Cordero's Forced Bride

But of course that couldn’t be true. She had to be in this right up to her elegant neck. She must have known that her sister was going to run out on him; why else would she time her arrival at the church so perfectly that it was impossible for anyone to go after Natalie and bring her back?

They were all in it together—the whole family. And he had been foolish enough to let them persuade him to let his guard down and, for the first time in his life, make a bad decision.

As a wedding present for your bride… He could still hear Petra Montague’s beseeching voice inside his head. You wouldn’t want to see your father-in-law thrown out into the street…

Dios! What had he been thinking? Never before had he paid out anything on a contract before the whole deal was signed and sealed, but this time he’d let his guard slip just a centimetre and the damn Montague family had taken full advantage of it.

‘You must want Natalie to be happy.’

‘She would have been happy with Santos!’ Petra wailed. ‘We would all have been happy with things that way!’

‘But she wasn’t happy,’ Alexa protested. ‘She just didn’t dare say it, once the wedding had been arranged and everything planned.’

From where he stood slightly to the side, all that Santos could see was this Alexa’s face and body in profile, and, having looked at her once, he suddenly found it impossible to look away.

‘Plain’ was the way her stepmother had described her. ‘Dull and old-fashioned’. But even at the pre-wedding party he had not seen her in that way. She didn’t have Natalie’s dramatic colouring, her stunning beauty. In the older girl, everything was toned down, her sister’s blonde hair subdued to a dark brown, and no blue, blue eyes but an unusual hazel of the sort that could be green or brown depending on the light and her mood. And her clothes had been so much simpler than her sister’s, more demure than Natalie’s ultra-fashionable style, perhaps, but not ‘dull’ or old-fashioned.

Now, even under the appallingly unflattering and over-elaborate hairstyle, her profile had a purity that caught the eye and held it. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent and the length of the lush, curling eyelashes that rested on her cheeks as she looked down seemed almost as if they might waft a breeze across the church with each movement of her eyes.

Her figure was tall and slender, slight in comparison to her sister’s voluptuous curves, but she held herself with a natural elegance. She might not be as stunning a beauty as her sister but there was something about her that drew his attention to her.

Something that hooked him and held him watching, caught by her stillness, her composure. Something that intrigued him and wouldn’t let him go.

On the day they had met she had been so cool, so distant, the ice maiden personified, that he had disliked her on sight. She had turned those hazel eyes on him in the sort of look that he had seen too often as he was growing up. The expression that reminded him he had clawed his way out of the gutter and that he still carried the taint of the slums along with him. It was a look that he had vowed he would never let anyone subject him to ever again and, seeing it, he had told himself that if he had had to choose then he would have preferred Natalie to this cold, stiff, unwelcoming woman.

Now he was no longer so certain.

‘But one thing’s for sure,’ she was saying now, the calm, soft tones of her voice carrying clearly even above her stepmother’s near-hysterics, her father’s attempts at soothing. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t going to be a wedding here today. I just couldn’t let Natalie go through with it.’

Couldn’t… The word swung round and round in Santos’s head, sending warning echoes out like the ripples in a pond when a pebble was thrown into it. I just couldn’t let Natalie go through with it.

Couldn’t, be damned. She had been part of this all along. She’d known that Natalie was going to break her promise, had helped her run out on the wedding.

Helped her humiliate him in this public way.

‘I’m sorry that you’ve all had a wasted journey, but I’m sure you’ll understand. And now I suppose the only thing we can do is to go home and get on with our lives.’

She was moving forward as she spoke, making it plain that she was about to do just that, about to walk down the aisle, out of the church…

‘So if you’d all like to leave…’

‘No!’

That was not going to happen. She wasn’t going to just walk away from this, walk out on the mess she and her family had created, and leave it all behind without a backward look. The furious feeling that he had been duped and robbed was like a blaze in his mind, obliterating rational thought, driving him into action. His hand shot out and fastened around her arm again, pulling her to a halt with such force that she actually spun round again, coming face to face with him. Natalie might be beyond his reach, but her sister was not.

The Montague family owed—and he didn’t care who started paying. Only that someone did. And this other daughter seemed a good place to start.

But first he had to make sure that she didn’t get away from him now, running out on him fast like her deceitful, lying little sister.

‘No,’ he repeated even more forcefully. ‘You are not going anywhere—you are coming with me.’

‘Why?’

Once again Alexa was strongly tempted by the idea of a swift kick on the ankle bone of the haughty, autocratic male who held her captive as he glared down into her face, just inches away from his. Only the thought of the audience still seated in the pews behind them kept her from actually physically attacking him, though she glared up into his arrogantly handsome face, praying that her defiance and determination showed in her own eyes as they locked with his.

