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I stopped in the huge doorway of an enormous dining hall that looked as if it came from the late Renaissance, complete with soaring frescoed ceilings, suits of armor beside the ancient tapestries and a stone fireplace tall enough to fit a person inside. And at the center of the huge, gymnasium-size room, there was a long wooden dining table, large enough to seat forty or fifty people, and groaning beneath the weight of the luncheon spread, flower arrangements, and place settings carefully designed with fine china and the brightest decor.
My mouth dropped as I stared at it.
“Cold and drafty, sí?” Alejandro said smugly, grabbing a marinated green olive and piece of cheese off the platter on the table. “Just as you said.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I breathed. “And the food...”
He gave a low chuckle. “Abuela believes food is love.”
“I can see that,” I said faintly, staring up at his face.
I left because I was falling in love with you.
My knees were still weak at what he’d said in the car. It was so far from everything I’d ever imagined, I couldn’t believe I’d heard him right. “Alejandro...”
“Abuela can be bossy about it, but she loves nothing more than taking care of people, along with her garden and home.” He grinned, shaking his head ruefully. “She now has an unlimited budget, a clear schedule—now she’s given up her charity work—and infinite time. When it comes to the domestic arts, she is unstoppable.”
“Amazing.” I looked at him hesitantly. “But Alejandro...”
“Yes?”
“Did you mean what you said?”
His dark eyes met mine. He knew what I was talking about. “Don’t be afraid. As you said—much has changed in this past year.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, but at that, I exhaled, like air fizzing out of a tire. “You’re right,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Everything is different now.”
“The past is past. Now we are partners, parents to our son.”
“Exactly.” I looked away. The bodyguards, apparently accustomed to being fed lunch like this by the dowager duchess, were already at the table, filling their plates and murmuring their appreciation.
Maurine suddenly reappeared in the solid-oak doorway, holding Miguel with one hand, a small card in the other. Going to the table, she snatched a card off a place setting, then replaced it with the new card. Turning back, she patted the chair, beaming at me. “You’re to sit here, dear.”
“Oh. Thank you, Maurine.”
Smiling, she looked at Miguel in her arms, and started another peekaboo game. She’d been lost in baby joy from the instant she’d picked him up in her arms, and the love appeared to be mutual. I watched, smiling, as Maurine hid her face with her hand, before revealing it so Miguel could reach out to bat her nose triumphantly, leaving them both in hopeless squeals of laughter. Alejandro watched them, too.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what?”
His dark eyes met mine. “For coming to Spain like you promised.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flooded with shame to remember how I’d initially refused. “It’s, um, nothing.”
He turned away, watching his grandmother play with his son. “It’s everything to me.”
My blush deepened, then I sighed. “I was wrong to fight it,” I admitted.
“You? Wrong?” Alejandro shook his head. “Impossible.”
I scowled at his teasing tone. “Yes, wrong. I’m woman enough to admit it. After all, Maurine is Miguel’s family, too.” I looked around the huge banqueting hall, filled with antiques that seemed hundreds of years old. I had to crane my head back to see the wood-timbered ceiling, with its faded paintings of the ducal coat of arms. “And this is his legacy,” I said softly. “This will all belong to him someday....”
Alejandro was no longer smiling.
“Yes,” he said. “It will.”
For some reason I didn’t understand, the lightness of the mood had fled. I frowned.
He abruptly held out his arm. “Let’s have lunch, shall we?”
Even through his long-sleeved shirt, I could feel the warmth of his arm. The strength of it. From the end of the long table, I saw the bodyguards looking at us, saw one of them nudge the other with a sly grin. To outward appearance, we must have looked like goofy-in-love newlyweds.
Alejandro pulled out the chair Maurine had chosen for me, waited, then after I sat down, he pushed it in and sat beside me.
Looking down at the table, I saw three different plates of different sizes stacked on top of each other in alternating colors. At the top of the place setting, there was a homemade paper flower of red-and-purple tissue paper, very similar to the paper flowers my mother had made for me when I was young. Beside it was a card that held a small handwritten name, with elegant black-ink calligraphy.
The Duchess of Alzacar
my darling new granddaughter
Looking at it, a lump rose in my throat. “Look what she wrote.”
Alejandro looked at the card, and smiled. “Yes.”
“She’s already accepted me in the family. Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He made me a plate with a little of everything, and poured me a glass of sparkling water, then red wine.
