Janette Kenny – Proud Revenge, Passionate Wedlock (страница 2)
Miguel took less than two steps into the beach house before the provocative scent that was uniquely Allegra’s teased his senses. His angry gaze scanned the
This time seeing her wasn’t a trick of his imagination. This time the fragrance and the woman were real.
This time retribution was in his grasp.
Though he’d known she was finally coming back, his heart gave a sharp, painful kick that was at odds with his fury. It had been that way from the moment he’d first met her, standing like an ethereal angel at the edge of the sea, her skin white as cream and just as soft.
She’d broken through his defenses and took command of his waking and sleeping thoughts. For the first time in his life he’d nearly lost control of his emotions but that was never to be. Instead he had shown his feelings by keeping her safe—hiring a personal guard to protect her from danger when he wasn’t there to protect her himself.
He stepped back from the sensual vortex that sucked him closer and closer to her. And just when he’d feared he’d judged her wrong, she’d proved she was a scheming vixen.
His fingers dug into the thirsty towel he’d draped around his neck as he crossed the cool tile floor to her. The sand he tracked in crunched underfoot, but she didn’t seem to notice.
She slept soundly, as if she didn’t have a care or was exhausted. He suspected the latter when he drew near.
The fading light played over her porcelain features and frail form. His brows slammed together and unease bubbled in his gut, for she was far too pale and far too thin—her simple blouse and slacks hung on her.
The worry she spurred in him infuriated him, for she deserved his fiery wrath, not his concern. He had every reason to hate her. He did hate her!
He despised that she could slumber when sleep had been a stranger to him for six long months.
Yet looking at her roused those tender emotions as well as the memories that never died. He’d seen her a thousand times in his dreams: laughing, flirtatious, sensuous. He’d seen her happy, angry and sad.
But he’d never seen her like this.
She embodied the image of a fragile waif who had washed up on the shore. Far too delicate to wage a battle with him.
And this reunion would be a battle, for he’d not capitulate to her desires. No. He’d vowed to make her regret her callous disregard of their daughter, and her marriage vows.
He leaned close to shake her awake then froze when he saw the picture frame clutched to her chest.
He lurched back and scrubbed a shaky hand over his face, torn between ripping the framed picture from her or taking her in his arms. Did the memories that tormented him do so to her as well? Was she needled with regret?
The streaks of mascara on her pale cheeks confirmed she’d shed recent tears. He had that satisfaction of knowing she’d been touched with grief.
But her remorse came far too late.
She’d brought about the destruction of their marriage and their family the day she cast her vows aside. She’d proved to him that he’d been right to hold a part of himself from her.
For instead of remaining in Cancún to share their grief and see to their daughter’s burial, she’d flitted off to England with her lover. She’d forgotten her husband and the baby lying cold in her grave.
But he hadn’t forgotten her perfidy.
He jerked the towel from around his neck with a snap and flung it on a nearby chair. Bits of sand peppered the room in a glittering shower of white.
The woman before him stirred, a jerky movement of one coming awake with the knowledge something wasn’t quite right. Every nerve in his body snapped and sizzled the second she clearly realized he was standing over her.
Their gazes clashed like angry froth on the shoals.
His blazed with the anger and torment that burned in his soul. Hers opened wide and glinted with apprehension.
He allowed a grim smile. “
She blinked and sat up quickly, clearly snapping out of her wary spell. “How good of you to be here to greet me.” Her lips thinned as she raked his near naked form with a cool, appraising look. “For a change.”
It was a clean hit he didn’t deserve.
So he delved into business. He wasn’t about to enlighten his unfaithful wife about his dealings. No, he’d learned that lesson the hard way years ago.
He was a Gutierrez. Like generations before him, he kept his business apart from his family life. It was the only way and she would learn to live with it.
Except she hadn’t learned. She’d sought affection in the arms of another man.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“There is a tropical storm brewing,” he said. “I came to make preparations.”
“And swim?”
“
She looked around the
“You’ve come here often,” she said.
“It is convenient to spend the night here when I’m detained in the city on business.” In truth, he came here to reflect on all he’d had in his grasp, and all he’d lost.
“As I recall, you spent more time away from the casa than you did in residence.”
He gave a lazy shrug when he felt anything but nonchalant, for the peevish tone that crept into her voice was a barb in his skin—it sounded as if she blamed him for what had happened.
“Why did you come back?” he said.
“Closure.”
He waved a negligent hand as if bored. “Meaning?”
She drew in a shaky breath that was at odds with her prim outward show. “I want to visit Cristobel’s grave.” She gave the room a longing glance. “I wish to sell this house.” Her eyes locked with his. “I want a divorce.”
He’d expected this, yet the cool order in which she’d delivered her wants chafed him. “Did you go back to your doctor?”
“Of course not.”
He believed her. She’d moved past that man. Past him as well. “Our daughter is laid to rest amid her ancestors.”
Her throat worked. “I expected she would be, but you can’t stop me from visiting my child’s grave.”
He could if he wished. It would take no more than a simple request, and Allegra Vandohrn would find herself deported to England.
“I will take you there,” he said.
She tensed up at that. “I don’t require your company.”
“You will have it, regardless.”
He waited for her to argue the point. She simply heaved a sigh and gave a shaky nod, but his English rose soon proved she had thorns. “How often have you availed yourself of my house?”
“Whenever I wished to,” he said, intrigued by her ire.
“Your arrogance amazes me,” she said, the soprano pitch in her contralto voice stopping him. “You could have stayed at a hotel. You could have driven back to your hacienda.”
“I chose not to.” He kept his expression blank when his insides rampaged with fury, but he welcomed the anger over the other emotions that threatened to blindside him. “I prefer to avoid the crowds at the hotels. As you know, the drive can be treacherous when one is weary or reckless.”
That remark drained the color from her face. Her eyes clouded with profound grief. He waited for the satisfaction of besting her to wash over him, of hurting her as she’d hurt him, but all he felt was a vast emptiness that pulsed and throbbed and ached in his soul.
“This is my house,” she said simply. “I bought it with my inheritance.”
A fact he remembered well, but brushed away with a shrug now. “You have failed to keep up your obligations.”
“Uncle Loring said he’d taken care of everything.”
Ah, her very proper family to the rescue again. Except this time her uncle had failed her.
“Your housekeeper called me a month after you fled Cancún, wondering what she should do,” he said. “Her funds had run out, so I assumed the responsibility.”
Profound confusion pulled at her delicate features. “That can’t be.”
He arched one arrogantly arched eyebrow. “Should I summon the housekeeper to explain?”