The Mélendez Forgotten Marriage (11 page)

Time seemed to slow and then stand impossibly still.

Without a word, he lifted one of his hands to the curve of her cheek, cupping her face gently, his thumb moving back and forth in a mesmerising touch that seemed to stroke away every single reason why she should ease back out of his embrace. Instead, she found herself stepping closer, her body touching his from chest to thigh, feeling the stirring of his body against her, the hot hard heat of him lighting a fire that she now realised had smouldered within her from the moment she had woken up in the hospital and encountered his dark unreadable gaze.

‘Emelia.'

The way he said her name was her undoing. Low and deep, an urgency in the uttering of the syllables, a need that she could feel resonating in her own body, like a tuning fork being struck too hard, humming, vibrating and quivering with want.

She lifted her mouth to the slow descent of his, her arms snaking around his middle, her breasts pressed up against his hard chest, a feeling, as his lips sealed hers and his hands cradled her head, that she had finally come home…

E
MELIA
sighed with pleasure as Javier's mouth urged hers into a heated response. Desire was like a punch, hitting her hard as his tongue deftly searched for hers. He found it, toyed with it, stroking and stabbing, calling it into a dance that mimicked what was to come. Her body felt as if spot fires had been set all through it, the blood raced and thundered in her veins as his kiss grew all the more insistent, all the more hotly sensual. The delicate network of nerves in her core twanged with need, her breasts tightened and tingled where they were pressed against him, and her mouth was slippery and wet and hot with greedy want as it fed off his.

His hands moved from cupping her face to pressing against the small of her back, bringing her hard against him. Emelia felt the outline of his erection; it stirred something deep and primal in her. Her thighs trembled as she felt the slickness of need anointing her. She sent her hands on their own journey of discovery: the hard planes of his back and shoulders, the taut trimness of his waist, the leanness of his hips and the heat and throbbing of his blood rising so proud and insistent from between his legs.

He groaned against her mouth, something unintelligible, a mixture of Spanish, English and desperation as her fingers freed him from his clothing. He stepped out of the pool of his trousers, his shoes thudding to the floor as he succumbed to her touch. She felt another punch of lust in her belly. She wondered if this was how it had been from the start of their relationship. Physical attraction that was unstoppable, not underpinned with feelings other than primal lust.

Javier shrugged himself out of his shirt, tossing it aside before he started to work on hers. He pulled her top away from one of her shoulders, his hot mouth caressing the smooth flesh he had uncovered. Emelia gave herself up to the heady feel of his lips and teeth, her legs quivering with expectation as he continued the sensual journey, removing her clothes and replacing them with his mouth until she was standing in nothing but her lacy knickers.

His eyes were almost completely black as he stood looking at her, his hands on her hips, his touch sending livewires of need to her core.

Emelia's fingers splayed over his chest, the hard smooth muscles delighting her, the thunder of his heartbeat against her palm. She pressed a hot wet kiss to his throat, moving down, through the rough dark hair that narrowed from his chest to his groin. She went to her knees in front of him and he sprang up against her, hard, hot and swollen. She breathed over him, the air from her mouth making him tense all over. She touched him with the tip of her tongue, a light experimental taste that had him gripping her by the shoulders, his fingers digging in almost painfully as he anchored himself. She stroked her tongue along the satin length
of him, feeling each pulsing ridge of his flesh, delighting in the way his breathing intervals shortened, the way the muscles of his abdomen clenched and his fingers dug even deeper into the flesh of her shoulders.

Before she could complete her sensual mission he hauled her back up to her feet, his eyes almost feverish with desire as they locked on hers. ‘Enough of that for now,' he said. ‘I won't last.'

Emelia could feel the pressure building inside him and wanted to feel it inside her, to feel him stretching her, filling her, possessing her totally, irrevocably.

His mouth came back to hers, hungrily, feeding off her with a new desperation as his body pulsed with urgency against hers. His hand cupped her feminine mound, a possessive touch that made every hair on her scalp lift in anticipation. The lacy barrier of her knickers only intensified the scalding heat of his touch. She arched up against him, an unspoken need crying out from every pore of her flesh.

