Surrender to Her Spanish Husband
Read Surrender to Her Spanish Husband Online
Authors: Maggie Cox
He froze.
She must be dreaming, he thought. But then she laid her hand across his cheek, tenderly stroking it. ‘You’re such a good man really…and sometimes…sometimes so hard to resist.’
‘Do you know what you are saying?’ he demanded huskily.
‘Yes, I do. I’m wide awake, Rodrigo.’
‘This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Jenny Wren.’
‘Don’t you want to kiss me?’ she whispered, her hand moving gracefully from his cheek into his hair.
His blood heating violently, Rodrigo gripped her shoulder. Self-control was suddenly frighteningly thin. ‘I want much more than just a sweet, drowsy little kiss, my angel. Unless you are prepared for that then we will stop this right here, right now.’
In answer, Jenny gazed up at him with her bewitching light eyes full of longing, and then with a fleeting bold smile she slanted her petal-soft lips against his.
Surrender to Her Spanish Husband
BY
Maggie Cox
The day
MAGGIE COX
saw the film version of
Wuthering Heights
, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.
With grateful thanks to my lovely editor Sally Williamson.
Her gentle guidance and support help make my part of the deal a joy!
Table of Contents
Chapter One
A
N EAR-SPLITTING
bolt of lightning shrieked through the air, lighting up the interior of the house’s cosy hallway and outlining in threatening shadow the figure that loomed up behind the door’s decorative stained glass panels. Her foot on the first tread of the stairs, on her way up to the hot scented bath that promised to be the perfect antidote to the day’s accumulated stresses and strains, Jenny came to a sudden shocked standstill.
It was almost ten in the evening. There had been no phone call to tell her of the imminent arrival of a guest, and there were no other occupants in the entire place but her. Bearing in mind Raven Cottage’s remote, some might say wild location—miles from anywhere—she had to quickly rid herself of the nightmarish scenario that her mind unhelpfully and frighteningly presented her with. But deepening dread paralysed her for long seconds before she could shake it off.
Installed as temporary caretaker of the charming thatched-roof guesthouse for nearly three full months now, courtesy of her friend Lily, who had gone to visit her parents in Australia, in all that time Jenny had not once chafed against her isolated surroundings at all. If anything, its lonely proximity to the Atlantic Ocean had given her a chance to properly take stock of all that had happened. Bit by bit she’d been rebuilding her esteem.
Divorce was never easy, but hers had been reluctant and sorrowful. She still ached for what might have been if her ex-husband hadn’t rent her heart in two by deciding he could no longer continue with the marriage. Even though that had been years ago, from time to time Jenny still reeled from it. Standing out at the water’s edge sometimes, she’d stare at the colossal waves sweeping into the shore and they seemed to symbolise the emotional battering she had taken. And If the divorce hadn’t been traumatic enough fate had then delivered another blow—one that that had been particularly cruel.
But maybe it was because it was such a stormy ‘end of the world’ kind of night that her imagination seemed intent on putting her centre stage into a scene straight out of a horror movie…the kind that made her wonder if the people who watched them were altogether sane.
The shadowy figure outside lifted the brass knocker, banging it loudly. The discordant sound was like nerve-jangling rifle-shot, intent on drilling a hole through her skull. Biting her lip, Jenny breathed in deeply.
‘Just a minute. I’m coming!’ Having raised her voice above the din of a growling roll of thunder she fleetingly wished she’d pretended she wasn’t home. Her caller would hopefully have just gone away and she could have enjoyed her longed-for bath in peace. But, knowing Lily needed the business, she plastered on a smile then opened the door.
‘
Dios mio!
Could there be a more remote inhospitable place in the world?’
The darkly clothed male figure who, even after only the short sprint from his car, looked as if he’d been swimming in a roiling wild river, immediately vented his frustration.
Eyes the colour of silken jet pierced Jenny like dangerously sharpened dagger-points. Her determinedly upbeat smile vanished. It had been on the tip of her tongue to burst out
Well, if it’s so inhospitable, and you’d rather be somewhere else, why have you bothered to knock on my door?
But the words died in her throat—because her visitor was shockingly familiar.
Eyes widening, she pressed her hand to her chest. ‘Rodrigo. What are you doing here?’ Her body shivered hard from the blast of freezing air that the opened door brought with it.
Her ex-husband stepped inside, causing Jenny to back up nervously. Shaking his mane of sleekly dark hair, then staring at her with a gaze that deluged her with a sea of haunting memories, he wiped the back of his hand across his damply glistening face. ‘I might ask you the same question.’
‘I’m looking after the place for Lily while she’s away in Australia.’ Clearly Jenny’s presence was as much a surprise to him as his was to her. The ridiculous hope that he’d sought her out because he wanted to reconcile was cruelly and devastatingly snatched away. Despite her sorrow, she forced herself to carry on speaking. ‘Now it’s your turn. What brings you to the wilds of Cornwall? I wouldn’t have thought it could hold much appeal—especially in the winter. The Mediterranean is much more your style.’