‘Why on earth would I want to go anywhere with you?’

‘Because I am asking you to,’ Santos said with a swift, totally unexpected smile.

The transformation in his face was so sudden, so astonishing that it made her blink in total disbelief. From being coldly tyrannical and domineering, he had suddenly switched to deliberate and persuasive charm.

And it was working, she admitted unwillingly to herself as she felt the unexpected change in her pulse rate, the new unevenness of her heartbeat in response to the softening of his expression, that stunning smile. She didn’t want to feel that she was weak enough to respond to the practised charm of an experienced male seducer, but the truth was that she couldn’t stop herself. When that smile curved the sensual lips and the light illuminated his burnished eyes, then she suddenly found some of the prickly defensiveness with which she had confronted him melting away and being replaced by an intensely feminine and totally instinctive response.

‘Look…’

The way he raised his voice, the swift gesture of his hand towards the congregation was a move to include everyone in what he was saying. But the direction of his eyes, the burn of their focus was meant for her and for her alone. And the sheer force of it knocked her off balance before she had a chance to collect herself, win back her much needed control.

‘The wedding may have to be cancelled—this part of things spoiled—but does the whole of the day have to be ruined? I have a reception prepared back at my home. My staff and the caterers have been working for days to get things ready. It would be a crime to let everything go to waste.’

For a moment longer he held her gaze and the searing intensity of his eyes made her head spin with the message it seemed to be giving before he suddenly glanced up again, looking out at their audience and switching on another of those impossible, seductive smiles.

‘As Señorita Montague says, so many of you have had a long journey here. What sort of a host would I be if I let you leave again without any refreshment, anything to eat? I invite you all back to the house. There might no longer be any need for a wedding reception but I hope you will enjoy my hospitality just the same.’

Alexa could scarcely believe what she was hearing. She knew that just a few minutes before, there, in the little room just off the altar, he had asked her why he should care that his bride had jilted him at the altar. But could he really just turn and walk away from what was supposed to have been his wedding—and invite all his guests along to share in the abandoned reception?

The cold-eyed man she had first met might be able to. But would the man with the lethally charming smile she had just seen? And which one of them was the real Santos Cordero?

‘You—you won’t want us there…’ she managed. ‘The Montague family would be the last people you’d want to come along. The spectres at the feast, as it were…’

Her voice trailed off again as once more she was treated to that brilliant, enticing smile, but one that she felt was touched with an iciness that was infinitely disturbing.

‘On the contrary, you are more than welcome.’

Was she fooling herself or had there been a deliberate emphasis on that you? Surely he couldn’t mean just her?

‘I am sure that you will want to help me get through this time that I should have been spending with my new bride.’

Now that had very definitely been laced with something darker, more ominous, the hint of a threat that made her skin crawl in uncomfortable response.

‘I think not…’ Alexa tried but Santos ignored her and swept on as if she hadn’t even attempted to speak.

‘And I am sure that your stepmother would prefer to have somewhere to regain her composure before she has to face the paparazzi.’

‘The paparazzi?’

She hadn’t thought about that. The truth was that she hadn’t been able to think beyond the actual delivery of her sister’s message. After that, her imagination hadn’t been able to stretch to consider the possibilities.

‘But of course.’

This time Santos’s smile was pure ice; nothing charming or even pleasant about it at all. It was a smile that destroyed all the warmth that had filled her just moments before, leaving her feeling drained and lost and suddenly very fearful for the future, though for no reasons she could put her finger on.

‘You don’t think that they will let a scoop like this pass them by without comment? The wedding of the year turning into the non-event of the year. It will be just the sort of thing they’d love to report. And they’ll tear your family to pieces to get it.’

The pale grey eyes slid to where Petra was still wailing her distress on the front pew, with Stanley struggling to soothe her but actually looking as pale and worried as his wife himself. Once more Alexa shivered as she felt that sensation like something cold and slimy crawling over her skin. She could just imagine how her stepmother would go to pieces in front of the cameras, the pictures that would appear in the gossip columns the next day.

‘And you could stop that?’

‘I have men employed to make sure that the Press don’t get too close. And I have a fleet of cars waiting to take everyone from the church to the reception.’

Alexa nodded silently. She’d travelled to the church in one of those cars. Big, sleek limousines with smoked-glass windows that provided the occupants with efficient protection from the flash of camera lights, the prying lenses. And she’d seen the efficient security that had ringed the cathedral, making sure that no one who wasn’t on the guest list could get through.

‘Why would you do that—for us?’

‘Obviously I have my own reasons for not wanting the story of what has happened here today plastered all over the scandal sheets. Once inside my home, we can all relax.’