“Wine for lunch?” I said doubtfully.
“It’s from my vineyard by the coast. You should try it.”
“All right,” I sighed. I took a sip, then said in amazement, “It’s delicious.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Is there anything you’re not good at?” I said a little sulkily. He smiled.
Then the smile fled from his handsome face. His dark eyes turned hollow, even bleak.
“Keeping promises,” he said.
The blow was so sudden and unexpected that it felt like an anvil hitting the softest part of my belly. The moment I’d let my defenses down, he’d spoken with such unprovoked cruelty it took my breath away. Reminding me.
Did you lie to me in the past? Or will you lie to me in the future?
Take your pick.
“Oh,” I breathed, dropping my fork with a clang against the twenty-four-karat-gold-rimmed china plate.
He’d done me a favor reminding me, I told myself savagely. I couldn’t start believing the pretense. I couldn’t start thinking we were actually a family. That we were actually in love. I couldn’t surrender!
And yet...
“Are you enjoying yourself, dear?” I looked up to see Maurine smiling down at me from the other side of the table, with chubby Miguel still smiling in her arms. “I hope you see something you like!”
“I do,” I replied automatically, then realized to my horror that the exact moment I’d spoken the words I’d been looking at Alejandro. Quickly, I looked down at my plate. “What’s this?” I asked, looking at one of the dishes, some kind of meat with leeks and carrots.
“Pato a la Sevillana, a specialty of the area. Slow-cooked duck roasted in sherry and vegetables.”
I took a bite. It was delicious. “And this?”
“Rabo de toro. Another classic dish of Andalucía. Vegetables, slowly braised with sherry and bay leaf.”
Bull’s tail? I tasted it. Not bad. I tried the fresh papayas and mangoes, the albóndigas, the fried-potato-and-ham croquetas. I smiled. “Delicioso!”
“Muy bien,” Maurine sighed happily, then turned on her grandson, tossing her chic, white hair. “Though you don’t deserve lunch. I should let you get fast food at a drive-through in Seville!” She hitched her great-grandbaby higher on her hip against her pinafore apron. “I cannot believe you got married without inviting me to the wedding! My only family! After I waited thirty-five years to see you get married! After the way you used to make me bite my nails over those wretched skinny, self-centered women you used to cavort with!”
“At least I didn’t marry one of them, eh, Abuela? Do I not get credit for that?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “On that, you did well.”
The two of them smiled at each other, and I had the sudden image of what it must have been like for him to be raised by Maurine in this enormous castle. Alejandro had lost his parents even younger than I’d lost mine. My father had died of a stroke, my mother six months later of illness. But Alejandro had lost both parents in a car crash when he was only twelve. He’d also lost his best friend, Miguel, whom he’d thought of as a brother, and even their housekeeper.
My smile suddenly faltered. All this time, I’d moaned and whimpered so much about my own difficult childhood. But Alejandro had barely hinted aloud about his. A very masculine reticence, but enough to make me writhe with shame. No wonder Alejandro had been so determined that our Miguel, his only child, should come back to Spain, his home, and meet his grandmother, his only family, who’d raised him and loved him.
Even though she didn’t seem to be one hundred percent loving him right now.
“But still.” His grandmother’s chin was wobbling. “All I asked was that you let me attend the wedding. It was my one and only chance to see you get married and I...”
“It was the worst wedding ever,” I heard myself blurt out.
Both of them turned to face me. She looked amazed. He looked faintly strangled, as if he were afraid of what I might say next.
“It was just the two of us—” I shook my head “—along with the priest and some stranger as witness. There was no cake. No flowers. You didn’t miss anything, Maurine!”
“Call me Abuela, dear,” she said faintly. Her gaze softened as she looked at me. Whatever anger she was now lavishing on Alejandro clearly did not extend to me. She blinked with a frown, tilting her head. “You didn’t have any flowers? Not one?”
“It’s not entirely his fault,” I said apologetically. “We felt we should get married immediately, without too much fuss, because of...” I glanced at our baby in her arms.
“Ah.” A look of understanding filled her eyes. “Yes, of course.”
“The legal part is done, but Alejandro was just saying on the drive that he wished we could have a reception, a party of some kind, to introduce me to his neighbors and friends. I mean, he did tell a few people in Madrid that we were engaged—” I looked at Alejandro beneath my lashes “—but that’s not the same as celebrating with neighbors and family.”
