The Alvares Bride

He groaned, gathered her against him and kissed her. She held back, but only for a heartbeat. This was her husband. She had the right to want him, to give herself to him, even if their marriage wasn’t based on love. For the first time since the night they’d created Amy, Carin let herself melt into Rafe’s arms.

“I’ve never forgotten that night,” he said against her mouth. His voice was rough and low but his hands were gentle as they stroked down her back. “It was—it was like nothing I’ve ever known before.”

She sighed and leaned back in his arms. “For me, too.”

Rafe cupped her face and stroked his thumbs over the bones in her cheeks. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered…Beautiful, and fragile, he thought, and frowned. She weighed nothing; he knew that from having carried her to the house earlier in the day. Now, he realized that the bones in her cheeks were pronounced. There were shadows under her eyes, too, dark as bruises. “You are exhausted, querida, and I am to blame. Your doctor tells you that you are well and what do I do? I invite half the world to dinner—”

She smiled. “Maybe not quite half the world.”

“We should have spent the evening alone. I should have put you to bed hours ago.”

“Put me to—Rafe? What are you doing?”

“What I should have done instead of tormenting you with Claudia.” He had turned her so that her back was to him. Now, he was unhooking the awful ruffled neckline, pulling down the zipper of the dress. “I’m putting you to bed.”

“No! I mean, I can do it myself…”

“Shh.”

He bent forward as the gown slid from her shoulders and pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck. A soft moan rose in her throat and the sound of it, the knowledge that she wanted him and was no longer denying it, turned him as hard as stone.

But he would not make love to her tonight. She was exhausted, and it was his fault. She was hurt, too, and that, also, was his fault. He had forced her into a marriage instead of leading her into it, he’d stolen her from her own life.

He would make it up to her, starting now. He would not make love to her. It was true that he had waited for this night, but there would be others. Many others. He smiled, thinking of all the years that stretched ahead. He could build a life with this woman. They would share passion, share respect, share the love of their daughter.

He had never been foolish enough to believe in the kind of love that was supposed to exist between men and women. He knew there was no such thing, not after having been raised on his mother’s sad, silly, sentimental stories…and on the reality of her life.

A successful marriage could be built on many things. Love did not have to be one of them.

Gently, slowly, he lowered the gown, eased it down Carin’s hips, to her feet. She stepped out of her shoes and he kicked them away, his heart racing as he felt her tremble under his touch, felt her skin heating under his mouth and hands. He stroked his hand down her spine, spanned her waist with his hands, kissed her shoulders, and groaned with the pleasure of it. She tasted of honey and moonlight, of flowers and of desire.

Desire, for him.

Rafe took a deep breath. Then he turned her towards him and looked at her.

She was even lovelier than he’d remembered. Her breasts rose in creamy swells above a white lace bra; she wore tiny white lace panties and sheer white hose that clung to the tops of her thighs.

He whispered something in Portuguese, lifted a hand and ran it lightly over her breasts, watching her face as he touched her, as he stroked her belly, then slid his hand between her legs and cupped her.

She was hot and wet, and knowing how much she wanted him almost drove him to his knees.

“Do you like it when I touch you, querida?” he said softly.

“Yes.” The word sighed from her throat. “Oh, yes, I—”

She cried out as he undid her bra. Her breasts tumbled into his waiting hands.

“Deus.” He groaned, ran his thumbs over her nipples, his eyes hot on hers as her head fell back in a posture of total abandonment. “You are so beautiful, minha esposa. You steal my breath away.”

“I—I gained weight,” she whispered. “I thought—I wondered what you’d think, if you saw me. I wasn’t sure—”

Rafe bent his head, kissed her breasts, licked the tightly puckered tips. He ached to kiss her thighs, to put his mouth at their apex and inhale her scent but he knew, if he did, he would come apart.

Instead, he stood up straight, kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket and undressed, taking off everything but his black silk shorts.

Carin’s gaze swept over him. She hadn’t really seen him clearly the night they’d been together all those months ago. Things had moved too fast for that. Now, she could see the beauty of the man she had married. The hard, muscled shoulders and arms. The black, silky hair on his chest. The flat belly, narrow hips, long legs…

The heaviness of his erection, pushing against the black silk.