He moved her to the bed, guiding her, pushing her, urging her with his mouth still seared to hers, his tongue enslaving hers.

Emelia gasped as he peeled her knickers away, the brush of lace against her thighs nothing to what it felt like to have his mouth do the same. His hot breath whispered down her thighs and up again and then against her feminine folds, his fingers gently separating her, his tongue tasting her like an exotic elixir. She whimpered as the sensations rippled through her, everything in her fizzled and sparked with feeling. She writhed under his erotic touch, panting against the building crescendo. Her fingers dug into the cover on the bed, her heart racing as he continued his shockingly intimate caress
until she finally exploded. It was a hundred sensations at once: a cataclysmic eruption, a tidal wave, a landslide, every nerve twitching in the aftermath, her chest rising and falling as her breathing fought to return to normal. She felt limbless, floating on a cloud of release, wondering how many times he had done this to her. How could she have forgotten such rapture?

But it was not over.

Javier moved up over her, his strong thighs gently nudging hers apart, his erection brushing against her swollen flesh. His expression was contorted with concentration, a fierce determination to keep control. She felt it in the way he held himself as if he was worried he would hurt her in his own quest for release. She reassured him by stroking his back, urging him to complete the union, positioning her body to receive him, aching to feel that musky male thickness inside her.

He groaned as he surged into her slick warmth, the skin of his back lifting under her fingertips. She felt him check himself but she was having none of it. She urged him on again, lifting her hips to meet the downward thrust of his, the pumping action of his body sending waves of shivering delight through her. His breathing quickened, his body rocking with increasing speed, carrying her along with him on the racing breakneck tide. She felt the stabbing heat of him, the primal rush of her senses pulling her into another vortex. She arched some more, the tight ache beginning all over again as he thrust all the harder and faster. She panted beneath the sweat-slicked heat of him, the hairs on his chest tickling her breasts, her molten core tingling for that final trigger that would send her to paradise once more.

He slid one of his hands down between their rocking
bodies, his fingers finding the swollen-with-need pearl of her body, the stroking motion tipping her over the edge into oblivion.

As she was swirling back from the abyss of pleasure she felt him work himself to orgasm, the way he thrust on, his breathing ragged and heavy, his primal-sounding grunts as he finally let go making her shiver all over in response.

The silence was heavy and scented with sex.

Emelia opened her eyes after timeless minutes to see Javier propped up on his elbows, looking down at her with those unreadable black eyes. She felt shy all of a sudden. She had not thought her body capable of such feeling, of such powerful mind-blowing responses. He had stirred her so deeply, and not just physically. It was more than that, so much more. She felt a feather brush over her heart. She felt a fluttering feeling in her stomach, like the wings of a small bird. She tried to hold on to the image that had appeared like a ghost inside her mind, but it vaporised into nothingness before she could make sense of it.

Javier brushed a damp strand of her hair back from her face. ‘You have a faraway look on your face,' he said.

Emelia blinked herself back to the present. ‘I thought I remembered something else but it's gone.'

As if sensing her frustration, he bent his head and kissed her forehead softly. ‘As long as you don't forget this,' he said, kissing both of her eyebrows in turn. ‘And this.' He kissed the end of her nose. ‘And this.' He kissed the corner of her mouth and she turned her head so her lips met his.

The heat leapt from his mouth to hers, the lightning
flash of his tongue meeting hers causing an instant conflagration of the senses. Emelia felt the stiffening of his body where it was still encased in hers, the rapid rise of her pulse in time with his as he started moving within her. She ran her fingers through his hair, down over his shoulders, his back and then grasped the firm flesh of his buttocks, relishing the tension she could feel building in his body.

‘It is always this way between us,' he growled against her mouth. ‘Once is never enough. I want you like I want no other woman. This need, it never goes away.'

Emelia felt a spurt of feminine pride that she had captivated his desire in such a way. ‘I want you too,' she said, giving herself up to his passionately determined kiss.

He left her mouth to suckle on her breasts, a light teasing movement of his lips that left her breathless for more. He kissed the sensitive underside of each breast before coming back to her mouth, crushing it beneath his as his need for release built.