“No, it’s not,” she said thoughtfully.
Taking a bite of juicy ripe papaya, I sighed. “But we just don’t know what to do. I mean, Alejandro is so busy with his company, and of course I have my hands full with Miguel. I wouldn’t have a clue how to organize a party anyway, not a big one. So we were thinking we could maybe hire a party planner, maybe from Madrid....”
“A party planner!” Maurine gasped indignantly. “My new granddaughter—and my great-grandson, this little angel—introduced to all my neighbors and friends with some dreary, chic party arranged by a paid Madrileño!” She put a dramatic hand over her fulsome chest. “I would turn over in my grave!”
Alejandro’s eyes met mine. His lips quirked as he said, “But Abuela, you’re not dead.”
“You’re right, I’m not,” she snapped. “Which is why I will be planning your wedding reception. Oh, there’s no time to waste.” Turning away with Miguel still in her arms, she hurried from the dining hall, calling, “María! Carmen! Josefa! Hurry! We have a new project—the most important party I’ve ever done!”
I turned back to my lunch, only to find Alejandro looking at me. He said in a low voice, “Why did you do that?”
The intense way he was looking at me made me feel nervous and fluttery inside. “Do what?”
“You could have told her the real reason for our quick marriage. That I forced you to marry me, against your will. That I threatened a custody battle.”
“Oh.” Awkwardly, I looked back at my plate. I took another bite of the Pato a la Sevillana. He just waited. Finally, I said in a small voice, “I didn’t want to tell her that.”
Alejandro came closer, the hard edges of his jaw and cheekbones leaving shadows across his face. “Why?”
My cheeks felt hot. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Were you trying to protect her?” He was so close now that I could almost feel the heat through his black tailored shirt. My gaze remained down, resting on his shirt just below his ribcage. Just below his heart. His voice was so quiet I could barely hear as he said, “Or were you trying to protect me?”
“You,” I whispered.
The only noise in the cavernous dining hall was the distant murmured conversation of the bodyguards sitting at the far end of the table, the clink of silverware against china, the thunk of wineglasses against the wood.
Alejandro leaned forward, his elbow against the long oak table, bringing his face very close to mine. It was almost painful to be that close to so much masculine beauty. Unwillingly, my eyes traced the hard slant of his cheekbones, the rough edge of his jawline. His darkly intent eyes.
And his sensual mouth. That most of all. I watched, unable to look away, as his lips moved to shape a single word.
“Why?”
I swallowed, sweeping my hand to indicate the elaborate decorations and luncheon spread down the long table.
“She loves you. And you love her.” I shook my head and blurted out, “All this time I’ve been moaning about my family in London. I feel so stupid for complaining about my childhood—while all the time, you yourself—”
He put his hand on my cheek. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Our eyes locked. I caught my breath, feeling the warmth of his fingertips brushing my skin. Feeling how much, deep inside, I wanted him to touch me. On my cheek. Down my neck. Everywhere. Unwillingly, I licked my lips.
But I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t surrender. If I ever gave him my body, as I’d done the year before, my heart would follow. And I didn’t think my shattered heart could survive when he betrayed me as he inevitably would—hadn’t he told me as much himself?
Is there anything you’re not good at?
Keeping promises.
I pulled back, suddenly desperate to get away from the dangerous energy sizzling between us.
“You love each other. You’re a family.” My voice trembled, betraying me. “I want you to be happy.”
He suddenly leaned forward, his eyes dark.
“What would make me happy,” he said huskily, “is having you in my bed. Right now.”
I sucked in my breath. My body trembled.
“No,” I whispered.
His dark eyes met mine. “We both know how this will end.”
He was right. He was right.
“Thank Maurine for me....” Setting down my silverware, I stumbled to my feet, tossing my napkin over my half-empty plate. “I’m done....”
And I ran.
Tears blurred my eyes as I fled the dining hall, into the shadowy hallway. I dodged antique chests and an old suit of armor, only to run straight into Maurine.
“My dear, whatever is the matter?” she said, looking astonished.
“I just need some—some fresh air,” I choked out.
“Of course.” Looking bewildered, with my baby still smiling and happy in her arms, she pointed to a door down the hall. “That leads to the gardens....”
