Surrender to Her Spanish Husband

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

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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.

MILLS & BOON

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With grateful thanks to my lovely editor Sally Williamson.

Her gentle guidance and support help make my part of the deal a joy!

Chapter One

AN 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.

After the devastating death of Lily’s sister and her husband in a car crash, Lily had found herself sole owner of Raven Cottage, and she had become absolutely determined to rise above the terrible tragedy she’d suffered and make the guesthouse a resounding success in their memory.

Like Jenny, Lily was no stranger to the bitter and jolting twists of fate that could cut a person off at the knees. That was why the bond between them that had begun all those years ago at school had deepened even more over the last couple of years.

Just before they had entered the room Jenny had flicked a switch to turn on two small antique table lamps either side of the bed, bathing the room in a softly inviting amber glow. As the rain whipped at the old-fashioned windows, and the crashing thunder overhead literally shook the rafters, she thought it would be hard to find a cosier place to shelter from such primitive violent weather. But again she found herself wondering if her jaded ex-husband even had the capacity to appreciate it.

‘So…how come you’ve got a meeting in Cornwall?’ Summoning a determinedly neutral tone, Jenny focused her apprehensive gaze on Rodrigo Martinez—billionaire owner of a chain of spa/hotels that were some of the most exclusive in the world. His carved handsome face, with its deep-set black eyes and spiked ebony lashes still damp from the rain, gave her his full attention. In return, her hungry glance moved helplessly over his arrestingly fit body. A body that suggested a disturbing physicality for which the outer garb of black sweater and jeans was only a thin shield. Rodrigo’s simmering sexuality had fascinated and thrilled Jenny right from the beginning.

‘I’m opening one of my hotels in Penzance,’ he replied, his accent underlined by the husky gravel of his voice. ‘Research tells me it’s a popular area.’

‘So naturally you want to capitalise on it?’

Unoffended, he shrugged. ‘I’m a businessman in the hotel trade…what did you expect?’

Jenny’s mouth dried with hurt. ‘Nothing. I expect nothing of you, Rodrigo. Except maybe for you to act like you’ve always acted. I learned that lesson a long time ago, remember?’

‘And you still bear a grudge towards me for it, by the sound of things.’ Sighing, he drove his fingers irritably though his rain-damp hair. ‘I need to get out of these wet things and take a hot shower. Unless you’re feeling reckless and want to join me, I suggest it’s time you vacated my room.’

‘Go to hell!’ Jenny reacted instantly, her heart suffused with indignant anger as well as painful regret.

‘You think I haven’t been there before, querida?’ Shaking his head, his voice low, Rodrigo ruefully dropped his hands to his hips.

‘When was that? When you failed to secure some million-dollar deal to make you even richer? That must have been a real low point!’

‘What a flattering not to mention damning opinion you have of me, Jenny. You think all I’m interested in in life is making money?’

‘I don’t think that at all.’ Her hand curved round the doorknob, Jenny met his disturbing gaze with unflinching steadiness. ‘I know it.’ She would have slammed out through the door there and then if her innate good nature hadn’t got the better of her. ‘I’ll make you some coffee and get you a bite to eat. I expect you’re hungry after your long drive. It’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.’

‘Jenny?’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing…it will keep. We can talk later.’

Bereft of a handy reply, and hardly trusting herself to speak without becoming emotional, Jenny left the room. In the corridor her footsteps slowed. It had been over two years since she’d seen Rodrigo. She’d foolishly kept hoping he’d ring or get in touch, but he never had. In her mind she’d imagined him saying he’d made a mistake—he’d only asked her for a divorce because he was stressed—he’d been working too hard and hadn’t been thinking straight. No such event had occurred. When she’d returned to the UK from Barcelona, where they had lived together, Jenny’s friends had advised her not to waste any more precious time thinking about him. If he couldn’t see the gift he had so easily let go then he just wasn’t worth it. Why didn’t she just spend the money he’d insisted she take as a divorce settlement, have a good time, and forget him?

As if she was going to wake up one morning and forget how to breathe. Day and night Rodrigo’s memory haunted her. Her thoughts seemed incapable of dwelling on much else. But she wasn’t happy that he still had the power to affect her so profoundly. She wanted to show him that she’d moved on…made a new and satisfying life without him. But after the pain and mayhem her brother Tim had caused when Jenny had returned to the family home ‘new and satisfying’ would have been a lie.

Her teeth clamping painfully down on her lip, Jenny headed back downstairs to the kitchen. A violent shudder rolled through her as a flash of lightning eerily illuminated the house’s interior. The hall lights flickered wildly. To add to the sticky, uncomfortable tension in the air that shrouded her like a fine cloying mist—despite the arctic temperature outside—she nearly jumped out of her skin when a slightly over-weight, well-fed tabby weaved her way awkwardly round her legs and almost sent her sprawling.

‘Cozette, you naughty girl!’ Jenny scolded, scooping the purring feline up from the floor and then holding the generous bundle of warm soft fur close into her chest.

