moment, and Cristiano felt hope flare in his heart. But then she wrenched her glance free and walked to the door.

‘I have some Christmas cards to write,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Back in the library after dinner, still brooding over what had happened the previous night, and still hurt that Cristiano had not sought her out for a private conversation for the rest of the day since their encounter at breakfast, Dominique found herself once again drawn to the group of photographs she had been going to examine yesterday.

One large colour portrait dominated all the rest. It consisted of three men in a formal family pose. In the centre was an older man, with thick greying hair and rather kind dark eyes, and on either side of him stood Ramón and Cristiano. The picture must have been taken a good seven or eight years ago at least, Dominique reflected, because Ramón looked not much more than a boy. Her heart squeezed as a shaft of pain went through it. It was hard to believe he was dead.

But, despite her sorrow at a young life taken too soon, it was Cristiano’s image that drew her gaze the most. It was almost a shock to see him apparently so relaxed and happy—happier than Dominique had ever seen him. And what caught her eye too was the glint of gold on what would be his wedding finger. Her stomach executed a dizzying somersault. What had happened to his wife? Why was she never mentioned by anyone? Were they divorced? Had she had left Cristiano for another man? Such a scenario seemed hardly conceivable!

Behind her the door creaked open, and with a frisson of surprise she saw the man she’d been contemplating in the photograph standing there in the flesh.

‘I have been looking for you,’ he told her.

‘Have you?’ Wary of letting her guard down around him again, Dominique shrugged. ‘And I thought you’d been avoiding me for most of the day!’

‘Then you thought wrong.’ He sighed. ‘That was taken about seven years ago,’ he commented as he walked towards her, his glance leaving her to settle on the photograph she’d been studying. ‘The man in the centre is my father, José. I suppose you have been looking at Ramón?’

Drawing the vivid blue shawl that Cristiano had bought her at the gypsy market more securely about her shoulders, Dominique glanced up at him, and she was certain her heart missed a beat. The pain in his voice as he’d asked the question was palpable, and her sudden need to help ease it in some way was intense.

‘Actually … I was looking at you,’ she confessed, her blue eyes directly meeting his.

‘Oh?’

‘You look—you look so content … And I noticed that you’re wearing a wedding ring?’

Before she’d spoken Cristiano had appeared as though he was going to smile at her, but the instant Dominique mentioned the wedding ring his face changed completely. The deeply contoured slashes that denoted his cheekbones were sucked in sharply, and the broad banks of his wide shoulders seemed to visibly tense in what appeared to Dominique to be a potentially explosive cocktail of pain and anger.

‘That was another life. One that I do not particularly want to discuss in casual conversation!’

Stung, Dominique retaliated. ‘Just because I mentioned the fact you were wearing a wedding ring doesn’t mean that I treat the idea of your marriage remotely “casually”, Cristiano! Anything but! Something told me when we first met that you had been badly hurt by someone. Until last night I thought that we—that we were becoming close … that you might trust me enough to confide in me. Don’t you think it’s absolutely normal that I might be interested in your past? It’s not my intention to hurt you by bringing it up!’

‘You do not have to intend hurt … Talking about that particular phase in my life inevitably does inflict pain, Dominique!’

Sensing the debilitating tightening in the area of his chest that always responded thus at the memory of his wife and baby, Cristiano fought to get past the waves of grief so that what he said would make some sense. Strangely, he suddenly realised that he did not feel as vehemently opposed to discussing what had happened as he usually did. Was that because he did indeed feel that he could trust Dominique with knowledge of the most tragic event of his life and knew she would not abuse that trust?

He had come in search of her because he could barely stand another second of being without her company, and he’d wanted the opportunity to try in some way to heal the rift that had come between them since this morning. Cristiano did not want to give the appearance of rejecting her again by refusing to be drawn about his past.

‘Martina and I were married for three years. Just over two years ago she died, giving birth to our baby. Our child did not survive. The surgeons could not save either of them.’ He had automatically crossed his arms over his chest, as if subconsciously protecting his heart, and he sensed Dominique’s little sigh of shock feather softly over him. Cristiano grimaced. ‘She knew she was taking a huge risk in becoming pregnant, given her history—but she kept the knowledge from me until it was too late.’

‘Cristiano—I’m so sorry!’

Her lovely blue eyes were glassy with tears, and instead of dwelling on his own tragedy, Cristiano found himself wondering how anyone could thoughtlessly cause this incredible woman pain when she clearly had a heart wider than any ocean on the map?