Relax. The word had so much appeal to it. Alexa’s whole body was starting to ache as if she had been holding herself tense for so long that she had forgotten how it had felt to be any other way. Every muscle was tired and her head was starting to pound.

‘Then thank you. I’ll tell my father—get him and Petra into a car.’

‘No. Miguel will see to that.’

One hand lifted in a silent signal to someone at the back of the church in the same moment that Santos moved once more to hold her back. But this time his powerful fingers laced with hers, closing tight over her hand as he restrained her. Alexa’s heart jumped painfully as she felt the warmth of his palm curve against hers, heating her blood and sending it pulsing up her arm towards her heart. Her fingers tingled, her skin felt scorched and her mouth seemed to dry suddenly in the heat so that she slicked her tongue over parched lips to ease the sensation.

He had moved closer too and the scent of his body seemed to surround her like a warm mist, tangy with some light cologne overlaid by the muskier, more intimate aroma of his skin. Just inhaling it set all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck lifting in sensitive response, and her heart thudded even harder, forcing her to snatch in a swift, sharp, much needed breath of air.

‘You will come with me.’

It was a command, not a suggestion. The tone of his voice said that he wouldn’t listen to any argument, and the way that his hold on her hand tightened meant that she could not pull away as he headed away from the altar, dragging her with him.

She should be worried—probably even a bit frightened, Alexa admitted to herself as she trotted in his wake, trying to keep up with the long, powerful strides that took him down the aisle at a pace she couldn’t quite manage. And she was just a bit of both.

But right at this moment, discretion very definitely seemed the better part of valour in this situation. Digging in her heels, refusing to move, would only cause another, bigger scene, and she had already had more than enough stress and emotional tension for one day.

In one thing at least, Santos was right. With the paparazzi baying at the door of the church, they would soon suspect that something was wrong when they realised that the bride was not going to turn up, and then they were going to have a field day. The sooner everyone got out of here the better.

The journey back to Santos’s elegant mansion would only take a few minutes, and once there she would be able to escape, lose herself in the crowd of guests, the force of his presence diluted by the presence of so many others.

Surely the worst was over and things could only get easier from now on?

CHAPTER THREE

HAD SHE REALLY thought that things would get easier? Alexa asked herself a couple of hours later. The truth was that she really had no idea whether things were getting better—or so much worse.

Restless and totally ill at ease, Alexa prowled around the huge blue and gold dining room in which the meal that was to have been part of the reception following Santos Cordero’s wedding had been served and where now a small army of his staff was clearing away the remains of the wonderful food.

It had been delicious, at least, the one or two mouthfuls she had tried had been out of this world, but she had found it impossible to actually swallow more than a couple of bites. Her stomach had been churning so wildly, her head throbbing, and a feeling as if a hundred thousand butterflies were dancing along her veins had made it almost impossible to try and sit still.

And matters had been made so much worse by the way that Santos had insisted that she sit beside him. Right next to him in the seat that should have been his bride’s place. Instead of which it had been his bride’s sister who had taken that seat, looking totally out of place in the unaccustomed finery of her bridesmaid’s dress, with her hair already starting to escape from the over-elaborate style that Petra had insisted on…

‘What am I doing here?’ Alexa murmured to herself as she paused by one of the huge French windows that opened out onto a wide stone balcony overlooking the huge grounds, staring out at the sweeping slope that led to the woods on one side and the enormous rectangular swimming pool on the other.

Right now the blue water sparkled beautifully in the sun, making her think longingly of pulling off her clothes and plunging into its cool depths. Or at the very least kicking off the elegant shoes that were crippling her and dangling her feet over the edge, letting the water ease the aches and the raw spots where the narrow straps had rubbed too much.

‘So this is where you’re hiding yourself…’

The deep, accented male voice pulled her out of her reflections, bringing her back into reality in the space of a heartbeat. She had only heard—what?—a few thousand words spoken in that voice this afternoon on top of little more than a hundred on the night they had first met, but she knew that for ever onwards she would always recognise it, only needing to hear a couple of syllables in that rich, deep timbre, that sexy accent, and she would know instantly who was behind her.

‘I’m not hiding. After all, nobody wants to see me. Just taking a breather.’

Deliberately she kept her gaze fixed on the scene beyond the window. She didn’t want to look into Santos’s face, knowing that would only scramble the thoughts that she was fighting so hard to clear. Besides, she had faced him all the way here, studied that shockingly handsome face close up, tried to read just what was going on behind those amazing eyes, the lush black lashes, tried to judge his mood from the tone of every word he spoke—and she had failed miserably. Whatever was going on in his mind, he was hiding it from her without any effort. Everything he said, every gesture, every expression that crossed his face gave away nothing at all.

