8 Brand-New Romance Authors

CHAPTER SIX

SANTOS’S PULSE POUNDED in his head and a fire coursed through his veins which had little to do with the punishing early-morning run he’d just completed. After yet another night of trying to douse his need for Georgina he’d given up and, despite it being the morning of his wedding, had gone out to find some kind of release. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

How could one woman drive him to such distraction?

Refusing to explore the answer to that question, he returned to his villa. As he did so he heard female voices and knew that Señora Santana had arrived, along with the others, to do the bridal hair and make-up. He clenched his hands into fists, fighting hard against the urge to go to Georgina’s room, send everyone out and continue what she’d started last night—because start it she most definitely had.

Patience, he reminded himself, and headed for a cold shower instead. His run had not had the desired effect. Heady lust still throbbed through his veins and he knew of only one antidote for that—other than taking Georgina to his bed right now. Work. Once he’d showered he would shut himself in his office and work until lunchtime, when he would escort Georgina to the beach to become his wife.

An hour later he admitted it was impossible. The figures blurred before him and all he could think about was that kiss last night. At first so innocent and tender, then passion had taken over. Santos realised he’d been so consumed by need he’d behaved like a teenager, raging hormones taking control of his senses, rendering him completely under her spell.

Just as his father had been with Carlo’s mother.

That thought alone had the sobering effect he needed on his body. He could never allow himself to be at the mercy of a woman—wanting her so much that nothing else mattered. Not even his inheritance. He’d never wanted a serious relationship, and certainly didn’t want to get married, but his father’s interfering had changed that.

In a bid to divert his mind he turned to his laptop, scanning the business pages and the headlines from Spain and England before looking at the celebrity gossip columns. Sure enough, just as he’d expected, he and Georgina were featured leaving the party together. Speculation as to what would happen next had filled the columns for the last two days.

At least now nobody would think him grasping enough to marry purely for financial gain. That sort of reputation wouldn’t go down well when making business deals in the future. But if his business rivals thought he had a human side, one touched by love—whatever that was—they would be less guarded with him, giving him the edge he always sought.

He looked up at the clock on the wall. Eleven-thirty. Almost time to seal the hardest deal of his life. He turned off the laptop, put away his papers and headed back to his room to put on his suit.

As he fixed his cufflinks he looked in the mirror. Was he doing the right thing? He thought of the clause in the will, the need for an heir, and knew in that moment he should have told Georgina exactly what might be expected of her unless his legal team could find another way out. So why hadn’t he? Because he didn’t seriously think it would come to that when he was paying to find a solution. But then he hadn’t thought he’d ever have to marry either.

A knock at the door drew his attention and he strode over to open it, knowing he was to be given the message that she was ready. It was time to make Georgina his wife. Guilt shot through him. She didn’t know exactly what she’d signed up for. He had to tell her as soon as they were alone. Tell her that his mention of children in the prenuptial agreement might prove vital in the deal she’d come up with. Even he wasn’t that harsh. Despite everything, he still clung to the hope that it wouldn’t be necessary.

She was waiting for him on the terrace, but nothing could have prepared him for that moment if he’d spent several years organising it, instead of several days.

Georgina looked amazing.

Cream chiffon and silk encased her slender figure, but the slit in the floor-length dress drew his eye to her leg as she moved towards him. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a chignon and lace was attached to it, giving her a very Spanish air. The bodice of her dress clung to her breasts lovingly and on the single strap diamonds sparkled.

‘I trust this meets your requirements?’

Her chin lifted defiantly, and her voice was as sharp as a razor, but her eyes still blazed with the same desire he’d seen in them last night. Gone was the woman he’d held in his arms as the stars sparkled above them.

‘Every bride should look stunning on her wedding day,’ he said firmly, admiring the confidence that radiated from her. ‘And you do.’

He fought to stop his mind envisaging removing the gown later as he truly made her his. Because if the attraction that existed between them—the one they had both been trying to deny—finally got the better of them when they were alone, there would be no doubt about consummating their marriage.

‘You look very handsome too,’ she said, a small blush creeping across her cheeks, her words softer.

‘I’m pleased you didn’t choose one of those fussy, frilly gowns I saw being brought in.’ He tried to lighten the mood with small talk, but each step she took towards him showcased her slender legs and it was having a powerful effect on him. ‘Such a daring dress was made for you.’