This time his lovemaking was fast and furious, as if all the frustration at her not remembering could only be expressed through the passionate connection of their bodies. He rolled her over until she was on top, his hands cupping her breasts as his dark eyes held hers. ‘You like it like this,
querida
,' he said in a deep gravelly voice. ‘Make yourself come against me. Let me watch you.'

Shyness gripped her but the sensual challenge was too tempting to ignore. She could feel him against her most sensitive point when she shifted slightly. It was like a match to a flame to feel him hard and thick against her, the friction so delicious she was gasping out loud
as she rode him unashamedly. She came apart within seconds, her cries of ecstasy ringing in the silence, her breathing choppy and her heart rate uneven.

He used her last few contractions to bring himself to completion, his eyes now screwed shut, his face contorted with the exquisite pleasure he was feeling. Emelia felt him empty himself, each rocking pulse of his body triggering aftershocks in hers.

She slumped down over him, more out of shyness than exhaustion, although her limbs felt leaden after so much pleasure. She felt his fingers absently stroking over each knob of her spine, lingering over her lower vertebrae, his touch still lighting fires beneath her skin.

When he spoke his voice reverberated against her chest. ‘Did that trigger anything in your memory?'

Emelia opened her eyes and, raising her head, looked down at him. Her heart squeezed in her chest as if a hand were closing into a fist around it. His dark eyes were like liquid, melted by passion, warm and softer than she had ever seen them. A feeling rushed up from deep inside her, an overwhelming sense of rightness. It was like a door creaking open in her head. Memories started filing through, like soldiers called to action. It was blurry at first, but then it cleared as she put the pieces together in her mind.

She remembered their first meeting. She remembered the way he had met her gaze across the room and how her fingers had stumbled on the piece she was playing. She had quickly looked away, embarrassed, feeling gauche and unsophisticated as she continued playing through her repertoire. She had never before reacted like that to any man who had come in. It had been an almost
visceral thing. His presence seemed to reach out across the space that divided them and touch her.

She remembered how he had come over to the piano when she was packing up and asked her to join him for a drink. An hour later he had offered to drive her home, an offer she politely declined. He came the next night and the next, sitting listening to her play, slowly sipping at his drink, watching her until she finished. And each night he would offer to drive her home. By the third night she agreed. She remembered how she fell in love with him after their first kiss. She remembered how it felt to feel his arms go around her and draw her close to his body, the way her body felt in response, the way her heart beat until it felt as if it was going to work its way out of her chest.

She remembered the first time they made love. It was a month after they had met. He had been so gentle and patient, schooling her into the delights of her own body and the heat and potency of his. She could feel herself blushing just thinking about where they had gone from there. How eager she had been to learn, how willing she had been to be everything he wanted in a partner and then as his wife.

In spite of her initial reservations, she had moulded herself into the role, trying so hard to fit into his lifestyle, fashioning herself into the sort of trophy wife she assumed he wanted: a rail-thin clothes horse, a glamour girl always with a glass of champagne in one hand and a brilliant smile pasted on her perfectly made-up face. She had ignored the doubts that kept lurking in the shadows of her mind. Doubts about the way he refused to discuss his feelings, doubts about his adamantine stance about not having children, doubts
about having signed the prenuptial document he'd insisted she sign, doubts about the intimidation she felt when alone at the villa with just his staff for company when he was away on business, which he seemed to be so often.

She had begun to feel she didn't really belong in his life and that the fiery attraction that had brought them together initially was not going to be enough to sustain them in the long term. She had always known he desired her; it was the one thing she could count on. He never seemed to tire of making love with her. It had thrilled her at first but after a while she had begun to crave more from him than sex. She had fooled herself she would be able to change him, to teach him how to love her the way she loved him.

And then, in spite of what she had told him, she had begun to dream of having a baby. She silently craved to build a family with him, to put down the roots that had been denied her throughout her childhood. But she had never been brave enough to bring up the subject. She had obediently taken her contraceptive pills and done her best to ignore the screeching clamour of her biological clock until that fateful day when she had finally had enough. Finding out about his father's will, on top of the press photo of him with the Russian singer, had tipped her over the edge. She had left him in the hope he would come after her and beg her to return. She had hoped he would insist on changing the rules of their marriage so they could have a proper fulfilling life together.