Suddenly the need to have her in his arms became overwhelming, and he closed the gap between them in one stride, drawing her urgently against his chest. Before Dominique could utter a word Cristiano desperately sought her mouth, claiming a hard, hot kiss that he honestly wished could go on for ever. But at some point he did come up for air, and when he glanced down into Dominique’s flushed, beautiful face, he registered the piercing need her features revealed with a bone-deep ache unlike any he had ever known before …

‘Tonight,’ he murmured, unable to deny her need any longer. ‘Will you allow me to come to you?’

Equally unable to deny him, despite the heartbreak of the night before, Dominique nodded her acceptance …

Her heart seemed to be breaking with sadness. She was dreaming of snow and Christmas trees, and her mother not loving her, and a tear slid from beneath her lashes and dampened her cheek. Something gentle brushed it away and a soft sigh escaped her.

The wonderful sensation of warm hands cupping her face made Dominique suddenly turn rigid as she realised this was no dream, and her eyelids flew open in shock. In the moonlight that filtered into the room through the partially opened drapes, Cristiano’s dark eyes gleamed back at her, and his sensual lips curved into a smile that was as seductive as it was concerned.

‘You were crying.’ His rich velvet voice was pitched deliberately low in deference to the baby sleeping peacefully in her crib.

‘A bad dream …’ Husky with sleep, Dominique’s reply was barely above a whisper, but to her own hypersensitive hearing her heart beat loud enough to awaken the whole household.

‘Will you let me help chase the bad dream away?’

‘I thought you’d changed your mind again … that you weren’t going to come …’

‘I am sorry about that, mi ángel.’ His rueful sigh feathered over her. ‘Consuela knocked on my door and wanted to talk. She is overwhelmed by the knowledge that her grandchild is here with her at last, and was feeling somewhat emotional. Naturally she wanted to discuss Ramón too. I did not want to hurry her away.’

‘Of course not!’

‘But at the same time I could barely contain my frustration at not being with you! I want you so much!’

Thrilled to hear him say it, Dominique was about to tell Cristiano she felt the same—but found her declaration shockingly silenced by the hungry press of his warm, tantalising lips against hers. At the first inflammable touch of that erotic satin mouth heat poured through her body like liquid fire. Actual tremors rippled through her.

It was as she feverishly pushed the satin quilt aside to let Cristiano join her that Dominique realised he was naked to the waist and that the only clothing he wore was a pair of silk mulberry-coloured boxer shorts. As far as male bodies went, his definitely had the ‘wow’ factor—in spades. She saw for herself the strongly delineated collarbone and the wide, powerful shoulders above a hard-muscled bronzed torso and stomach where not a single ounce of spare flesh found a home. No wonder his clothes looked so good on him!

Helplessly transfixed, Dominique noticed too the erotic coating of silky dark hair dusting his nipples, and as her feverish gaze dared lower, past taut, lean hips, she saw the way another fine smattering led a provocative trail into the waistband of his boxers.

But there was little time for her appreciative perusal of his mouthwatering masculinity when, with a harsh groan of need, Cristiano suddenly took command of her mouth like a man presented with his first proper meal after being released from solitary confinement. He devoured her as if he would never get enough, and never be satisfied … And with his ravishing velvet tongue he introduced Dominique to a wild eroticism she hadn’t even known existed until then. There wasn’t a corner or crevice of her mouth that he didn’t plunder with destroying command and brand with his addictive masculine flavours.

Lying beneath Cristiano’s hard, lean and muscular body, she felt like butter left out in the sun, inexorably melting.

All of a sudden he levered himself away from her and sat back on his haunches. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her mouth going dry at the thought that he had changed his mind and was going to leave.

‘I want to look at you,’ he replied, and ran his gaze hotly over the feminine curves that she knew were easily revealed by the thin cotton fabric of her nightdress.

She’d put on a little weight since having Matilde, but she knew it suited her … made her more womanly, somehow. Dominique scarcely took a breath as Cristiano hooked his thumbs under the flimsy shoestring straps and skimmed them hungrily down over her breasts. Exposure to the air hardened her aching, tingling nipples almost to the point of pain, and she was so turned on by the ravenous glance he gave her that she could swear she was suddenly on fire with a fever. Her thighs trembled and her nipples puckered tighter still, as though he had drawn ice cubes across them. Everything in her was almost unbearably sensitive to every glance, every touch, and she wanted him so much she almost cried.

‘Undo your hair for me,’ he commanded, his voice sounding as if it rolled over gravel.

With shaking fingers, Dominique slipped off the band from the end of her plait and with long practice deftly released the entwined silken skeins of honeyed brown so that they spilled across her shoulders like a river of tarnished gold. Catching her hair in his hand, Cristiano turned it over again and again to examine it, as though he could not quite believe what he was seeing. Then he raised his glance to meet hers, and in that moment Dominique truly felt as though she was the most beautiful and desired woman on earth—because his dark smouldering gaze told her that she was.