The M?lendez Forgotten Marriage

The M?lendez Forgotten Marriage MELANIE MILBURNE A marriage based on convenience – or on love? When fragile Emelia awoke from her coma she had no recollection of the strikingly handsome man before her, whose eyes glittered like fine-cut gems – hard and impenetrable. But he aroused something within her… Javier M?lendez had wed Emelia for convenience and seduced her for pleasure.The rules in place during their marriage had suited him perfectly, and he’d ensured his trophy wife adhered to them… But as Emelia’s memory slowly returned she seemed to be labouring under a misapprehension…that their marriage was based on love! ‘So you’re not expecting me to…to sleep with you…right away?’ He hooked one dark brow upwards. ‘I thought you said you don’t usually sleep with perfect strangers?’ She frowned at his tone, not sure if he was teasing her. ‘Technically you’re not a stranger, though, are you?’ she said. ‘I might not remember you, but there’s enough evidence around to confirm we are married.’ A glint appeared in his dark-as-night gaze as it held hers. ‘Are you inviting me to sleep with you, Emelia?’ Emelia felt her belly fold over itself. ‘Er—no…not yet…I mean…no. No. It wouldn’t be right for me or even fair to you.’ He came up close, lifting a portion of her hair, slowly twirling it around his finger until she felt the subtle tension on her scalp as he tethered her to him. ‘We could do it to see if it unlocks your memory,’ he said, in a voice that sounded rough and sexy. ‘How about it, querida? Who knows? Perhaps it is just your mind that has forgotten me. Maybe your body will remember everything.’ The M?lendez Forgotten Marriage By Melanie Milburne www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) MELANIE MILBURNE says: ‘I am married to a surgeon, Steve, and have two gorgeous sons, Paul and Phil. I live in Hobart, Tasmania, where I enjoy an active life as a long-distance runner and a nationally ranked top ten Master’s swimmer. I also have a Master’s Degree in Education, but my children totally turned me off the idea of teaching! When not running or swimming I write, and when I’m not doing all of the above I’m reading. And if someone could invent a way for me to read during a four-kilometre swim I’d be even happier!’ Recent titles by the same author: CASTELLANO’S MISTRESS OF REVENGE THE VENADICCI MARRIAGE VENGEANCE BOUND BY THE MARCOLINI DIAMONDS The Royal House of Karedes: THE FUTURE KING’S LOVE-CHILD (Book 6) Did you know that Melanie also writes for Medical™ Romance? EMERGENCY DOCTOR AND CINDERELLA THE DOCTOR’S REBEL KNIGHT To Gaile Donoghue, a loyal and trusted friend for more years than I can count. Thank you for your love and support. Also, special thanks to Rebecca Fleming and her grandmother, who were so helpful with translating some words for me into Spanish. Thanks! Chapter One EVEN before Emelia opened her eyes she knew she was in hospital. At the blurred edges of her consciousness she vaguely registered the sound of shoes squeaking on polished linoleum and the swish of curtains and voices, both male and female, speaking in low hushed tones. She half-opened her eyes. The light was bright, making her pupils shrink painfully. She squeezed her eyes shut and, after a moment or two, blinked again and, narrowing her still flinching gaze, looked at the nurse who was standing at the end of the bed with a chart in her hands. ‘W-what happened?’ Emelia asked, trying to lift herself upright in the bed. ‘What am I doing here? What’s going on?’ The nurse clipped the folder on the end of the bed before coming to lay a gentle hand on Emelia’s shoulder to ease her back down. ‘Mrs M?lendez, please don’t upset yourself. You’re in hospital. You had a car accident a week ago. You’ve been in a coma.’ Emelia felt her heart give a jerky beat in her chest like a kick. She frowned and then wished she hadn’t as it made her head ache unbearably. She put a hand up to her forehead, her fingers encountering a thickly wadded bandage positioned there. Hospital? Accident? Coma? The words were foreign to her, but the most foreign of all was how the nurse had addressed her. ‘W-what did you call me?’ she asked, staring at the nurse with her heart still thudding out of time. The nurse glanced over her shoulder as if looking for backup. ‘Erm…I think I’d better get the doctor to explain,’ she said and quickly bustled away. Emelia felt as if she were trying to find her way through a thick fog while blindfolded. Accident? What accident? She looked down at her sheet and hospital blanket-covered body. Although she ached all over, she seemed to be in all one piece. No plaster casts were on any of her limbs so she obviously hadn’t broken any bones. The worst pain was from her head, although she felt horrendously nauseous, but she assumed that was from the pain medication she had been given. She could see the drip leading from a vein in the back of her left hand where it was lying on the top of the bed. She quickly looked away as her stomach gave a rolling turn. What had the nurse called her again…Mrs Mel…something or other? Her heart gave another little stutter. Married? Of course she wasn’t married! There must be some mistake, a mix-up in the paperwork or something. They’d obviously got her name wrong. Her name was Emelia Louise Shelverton. She had moved abroad from Australia a couple of months ago. She lived in London, in Notting Hill. She worked part-time as a singer in The Silver Room at one of the top hotels a couple of blocks from Mayfair while she looked for a more permanent position as a music teacher. Married? What a laugh. She wasn’t even dating anyone. ‘Ah, so you are finally awake.’ A man who was clearly one of the senior doctors swished the curtains around Emelia’s bed closed. ‘That is very good news indeed. We’ve been quite worried about you, young lady.’ Emelia glanced at his name tag through eyes that were still slightly blurry. ‘Dr…um…Pratchett? What am I doing in hospital? I don’t know what’s going on. I think there’s been some sort of mistake. The nurse called me Mrs something or other but I’m not married.’ The doctor gave her a formal trust-me-I’m-a-doctor smile. ‘You have suffered a head injury, Emelia,’ he said. ‘This has obviously caused you to have some memory loss. We don’t know how extensive it is until we conduct further tests. I will have the staff psychologist assess you presently. We may also need to rescan you under MRI.’ Emelia put her hand to her head again, her brows coming together in a tight frown. ‘I…I have amnesia?’ The doctor nodded. ‘It seems so. Do you know what day it is?’ Emelia thought for a moment but knew she was only guessing when she offered, ‘Friday?’ ‘It is Monday,’ Dr Pratchett said. ‘September tenth.’ Emelia drew in an uneven breath. ‘What year is it?’ she asked in a frightened whisper. The doctor told her and she blinked at him in horror. ‘That can’t be right,’ she said. ‘I can’t have forgotten two years of my life. That’s ridiculous!’ Dr Pratchett placed his hand over hers where it was lying on the bed clutching the sheet in her fingers. ‘Try to keep calm, Emelia,’ he said soothingly. ‘This is, of course, a very frightening and confusing time for you. You have been in a coma for several days so things will seem a little strange at first. But in time you may well remember everything. It just takes a little time. You need to take things very slowly at first. Baby steps, my dear. Baby steps.’ Emelia pulled her hand out from beneath the doctor’s, holding it up like an exhibit at an investigation. ‘Look,’ she said, pushing her chin up. ‘No rings. I told you—there’s been some sort of mix-up. I’m not married.’ ‘You are very definitely Mrs Emelia Louise M?lendez,’ the doctor assured her with authority. ‘That is the name the police found on your driver’s licence. Your husband is waiting outside to see you. He flew over from Spain as soon as he was informed of your accident. He has positively identified you as his wife. He has barely left your bedside the whole time you have been unconscious. He just stepped out a moment ago to take a phone call.’ Emelia’s mouth fell open so wide she felt her chin drop almost to her chest. She felt her heart boom like a cannon exploding in her chest. Her husband? Her Spanish husband? She didn’t even know his Christian name. How could it be possible for her to forget something as important as that? Where had they met? When had they got married? Had they? How many times…? Her stomach gave a funny little quiver…It wasn’t possible…was it? How could she have lived with and loved a man and not remember him? Her skin broke out in a sweat, her palms hot and moist with uncertainty and fear. Was she dreaming? Surely she must be dreaming. Think. Think. Think. What was the last thing she had been doing? She scrunched her eyes closed and forced herself to concentrate but her head pounded sickeningly as she tried to recall the last few days. It was all a blur, a foggy indistinct blur that made little, if any, sense. When Emelia opened her eyes the doctor had already moved through a gap in the curtains and a short time later they twitched aside again, the rattle of the rings holding the curtain on the rail sounding too loud inside her head. She felt her breath stall in her throat. A tall raven-haired stranger with coal-black deep set eyes stood at the end of the bed. There was nothing that was even vaguely familiar about him. She studied his face for endless seconds, her bruised brain struggling to place him. She didn’t recognise any one of his dark, classically handsome features. Not his tanned, intelli-gent-looking forehead or his dark thick brows over amazingly bottomless eyes or that not short, not long raven-black hair that looked as if it had last been groomed with his fingers. She didn’t recognise that prominent blade of a nose, and neither did she recognise that heavily shadowed jaw that looked as if it had an uncompromising set to it, and nor that mouth…Her belly gave another involuntary movement, like a mouse trying to scuttle over a highly polished floor. His mouth was sculptured; the top lip would have been described as slightly cruel if it hadn’t been for the sensual fullness of his lower one. That was a mouth that knew how to kiss and to kiss to conquer, she thought, as her belly gave another little jiggle. She sent the tip of her tongue out to the sand dune of her lips. Had she been conquered by that mouth? If so, why couldn’t she remember it? ‘Emelia.’ Emelia felt her spine prickle at the way he said her name. His Spanish accent gave the four syllables an exotic allure, making every part of her acutely aware of him, even if she didn’t know who the hell he was. ‘Um…Hi…’ What else was she supposed to say? Hello, darling, how nice to see you again? She cleared her throat, her fingers beginning to pluck at the hem of the sheet pulled across her middle. ‘Sorry…I’m a little confused right now…’ ‘It’s quite all right.’ He came to the side of her bed in a couple of strides, his tall presence all the more looming as he stood within touching distance, looking down at her with those inscrutable black eyes. Emelia caught a whiff of his aftershave. It wasn’t strong, but then he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. There was a masculine urgency about the black stubble peppering his jaw, making her think of the potent male hormones surging through his body. She shakily breathed in another waft of his aftershave. The light fragrance had citrus undertones that smelt vaguely familiar. Her forehead creased as she tried to concentrate…Lemons…sun-warmed lemons…a hint of lime or was it lemon grass? ‘The doctor said I can take you home as soon as you are well enough to travel,’ the man said. Emelia felt the skin on her back tingle all over again at the sound of his voice. It had such a sexy timbre, deep and low and unmistakably sensual. She could imagine him speaking in his native tongue; the musical cadences of Spanish had always delighted her. But there was something about his demeanour that alerted her to an undercurrent of tension. There was something about the unreachable depths of his eyes. There was something about the way he hadn’t yet touched her. Not that she wanted him to…or did she? She glanced at his long fingered tanned hands. They were hanging loosely by his sides—or was that a tight clench of his fingers he had just surreptitiously released? Her eyes slowly moved up to meet his. Her chest tightened and her breathing halted. Was that anger she could see in that tiny flicker of a nerve pulsing by the side of his mouth? No, of course it couldn’t be anger. He was upset, that was what it was. He was obviously shocked to see her like this. What husband wouldn’t be, especially if his own wife didn’t even know who he was? She moistened her lips again, trying to find a way out of the confusing labyrinthine maze of her mind. ‘I’m sorry…you must think I’m terrible…but I don’t even know…I mean…I…I…I don’t remember your name…’ His top lip lifted in a movement that should have been a wry smile but somehow Emelia suspected it wasn’t. ‘I do not think you are terrible, Emelia,’ he said. ‘You have amnesia, s?? There is much you do not remember, but in time hopefully it will all come back to you. The doctor seems to think your memory loss will not be permanent.’ Emelia swallowed. What if it was? She had read a story a couple of years ago about a young woman who had lost her memory after a horrific attack. Her whole life had changed as a result. She hadn’t even recognised her parents. Her brother and two sisters were total strangers to her. ‘Perhaps I should introduce myself,’ the man said, breaking through her tortured reverie. ‘My name is Javier M?lendez. I am your husband. We have been married for almost two years.’ Emelia felt the cacophonous boom of her heart again. It felt as if her chest wall was going to blow open with the sheer force of it. She struggled to contain her composure, her fingers now clutching at the sheet of the bed either side of her body as if to anchor herself. ‘M-married?’ she choked. ‘Truly? This is not a joke or something? We are legally married?’ He gave a single nod. ‘It is our anniversary at the end of next month.’ Emelia had no hope of disguising her shock. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to get her voice to work. Her brain was flying off in all directions, confused, frightened, lost. How could this be? How could this man be her husband? How could her mind let her down in such a way? How could she forget her own wedding day? What cruel stroke of fate had erased it from her memory? She let out a breath that rattled through her lungs. ‘Um…where did we meet?’ she asked. ‘We met at The Silver Room in London,’ he said. ‘You were playing one of my favourite songs as I walked in.’ Emelia ran her tongue over her lips again as part of the fog cleared in her head. ‘I…I remember The Silver Room…’ She put her hand to her aching eyes. ‘I can picture it. The chandeliers…the piano…’ ‘Do you remember your employer?’ Javier asked. Emelia looked up at him again but his eyes were like glittering diamonds: hard and impenetrable. ‘Peter Marshall…’ she said after a moment, her spirits instantly lifting as the memories flooded back. At least she hadn’t lost too much of her past, she thought in cautious relief. ‘He manages the hotel. He’s from Australia like me. I’ve known him since childhood. We went to neighbouring private schools. He gave me the job in the piano bar. He’s been helping me find work as a private music teacher…’ Something flickered in his gaze, a quick lightning flash of something she couldn’t quite identify. ‘Do you remember why you came to London in the first place?’ he asked in a voice that was toneless, showing no hint of emotion. Emelia looked down at her hands for a moment. ‘Yes…yes I do…’ she said, returning her gaze to his. ‘My father and I had a falling out. A big one. We have a rather difficult relationship, or at least we have had since my mother died. He married within a couple of months of her death. His new wife…the latest one? We didn’t get on. Actually, I haven’t got on with any of his wives. There have been four so far…’ She lowered her gaze and sighed. ‘It’s complicated…’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It always is.’ She brought her gaze back to his, searching his features for a moment. ‘I guess if we’re married I must have told you about it many times. How stubborn my father is.’ ‘Yes, you have,’ he said, ‘many times.’ Emelia pressed her fingers to the corners of her eyes, her frown still tight. ‘Why can’t I remember you?’ she asked. ‘I should be able to remember you.’ I need to be able to remember you, otherwise I will be living with a total stranger, she thought in rising alarm. His dark eyes gave nothing away. ‘The doctor said you should not rush things, querida,’ he said. ‘You will remember when the time is right. It might take a few days or maybe even a few weeks.’ Emelia swallowed a tight knot of panic. ‘But what if I don’t?’ she asked in a broken whisper. ‘What if I never remember the last two years of my life?’ One of his broad shoulders rose and fell in a dismissive shrug that Emelia somehow felt wasn’t quite representative of how he felt. ‘Do not concern yourself with things that are out of your control,’ he said. ‘Perhaps when you are back at home at my villa in Seville you will remember bits and pieces.’ He waited a beat before continuing. ‘You loved the villa. You said when I first took you there it was the most beautiful place you had ever seen.’ Emelia tried to picture it but her mind continued to be a blank. ‘What was I doing in London?’ she asked as soon as the thought popped into her head. ‘You weren’t with me in the car, were you?’ That lightning-quick movement came and went in his gaze again; it was like the hand of an illusionist making something disappear before the audience could see how it was done. ‘No, I was not,’ he said. ‘You were with your—’ he paused for a moment ‘—with Peter Marshall.’ Emelia felt a hand grab at her insides and twist them cruelly. ‘Peter was with me?’ Her heart gave a lurch against her breastbone. ‘Was he injured? Is he all right? Can I see him? Where is he? How is he?’ The ensuing silence after her rapid fire of panicked questions seemed to contain a deep and low back beat, a slow steady rhythm that seemed to be building and building, leading Emelia inexorably to a disharmonious chord she didn’t want to hear. ‘I am sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but Marshall did not survive the accident,’ Javier said again without any trace of emotion in his voice. Emelia blinked at him in stunned shock. Peter was dead? Her mind couldn’t process the information. It kept shrinking back from it, like a battered dog cowering out of reach of the next anticipated blow. ‘No…’ The word came out hoarsely in a voice she didn’t recognise as her own. ‘No, that can’t be. He can’t be dead. He can’t be…We had such plans…’ Javier’s expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of a muscle in his jaw revealed an iota of what he was feeling. It was as if he were reading from a script for a role he had no intention of playing. His words were wooden, cool. ‘He is dead, Emelia. The doctors couldn’t save him.’ Emelia felt tears burst from her eyes, hot scalding tears that ran unchecked down her cheeks. ‘But I loved him so much…’ Her voice was barely audible. ‘We’ve known each other for years. We grew up in the same suburb. He was such a supportive friend to me…’ A thought hit her like a glancing blow and her eyes widened in horror. ‘Oh, God…’ she gulped. ‘Who was driving? Did I kill him? Oh, God, God, God—’ He touched her then. His hand came down over hers on the bed just like the doctor’s had done earlier, but his touch felt nothing like the cool, smooth professional hand of the medico’s. Javier’s touch was like a scorching brand, a blistering heat that scored her flesh to the fragile bones of her hand as he pinned it beneath the strength of his. ‘No, you did not kill him,’ he said flatly. ‘You were not driving. He was. He was speeding.’ Her relief was a minute consolation given the loss of a dear friend. Peter was dead? The three words whirled around and around in her head but she wouldn’t allow them to settle. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe this was nothing but a horrible nightmare. Maybe she would wake up any second and find herself lying in her sunny shoebox flat in Notting Hill, looking forward to meeting up with Peter later to discuss the programme for that night’s performance, just as she did every night before taking her place at the grand piano. Emelia looked down at her hand beneath the tanned weight of Javier M?lendez’s. There was something about his touch that triggered something deep inside her body. Her blood recognised him even if her mind did not. She felt the flicker of it as it began to race in her veins, the rapid escalation of her pulse making her heart pound at the thought of him touching her elsewhere. Had he touched her elsewhere? Well, of course he must have if they were married… She gave her head a little shake but it felt as if a jar of marbles had spilled inside. She groaned and put her free hand to her temple, confusion, despair, grief and disbelief all jostling for position. Javier squeezed her hand with the gentlest of pressure but even so she felt the latent strength leashed there. ‘I realise all this must be a terrible shock. There was no easy way of telling you.’ Emelia blinked away her tears, her throat feeling so dry she could barely swallow the fist-sized wad of sadness there. As if he had read her mind, he released her hand and pulled the bed table closer, before pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her. ‘Here,’ he said, holding the glass for her as if she were a small child. ‘Drink this. It will make you feel better.’ Emelia was convinced nothing was ever going to make her feel better. How was a sip of water going to bring back her oldest friend? She frowned as she pushed the glass away once she had taken a token sip. ‘I don’t understand…’ She raised her eyes to Javier’s ink-black gaze. ‘Why was I in London if I am supposedly married and living with you in…in Seville, did you say?’ His eyes moved away from hers as he set the water glass back on the table. ‘Seville, yes,’ he said. ‘A few kilometres out. That is where I…where we live.’ Emelia heard the way he corrected himself and wondered if that was some sort of clue. She looked at his left hand and saw the gold band of a wedding ring nestled amongst the sprinkling of dark hairs of his long tanned finger. She felt another roller coaster dip inside her stomach and doing her best to ignore it, looked back up at him. ‘If we are married as you say, then where are my rings?’ she asked. He reached inside his trouser pocket and took out two rings. She held her breath as he picked up her hand, slipping each of the rings on with ease. She looked at the brilliance of the princess cut diamond engagement ring and the matching wedding band with its glittering array of sparkling diamonds set right around the band. Surely something so beautiful, so incredibly expensive would trigger some sort of memory in her brain? Nothing. Nada. Emelia raised her eyes back to his. ‘So…I was in London…alone?’ His eyes were like shuttered windows. ‘I was away on business in Moscow,’ he said. ‘I travel there a lot. You had travelled to London to…to shop.’ There it was again, she thought. A slight pause before he chose his words. ‘Why didn’t I go to Moscow with you?’ she asked, frowning. It was a moment before he answered. Emelia couldn’t help feeling he was holding something back from her, something important. ‘You did not always travel with me on my trips, particularly the foreign ones,’ he finally answered. ‘You preferred to spend time at home or in London. The shops were more familiar and you didn’t have to worry about the language.’ Emelia bit her lip, her fingers plucking again at the sheet covering her. ‘That’s strange…I hate shopping. I can never find the right size and I don’t like being pressured by the sales assistants.’ He didn’t answer. He just stood there looking down at her with that expressionless face, making Emelia feel as if she had stepped into someone else’s life, not her own. If she was deeply in love with him she would have gone with him, surely? What sort of wife was she to go off shopping—an activity she normally loathed—in another country instead of being by his side? It certainly didn’t sound very devoted of her. More disturbing, it sounded a little bit like something her mother would have done while she was still alive. After a long moment she forced herself to meet his gaze once more. ‘Um…I know this might seem a strange question but—’ she quickly licked her lips for courage before she continued ‘—were we…happily married?’ The question seemed to hang suspended in the air for a very long time. Emelia’s head began to ache unbearably as she tried to read his expression, to see if any slight movement of his lips, eyes or forehead would provide some clue to the state of the relationship they apparently shared. Finally his lips stretched into a brief on-off smile that didn’t involve his eyes. ‘But of course, cari?o,’ he said. ‘Why would we not be happy? We were only married for not quite two years, s?? That is not long enough to become bored or tired of each other.’ Emelia was so confused, so very bewildered. It was totally surreal to be lying here without any knowledge of her relationship with him. Surely this was the stuff of movies and fiction. Did this really happen to ordinary people like her? She began to fidget with the sheet again, desperate to be alone so she could think. ‘I’m sorry but I’m very tired…’ He stepped back from the bed. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I have business to see to, in any case. I will leave you to rest.’ He was almost through the curtains when she found her voice again. ‘Um…Javier?’ His long back seemed to stiffen momentarily before he turned to look at her. ‘Yes, Emelia?’ Emelia searched his features once more, desperate to find some hook on which to hang her new, totally unfamiliar life. ‘I’m sorry…so very sorry for not recognising you…’ She bit her lip again, releasing it to add, ‘If it was me in your place, I know I would be devastatingly hurt.’ His dark eyes seared hers for a beat or two before they fell away as he turned to leave. ‘Forget about it, querida,’ he said. It was only after the curtains had whispered against each other as they closed did Emelia realise the irony of his parting words. Chapter Two ‘WELL, today’s the big day,’ the cheery nurse on duty said brightly as she swished back the curtains of the private room windows where Emelia had spent the last few days after being moved out of the High Dependency Unit. ‘You’re finally going home with that gorgeous husband of yours. I tell you, my girl, I wouldn’t mind changes places with you, that I wouldn’t,’ she added with a grin as she plucked the pillows off the bed in preparation for a linen change. ‘If his looks weren’t enough compensation, just think—I wouldn’t have to work again, married to all that money.’ Emelia gave the nurse a tight smile as she tried to ignore the way her stomach nosedived at the mention of the tall, dark, brooding stranger who had faithfully visited her each day, saying little, smiling even less, touching her only if necessary, as if somehow sensing she wasn’t ready for a return to their previous intimacy. To limit her interaction with him, she had mostly feigned sleep, but she knew once she went home with him she would have to face the reality of their relationship. She had seen how the nurses practically swooned when he came onto the ward each day. And this one called Bridget was not the only one to gently tease her about not recognising him. Everyone seemed reasonably confident her memory loss would be temporary, but Emelia couldn’t help worrying about the missing pieces and how they would impact on her once she left the relative sanctuary of the hospital. She had spoken to the staff psychologist about her misgivings and what she perceived was Javier’s tension around her. Dr Carey had described how some partners found it hard to accept they were not recognised by the one they loved and that it would take a lot of time and patience on both sides to restore the relationship to what it had been before the accident. There could be anger and resentment and a host of other feelings that would have to be dealt with in time. The psychologist had advised Emelia to take time to get to know her husband all over again. ‘Things will be more natural between you once you are in familiar surroundings,’ Dr Carey had assured her. ‘Busy hospitals are not the most conducive environment to re-es-tablish intimacy.’ Emelia thought about her future as she waited for Javier to collect her. She sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to think about the possibility of never remembering the last two years of her life. She had no memory of her first meeting with Javier, no memory of their first kiss, let alone their wedding day and what had followed. He had said she loved his villa but she couldn’t even imagine what it looked like. She was being taken to live in a foreign country with a man who was a stranger to her in every way. She ran her hands down her tanned and toned thighs. She couldn’t help noticing how slim she was now. Surely she hadn’t lost that much weight during her coma? She had only been unconscious a week. She had struggled on and off with her weight for most of her life and yet now she was almost reed-thin. Her legs and arms were toned and her stomach had lost its annoying little pouch. It was flat and ridged with muscle she hadn’t known she possessed. Was this how Javier liked her to look? Had she adopted a gym bunny lifestyle to keep him attracted to her? How soon had she succumbed to his attentions? Had she made him wait or had she capitulated as soon as he had shown his interest in her? What had he seen in her? She knew she was blessed with reasonable looks but somehow, with his arrestingly handsome features and aristocratic bearing, he seemed the type who would prefer supermodel glamour and sophistication. The police had come in earlier and interviewed her but she had not been able to tell them anything at all about the accident. It too was all a blank, a black hole in her memory that no attempt on her part could fill. One of the constables had brought Emelia her handbag, retrieved from the accident, but even searching through it she felt as if it belonged to someone else. There was the usual collection of lip gloss and pens and tissues and gum, a frighteningly expensive atomizer of perfume and a sophisticated mobile phone that hadn’t survived the impact. The screen was cracked and it refused to turn on. She took out a packet of contraceptive pills and stared at the name on the box: Emelia M?lendez. There were only a couple of pills left in the press out card. She fingered the foil rectangle for a minute and then, without another thought, tossed it along with the packet in the rubbish bag taped to the edge of her bedside table. Emelia placed her hand on her chest near her heart, trying to ease the pain of never seeing Peter again. That was a part of her life that was finished. She hadn’t even been given the chance to say goodbye. Javier schooled his features into blankness as he entered the private suite. ‘Cari?o,’ he said, ‘I see you are all packed and ready to leave.’ He saw the flicker of uncertainty in her grey-blue gaze before she lowered it. ‘There wasn’t much to pack,’ she said, slipping off the bed to stand upright. He put out a hand to steady her but she moved out of his reach, as if his touch repelled her. He set his jaw, fighting back his fury. She didn’t used to flinch from his touch. She used to be hungry for it. He thought of all the times he had taken her, quickly, passionately, slowly, sensually. She hadn’t recoiled from his lovemaking until Marshall had come back on the scene. Javier’s gut roiled with the thought of what she had got up to while his back was turned. How convenient for her to forget her perfidy now when the stakes had changed. The way she had received the news of Marshall’s death confirmed her depth of feeling for him. She hadn’t forgotten her lover and yet she had forgotten him—her legal husband. Javier clenched his fingers around the handle of the small bag containing Emelia’s belongings. A tiny flick knife of guilt nicked at him deep inside. He had to admit there were some things he hoped she wouldn’t remember about their last heated argument. He had lost control in a way that deeply ashamed him. Had his actions during that ugly scene driven her into her lover’s arms? Or had she been planning to run away with Marshall in any case? What if she never remembered him? No. He was not going to think about that possibility, in spite of what the doctors and the psychologist had said. He lived for the day when she would look at him with full recognition in her grey-blue eyes. For the day she would smile at him and offer her soft, full beestung mouth for him to kiss; she would give him her body to pleasure and be pleasured until every last memory of her dead lover was obliterated. And then and only then he would have his revenge. ‘My car is waiting outside,’ Javier said. ‘I have a private jet waiting for our departure.’ She gave him one of her bewildered looks. ‘You…you have a private jet?’ ‘S?,’ he answered. ‘You are married to a very rich man, mi amor, or have you forgotten that too?’ She bit into her bottom lip, her gaze falling away from his as she continued walking by his side. ‘Dr Carey, the psychologist, told me some husbands find it very hard to accept their wives don’t remember them,’ she said. ‘I know this must be hard for you. I know you must feel angry and upset.’ You have no idea how angry, Javier thought as he led the way out of the hospital. Anger was like a turbulent flood inside him. His blood was surging with it, bulging in his veins like red-hot lava until he felt he was going to explode with it. How could he conceal the hatred he felt for her at her betrayal? The papers were full of it again this morning, as they had been for the past week. Every headline seemed to say the same: the speculation about her affair with Marshall, their clandestine dirty little affair that had ended in tragedy. Javier knew he would have to work harder at controlling his emotions. This was not the time to avenge the past. What was the point? Emelia apparently had no recollection of it. He cupped her elbow with the palm of his hand as he guided her into the waiting limousine. ‘I am sorry, querida,’ he said. ‘I am still getting over the shock of almost losing you. Forgive me. I will try and be more considerate.’ She looked at him once he took the seat beside her, her eyes like luminescent pools. ‘It’s OK,’ she said in a whisper-soft voice. ‘I’m finding it hard too. I feel like I am living in someone else’s body, living someone else’s life.’ ‘It is your life,’ Javier said. ‘It is the one you chose for yourself.’ She frowned as she absently stroked her fingers over the butter-soft leather of the seat between them. ‘How long did we date before we got married?’ ‘Not long.’ She turned her head to look at him. ‘How long?’ ‘Six weeks.’ Her eyes went wide, like pond water spreading after a flood. ‘I can’t believe I got married so quickly,’ she said, as if talking to herself. She shook her head but then winced as if it had hurt her. She lowered her gaze and tucked a strand of her honey-blonde hair back behind her ear, her tongue sweeping out over her lips, the action igniting a fire in his groin despite all of his attempts to ignore her physical allure. Sitting this close, he could smell the sweet vanilla fragrance of her skin. If he closed his eyes he could picture her writhing beneath him as he pounded into her, his body rocking with hers until they both exploded. He clenched his jaw and turned to look out of the window at the rain lashing down outside. ‘Was it a white wedding?’ she asked after a little silence. Javier turned and looked at her. ‘Yes, it was. There were over four hundred people there. It was called the wedding of the year. Perhaps if you see the photographs it will trigger something in your memory.’ ‘Perhaps…’ She looked away and began chewing on her bottom lip, her brow furrowing once more. Javier watched her in silence, mulling over what to tell her and what to leave well alone. The doctor had advised against pressuring her to remember. She was disoriented and still suffering from the blow of losing her lover. Apart from that first show of grief, she hadn’t mentioned Peter Marshall again, but every now and then he saw the way her eyes would tear up and a stake would go through his heart all over again. She suddenly turned and met his gaze. ‘Do you have family?’ she asked. ‘Brothers or sisters and parents?’ ‘My mother died when I was very young,’ he said. ‘My father remarried after some years. I have a half-sister called Izabella.’ He paused before adding, ‘My father left Izabella’s mother and after the divorce remarried once again. As predicted by just about everyone who knew him, it didn’t work out and he was in the process of divorcing his third wife when he died.’ ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said quietly. ‘Did I ever meet him?’ Javier stretched his lips into an embittered smile. ‘No. My father and I were estranged at the time. I hadn’t spoken to him for ten years.’ Her expression was empathetic. ‘How very sad. How did the estrangement come about?’ He drew in a breath and released it slowly. ‘My father was a stubborn man. He was hard in business and even harder in his personal life. It’s why each of his marriages turned into war zones. He liked control. It irked him that I wanted to take charge of my own life. We exchanged a few heated words and that was it. We never spoke to each other again.’ Emelia studied his stony expression, wondering how far the apple had fallen from the tree. ‘Were you alike in looks?’ she asked. His eyes met hers, so dark and mysterious, making her stomach give a little unexpected flutter. ‘We shared the same colouring but had little else in common,’ he said. ‘I was closer to my mother.’ ‘How old were you when she died?’ Emelia asked. His eyes moved away from hers, his voice when he spoke flat and emotionless. ‘I was four, almost five years old.’ Emelia felt her insides clench at the thought of him as a dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy losing his mother so young. She knew the devastation so well. She had been in her early teens when her mother had died, but still it had hit hard. Her adolescence, from fourteen years old, had been so lonely. While not particularly close to either of her high-flying parents, there had been so many times over the years when Emelia had wished she could have had just one more day with her mother. ‘Are you close to your half-sister?’ she asked. His lips moved in a brief, indulgent-looking smile which immediately softened his features, bringing warmth into his eyes. ‘Yes, strangely enough. She’s a lot younger, of course. She’s only just out of her teens but, since my father died, I’ve taken a more active role in her life. She lives in Paris with her mother but she comes to stay quite regularly.’ ‘So…I’ve met her, then?’ Emelia asked, trying to ignore the way her stomach shifted in response to his warmer expression. His eyes came back to hers, studying her for a pulsing moment. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ve met her numerous times.’ Emelia moistened her lips, something she seemed to do a lot around him. ‘Do we…get on?’ she asked, choosing her words carefully. His unreadable gaze bored into hers. ‘Unfortunately, you were not the best of friends. I think it was perhaps because Izabella was used to having my undivided attention. She saw you as a threat, as competition.’ She frowned as she thought about what he had said about his sister. The girl sounded like a spoilt brat, too used to having her own way. No wonder they hadn’t got on. ‘You said Izabella was used to having you to herself. But surely you’d had women in your life before…before me?’ ‘But of course.’ Emelia felt a quick dart of jealousy spike her at the arrogant confidence of his statement. Just how many women had there been? Not counting him, for she could not recall sleeping with him, she had only had one lover. She had been far too young and had only gone out with the man to annoy her father during one of her teenage fits of rebellion. It was not a period of her life she was particularly proud of and the loss of self-esteem she had experienced during that difficult time had made it hard for her to date with any confidence subsequently. Her belly gave another little quiver as she thought about what Javier might have taught her in the last two years. Had he tutored her in the carnal delights he seemed to have enjoyed so freely? His dark eyes began to glint as if he could read her mind. ‘We were good together, Emelia,’ he said. ‘Very, very good.’ She swallowed tightly. ‘Um…I…it’s…I don’t think I’m ready to rush into…you know…picking up where we left off, so to speak.’ He elevated one of his dark brows. ‘No?’ Emelia pressed her trembling thighs together, the heat that had pooled between them both surprising and shocking her. ‘The doctor said not to rush things. He said I should take things very slowly.’ The little gleam in his eyes was still there as he held her gaze. ‘It would not do to go against doctor’s orders, now, would it?’ She couldn’t stop herself from looking at his mouth. The sensual curve of his lips made her heart start to race. How many times had that mouth sealed hers? Was he a hard kisser or soft? Fast and furious with passion or slow and bone-meltingly commanding? The base of her spine gave a shivery tremor, the sensation moving all the way up to nestle in the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Her thoughts went racing off again. Had he kissed her there? Had he stroked his long tanned fingers over the nape of her neck? Had he dipped his tongue into the shell of her ear? Her heart rammed against her ribcage. Had he gone lower to the secret heart of her? Had he explored her in intimate detail, making her flesh quiver and spasm in delight? What positions had they made love in? Which was their favourite? Had she taken him in her mouth; had she…? Oh, God, had she…? She sneaked a quick glance at him, her face flaming when she encountered his unknowable eyes. He lifted his hand and with a barely there touch tracked the tip of one of his fingers over the curve of her warm cheek. ‘You don’t remember anything, do you, querida?’ he asked in a husky tone. Emelia pressed her lips together in an effort to stop them from prickling with sensation, with an aching burning need. ‘No…no…I’m sorry…’ He gave her a crooked smile that didn’t quite make the full distance to his eyes. ‘It is no matter. We can take our time and do it all again, step by step. It will be like the first time again, s??’ Emelia felt her heart start to flap as if it had suddenly grown wings. ‘I wasn’t very experienced…I remember that. I’d only had one lover.’ ‘You were a fast learner.’ His eyes dipped to her mouth, lingering there for a moment before coming back to her eyes. ‘Very, very fast.’ She swallowed again to clear the tightness of her throat. ‘You must find this rather…unsettling to be married to someone who doesn’t even remember how you kiss.’ His fingers went to her chin, propping her face up so she had to lock gazes with him. ‘You know, I could clear up that little mystery for you right here and now.’ She tried to pull back but he must have anticipated it as his fingers subtly tightened. ‘I…I wasn’t suggesting…’ she began. ‘No, but I was.’ Emelia felt her skin pop up in goosebumps as he angled his head and slowly brought his mouth within touching distance of hers. She felt the warm breeze of his breath waft over her lips, a feather-light caress that made her mouth tingle with anticipation for more. She waited, her eyes half closed, her heart thudding in expectation as each second passed, throbbing with tension. His fingers left her chin to splay across her cheeks, his thumbs moving back and forth in a mesmerising motion, his eyes heavy-lidded as they focused on her mouth. She sent her tongue out to moisten her lips, her heart giving another tripping beat as his mouth came just that little bit closer… ‘It might complicate things for you if I kiss you right now,’ he said in a rumbling deep tone. ‘It wouldn’t do to compromise your recovery, now would it, cari?o?’ ‘Um…I…I…It’s probably not a good idea right now…’ He gave a low deep chuckle and released her, sitting back in his seat with indolent grace. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I thought not. But it can wait. For a while.’ Emelia sat in silence, trying to imagine what it was like for him. Of course he would find this situation unbearably frustrating. He was a full-blooded healthy male in the prime of his life. And for the last two years he had been used to having her as his willing wife. Now she was like a stranger to him and him to her. Would her reticence propel him into another woman’s arms? The thought was strangely disturbing. Why would the thought of him seeking pleasure in another woman’s arms make her feel so on edge and irritable? It wasn’t as if she had any memory of their time together. Emelia looked down at the rings on her finger. It was strange but the weight of them was not as unfamiliar as the man who had placed them there. She turned them around; they were loose on her but she had lost even more weight from being in hospital. She hadn’t noticed it earlier but she had a slight tan mark where the rings had been, which put to rest any lingering doubts about the veracity of their marriage. She glanced at him and found him watching her with a brooding set to his features. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I just hope the flight will not be too tiring for you.’ He leaned forward to say something to the driver. Emelia felt the brush of his thigh against hers and her heart stopped and started at the thought of how many times those long strong legs had been entwined with hers in passion. He had held off from kissing her but how long before he decided to resume their physical relationship in full? She squeezed her thighs together again, wondering if she could feel where he had been; might it have been only just over a week ago? They boarded the private jet after going through customs. She couldn’t remember flying on a private Gulfstream jet before. She couldn’t recall even seeing one other than in a magazine. Even her father, as wealthy as he was, always used a commercial plane, albeit business or first class. Had travelling in such opulent luxury and wearing diamonds that were priceless become commonplace to her in the last two years? Even though Emelia could see her married name on her passport, it still seemed as if someone had stolen her identity. The stamps on her passport made no sense to her. She had been to Paris, Rome, Prague, Monte Carlo and Zurich and London numerous times yet she remembered nothing of those trips. The jet was luxuriously appointed, showcasing the wealth Javier had alluded to earlier. He was clearly a man who had made his way in the world in a big way. The staff members were all very respectful and, unlike some of the wealthy men Emelia had met amongst her father’s set, Javier treated them with equal respect. He addressed each of them by name and asked after their partners and family as if they were as important to him as his own. ‘Would you like today’s papers?’ one of the flight attendants asked once they were settled in their seats. ‘Not today, thank you, Anya,’ Javier said with a ghost of a rueful smile. Emelia suppressed a little frown of annoyance. She would have liked to have read up on the news. After all, it was a different world she lived in now. She had two years’ worth of news and gossip to catch up on. And then another thought came to her. Maybe there was something about the accident in the papers, some clue as to what had caused it. Peter, as the manager of a trendy hotel, well frequented by the jet-setting crowd of London, had been a popular public figure. Surely she had a right to know what had led up to the tragic accident that had taken her friend from her. ‘Don’t pout, querida,’ Javier said when he caught the tail end of her look. ‘I am trying to protect you.’ Emelia frowned at him. ‘From what?’ she asked. He gave her one of his unreadable looks. ‘I think you should know there has been some speculation about your accident,’ he said. Her frown deepened. ‘What sort of speculation?’ ‘The usual gossip and innuendo the press like to stir up from time to time,’ he said. ‘You are the wife of a high profile businessman, Emelia. You might not remember it, but you were regularly hounded by the press for any hint of a scandal. It’s what sells papers and magazines, even if the stuff they print isn’t always true.’ Emelia chewed on the end of one of her neatly manicured nails. She was the focus of the press? How could that be possible? She lived a fairly boring life, or at least she thought she had until after she had woken up from her coma. She had long ago given up her dreams of being a concert pianist and was now concentrating on a career in teaching. But the sort of fame or infamy Javier was talking about had definitely not been a part of her plan. She dropped her finger from her mouth. ‘What are the papers saying about the accident?’ she asked. His dark eyes hardened as they held hers. ‘They are saying you were running away with Peter Marshall.’ Emelia opened her eyes wide. ‘Running away? As in…as in leaving you?’ ‘It is just gossip, Emelia,’ he said. ‘Such things have been said before and no doubt they will be said again. I have to defend myself against similar claims all the time.