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His proud head lowered very slowly, making her heart skip a beat as she guessed at his intentions. The soft, lingering pressure of his lips against the side of her temple, her ear, her cheek made her melt, swaying in towards him in spite of her resolution not to.
And that moment of weakness left her in no doubt at all that for all his calm demeanour, his subtle, sensual approach, Joaquin was hotly, heavily aroused, the bulge of his masculinity pressing tight against the black denim of his jeans.
‘Joaquin…’
She struggled to find a voice with which to argue with him. She had to argue. She had no other choice.
‘Cassandra, querida—I don’t have to make any effort at all. If we were to go to bed…’
Once more his tormenting mouth teased at her nerves, caressing the line of her jaw, before moving to tantalise her lips, his tongue sliding out to trace around them delicately.
‘And I’m sure that the stern doctors would approve of my taking to my bed so early in the evening…’
‘No…’ Cassie tried again, but her voice had no strength, no authority.
‘Then you could do all the…’
That wicked mouth quirked up into the most sinful grin that he directed straight into her troubled blue eyes.
‘All the work… And I could just lie back and think of Spain.’
The image that sprang into Cassie’s mind at just the thought was so burningly erotic, making the heat rush through her veins, her head swim, so that she closed her eyes against the force of it. But that was a definite mistake. The sensual images persisted, projecting onto the back of her eyelids the impression of Joaquin lying back in the bed, and herself straddling him, both of them naked, her paler skin looking almost white in contrast to his long, bronzed body.
‘Joaquin!’ His name was a groan of effort, pushed from her by the struggle not to give in. ‘Joaquin, stop it!’
‘You stop me,’ he challenged, the rich, dark sensuality of his voice implying that he knew only too well that she would not.
She could feel his smile against her skin, just before those tantalising lips caressed again, moving away from her mouth and down… down, driving her to arch her neck in sensual response. The vee-necked dress she wore gave him access to the vulnerable spots at her throat and shoulders, something he immediately took advantage of.
His hands knew just where to go as well. Starting on the swell of her buttocks, they stroked and smoothed their way upwards, pressing her close to the straining heat of his erection as they went. At her breasts the knowing fingers cupped the soft weight, closing around them as the heat of his palms reached through to her delicate skin. And they traced tantalisingly erotic patterns over her curves, drawing provocative circles round and round her tightening nipples, tormenting her with the ‘so near and yet so far’ effect that came from feeling his touch through the fine cotton of her dress, the barely there lace of her bra.
‘Joaquin…’
This time his name was a sigh. A sound in which she could hear her own control evaporating, her resistance ebbing away.
Clearly Joaquin could hear it too. She felt his tiny laugh of triumph in response against her shoulder blade and shivered in instinctive reaction as it was followed by the faint graze of his teeth over the sensitive surface of her skin.
‘So stop me,’ he muttered thickly, the rough, fraying edge to the words revealing how fast his hold over his own passion was slipping. ‘If you really mean it, say the word. But say it now, damn you, before it’s too late.’
Say the word.
The hoarse-voiced command barely penetrated the hungry haze inside Cassie’s head. Passion had scrambled her brain, leaving it impossible to think clearly.
The word.
What word?
What should she say if she wanted him to stop?
And she did want him to stop.
Or did she?
She knew she should tell him to stop. There was too much danger, too many complications if she went down this sensually enticing path. Too much to lose.
But she still couldn’t find the word.
The restless clamour of her senses had drowned out the functioning of her brain. Somehow the importance of common sense and self-preservation didn’t weigh enough to outbalance the hungry need for this man. Perhaps if she hadn’t been apart from him for that week, if she hadn’t missed his lovemaking already…
‘I knew it.’
The triumph in his voice was even richer and darker now, and hearing it sent a tiny chill shivering through Cassie, tempering her ardour for just a moment. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, focused on the dark, stunning face above hers.
And was shaken back into reality by the sight of the discoloured, spreading bruise on his forehead, reminding her sharply of his injury.
‘No!’