She didn’t mind admitting that Lily’s pet cat had become a very welcome companion during her sojourn in the wilds of Cornwall.

‘How many times have I told you not to do that? Never mind, are you scared of the storm? Is that what’s bothering you? Poor little kitty…don’t worry. I’ll take you into the kitchen and find you a nice tasty bite to eat to help take your mind off this terrible racket!’

Upstairs in his room, in the act of retrieving his laptop from its leather holdall and wondering if this Cornish wilderness had even heard of the internet, Rodrigo paused. The voice that drifted up to him from downstairs riveted him. It always had. Now he stood perfectly still, listening. The lady had a voice as alluringly velvet as a warm midsummer’s night, and it wrapped itself round his senses like a soft Andalucian breeze, full of the scents of jasmine, orange and honeysuckle and other exotic flowers that could render one hypnotised by their scent alone.

Hearing Jenny’s voice again after being denied the sound for over two years…The effect it had always had on him ricocheted hotly through Rodrigo’s brain. Not to mention other sensitive parts of his body. As he listened to her croon now, to what he quickly deduced must be Lily’s pet cat, the napped velvet tones and cultured British accent were enough to raise goosebumps up and down his forearms and unquestioningly to arouse him. He blew out a breath. Steady, Rodrigo…he ruefully warned himself. She was still pretty mad at him, and had every right to be.

They’d been married for just over a year when he’d declared that they must part. Even now he could hardly believe he’d said the words—never mind seen them through. He should definitely rein in the almost instantaneous lust that had all but exploded through him at the sight of her tonight. Those luminous cornflower-blue eyes in a stunning oval face framed by a gilded curtain of shoulder-length blonde hair had always hit him where it hurt. He had never set out to wound her so badly. But—that aside—he had travelled to this spectacularly haunting part of the country for the purposes of business, not pleasure. And of all the startling scenarios he might have envisaged on this trip, having his beautiful ex-wife open the door to him on arrival at her friend’s guesthouse was not one of them—though he had to admit his spur-of-the-moment plan had been influenced by the hope of hearing news of her.

His heavy sigh was laden with equal parts of frustration and tension. He kicked off his Italian-made shoes and tore off his socks, allowing his long tanned feet to sink gratefully into the luxurious carpet, before stripping off his clothes and heading for the shower…

‘Do you have access to the internet here?’

‘What? Oh, yes…but the signal’s a bit dodgy. I mean, it comes and goes…especially in a storm like this.’

‘I feared as much.’

‘We’ll probably get connected again tomorrow, when things have calmed down a bit. You may as well resign yourself to a night of not working. Think you can cope?’

‘Very funny. Is this my coffee?’

‘Yes. Sit down and help yourself. I presume you still take sugar? At any rate I’ve added two.’

‘It’s still the one pleasure I cannot give up,’ Rodrigo joked. Seeing the glimpse of hurt that flitted across Jenny’s face, he could have bitten out his tongue. The truth was that she had been the hardest pleasure of all to give up. Going by the ache in his ribs and low down in his belly, she still was.

As he arranged himself at the table, a generous mug of coffee steaming invitingly before him along-side a neat round plate piled high with sandwiches fashioned out of thick-cut wholemeal bread, Rodrigo tried to smother the swift stab of longing that filled him as he stared at Jenny.

Pulling his gaze reluctantly away, he made a leisurely inventory of the homely, country-style kitchen that surrounded him. With its mismatched stand-alone oak and pine furniture, old-fashioned cooking range and long wooden shelves lined with quaint but fashionable china it was a million miles from the state-of-the-art bespoke modern interiors that his exclusive holiday resorts prided themselves on featuring. But its homespun charm was seductive and inviting all the same. In fact it reminded Rodrigo very much of the simple Andalucian farmhouse high in the Serrania de Ronda hills he had grown up in. He experienced a fierce pang of longing as the not very often explored memory unexpectedly gripped him.

‘This looks very good,’ he muttered, taking a swig of the burning coffee and a hungry bite of a ham and English mustard sandwich.

‘If you’d arrived earlier you could have had dinner…I cooked a cottage pie, but I’ve put what was left of it in the freezer now. Will this snack be enough for you? I’ve some fruitcake you can have afterwards with your coffee, if you like.’

As she talked, Jenny brought a decorative round tin to the table and opened it. Inside nestled a clearly homemade fruitcake that smelled mouthwateringly of cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg.

Rodrigo nodded approvingly. ‘I might have to take you up on that offer. You know how fond I am of homemade cake.’ His well-cut lips curved in a smile. ‘Is it one of yours?’

‘I made it, yes.’

‘Still the little home-maker, I see, Jenny Wren.’ The nickname he had settled on from the very first time they were together came out before he could halt it. The flawless alabaster skin bloomed hotly with what he guessed must be embarrassed heat. Checking his apology, he lazily watched to see what she would do next.

Outside, a flurry of stormy wind crashed against the windows, bringing with it a sleeting rush of hammering rain. Jenny’s clearly affected gaze locked with his.