I ran down the dark hallway, beneath the cool, thick stone walls of the castillo. Flinging open the door, I found myself beneath the bright, hot Spanish sun and the softly waving palm trees. I kept going, almost blindly—wanting only to be away from the castle. From the man who owned it.
Just as he now owned me.
But he would not own my heart, I vowed to myself, wiping my eyes. Not my heart and not my body...no matter how he might tempt me otherwise. I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t....
I ran down the stone path, past green hedges and huge oak trees with soft, full greenery, past a pond and a picturesque gazebo in an English-style garden, past something that looked like a hedge maze straight out of Alice in Wonderland. Choking out a sob, I abruptly stopped. I found myself in a rose garden, surrounded by a profusion of colorful blooms, gentle yellow, soft pink, innocent white and a blaze of red like heart’s blood.
“Lena.”
His voice was low behind me. Shocked, I whirled around.
“How did you...?”
Alejandro stood in front of me, dark and tall and powerful. Colorful roses and the primal green of the garden hemmed us in on every side, like a riotous jungle. “I know this garden. It’s been my home since I was a child.”
The sun left a frost of golden light against his dark hair, like a halo, tracing down the length of his body, his tanned, olive-toned skin, his sharp cheekbones, his hard-muscled body that moved with such sensual grace.
“I won’t sleep with you,” I breathed. “I won’t!”
His cruel, sensual lips curved.
“We both know you will.” I watched, mesmerized, as the words caused his tongue to flick against the edges of his lips, into the warm, dark honey of his mouth. I remembered how it had felt when he’d kissed me last night. My lips still felt bruised, from the sweet remnants of that fire. “You want me. As I want you.”
“I won’t let you take me because I am convenient.” I shook my head fiercely. “You can’t have me now, Alejandro!”
He came closer, towering above me, our bodies so near they almost touched.
“Can’t I?” he said huskily.
I stared up at him, shivering. Sunshine shimmered in the greenery around Alejandro, making the flowers gleam like colorful lights, the roses like tumbled scarlet against the deep forest green, the leaves and thorns and tangling vines.
Reaching out, he stroked a long tendril of my hair. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you in the hallways of that London mansion, watching me with such longing in your eyes.” He lifted his gaze. “I wanted you then. I want you now. And I will have you.”
His dark eyes were like deep pools, illuminated by streaks of amber in the sunlight. The kind of eyes that make you lose your breath, the kind a woman could drown in.
The kind of eyes that could make a woman forget a whole lifetime of grief and everything she should have learned from it.
He wanted me. The thought was like a flower. Like one of those beautiful, hardy, deeply poisonous oleander flowers I’d seen growing along the Spanish highway.
He wanted me.
“We are married now,” he said.
“For Miguel’s sake.”
“Sí. We married for the sake of our son.” He followed me, his powerful body intent, with his dark hair and his dark clothes, like a stalking panther. “But that is not why I want you in my bed.”
“But I can’t trust you—”
He straightened, his face dangerous. “Why do you think that?”
“You said you lied to me and will lie again. You said you’re no good at keeping promises....”
Alejandro looked away. “That was about...something else.” He looked back at me. “I will always keep my promises to you.”
“But how can I believe that?” I whispered, my heart running like a scared deer.
“Because it’s true.” He moved closer, running his hand down my long, loose hair, down my back. I shivered beneath the soft, seductive touch. Lifting his hand, he stroked my cheek as he whispered, “Be with me. Be my wife.”
My whole body trembled, leaning toward him.
“And if you still think you can’t trust me...” His fingers gently stroked my cheeks, lifting my chin as he said softly, “Trust this.”
Lowering his head, he pressed his lips against mine. I felt his warmth, his power, the strength of his body. I closed my eyes, lost, dizzy with desire. When he finally pulled away, I stared up at him, trembling.
“Please,” I choked out. I lifted my gaze to his. Please don’t make me love you. “Please don’t make me want you....”
He rubbed the pads of his thumbs along my swollen lower lip, and gave me a smile that was breathtaking in its masculine triumph. “Too late.”
In the distance, I heard Maurine calling from the castle. I twisted my head, listening, and so did he.
Alejandro suddenly cupped my face in his hands. His eyes were dark. Merciless. “Tonight,” he whispered. “You will be in my bed. Tonight...” He ran his fingertips down my shoulders, cupping my breasts. I gave a soft gasp, and he returned a sensual smile. “You will be my wife.”
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