Heat swept through her like wildfire. She felt her knees buckle. “Rafe,” she whispered, swaying towards him, and he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

He drew back the covers, gently laid her back against the pillows. Then he came down on the bed beside her and gathered her into his arms. Deus, how he longed to strip away the last bit of lace that protected her from him. To part her legs and bury himself deep, deep inside her.

No, he told himself, no. Not tonight.

“Carin.” He brushed her hair back from her hot face. “Do you realize that you have never slept with me?”

“But—but I did. Of course, I did. That night—”

“Não, querida. We did not sleep together. You left the bed, and my arms.” He smiled, took her mouth in a lingering kiss. “Will you sleep with me, now? Truly sleep with me, I mean, nothing else. Will you curl up in my arms, close your eyes and give yourself over to sleep?”

Carin pressed her palms to either side of his face. “Rafe.” Her voice trembled. “You’re being very—very generous, but I—I can feel what you really want. I’m tired, yes, but you’re my husband…”

He kissed her again, drew her close. “Sim. I am your husband, Carin. And I can wait.”

My husband, Carin thought, as Rafe stroked his hands down her back, kissed her temples, her hair. Oh, my husband…

She sighed, closed her eyes, relaxed in his protective embrace.

Within moments, she was asleep.

CHAPTER NINE

CARIN had slept through the night. Rafe had not. How could a man sleep with a warm, sweet-smelling woman in his arms?

A woman who was his wife.

She lay with her head on his shoulder, her face inches from his, one hand splayed across his chest. As dawn touched the windows with soft, rosy light he rolled carefully to his side, still holding her to him.

He wanted to start the day by drinking in the sight of her beautiful face.

He smiled. Ah, but she was lovely. And a night’s rest had done her good. She had awakened only once, stirred from sleep by instinct, he supposed, for he had surely not heard Amy crying.

“The baby’s hungry,” she’d murmured, and Rafe had taken her in his arms, carried her to the nursery and watched, his heart filled with tenderness, as she nursed their daughter.

“We’ve been giving Amy some formula feedings,” the nanny had said softly. “You needn’t worry about the morning, senhor.”

The woman had smiled, and Rafe had smiled, and then he’d lifted his wife again, carried her to their bed, held her as she sighed, curled against him with her head on his shoulder and fell asleep.

Yes, today, the shadows beneath her eyes were gone. She still seemed too thin but he knew how to fix that. From now on, they’d take all their meals together. He’d introduce her to the

delicious foods of his childhood, not the sophisticated stuff he ate now but the rich, spicy dishes that kept a hungry belly filled. And he’d organize a churrasco. There was nothing quite like a Brazilian barbecue. He’d invite the da Sousas and everyone else he knew, ask them to bring their kids, and introduce his wife to people who would like her and make her feel welcome.

As for Claudia…when he spoke with her again, he would make it clear that it was time for her to find another financial advisor, that he was a married man, that he would tolerate no disrespect towards his wife, no matter how subtle, because Carin deserved his respect, and his loyalty, and, most of all, his lo…

Rafe caught his breath.

Carefully, he took Carin’s hand from his chest, then drew his arm from beneath her shoulders. She gave a murmur of protest and reached for him in her sleep. Her hand curled around the nape of his neck and she sighed, moved closer and snuggled against him.

Time stopped.

He stared up at the ceiling, his mind a blank, the only sounds in the universe the tick of the wall clock and the soft murmur of Carin’s breath.

What nonsense was this? There was no such thing as love. He hadn’t ever deluded himself to think there was. Passion—lust—was an understandable emotion. A marriage could be built on it, so long as you added other things. Respect. Loyalty. Fidelity. Friendship.

He believed in those principles. His wife would, too. He would demand them of her. One man, one woman. No one else. He had told her that, last night. Lust was what had drawn them together. Principle was what would keep them together, when desire was gone.

Carin sighed again and burrowed closer to him, her breath warm on his throat. A fist seemed to close around his heart. He wanted to gather her against him again, kiss her awake and what was that, if not lust? He recognized the emotion; he had been with many women, over the years, he knew what it was to come awake with his blood hot, his body hard. It was only that this was different. He felt—he felt…

Rafe groaned, gave up thinking, and gathered his wife into his arms. He put his mouth to her temple, to her cheek; when she sighed he eased her onto her back, stroked her hair, gently kissed her lips.