Claiming His Wife

'So, what brings you?' He tilted his head in en­quiry, his ruthless, sensual mouth unsmiling, his dark eyes cold. 'A year away, working in a second-rate dress shop in a little town that no one has ever heard of, living in a tiny, squalid flat above the premises, has made you wake up to the fact that you're far better off with your husband? Is that it?'

His long legs were straddled, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his jeans, his unforgettable fea­tures blanking out whatever thoughts were passing through his cold, cruel mind.

She didn't want to look at him, but couldn't avoid it without appearing to be a coward or, worse, shifty, as if she had something despicable to hide. And the burn of inner heat that pulsed so violently through her veins was anger, nothing else.

Anger at his sarcastic denigration of her work, her home, the bitter knowledge that he must have kept tabs on her over the past twelve months without her being aware of it.

Not willing to waste breath on telling him that the boutique she ran with Cindy was thriving, that the flat above the premises might be small but was light years away from being squalid, she made her features as cool and unreadable as his and told him, 'I came because Roy's in trouble and he needs me.'

'Now, I wonder why that fails to surprise me.' The words were drawled, casually sardonic, but a flicker of some dark emotion over his harshly beautiful fea­tures and the thinning of his aristocratic nostrils told her she had somehow hit a nerve.

She narrowed her tawny eyes at him, waiting for some further reaction, something she might be able to use to her advantage. And when none came, and there was nothing but the thick, uncomfortable si­lence, she returned to the straight-backed heavily

carved chair and lowered herself into its unforgiving embrace.

Slowly, she crossed her long silk-clad legs and watched him watching the unconsciously elegant, vaguely provocative movement; she realised with a tiny shock that made her breath catch in her lungs that his brooding eyes had taken in the way her nar­row skirt had ridden way above her knees and quite definitely liked what they saw.

Sex. She would not let herself think about that.

She said levelly, refusing to let him see how ner­vous she had suddenly become, 'I understand how angry you must be with Roy. I feel exactly the same. What he did was nothing short of disgraceful.'

'Then for once in our lives, mi esposa, we are in agreement.'

Smooth, cool, even very faintly amused, his ri­poste didn't help. Twisting her fingers together, she pulled in a breath. 'But sending him to prison wouldn't help; you must see that. It would blight the rest of his life—he is only twenty-four...and do re­member the hallowed Fernandez name.'

A bite in her voice there. She hadn't been able to help it. Pride in their exalted ancestry, the ownership of vast tracts of land supporting vines, cattle, wheat and olives, their place in society as members of one of the old sherry families, had been the favourite, seemingly endless topic of conversation between Dona Elvira and the aunts. Indulged in, she had no doubt at all about it, to reinforce their opinion that she was nowhere near good enough to be the wife of the heir to the kingdom!

'You are suggesting that his crime goes unpun­ished?'

Roman was moving now, with the indolent grace that was so characteristic of him, his wide hard shoulders relaxed, his lean body tapering down to flat, narrow hips and endless legs. He opened the louvres, letting the harsh light flood the room. Probably the better to see her, she thought tiredly.

He stood with his back to the windows, his face shadowed. Enigmatic. So what else was new? She had never been able to tell what he was thinking.

But that didn't matter. He was nothing to her now. She had walked out on their empty marriage a year ago and after another year she could begin divorce proceedings. All she cared about was helping her brother out of this mess and then getting back to England.

'If you don't bring charges against him, I'll take him back home with me—that could be a condition.' She offered the solution she had been turning over in her mind ever since Roy had phoned her. 'Leaving Spain permanently would be punishment enough. He loves this country.'

'I don't think so,' Roman replied implacably. 'What he loves about Spain is being connected by your marriage to one of the wealthiest families in Andalusia. It makes him feel important.'

Cynic! Cassie swallowed the instinctive accusa­tion. Why waste her time and her breath on stating the obvious? He had married her for purely cynical reasons and nothing had changed. Grimly, she refused to let memories eat away at poise she had gathered during her year away from her unloving husband and his incurably snobbish family. She was over whatever it was that she had once felt for him and was making a life for herself where she was respected and liked, and where no one tried to make her feel inferior.

She straightened her already rigid shoulders, men­tally crossed her fingers, and played her ace. 'Do you really want that sort of blot on the revered family name? Somehow, I don't think so. Imagine the gossip when it becomes known that Roman Fernandez's brother-in-law is behind bars.'

He moved into her line of vision, standing over her, his height, his breadth, the power of him sud­denly and unwelcomingly intimidating.

'The sympathy would all be with my family for its association with yours. We would be seen as up­holding the rule of law, no matter what the cost. Quite noble, you must agree.' He smiled, but his eyes were still cold and hard. 'You will have to do better than that.'

Cassie muffled a sigh and reined back the urge to slap that beautiful, arrogant face. There was no point in appealing to his better nature. Still less point in trying to get through to him. She had never been able to do that, not even when they were first married.

'I'll repay every peseta he stole from you,' she offered without a great deal of hope. She had no idea how much that was—Roy, to put it mildly, had been incoherent on that subject. It could take her the rest of her life, but it would be worth it. She lifted eyes to him that were now sparkling with defiance—she refused to admit that the emotion raging inside her was hurt—and said, 'You'll get your money back, get me and Roy out of your sight. In a year we can divorce and you can forget your precious family was ever associated with mine! And then—' she drew in a breath, surprised by the pain that gripped her heart in a cruel vice '—you can marry that highly suitable Delfina who was always hanging around. Make your mother and the aunts happy—Delfina, too. The way she flirted with you, and the way you played up to her, used to make me sick!'

Too late, she deeply regretted the unguarded words that had revealed some of those earlier painful in­securities. She was over them now; she didn't care who he eventually married. But his ego was too large to let him believe that simple fact, as was clearly demonstrated by the upward drift of one dark brow, the knowing tilt of his head.

He thought she was jealous, that she still felt something for him. It was intolerable!

Cassie shot to her feet, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles out of her skirt with unsteady hands. She was beginning to get a headache and her stomach was tying itself in tense knots because, so far, her visit hadn't achieved a thing except to remind herself of two of the most unhappy years of her life.

Still, she had to try. She tilted her chin. 'Do we have a deal?'