‘Having been married before, I didn’t think the usual fairytale image was appropriate.’ She followed his lead and kept her voice light.

‘It is far better than what you wore the first time,’ he said slowly, his gaze holding hers. ‘A business suit at a registry office? Hardly the stuff of fairytales.’

‘You know that?’ Her beautiful dark eyes widened slightly and she drew in a sharp breath.

‘I always research my business deals, Georgina, and this one is no exception.’ His words sounded firmer than he’d intended as he remembered exactly why they were doing this. The effort of not reaching for her, taking her in his arms and kissing her as he had last night, was almost too much. ‘Ready?’

She looked at him for a moment, her brown eyes cool and emotionless, then she swallowed hard, giving away the fact that she wasn’t as composed as she wanted him to think.

‘I’m ready.’ Still her voice was hard, full of determination.

He took her hand and led her from the terrace, down the steps towards the beach, where his cousin and a friend waited to witness their marriage. He glanced at her, smiling at her continued air of defiance.

Pride unexpectedly swelled in his chest as he realised just what was about to happen. He was about to take this gorgeous woman as his wife—a woman any man would be proud to be seen with. She was clever, witty, and incredibly sexy. Her hand in his was small and he clutched it tighter, enjoying the warmth of her.

* * *

Georgina’s step almost faltered, and it was nothing to do with the grains of sand sliding through her sandals as she made her way across the beach. It was everything to do with the proud and arrogant man at her side.

His hand was warm as it held hers and she risked a quick look at him. He looked as if he’d stepped from her long-ago abandoned dream of a happy-ever-after. He was exactly the image of the man she’d used to dream of marrying: tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome. But this man was also dangerous. The way he could send her senses into overdrive meant she had to guard herself well or risk being hurt.

The waves rolled onto the sand before rushing back to sea and Georgina wished she could slip away with them. Doubts... Surely they were natural for a bride, but they clouded her mind, making her homesick. She wanted to see Emma, to tell her what was happening. This morning she’d nearly called her, but as she’d looked at her sister’s number she’d known she didn’t have enough strength to conceal the truth.

She wished she had someone here she knew. Someone for her. Someone who could reassure her she was doing the right thing.

When Santos stopped, not far from Raul and two others, she knew it was too late.

‘I’m sorry there wasn’t time to find one of your friends to witness this.’

Santos spoke softly next to her ear, almost making her jump and dragging her from her melancholy. It was as if he knew her thoughts.

She smiled brightly at him—maybe a little too brightly. ‘It might have given the game away if you’d started flying my friends out here.’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘I’m sure,’ she replied quickly, injecting as much bravado into her voice as possible. ‘Let’s just get this over and done with.’

He looked shocked, but time for any further discussion was lost as the minister greeted them.

Everything seemed to spin. The minister’s words, first in English, then Spanish, blended with the rush of the waves. Santos continued to hold her hand tightly and the heat of his body beside her was matched only by the sun.

She couldn’t think—couldn’t even grasp the concept of the words that were being said. When she’d walked into Santos’s office last week she hadn’t envisaged this—a beach ceremony with a man she was finding ever harder to resist. A man who wanted to be married to her about as much as she wanted to be to him.

‘Georgie?’

She looked slowly up at him, remembering the need to act like a real bride, and smiled. He smiled back. A smile that reached into the dark depths of his eyes, melting her from the inside out.

He took her hands in his and spoke in Spanish to her. She had no idea what he was saying, what he was doing. Everything seemed unreal. Then he slid a gold ring on her finger, repeating the words in English, and she realised he was doing exactly what she should be. Acting.

Panic raced through her. She didn’t have a ring for him. Should she have got one? A polite cough at her side caught her attention and Raul handed her a ring, his smile full of charm. She smiled and turned back to Santos, slid the ring onto his finger and repeated the words that bound them legally in a marriage neither wanted.

Moments later Santos covered her lips with his, almost knocking the air from her as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer. She should resist, but sparks took off inside her like New Year’s Eve fireworks and she wound her arms about his neck. It was as if the desire of last night still simmered.

Just as suddenly as the kiss had begun it ended, and Santos pulled away from her, but he kept her hand in his as he thanked Raul, his friend and the minster. Spanish flowed around her and all she could do was stand and wait, trying to come to terms with what she’d done.