He sighed, as though it pained him to even consider some suitably witty repartee. ‘I’m in the area because I have a meeting tomorrow. Have you a room? For pity’s sake don’t turn me out into that—that violent monsoon again!’
‘I’d take pity on anyone who was in danger of being swept away by such wild weather…even
you
, Rodrigo. It’s pretty grim out there tonight. Anyway…you’re in luck. We’re not fully booked. We’re actually very quiet at the moment.’
Best not tell him he’s the only guest just the same…
Unconsciously grimacing, Jenny skirted round her formidably built ex-husband to hastily shut the door against the raging storm.
‘Thanks.’ Reaching out a hand, he squeezed her shoulder as his well-cut lips formed a lopsided smile. ‘It is gratifying to know that you don’t hate me enough to leave me to my fate.’
Parrying the nervous heat that flooded her, she backed up again.
‘I expect you’d like to go straight to your room? You must be dying to get out of those soaking wet clothes.’
Another inconvenient wave of heat suffused Jenny at the remark she’d made. But she’d been referring to the imminent shedding of Rodrigo’s clothes, so it hardly came as a surprise.
‘I am. But first I will have to make a dash back to the car to collect my luggage.’
No sooner was this said than done, and once again Jenny was treated to a perfectly icy blast of arctic cold as she waited for Rodrigo to return with his suitcase, and an expensive calf leather shoulder bag that she knew contained a laptop.
‘You’d better give me your coat,’ she said, making herself wait patiently as he removed his damp trenchcoat and then held it out to her. She desperately wanted to present an appearance of composure, even though inside her feelings easily mirrored the violent chaos of the storm.
A fleeting rueful smile touched Rodrigo’s lips. ‘I don’t want to ruin Lily’s polished wooden floor-boards,’ he remarked.
Hanging the garment on a peg at the back of the door, she saw droplets of icy water from the hem drip rhythmically onto the raffia doormat. ‘I’ll hang it in the utility room in a little while,’ she told him.
The spicy cologne that clung to the material of his coat made a direct assay into her already besieged senses, causing another disturbing skirmish low in her belly. She frowned, hugging her arms over the lilac wool sweater that she’d teamed with well-worn faded blue jeans. ‘So…where’s this meeting you’ve got tomorrow?’
‘Penzance. I was booked into a hotel there, but the roads were treacherous in this storm, and my sat nav stopped working. As I was driving I remembered that Lily had a guesthouse somewhere close by. I didn’t even have to look for it—that was the crazy thing. Believe it or not somehow the place just loomed up before me…It’s a total surprise to find
you
here.’
He hesitated, as if he was going to add something, and Jenny deliberately smothered the persistent ridiculous hope that doggedly had hold of her heart with a pincer grip.
‘So you only need a room for the one night?’
‘That’s right. And what you said earlier was right too…the Mediterranean
is
more to my taste.’
‘Then God forbid that you should suffer more than you have to!’ she answered waspishly, turning away. Her insides went crazy when Rodrigo caught hold of her hand.
‘Do you want to make me suffer, Jenny?’ His dark eyes glittered.
Pulling her hand free from his icy cold palm, she dismissively tossed her head. ‘I can assure you that I’ve got far more important things to do with my time. The room’s this way.’
She led him upstairs to the luxurious accommodation at the front of the house, knowing that it was the best room in the building. No matter what had transpired between them as a couple, she knew he had faultless good taste—and she didn’t want him to find flaws in her friend’s much loved business. In the morning he would be treated to something pretty spectacular. When the landscape wasn’t shrouded in mist and dark, or sheeted with blinding incessant rain, he’d find a view that couldn’t fail to stir the senses and feed the soul. Again—despite her personal feelings—Jenny hoped Rodrigo would appreciate it.
Artists, writers, honeymooning couples and folk recovering from illness, divorce or bereavement—they had all stayed in that room, Lily had told her. With its unparalleled vista reflecting the Atlantic Ocean’s dramatically beautiful unpredictability, it was a firm favourite with everyone. And, going by the comments in the visitors’ book, they all swore that the bewitching and haunting wild scenery had definitely worked its magic, making them devotees for life by the time it came for them to leave.
Now, surveying the exotically handsome looks of the man who had once been her husband as he deposited his stylish suitcase and bag on top of the lovingly created silk patchwork quilt on the bed, Jenny saw him glance round the room with little evidence of pleasure or satisfaction on his face. Didn’t he like it? There was a brooding, disenchanted air about him that reminded her that he had seen and done it all, more or less, and since there wasn’t much that could impress him it was probably a waste of time even trying.
On her friend’s behalf, Jenny was affronted. The beautifully presented room, with its plush velvet curtains and matching swags, tasteful designer wallpaper that had cost an arm and a leg, immaculate antique Davenport and sumptuous king-sized bed, complete with bespoke iron bedstead, had taken a large chunk of her friend’s savings to perfect. It was a luxurious and relaxing atmosphere, yet at the same time Lily had managed to retain the old-fashioned English charm that the tourists expected and loved. And, being in the business of interior design, Jenny had been happy to advise her.