She had no hesitation in finding the word now. It jumped from her lips a second before she stiffened in his arms, drawing herself back, struggling to get away.
‘No, Joaquin. You can’t—we mustn’t!’
‘Mustn’t!’
Black rage flared in his eyes, turning them into deep, blazing fires that scorched with every searing glance he turned on her.
‘Can’t? Why not?’
But the brief moment of shock had been enough to loosen his hold on her, giving her just enough liberty to twist free and take herself away, across the kitchen and out of reach. Reacting rather than thinking, she moved to put the kitchen table between herself and him. Not so much for her protection from Joaquin, though the fury in his eyes was dangerous enough, but more as a defence against herself and her own weak impulses.
If he tempted her just once more, she knew she would give in. She was only human, and so desperately vulnerable where he was concerned. With the table between them, the time it took to walk round it might just give her space to have much-needed second thoughts.
‘Cassie?’
What the hell was wrong with her? Joaquin asked himself. What had happened to make her change her mind, behave this way?
She didn’t usually do anything like this. Cassandra wasn’t a tease; never had been. At least, the Cassandra he had known had never been a tease.
Just what the devil had happened in that missing month? Was there something he really should know? Something important?
Okay, so the bang on the head had scrambled his brain, but he remembered the Cassandra he had been living with before he’d lost those weeks. Or thought he did. And she had never been one to pull back, to say no. That had always been the best thing about their relationship.
So could it have changed so much in a month?
‘Just what in the devil’s name is wrong? Why can’t we go to bed? We live together.’
‘We mustn’t…’
She wasn’t teasing. Her white face and dark, shadowed eyes told him that, far from playing with him, she was deadly serious. Something had shaken her badly.
And because of his stupid head, he didn’t know what.
‘Why the hell not?’
He took a step forward, then stopped when immediately she stiffened, edging back herself, away from him. Oh, she tried to conceal the fact, but he’d caught the small, uncontrollable movement and it shook him rigid. He’d never seen Cassandra back away from him before—at least, he thought he hadn’t.
‘Why not?’ he asked again, more quietly but no less intently.
‘Because—because I told the doctors I’d look after you. Because I promised.’
‘And is that all?’
Could that really be all it was? Had she really got into such a state over that?
‘Of course that’s all! What else could there be? You’re only just out of hospital and I gave the doctors my word I wouldn’t let you overdo things and…and…’
‘All right, I understand,’ Joaquin cut in sharply when she began to stumble over her words, clearly upset. ‘I never meant—Oh, hell, Cassandra, I’m sorry! I never thought…’
‘Too damn right you didn’t think,’ she came back at him, but he was relieved to see that she had relaxed a little, the tension leaving her shoulders, her back and neck held less rigidly erect. ‘You never do—except with one part of you.’
Her glance down towards his groin was both a delight and a torment. Delight because it revealed that he hadn’t been mistaken in the Cassandra he recalled. That she was still the gloriously uninhibited, sensual woman who had shared his bed and brought him so much pleasure over the time they had been together.
But at the same time there was a bitter torment in knowing that, in spite of his efforts to subdue it, his wilful body was instantly responding to even her glance. That even under the slightest of provocations, he was hot and hard and hungry in an instant, the ache of unappeased desire threatening to become an agony before too long.
And that physical discomfort gave him a sudden, blindingly clear insight into the way Cassandra was feeling now. She too must have experienced the frustration of breaking off lovemaking when her senses were already fully aroused. And she had been aroused. He had known it. Sensed it in the yielding suppleness of her body, the way she had swayed towards him, the way her mouth had opened under his and she had returned his kiss with every ounce of the intensity that he had put into it for her.
She had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. And breaking off as abruptly as she had done must have left every nerve in her body screaming, her senses desperate for appeasement.
And she had had to break away because of concern for his health. No wonder she had reacted so violently.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I understand.’
Right now he really did understand. Along with the ache of frustration, an uncomfortable pounding had started up inside his head. If he needed any indication of the fact that Cassandra was right and he had been pushing things, then that was it.