It’s for Emma. Just as it was last time.

‘Now it is time for us.’ Santos returned his attention back to her, his dark eyes sparking with fire.

‘Us?’ she asked as she watched the three people who’d witnessed her marriage walk back across the beach.

‘Sí.’ He dropped a kiss lightly on her nose and she blinked in shock at the affectionate gesture. ‘We have to have at least a few days for our honeymoon before we return to London.’

Honeymoon.

Had he gone mad?

‘Is that really necessary?’ She couldn’t believe he was serious. ‘We’re married now. You’ve got your business. Can’t we just go back and tell Emma and Carlo they can get married?’

‘This was your idea, Georgina. You wanted to make it look as real as possible.’ He frowned and looked down at her, his hand still clasping hers.

‘I only wanted our names on a marriage certificate. I didn’t want all this acting.’ She should never have hoped to change things so late in the day. Not when she was dealing with a man like Santos.

His dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘You wanted authenticity and you’ve damn well got it.’

He let go of her hand and stepped back from her, then turned and walked back to the villa. She watched him go, just as she’d watched her father go all those years ago.

What was she doing? She couldn’t stay on the beach—an abandoned bride for all to see. Propelled into action, she kicked off her sandals, picked them up and marched after him. They’d been married for only a matter of minutes and were already arguing. Surely that would make him see they needed to go their separate ways?

‘Okay,’ she said as she caught up with him, injecting as much ferocity as she could into her voice. ‘We’ll have the honeymoon. But once Emma and Carlo get married this farce ends.’

‘Farce?’

He stopped and turned to face her. The fury in his face served only to increase her need to keep what she really felt for him concealed.

Without warning he pulled her into his arms, his lips claiming hers in a demanding and hungry kiss, weakening her body so that she could barely stand. She wanted to respond, wanted to take the pleasure his lips promised, but instead she reminded herself it wasn’t real. None of it was. At least not for him.

His hands pressed her ever closer to him, until she had no doubt that although the marriage wasn’t real his desire for her was. Her lips parted and his tongue plundered her mouth, entwining with hers in an erotic dance, making her sigh with pleasure.

Heaven help her, she wanted more. She wanted this man in a way she’d never wanted a man before.

He pulled back from her, his breathing deep and ragged. ‘Now, deny that, Mrs Ramirez. Deny that you want me. Deny what your body tells me.’

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’ Her lips were bruised and her body trembled with unquenched desire as she looked into his eyes, seeing sparks of passion within their depths.

‘Come,’ he demanded as he took her hand, and the gentleness of yesterday was gone.

Was he about to drag her to his room, take her to his bed? Excitement fizzed in her veins, only to be replaced by disappointment as he walked straight through the villa and out to his car.

‘Where are we going?’

He opened the door of the car for her and she got in, hampered by the silk and chiffon of her dress. Mesmerised, she watched his hands expertly gather the silk skirt and bundle it into the car, his fingers brushing against her bare leg where the gown so daringly parted. She shivered as their eyes met. Their gazes remained locked; his hand rested on her leg.

‘To my yacht.’

His voice was deep and incredibly seductive. Her heart jolted and her pulse raced as his fingers trailed over her thigh, moving teasingly higher.

‘For our honeymoon.’

The smouldering flames she saw in his eyes should have been warning enough, but she didn’t want to listen to sense any more. This man wanted her, desired her, and she wanted him too. All sensible reasoning slipped away as he bent and kissed her thigh, where his fingers had made a blazing trail.

‘Santos.’ She placed her hands either side of his face, forcing him to look up at her. ‘Please don’t. At least not here.’

He smiled and stretched up to press his lips to hers, breathing Spanish words against them. She had no idea what he said and neither did she care. She watched, anticipation throbbing in her blood, as he shut the car door and strode around the front to the driver’s side. He looked at her as the engine growled to life, his gaze so hot it seemed to melt the chiffon from her body and dissolve the silk of her skirt. And when those dark and dangerous eyes met hers she knew it was already too late. She’d lost. His expert charm and arrogant confidence had won.

She was as good as his.

She sat silently contemplating what had just happened between them as Santos drove. The car sped along the coast road, but she didn’t doubt his ability to handle it. The sea glistened in the afternoon sun and she realised that very soon they’d be alone out there.

