The bitter realisation forced him to face the truth he had been avoiding, that his business interests might never have been the primary reason he had insisted on legalising this marriage and embarking on a two-week vacation—when he never took vacations.
He could smell her, that intoxicating perfume of wild flowers and female musk, as her hip pressed against his on the buggy’s narrow bench seat. The hollow ache he didn’t understand and did not want to acknowledge tangled with the heat swelling in his groin as the buggy bounced up the road to the resort hub. His gaze became fixed on the rigid line of her spine and the glow of sweat on her cleavage. That damn dress displayed too many of his wife’s charms in his humble opinion. The cap of carefully styled curls which framed her high cheekbones and translucent skin only tormented him more, because he couldn’t plunge his fingers into the silky mass, or see her luminous blue-green eyes—now hidden by her sunglasses—go dark with need.
‘Your Excellency, would you like to tour the facilities at the resort hub?’ the manager asked from his seat at the front of the buggy.
‘No, take us directly to the villa,’ he replied, his gaze still riveted to his wife’s profile. ‘And tell the staff we would prefer as much privacy as possible during our stay.’
Cerys’s head spun round at that request, her cheeks turning a becoming shade of pink.
Finally, he had got his wife’s attention without having to demand it.
It took another twenty interminable minutes for them to make the journey on the narrow island track. And ten more for the luggage to be unloaded and the manager to give them a brief tour of the villa before he finally left them alone.
As Santiago stood on the open terrace, contemplating the pool and the beach in the cove below, the need to cut through the oppressive silence increased.
Cerys had remained by his side throughout the endless tour, complimenting the manager on the beauty of the surroundings and the impressive professionalism of his staff. But as soon as the manager said his goodbyes and the buggy had sped off down the road, she had stepped away from him, reestablishing the distance he had come to hate.
As the buggy disappeared over the hillside, she turned, probably intending to retreat to one of the villa’s eight bedrooms. Panic sprinted up his spine, but he forced his anger to the fore to disguise it. He reached out to grab her wrist, knowing he could not let her escape from him again.
‘Santiago?’ Her gaze snapped to his, her shuttered expression making the anger twist and churn in his stomach. But as he captured her other wrist and tugged her around to face him, suddenly he could no longer be sure if his anger was directed at her… Or at himself.
‘Don’t walk away from me again, Cerys,’ he said, the hollow ache becoming a chasm he no longer understood but knew he had to fill. Somehow.
She felt it too, she had to. This incessant need that still controlled them both. Why the hell were they denying it, when they were both being punished for it anyway?
* * *
Cerys blinked and stiffened. This was the first time Santiago had touched her in private since that fateful morning after their wedding when he had accused her of so many things.
She forced herself not to struggle against his hold, even as she could feel her pulse beating double time in her collarbone and her nipples tightening into taut peaks to press against the linen of her dress.
He had hurt her. Humiliated her. Judged her. And made her feel like nothing, as her father had for so many years. How could she still want him, still love him so much? It wasn’t fair.
‘Santiago, what are you doing?’ she managed, her voice breaking, even as her spine stiffened.
‘Renegotiating our agreement,’ he said gruffly, then he grasped her waist to bring her flush against his hardening body.
He lowered his head, his lips so close to hers she could taste his hunger. And her own.
She jolted in his arms, shocked by the soft sob which burst out of her mouth. The pounding heat sank into her sex. He licked across the seam of her mouth, coaxing, careful, requesting entry, and her lips opened before she could stop them.
He explored her mouth, revelling in her surrender, claiming her as he had so many times before. And she was powerless to resist him, her need feral and elemental.
But when he cupped her bottom, tugging her against him until she could feel the full weight of his need, she let out a sound of protest and braced her hands against his chest to wrench herself out of his arms.
‘Don’t… I can’t…’ she began, panic rippling through her, the yearning so intense, but the ball of anger and humiliation he had caused anchoring her to reality again. ‘I don’t want to…’
‘Why not?’ he asked, his frustration yanking her the rest of the way out of the erotic fog. ‘The last few days have been hell. Why should we not make this bargain more bearable?’
‘I won’t sleep with you. Not when you believe I lied to you about the amnesia.’ She tugged her hands free of his grasp, determined to stand her ground, no matter what it cost her. She loved him, but she refused to be a doormat. Refused to let him use her, when he had created the distance between them. Demanded it.
He swore softly and thrust his fingers through his hair.
‘I stopped believing that days ago, Cerys. I’m not sure I ever really believed it,’ he said, the confession surprising her. But something about the way he said it, grudgingly and without an apology, only made the anguish inside her—which had been building for days—so much worse.
He’d shut her out. And blamed her for something that had never been her fault.
‘But you wanted to believe it?’ she asked, not ashamed any more to demand answers. ‘Why?’