‘Okay,’ he said abruptly. ‘We’ll eat instead.’
The look she turned on him was pure Cassandra, exasperation evident in the flash of her eyes, the irritated exclamation. But at least this time he knew what was going on, and recognised what was pushing her. And knew that she recognised what had brought about his hasty capitulation.
‘You see!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was right!’
‘Yeah,’ Joaquin admitted wryly. ‘You were right. I think I’ll go and sit quietly by the pool for a while.’
‘You do that.’
It was so prim and smug that it tugged at the corners of his mouth, quirking them into a reluctant grin.
‘And don’t gloat,’ he flung at her.
Cassandra’s smile was instant, wide and spontaneous.
‘Would I?’ she teased. ‘You’ve admitted I was right—what more do I need? Now go and sit down.’
‘Sὶ, senorita!’
His response was light, flippant, relieved. This was the Cassandra he remembered. The Cassandra he wanted in his life. That other woman was a stranger; one he didn’t understand.
But perhaps he was the one who was behaving like a stranger. Perhaps he had been so shaken up by the accident—and he had to admit that being in hospital for the first time in his life had rocked him badly—that he wasn’t thinking straight.
Cassandra wasn’t the one who had changed but him.
‘I promise. For the rest of the night, I will do exactly as you say. Follow the doctors’ orders to the letter.’
‘If I could believe that, I’d relax a lot more.’
It was said with such feeling that he couldn’t stop himself. He had to reassure her. Had to let her know that he understood, and appreciated, her behaviour.
Walking over to her, he reached out a hand, put it under her chin, and lifted her face to his so that wide, brilliant blue eyes locked sharply with deep, intent black.
‘Believe it,’ he declared huskily. ‘To the letter.’
And then, because he just had, he dropped a firm, swift kiss onto her mouth, just enough pressure to communicate how much he meant what he’d said. And knew immediately that it was a mistake.
His still-hungry body wasn’t lying quiet as he had thought. The carnal craving that he had for this woman had only been subdued, not suppressed. And as soon as his mouth touched hers it sprang to hard and brutal life again, clawing at him mercilessly, making him want to grab at her, fling her to the floor, tear that dress…
No!
He had to get out of here. Get away and calm down, cool down. Think of something—anything else.
He had promised her he would do as she asked. And he’d meant it. So now he had to stick to it.
Ruthlessly suppressing the hungry clamour inside him, he looked her deep in the eyes one last time before dropping a kiss down on the delightful, faintly upturned tip of her nose. Just a brief butterfly kiss. There and then away again, because he didn’t trust himself not to do anything else if he lingered.
‘To the letter,’ he promised again. Then made himself walk away, heading for the door out into the garden.
It was as he stepped out in to the shadowy warmth of the evening that he turned to glance back and saw her still standing where he had left her, watching him, wide-eyed. Her right hand had been lifted to her mouth and was covering her lips, fingertips pressed against their softness.
But it was something in her expression that caught on his nerves, jagged and twisted uncomfortably.
And suddenly all the hard-won peace of mind that he had fought for vanished, evaporating swiftly, and he knew once again that nagging feeling of edginess and uncertainty that had so unsettled him all day.
Cassie didn’t know how she managed to prepare the meal without slicing into her finger or putting salt into the fruit salad. She couldn’t force her mind to concentrate, and the knowledge that this was only the beginning was what made things so much worse.
She had managed to deal with things this time, had got Joaquin to understand this once—but what would happen next time?
And there would be a next time, of that she was sure. Joaquin might have seemed understanding and reasonable tonight, but she couldn’t rely on him being in the same mood again. For one thing, it was the lingering after-effects of his accident that had pushed him into an unexpectedly swift capitulation. But with each day that passed he would grow stronger, getting his health back as quickly and efficiently as he did anything.
The bruise on his head wasn’t likely to be a problem for very much longer.
The memory loss was a very different matter indeed. And it kept her trapped in that very uncomfortable cleft stick for as long as it took for the events of the past four weeks to come back into Joaquin’s mind.