‘And trying to work out what the hell I’m doing here.’

‘You’re here as my guest—like everyone else.’

‘A guest at a reception for a wedding that never was. It seems a weird thing to be celebrating.’

‘You don’t think that it’s a practical solution to a possible problem? I had no intention of wasting the money I’d paid out for this.’

‘You paid for the reception?’ It had confused her from the start. She had wondered too why the marriage was to take place in Spain, but Natalie had said that Santos had insisted on it. ‘But why?’

‘Your father could not afford to do things the way that your stepmother wanted—I could.’

It was blunt and matter-of-fact, but surprisingly without the note of dark cynicism she might have expected. And somehow that worried her more. She knew that her stepmother had extravagant tastes, and it had been obvious lately that her father was struggling to indulge her in the way he had once done.

‘And I intended that my bride should have only the best.’

Which was a stiletto-sharp dig that made her wince. Santos might have declared that he didn’t give a damn that Natalie had walked out on him, and yet he was a man who had been prepared to spend heavily to make sure that she had a wedding day to be proud of. It didn’t quite add up.

‘You’ve been very generous.’

Santos shrugged off her attempt at thanks.

‘If I had not invited everyone back here, I would have been overwhelmed with expensive food and wine with no one to help me deal with it. And not everyone ate as little as you did.’

So he had noticed the way that she had simply pushed her food around on her plate and hadn’t been able to force herself to choke much of it down. The feeling of having been watched so closely, of his noting everything she did, was unnerving, making her shift uneasily from one foot to the other.

Behind her, his tall, powerful figure was reflected in the glass of the window as evening darkened the grounds, and, in spite of the fact that in her three inch heels she almost matched him in height, she still felt that he dwarfed her, towering over her where she stood. He had discarded his elegant jacket and the cutaway armholes of the silk waistcoat emphasised the power of his arms, the width of the broad, straight shoulders.

‘Was the food not to your taste?’

‘It wasn’t that, I didn’t like the feeling of being watched— being on show. I felt as if everyone was staring—wondering just why I was there.’

‘Who gives a damn what anyone else thinks?’

Not him, obviously, his tone said.

She couldn’t continue this conversation without looking at him and so she forced herself to spin round on her heel until she was facing him, looking up into that dark, stunning face.

Not that it helped her in any way. If she had thought that his expression was closed and shuttered against her in the car on the journey here when he had hardly spoken a single word all the way, then it was even more sealed off from her now.

Anyone watching them would simply see polite attention, the natural courtesy of a considerate host to one of his guests, stamped onto the beautifully carved profile, faintly curving the beautiful shape of his sensual mouth. But facing him head-on, Alexa couldn’t be unaware of the total control he was imposing over every feature, every expression.

His eyes were so hooded they were almost half-closed, giving him a sleepily sensual look that had the most devastating effect on her heart rate, making it thud slow and heavy until she heard its echoes deep inside her head. But beneath those heavy lids, sleepy was the last thing the burnished eyes actually were. They gleamed with sharp intent as he watched each move she made, followed every tiny gesture, every revealing twitch of a muscle.

‘And you needed to avoid the paparazzi,’ Santos continued. ‘I gave you a way to do that.’

‘I’m grateful…’

Her voice shook slightly with the memory of the pack of reporters who had been waiting outside the church, as close to the grounds as the heavy ring of security would let them get. Shielded by Santos’s large frame, hurried into the sleek limousine, hidden behind the smoked-glass windows, she had still been aware of the size of the crowd, the loud buzz of interest, the shouted questions. The cameras had flashed wildly too until she had felt as if she were in the middle of some dramatic firework display and she huddled in the back of the car, cowering away from the windows.

‘And so, I’m sure, are my father and stepmother.’

She’d only seen them once since they had arrived at Santos’s beautiful home. Her father had been supporting her mother, helping her into a seat, fetching her a brandy, though the truth was that he looked fit to drop himself. Natalie’s defection had hit them both hard and for that reason she had to be grateful to Santos for the way he had taken action.

‘Protecting us from the Press might have been the start to it but there was more to it than that.’

‘You think so?’

The lift of an arching black brow questioned her statement, sending a rush of hot blood into her face. She always felt as if she was on the wrong foot with this man. From the moment that she had arrived at the church to tell him that the wedding was off, he had never once reacted in the way that she had anticipated. Once again she felt as if the ground beneath her feet was shifting dangerously.

What makes you think that you matter enough for that? the look in his eyes said.

‘Well, there has to be more, or none of this makes any sense.’

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