Claiming His Wife

She shivered deliciously, the punch of desire in­side her making her legs go weak, and he told her, 'It wouldn't be a problem, but I think the walk would sober you up.'

'I'm not drunk!'

'Tipsy, then?' His gorgeous mouth was straight now, unsmiling, making her want to reach up and touch his lips with hers, to feel them soften, remind him of the promise this night held. For both of them. 'Only a little.' She did her best to sound haughty and dismally failed. And didn't really mind. She was beyond being annoyed with him, having to be forever on the defensive. The evening spent in the little res­taurant in the Barrio Alto, the oldest part of the port, had been wonderful from start to finish, and if she'd had too much wine it had only been because she'd decided to dull her senses so that the prospect of the coming night might take on less alarming propor­tions.

Instead, she realised as she took his proffered arm, the alcohol had crept insidiously through her veins, whetting her sexual appetite, making her near delir­ious in her need to act the wanton, fling herself on him, beg him to make love to her, and hope to hell she didn't freeze up on him again.

Not that she felt like freezing, not one little bit, she recognised dizzily as they threaded slowly through the narrow, ancient streets. The playful breeze was warm and she could smell the sea, and the river, and the orange trees that seemed to be planted everywhere.

She belonged here; she really did. It made her feel so happy. This place, and being here with him, in­toxicated her far more than the wine had done. 'I'd forgotten how relaxing this corner of Spain could be,' she said on a breathy little sigh, and dropped her glossy chestnut head against his pow­erful shoulder.

'Andalusia? Or the best part of a bottle of wine?' he queried dryly, slipping an arm around her waist for greater support. 'Not long now; almost home.'

Home. Oh, it sounded so good! Far too good to be true. A tear formed in the corner of each eye. If only they could have spent their married life here, away from...

'Whoops!' She stumbled over an uneven cobble­stone and the momentary plunge into misery was for­gotten as Roman, with a darkly muttered impreca­tion, swept her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the short distance and then beneath the stone portal of the house.

'You didn't carry me over the threshold on our honeymoon,' she murmured, knowing her words were all slurring together in a way that made her want to giggle irrepressibly.

And it wasn't really the effects of alcohol, either. It was being held in his arms, pressed against that gorgeous, macho male body, her arms clinging around his neck, her face so very close to his. Definitely close enough to kiss...

'We had an audience, remember?' he answered lightly, as if he were trying to humour a difficult child. 'You were such a timid little t

hing, I didn't want to embarrass you. The slightest thing made your face turn into a beetroot and sent you scurrying for cover.'

He had a point, she conceded. Three years ago she'd been a pathetic wimp. She responded airily, 'I remember. All the staff gathered to give the master's new bride the once-over. Staring, picking me to pieces!'

She felt his whole body tense, the arms that held her turning to steel bars. She wound her arms more tightly around his neck. Hey ho! What did the past matter? They were alone now; that was the important thing. No old family retainers to exclaim over the total unsuitability of el patron's new wife, as she'd had no doubt they had done in the privacy of their own quarters.

Not that that sort of thing would bother her now, of course. Suddenly, she felt liberated, her own woman, capable of facing anyone and anything. Best of all, she wasn't afraid of disappointing Roman in bed. What she didn't know he could teach her. She would be a willing pupil!

'You get some strange ideas.' His long stride car­ried him across the cool, dimly lit hall. 'But then I never had the privilege of knowing what was going on inside your head.'

Because he hadn't asked? Or because she hadn't told him? Were they equally to blame for the com­plete lack of communication between them?

Cassie was in no fit state to come up with an an­swer to that; she was simply a mass of sensation, minus a brain. Her blood was singing through her veins, red-hot, burning her up. She'd expected him to put her down but he didn't. He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed no more than a kitten.

Tonight wasn't going to be a problem. Tonight she was more ready for him than she could ever have dreamed possible.

The fiendish bargain he'd struck had seemed like a violation of the worst possible kind. Until tonight. Tonight, making love with her husband—whole­heartedly responding to his incredible, overpowering, fantastic masculinity—was nothing short of natural, totally and overwhelmingly right.

She gave a long sigh of blissful anticipation as he paced his way to the side of the sumptuous bed by the light of the moon that slanted through the louvres, and slid her down to her feet, flicking on the bedside lamp at the same time.

Her arms still looped around his neck, Cassie stared up into the strong planes of his heartstoppingly arresting features and electrifying, bone-melting ex­citement made her sway on her feet, her breath com­ing rapidly, shallowly.

She tried to say his name but her mouth couldn't form the word; her lips parted uselessly. Ever since they'd arrived here this morning she'd been more and more sexually aware of him, trying to deny it because she hadn't wanted a repeat performance of their wed­ding night.

She knew now that wouldn't happen. During the last year she had finally grown up.

'Por Dios!' Roman muttered beneath his breath. Swiftly, he lifted his hands to remove hers from around his neck where her fingers had begun playing with the soft dark hairs at his nape.

Then, without any effort at all, he swung her round, found the zip at the back of her dress and pulled it down. The tiny rasping sound seemed un­naturally loud. Cassie held her breath, her heartbeats thudding wildly as deft fingers slid the fabric from her shoulders, down her arms, loosing the garment to let it pool at her feet.

Her need for him was so hot and heavy now, she could barely stand.

When he unzipped the back fastening of her bra and released her throbbing breasts Cassie felt she might expire on the spot from the wild clamour of sexual excitement, and a husky moan was dredged from deep inside her when he slid her brief black lace panties down the length of her trembling legs.

She made to turn, her mouth running dry, wanting to undress him, to touch her nakedness to his, but he propelled her forward with one firm hand, the other pulling down the thin, silky bed-sheet.