Tyres screeched as he came to an abrupt halt next to what was probably the biggest yacht in the harbour. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed that they weren’t going to be alone after all. A yacht this size must have at least a dozen crew members.

As they boarded he fired off rapid instructions in Spanish and everything seemed to come to life around them. A maid stepped forward, offering a glass of champagne, and Georgina took it, grateful to have something to hold other than Santos’s hand.

She looked at him and he raised his glass to her. ‘To my beautiful wife.’

His gaze openly devoured her and her body tingled.

‘To my handsome husband,’ she flirted.

Just one sip of champagne was making her braver than she really was. She had to play the game well, so she smiled as he smiled. But her words weren’t lies. He was more handsome than she could ever have dreamed of, standing on deck in his designer suit, glass of champagne in hand, passion for her sparking in his eyes. He was everything and more from her abandoned dream of the perfect man.

‘As we sail we shall have our wedding breakfast.’

He sipped his champagne and she watched him swallow, mesmerised by the movement of his throat. Food was the last thing she wanted right now, but maybe it would bring her back to her senses, dull the thud of desire in her veins and enable her to think rationally.

Whilst they’d been talking the yacht had slipped away from the harbour and was now sailing past the long stone wall and out into the sea. The small but affluent town of Puerto Banus looked picturesque, nestled below the looming mountains, and Georgina was transfixed by the view.

‘So beautiful,’ she whispered, unable to drag her eyes from it.

‘Beautiful indeed.’ Santos’s voice was firm and strong as he stood next to her. ‘But it is outshone by the beauty of my bride.’

Georgina took another sip of champagne—anything to calm her nerves—and then turned to face him. ‘Surely we don’t need to keep up the pretence here?’

His hand reached out, his fingers lifting her chin so that she had no option but to look at him. Her legs became unsteady and she wondered if it wasn’t more to do with the man next to her than the motion of the yacht.

‘Tonight I ask only one thing of you, Georgina.’

Her heart accelerated and pounded in her chest like a drum. Her gaze locked with his, held there by only the smallest touch of his fingers to her chin. Her breathing deepened and she wondered if she’d be able to stand for much longer so close to him.

‘And that is...?’ She maintained control of her voice, but control of her body was much harder. Heat was building low down in her stomach, spreading slowly and relighting the fire that had so nearly consumed her last night.

‘No pretence. Not tonight, at least.’

* * *

Santos saw her eyes widen, watched as the soft brown of her irises turned darker until they were as black as the night sky. Her full lips, the ones that had kissed him almost into oblivion last night, parted and he fought hard against the urge to crush them beneath his.

‘Not even a little bit?’ She smiled up at him, and a hint of mischief danced in her eyes.

She was still hiding herself from him.

‘No.’ He lifted her chin a little higher and brushed his lips against hers, feeling her body tremble as it so nearly touched his. She smelt good, her perfume sweet and light. ‘No pretence at all, Georgie.’

He liked calling her that. It made her seem more real—warmer, somehow. Like the woman he’d glimpsed last night. And tonight he was determined to find her again. It was that woman he wanted—the woman who’d filled his dreams and every waking moment since.

He took the glass from her hand and without taking his eyes from hers dropped it onto a nearby seat. The yacht lurched as they headed out to sea, pitching her against him, and instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close.

‘You can let me go now,’ she said firmly, her breath feathering against his chin as she looked up at him. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think I’m throwing myself at you.’

He laughed and let her go. ‘I wouldn’t ever think that of you.’

She was so vibrant, so beautiful, and she was his wife.

As he faced her he saw shyness spread over her face—an emotion he would never have associated with the demanding woman who’d all but barged into his office last week.

Her fingers brushed his and his pulse raced in anticipation, just as it had been doing every time she came near him. It was almost torture, wanting a woman and not being able to have her. But tonight would be different. Tonight she would be his.

He watched as she walked away from him, the sandals she’d struggled with on the beach long since abandoned. The wind whipped at her dress, lifting the silk around her, allowing him more than a glimpse of long slender legs as she moved inside the yacht.

Pushing back the carnal thoughts that filled his mind, he followed her—and almost stopped in his stride when he saw the sadness on her face as she stood and looked out of the window. Was she thinking of her sister? Missing her?

‘I’m sorry there wasn’t anyone at the wedding for you.’ Uneasy guilt compelled him to say it again, despite her earlier assurances.