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘I might not be able to remember the last two years of my life but I can assure you I’m not the sort of person to run away with another man whilst married to another,’ she said. ‘Surely you don’t believe any of that stuff?’ He gave her a slight movement of his lips, not exactly a smile, more of a grimace of resignation. ‘It is the life we live, querida. All high profile people and celebrities are exposed to it. It’s the tall poppy syndrome. I did warn you when we met how it would be. I have had to live with it for many years—lies, conjecture, gossip, innuendo. It is the price one pays for being successful.’ Emelia gnawed on her fingernail again as the jet took off from the runway. She didn’t like the thought of people deliberately besmirching her name and reputation. She wasn’t a cheater. She believed in absolute faithfulness. She had seen first-hand the damage wrought when a partner strayed, as her father had played around on each of his wives, causing so much hurt and distress and the betrayal of trust. ‘Do not trouble yourself about it for now,’ Javier said into the silence. ‘I wouldn’t have mentioned the press except they might be waiting for us when we arrive in Spain. I have made arrangements with my security team to provide a decoy but, just in case, do not respond to any of the press’s questions, even if they are blatantly untrue or deliberately provocative. Do you understand?’ Emelia felt another frown tug at her brow. ‘If they are as intrusive and persistent as you say, I can’t evade the press for ever, though, can I?’ she asked. His eyes were determined as they tethered hers. ‘For the time being, Emelia, you will do as I say. I am your husband. Please try to remember that, if nothing else.’ Emelia felt a tiny worm of anger spiral its way up her spine. She squared her shoulders, sending him a defiant glare. ‘I don’t know what you expected in a wife when you married me, but I am not a doormat and I don’t intend to be one, with or without the possession of my memory.’ A muscle clenched like a fist in his jaw, and his eyes became so dark she couldn’t make out where his pupils began and ended. ‘Do not pick fights you have no hope of winning, Emelia,’ he said in a clipped tone. ‘You are vulnerable and weak from your injury. I don’t want you to be put under any more pressure than is necessary. I am merely following the doctor’s orders. It would help if you would do so too.’ She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts. ‘Do not speak to me as if I am a child. I know I am a little lost at present, but it doesn’t mean I’ve completely lost my mind or my will.’ Something about his expression told Emelia he was fighting down his temper with an effort. His mouth was flat and white-tipped and his hands resting on his thighs were digging into the fabric of his trousers until his knuckles became white through his tan. It seemed a decade until he spoke. ‘I am sorry, cari?o,’ he said in a low, deep tone. ‘Forgive me. I am forgetting what an ordeal you have been through. This is not the time to be arguing like an old married couple.’ Emelia shifted her lips from side to side for a moment, finally blowing out her cheeks on a sigh. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m just not myself right now.’ ‘No,’ he said with an attempt at a smile. ‘You are certainly not.’ She closed her eyes and, even though she had intended to feign sleep, in the end she must have dozed off as when she opened her eyes Javier was bringing his airbed seat upright and suggested she do the same, offering her his assistance as she did so. Within a short time they were ushered through customs and into a waiting vehicle with luckily no sign of the press Javier had warned her about. The Spanish driver exchanged a few words with Javier which Emelia listened to with a little jolt of surprise. She could speak and understand Spanish? She hadn’t spoken it before coming to London. Had she learned in the last couple of years? Why, if she could remember his language, could she not remember the man who had taught it to her? She listened to the brief exchange and, for some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she didn’t let on that she understood what was being said. ‘Ella se acuerda algo?’ the driver asked. Does she remember anything? ‘No, ninguno,’ Javier responded heavily. Not a thing. During the drive to the villa Emelia looked out at the passing scenery, hoping for a trigger for her memory, but it was like looking at a place for the first time. She felt Javier’s gaze resting on her from time to time, as if he too was hoping for a breakthrough. The pressure to remember was all the more burdensome with the undercurrent of tension she could feel running beneath the surface of their tentative relationship. She kept reassuring herself it was as the doctors had said: that Javier would find it difficult to accept she couldn’t remember him, but somehow she felt there was more to it than that. Even the driver’s occasional glances at her made her feel as if she were under a microscope. Was it always going to be like this? How would she bear it? When the car purred through a set of huge wrought iron gates, Emelia felt her breath hitch in her throat. The villa that came into view as they traversed the tree-lined driveway was nothing if not breathtaking. Built on four levels with expansive gardens all around, it truly was everything a rich man’s castle should be: private, imposing, luxurious and no expense spared on keeping it that way. Even from the car, Emelia could see a team of gardeners at work in the grounds and, as soon as the driver opened the car door for her and Javier, the massive front doors of the villa opened and a woman dressed in a black and white uniform waited at the top of the steps to greet them. ‘Bienvenido a casa, se?or.’ The woman turned and gave Emelia a haughty look, acknowledging her through tight lips. ‘Se?ora. Bienvenido a casa.’ ‘Thank you,’ Emelia said with a strained smile. ‘It is nice to be…er…home.’ ‘Querida.’ Javier put his hand in the small of Emelia’s back. ‘This is Aldana,’ he said. ‘She keeps the villa running smoothly for us. Don’t worry. I have explained to all of the staff that you will not remember any of them.’ ‘I’m so sorry,’ Emelia said to Aldana. ‘I hope you are not offended.’ Aldana folded her arms across her generous bosom, her dark sparrow-like eyes assessing Emelia in one sweeping up and down look. ‘It is no matter,’ she said. ‘I will take Emelia upstairs, Aldana,’ Javier said and, switching to Spanish, asked, ‘Did you do as I asked when I phoned?’ Aldana gave a nod. ‘S?, se?or. All is back where you wanted it.’ Emelia continued to pretend she hadn’t understood what was being said but she couldn’t help wondering what exactly Javier had asked the housekeeper to do. Her lower back was still burning where his hand was resting. She could feel each and every long finger against her flesh; even the barrier of her lightweight clothes was unable to dull the electric sensation of his touch. Her body tingled from head to foot every time she thought of those hands moving over her, stroking her, caressing her, touching her as any normal loving husband touched a wife he loved and desired. When he led her towards the sweeping grand staircase she felt the wings of panic start to flap inside her with each step that took her upwards with him. Even though he was nothing but a stranger to her would he expect her to share his bedroom? His bathroom? Or, even more terrifying…his bed? Chapter Three ‘TRY not to be too upset by Aldana’s coldness,’ Javier said as they came to the first landing. ‘It means nothing. She will get over it in a day or so. She was like that the first time I brought you home with me after we were married. She thought I was making the biggest mistake of my life, not just by marrying a foreigner, but by marrying within weeks of meeting you.’ Emelia suppressed a frown as she continued with him up the stairs. She had seen undiluted hatred in the housekeeper’s eyes. How long had that been going on? Surely not for the whole time they had been married? How had she coped with such hostility? It surely wouldn’t have made for a very happy home with a household of staff sending dagger looks at every opportunity. She put her hand on the banister to steady herself after the climb. Her legs felt weak and her chest tight, as if she had run a marathon at high altitude. