Chapter Nine
‘Ay Dios mío! I thought that would never end!’ Santiago gripped his new bride’s hand, rushing through the lemon orchard towards the house on the edge of the vines.
The local priest had blessed their marriage three interminable hours ago.
Then the wedding feast had dragged on for several eternities—every single one of the small congregation toasting their health with the castillo ’s finest vintages and indulging in the lavish spread of Catalan and Spanish delicacies prepared by an army of chefs.
If the long wait to be alone wasn’t frustrating enough, he had been forced to dance under the stars with his new wife.
To have Cerys in his arms, the simple but stunning white silk dress only enhancing his need, had been nothing short of torture.
But finally, finally , he had her all to himself…
And he intended to consummate this marriage now, without further delay.
‘Santiago, slow down before I break a leg or, worse, ruin this beautiful dress.’ Cerys’s breathless laugh did nothing to ease the sense of urgency and desperation in his gut.
Dios , she had looked so stunning, and so hopeful, walking towards him on his brother’s arm.
The need—dark and dangerous and unstoppable—had blindsided him again, but right beneath it was a sense of desperation.
The fear that if he did not claim her as his as soon as was humanly possible, if he did not possess her, she might slip through his fingers like moon dust. Which was, of course, ludicrous.
She was his now, before God and his family, which meant they had the universe’s blessing to feed this infernal hunger until it finally burned itself out.
Stopping, he bent to scoop her up and over his shoulder.
She let out a very un- duquesa -like shriek.
‘Santiago! Put me down!’ she yelped, her muffled voice filled with exasperated laughter.
He found himself chuckling too, despite the incessant craving making his palms sweat. And his groin tighten.
‘You are too slow,’ he said as he gave her bottom a playful swat and was rewarded with another indignant shriek. ‘And I am tired of waiting.’
She wriggled furiously, inflaming his desires even more, if that were possible.
‘Don’t you dare drop me!’ she demanded as he bounded up the steps to the veranda with her bouncing on his shoulder.
‘Do not panic,’ he replied, the foolish grin spreading into his heart. When was the last time he had enjoyed himself this much, anticipation warring with a sense of fun which had been absent from his life until Cerys? ‘You are far too precious for me to risk dropping you.’
She stilled as he carted her over the threshold.
The villa had been decorated with bouquets of wild flowers from the meadows by the river at his request, for their first night together as man and wife. Her scent had always captivated him and he knew how much she had enjoyed the excursions she made to swim there with Ana.
He was not a romantic man. He did not believe in love and had never been given to romantic gestures, nor was this marriage supposed to be anything more than a means to an end, for both of them.
But when he deposited her on her feet and her gaze connected with his—the translucent blue-green of her eyes sheened with surprise and happiness—his heartbeat slowed.
Her cheeks flushed, her eyes widening as her gaze swept over the hundreds of candles in glass jars illuminating the profusion of summer blooms. The romantic setting was only enhanced by the heady fragrance of the flowers—and the subtle scent of Cerys, sharpening his hunger for her… Always for her.
‘Santiago, it’s…wonderful.’ Her breath hitched and her eyes twinkled with tears in the candlelight. ‘Thank you. No one has ever done anything so thoughtful for me.’
‘How do you know this?’ he asked, her candour, her emotion, suddenly making him feel exposed.
She bit into the full bottom lip he had been yearning to taste all evening, her expression so open and vulnerable and unafraid it scared him a little.
‘I just… I know.’ She pressed a fist to her chest. ‘In here. Does that make sense?’
While it really should not make sense, if he were being entirely rational, somehow it did to him. He had forced himself not to look too closely at why she might have accepted his proposal. But he had always known that her motives were nowhere near as cynical or calculating or selfish as his.
But why would she give herself to him with such passion, and hold nothing back? Was it bravery? Or naivety? Or both.
How could she allow herself to be so trusting when she knew nothing at all of the darkness that lurked inside him?
She blinked, a single tear falling over her lid.
He pressed an unsteady palm to her cheek, her soft skin flushed with heat.
‘Cerys, do not cry,’ he murmured, disturbed now by the way his own heart was punching his ribs. Why had he given in to the impulse to hire a florist and have the villa decorated for their wedding night, when this marriage could never be a love match?
‘I c-can’t help it…’ she sniffed.
He brushed away the single drop with his thumb, then cradled her cheek.
But as he dragged her into his arms, determined not to overthink the impulsive gesture, or her response to it, she pressed shaking palms against his chest, to prevent him from taking what he needed now more than breath.
Her gaze was full of longing and hope—her expression both vulnerable and defenceless—and yet also so fierce.
‘Did you mean it, Santiago?’ she whispered, the tender expression touching the cold, empty corners of his heart which he had relied on for so long to keep him detached, protected, safe. ‘Am I precious to you?’
‘Of course,’ he said instinctively.
But as he drove his hands into her hair, the perfect chignon collapsing under his urgent caresses, the gruff acknowledgement had his heart slamming into his throat.
