A Deal Before the Altar

Georgina was silent next to him, but he could feel her watching him. He couldn’t look at her now. She’d already proved just what an effect she had on him, proved how easily she could distract him.

‘I’ll get ready to go back to London.’ Her voice was quiet, but firm.

‘London?’ The car halted abruptly as he fought for control. His fingers curled hard around the leather of the steering wheel as he gripped it even harder. One thing was for certain: she was not going back to London. Not yet.

‘It’s what I’d planned once the world knew we were married.’ Her voice still had a husky edge to it, but strength and determination echoed there too.

That unsettled him even more. She seemed able to shut off and return to icy control much more easily than he was able to do. The carefree hours they’d spent on the yacht meant his usual detached approach to relationships was eluding him. And he didn’t like it.

Santos looked at her lips, full and still very kissable. Fire leapt to life deep within him—a ferocious burning need to take her straight to his bed once more. It was more than lust, this need to be with her. He gritted his teeth; he had to be as collected as she was right now.

‘That is what you originally planned, Georgina.’ He tossed the words carelessly at her, trying to appear as unaffected by her as possible as he turned off the engine and got out of the car. ‘But it is not what we finally agreed on.’

She got out of the car, all elegance and poise, then faced him across the shiny red roof. She looked stunning, sexy, and very different from the woman he’d brought here just a few days ago. Her eyes were bright, her skin lightly tanned and her hair looked tousled, as if she’d just got out of his bed.

‘I’m going home, Santos.’ Her words were clipped as she slammed the car door shut.

‘You are home. You agreed to live as my wife, to be by my side, and right now I’m here.’

Not wanting to discuss it further, he locked the car and marched into the house, heading straight for his study. The sound of her footsteps on the marble floor would have told him she was following even if his body hadn’t tingled so wildly, alerting him to her presence.

‘Look, Santos...’ She practically purred as she followed him into the sanctuary of his study. Hell, she was good at this—good at putting on a show of whatever she wanted people to see. Anger, gentleness or hot desire, it didn’t matter—she was an accomplished actress through and through. ‘Is there really a need to keep up this pretence?’

He thought of the clause of his father’s will, the way it had pushed him into not only marrying but considering having a child, an heir. Frustration mixed with his anger and he pushed the thought roughly aside.

‘It was in the agreement.’ He kept his words firm as he headed to the filing cabinet and the file containing copies of their pre-nuptial agreement.

‘I did not sign anything to say I would stay by your side like a faithful puppy dog. You must be mistaken, Santos.’ Her eyes sparked fury at him, their colour lightening to a brilliant bronze, and her voice had a sharp edge to it, but she still looked sexy, still made his body ache for her.

If she continued to stand there like that, her hand on her hip, her lips almost pouting, he’d have to kiss her. And if he did that he’d never stop. She was like an addiction.

He turned his back on her, opened the cabinet drawer and pulled out the folder, tossing it on the desk so that the contents slipped from it, spreading across the table like a pack of cards. ‘Take a look.’

Her gaze dropped from his face to the documents, then back to his. ‘I know what I signed.’ Her voice wavered slightly. ‘But we’ve done what we set out to do. If I have to stay here then at least let me ring Emma, tell her she and Carlo can set a date.’

He inhaled deeply. He had to tell her just what else he needed from the marriage.

Her phone rang and she delved into her bag and pulled it out. For a moment she looked at it, then at him. ‘It’s Emma,’ she said as the ringing ceased. ‘What do I tell her? That we are happily married so they can be the same?’

He cursed harshly and paced to his window, taking in the view of the mountains almost obscured by dark clouds laden with the promise of a storm. The air was heavy and he knew that at any moment it would break.

He cursed again and dragged his fingers through his hair with an unaccustomed feeling of tumultuous emotions. What the hell had happened to him to make him feel so out of control?

He’d got married. One of the two things in the world he’d never wanted to do. The second was to become a father, and now it seemed his hand was to be forced there too unless he could find another way.