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, taking her free hand in his. She gave him a weak smile. ‘Just a little lightheaded…It’ll pass in a moment.’ Emelia felt his fingers tighten momentarily on hers, the itchy little tingles his touch evoked making her feel even more dazed than the effort of climbing the staircase. His eyes were locked on hers, penetrating, searing, all-seeing, but showing nothing in return. ‘Did your housekeeper eventually come to approve of your choice of wife?’ she asked. He released her hand, his eyes moving away from hers. ‘I do not need the approval of my housekeeper, Emelia,’ he said. ‘We are married and that is that. It is no one’s business but our own.’ Emelia’s teeth sank into her bottom lip as she trudged up the rest of the stairs. She looked for signs of her previous life in the villa but there was nothing to show her she had lived here for close to two years. The walls were hung with priceless works of art; as far as she could see, there were no photographs of their life together. The d?cor was formal, not relaxed and welcoming. It spoke of wealth and prestige, not family life and friendliness. She could see nothing of herself in the villa, no expression of her personality and taste, and wondered why. Javier opened a door further along the hall that led into a master bedroom of massive proportions. ‘This was our room,’ he said. Emelia wasn’t sure if he spoke in the past tense to communicate he would no longer be sharing it with her and she was too embarrassed to ask him to clarify. ‘It’s very big…’ ‘Do you recognise anything?’ he asked as he followed her into the suite. Emelia looked at the huge bed and tried to imagine herself lying there with Javier’s long strong body beside her. Her stomach did a little flip-flop movement and she shifted her gaze to the bedside tables instead. On one side there was a wedding photograph and she walked over and slowly picked it up, holding her breath as she looked at the picture of herself smiling with Javier standing by her side. She wrinkled her brow in concentration. Surely there was somewhere in her mind where she could locate that memory. The dress she was wearing was a dream of a wedding gown, voluminous and delicately sequinned all over with crystals. She could only imagine how much it must have cost. The veil was at least five metres long and had a tiara headpiece, making her look like a princess. The bouquet of orange blossom she carried and the perfection of her hair and make-up spoke of a wedding day that had been meticulously planned. It looked like some of the society weddings she had been forced to attend back at home with her father. All show and fuss to impress others, crowds of people who in a year or so would not even remember the bride’s and groom’s names. She loathed that sort of scene and had always sworn she would not be a part of it when or if she married. But, as far as she could tell from the photograph in her hands, she had gone for shallow and showy after all. She shifted her concentration to Javier’s image. He was dressed in a dark suit and a white shirt and silver and black striped tie that highlighted his colouring and his tall commanding air. His smile was not as wide as Emelia’s; it seemed a little forced, in fact. She wondered if she had noticed it on the day and been worried about it or whether she had been too caught up in being the centre of attention. Emelia looked up from the photograph she was holding to see Javier’s watchful gaze centred on her. ‘I’m sorry…’ She placed it back on the bedside table with a hand that was not quite steady. ‘I can’t remember anything. It’s as if it happened to someone else.’ His dark gaze dropped to the image of them in their wedding finery. ‘Sometimes when I look at that photograph, I think the very same thing,’ he said, the slant of his mouth cryptic. Emelia studied him for a moment in silence. Was he implying he had come to regret their hasty marriage? What had led him to offer her marriage in the first place? So many men these days shied away from the formal tie of matrimony, choosing the less binding arrangement of living together or, even more casually, moving between two separate abodes, thus maintaining a higher level of independence. Had those first two years of marriage taken the shine off the passion that had apparently brought them together? Relationships required a lot of hard work; she knew that from watching her father ruin one relationship after another with no attempt on his part to learn from his previous mistakes. Had Javier fallen out of love with her? He certainly didn’t look like a man in love. She had seen desire in his eyes, but as for the warmth of lifelong love…well, would she recognise it even if she saw it? Javier caught her staring at him and raised one brow. ‘Is something wrong, Emelia?’ She moistened her lips, trying not to be put off by the dark intensity of his gaze as it held hers. ‘Um…I was wondering why you wanted to get married so quickly. Most of the men I know would have taken years to propose marriage. Why did you decide we should get married so quickly?’ There was a movement deep within his eyes, like a rapid-fire shuffle of a deck of cards. ‘Why do you think?’ he said evenly. ‘Do you think you were not in the least agreeable to being married to me? I can assure you I did not have to resort to force. You accepted my proposal quite willingly.’ Emelia gave a little shrug, trying not to be put off by the black marble of his gaze as it held hers. ‘I don’t know…I guess it’s just that I don’t remember being on the hunt for a husband or anything. I’m only twentyfive—’ ‘Twenty-seven,’ he corrected her. Emelia chewed at her lip. ‘Ri-ght…twenty-seven…’ She lowered her gaze and frowned. He tipped up her face with one finger beneath her chin. ‘I wanted you from the moment I saw you sitting at that piano,’ he said. ‘It was an instant attraction. You felt it too. There seemed no point in delaying what we both wanted.’ Emelia looked into the blackness of his eyes and felt the tug of attraction deep and low in her body. Was this how it had been? The magnetic pull of desire, an unstoppable force that consumed every bit of common sense she possessed? She felt the burn of his touch; the nerve endings beneath her skin were jumping and dancing where his fingertip rested. ‘How soon did we—’ she swallowed tightly ‘—sleep together?’ He brushed the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. ‘How soon do you think?’ he asked in a low, smoky tone. Emelia felt the deep thud of her heart as his strong thighs brushed against hers. ‘I…I’m not the type to jump into bed with someone on the first date.’ His dark eyes glinted. ‘You sound rather certain about that.’ Her eyes widened in shock. ‘Surely I didn’t…?’ He dropped his hand from her face. ‘No, you didn’t,’ he said. ‘I was impressed by your standards, actually. You were the first woman I had ever dated who said no.’ Emelia gave herself a mental pat on the back. He would be a hard one to say no to, she imagined. ‘Did that make me a challenge you wanted to conquer?’ she asked. He gave her an enigmatic smile. ‘Not for the reasons you think.’ Her gaze went to the wedding photograph again. ‘I don’t suppose we waited until the wedding night.’ ‘No.’ Emelia wondered how one short word could have such a powerful effect on her. Her skin lifted all over at the thought of him possessing her. Her breasts prickled with sensation, her belly flapped like washing on a line in a hurricane and her heart raced. But all she had was her imagination. Her mind was empty, a total blank. She felt cheated. She felt lost and afraid she might never be able to reclaim what should have been some of the most memorable days of her life. She gave a little sigh and faced him again. ‘The funny thing is there are some people—like my father, for instance—who would give anything to forget their wedding days. But I can’t recall a thing…n-not a thing…’ Her voice cracked and she placed her head in her hands, embarrassed at losing control of her emotions in front of him. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/melanie-milburne/the-melendez-forgotten-marriage/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.