‘You are mine, Cerys,’ he added, desperate to believe he cherished her for one reason, and one reason only. ‘And I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman.’
He covered her lips, swallowed her soft sob of startled surrender, and proceeded to feast on what was finally his—determined to control the panic and those wayward emotions as ruthlessly as he had controlled so much else in his life.
But as she clung to him and kissed him back, her hunger more than a match for his own, the emotion punched his throat with the force and fury of a sledgehammer.
* * *
This isn’t love, it can’t be… Not yet.
Cerys repeated the words to herself as Santiago devoured her, his furious kiss conquering every sigh, every sob.
He boosted her into his arms again, his large hands caressing her backside, the heavy erection in his trousers rubbing against the hot spot in her panties.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him, kissing him back with every fibre of her being.
Until the cautious words were swept away on a heady wave of desire.
The swell of need gathered pace as she remembered how he had dragged her away from the wedding banquet and then whispered words she had never expected, never even hoped for.
‘You are far too precious for me to risk dropping you.’
The marriage blessing had been terrifying and magical all at once. The only thing tethering her to reality had been Santiago’s solid presence by her side, his gaze filled with passion and purpose as she’d whispered her assent to their union in English then Spanish.
How could this be a mistake, when everything had been so perfect?
She’d tried so hard to keep a firm grip on her expectations throughout the past three weeks, ever since she had agreed to his practical, pragmatic proposal.
She mustn’t hope for too much, too soon.
If there could be more in their union, it would take time to grow—especially when Santiago guarded his emotions so zealously.
She didn’t want to be too reckless, too needy, too vulnerable.
But it had been so hard to keep everything in perspective, as Santiago had said his vows with a firm command which had left no room for doubt.
As he’d kissed her with furious need in front of all the people who mattered to him.
As he’d watched her with appreciation darkening his eyes to a rich chocolate brown during the feasting and spun her around on the dancefloor as if they were the only people there.
As he had grasped her hand and marched through the crowd, ignoring the back-slapping and laughter, his singular purpose had made her insides melt all over again.
The truth was her defences had already been in tatters before he had said the words which had made her heart melt. Because he had already shown her in so many ways today that she was precious to him.
But as he swung her high in his arms to march up the staircase to the bed where they had made love for the first time—and so many times since—the flicker of candlelight and the flowery perfume of the summer meadow bunched on every surface had her hopes lifting even higher.
When they reached the bedroom there were more candles, more flowers, and her heart became so huge she could barely breathe.
How could such an austere, forbidding man have done something so sweet and sentimental, just for her?
He dropped her on the bed, his expression focused and determined.
She watched, transfixed by how magnificent he looked as he towered over her.
Desire charged through her system like a drug.
He tore off his jacket and tie and wrenched the tailored shirt out of his suit trousers.
Buttons popped, his magnificent chest bared at last—the hard muscles bunched and tensed, the tanned skin, the sprinkle of hair trailing through his abs, softened by the glow of the candlelight.
She shivered as he shoved off his trousers and stood gloriously naked before her—to roll a condom on the huge erection.
‘Take off the dress, Cerys,’ he growled, his voice rough with demand.
Her gaze snapped to his, to see the fierce frown.
‘Now,’ he added. ‘Or I will destroy it. I cannot wait any longer.’
She nodded, snapped out of the erotic fog. Lifting onto her knees, she fumbled, trying to find the tab under her arm, but before she could drag it down, he had brushed her hands away.
She could feel his urgency, the fight to be gentle, as he hooked a finger under the straps and shoved them down.
He found the zip at last, releasing her from the shimmering fabric, which had felt like a straitjacket for hours.
She moaned as his lips found the pulse in her neck and suckled hungrily while he dragged the dress down and freed her tender breasts from the constricting lace.
His hands were everywhere, caressing, stroking, divesting her of the gown, the lingerie she had worn especially for him, until she could feel the night breeze against her skin.
He captured one stiff peak between hungry lips as his fingers found the slick folds of her sex and circled the swollen nub. She lurched off the bed, already so close.
He pressed one finger, then two inside her, finding the spot he knew would take her over and caressed it with ruthless efficiency. The first orgasm slammed into her, driving her up—too far, too fast—even as he grasped her hips and drove into the tight clasp of her body.
Impaled, possessed, she struggled to breathe, couldn’t think, the adrenaline, the need lost in the burst of furious emotion. And desperation.
She needed this, needed him. Always .
She gripped his shoulders, the rocking thrusts taking him deeper still.
So deep she could feel him touch her soul.
The second orgasm layered onto the first, building harder and faster, terrifying in its intensity.
She tried to hold back, to hold on, as the powerful erection stroked in and out, filling every part of her to bursting, and taking her to a place she had only ever been with him.
‘Again, Cerys, you must come for me again. Now you are mine.’
As if by his command, her body responded, the pleasure cascading through her in a thousand glittering shards of sensation. She cried out, feeling terrified and exhilarated, scared and yet cherished.
The shout of his release was like a validation, a promise, sending her soaring over that final ledge and plunging her into the beautiful abyss.