Claiming His Wife

'Nope. My big brother started fancying his chances with you on the holiday we all had in Spain—but Roman made his move, and the next we knew you'd promised to marry him. Poor old Guy— back home he started to sow wild oats with a ven­geance, but as soon as you came back, saying your marriage was over, he stopped dating and started waiting for your divorce to come through. He didn't think it right to tell you how he felt until you were free.'

'Oh, Lord!' Cassie pressed the knuckles of her free hand against her forehead. 'I promise you, I didn't realise.' Just one more thing to worry about. Guy was almost like another brother; she hated to think she had caused him misery, albeit unknowingly.

When she came off the phone she tried to put the unsettling conversation out of her mind. She had more pre

ssing matters to deal with. Roman had dis­appeared, and so had the luggage.

Suddenly, all those beautiful new clothes seemed utterly desirable. Refusing to make use of them be­cause he had bought them seemed childish. Cutting her nose off to spite her face. The suit she'd traveled to Spain in felt as if it had been on her back for a year!

She mounted the magnificent staircase, the banis­ter supports intricately carved with clusters of grapes and exotic birds, trying to ignore the fluttery sensa­tions in the pit of her stomach. 'Bedroom' and 'Ro­man' were not words she was happy to couple to­gether.

With diminishing hope, she poked her head into one bedroom after another. No sign of her things. As she approached the master suite, the scene of their honeymoon disasters, her heart fluttered wildly. Taking a deep breath to steady it, she opened the elaborately carved door.

Nothing about the beautiful room had been changed. Tall windows overlooked the gardens and the rolling hills beyond the coastal plain. Sumptuous brocade in soft shades of rose and silver covered the walls and the graceful chairs which flanked a low antique table that was perfect for intimate breakfasts for two.

She refused to look at the splendour of the four-poster bed.

The classy carrier bags and her overnight case were piled in the centre of the floor and Roman was hanging his gear in the cavernous wardrobe. He had no intention of letting her wriggle out of her side of the bargain or even to give her a night or two of breathing space!

Well, the room hadn't changed, and he surely hadn't. But she had. She was no longer an inarticulate mouse, unable to express her feelings. She said to the back of his head, 'I see you don't intend to offer me the privacy of my own room. In at the deep end, is it? Hardly a subtle approach.'

The wide shoulders stiffened beneath the crisp white cotton. He turned slowly, his darkly glittering eyes meeting hers and holding.

'Subtlety didn't get me anywhere on our honey­moon here. Or perhaps you've forgotten how you gritted your teeth and endured my lovemaking? Do you know how that made me feel?' he demanded, a dull flush of angry colour staining his craggy cheek­bones. 'Little better than an animal, taking my own pleasure and giving none! Cassie—' his tone altered, softening just a little '—I told myself to make allow­ances for your sheltered upbringing, your total lack of experience. After all, that was part of the attraction I felt for you. But after that first time you wouldn't let me near you. So I left you alone—as you wanted. There's a limit to how many blows to his pride a man can take.'

Her eyes dropped guiltily. She had never looked at it quite like that before. Instinctively, she'd known that what she'd secretly feared had become fact. She'd been a huge disappointment to him on their wedding night, fear of failing him making her freeze, unable to relax or respond.

And that same fear had made her instinctively re­ject him whenever he tried to touch her again.

If only he'd said one word of love, things might have been so very different... But then, for all his faults, Roman wasn't a liar...

'I suggest we drop the subject,' he said flatly. 'Why don't you unpack "while I find something for lunch?'

He walked out, closing the door behind him and, for no reason that she could think of, she felt totally bereft.

An hour later she descended the stairs. A shower in the luxurious green marble en suite had worked won­ders, as had the liberal application of fragrant body oil.

And the choice of what to wear from the huge selection of shockingly expensive clothing Roman had insisted she have had been difficult. Everything was so lovely.

In the end she'd settled for white lace briefs, soft, silky wide-legged trousers in a gorgeous tawny col­our and a matching halter-neck top that left her arms and most of her back bare and negated the need to wear a bra.

She'd left her hair loose and it was beginning to dry in soft curling tendrils. After adding the barest touch of lipstick and mascara, she felt ready to go downstairs. She wasn't going to think about the com­ing night and get herself all tense and apprehensive because she might, just might, be able to wriggle out of it.

She paused for a moment on the cool tiles of the hall, then followed the sound of cutlery. Roman was drawing the cork from a bottle of white Rioja and the kitchen table held a huge tray crammed with plates, cutlery, glasses and salads.

The arrogant Roman Fernandez, master of the vast Colinas Verdes estates, working in a kitchen? Unheard of!

'You have been busy,' she drawled from the door­way, amusement in her voice. For some reason, see­ing him in an unprecedented domestic role made her feel warm inside.

He glanced up, smoky eyes veiled by twin fans of thick dark lashes. 'I have impressed myself,' he con­fessed in his lightly accented, sexy voice, his sudden white grin disarming her.

He straightened, placing the opened bottle that was already sporting a haze of condensation on the over­burdened tray, the straight black bar of one eyebrow rising in silent appraisal.

Resting one narrow-boned hip on the side of the table, he let his eyes travel with slow deliberation from the toes of her sandalled feet to eventually lock with hers.

'I was right to insist on that outfit.' His voice was low, sultry. 'You would have thrown it back in that poor woman's face, along with everything else I chose for you. It becomes you. You have beautiful breasts. You were right not to constrict them in a bra.'

His openly sexual appraisal had made her breath catch in her throat. She felt her nipples peak as a slow ache of desire flared deep inside her. Heavens, the man was dynamite! A look, a word, could bring any woman to her knees! No wonder she had felt inadequate, way out of his league.