The Alcolar Family

‘Joaquin!’ His name was a groan of effort, pushed from her by the struggle not to give in. ‘Joaquin, stop it!’

‘You stop me,’ he challenged, the rich, dark sensuality of his voice implying that he knew only too well that she would not.

She could feel his smile against her skin, just before those tantalising lips caressed again, moving away from her mouth and down… down, driving her to arch her neck in sensual response. The vee-necked dress she wore gave him access to the vulnerable spots at her throat and shoulders, something he immediately took advantage of.

His hands knew just where to go as well. Starting on the swell of her buttocks, they stroked and smoothed their way upwards, pressing her close to the straining heat of his erection as they went. At her breasts the knowing fingers cupped the soft weight, closing around them as the heat of his palms reached through to her delicate skin. And they traced tantalisingly erotic patterns over her curves, drawing provocative circles round and round her tightening nipples, tormenting her with the ‘so near and yet so far’ effect that came from feeling his touch through the fine cotton of her dress, the barely there lace of her bra.

‘Joaquin…’

This time his name was a sigh. A sound in which she could hear her own control evaporating, her resistance ebbing away.

Clearly Joaquin could hear it too. She felt his tiny laugh of triumph in response against her shoulder blade and shivered in instinctive reaction as it was followed by the faint graze of his teeth over the sensitive surface of her skin.

‘So stop me,’ he muttered thickly, the rough, fraying edge to the words revealing how fast his hold over his own passion was slipping. ‘If you really mean it, say the word. But say it now, damn you, before it’s too late.’

Say the word.

The hoarse-voiced command barely penetrated the hungry haze inside Cassie’s head. Passion had scrambled her brain, leaving it impossible to think clearly.

The word.

What word?

What should she say if she wanted him to stop?

And she did want him to stop.

Or did she?

She knew she should tell him to stop. There was too much danger, too many complications if she went down this sensually enticing path. Too much to lose.

But she still couldn’t find the word.

The restless clamour of her senses had drowned out the functioning of her brain. Somehow the importance of common sense and self-preservation didn’t weigh enough to outbalance the hungry need for this man. Perhaps if she hadn’t been apart from him for that week, if she hadn’t missed his lovemaking already…

‘I knew it.’

The triumph in his voice was even richer and darker now, and hearing it sent a tiny chill shivering through Cassie, tempering her ardour for just a moment. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, focused on the dark, stunning face above hers.

And was shaken back into reality by the sight of the discoloured, spreading bruise on his forehead, reminding her sharply of his injury.

‘No!’

She had no hesitation in finding the word now. It jumped from her lips a second before she stiffened in his arms, drawing herself back, struggling to get away.

‘No, Joaquin. You can’t—we mustn’t!’

‘Mustn’t!’

Black rage flared in his eyes, turning them into deep, blazing fires that scorched with every searing glance he turned on her.

‘Can’t? Why not?’

But the brief moment of shock had been enough to loosen his hold on her, giving her just enough liberty to twist free and take herself away, across the kitchen and out of reach. Reacting rather than thinking, she moved to put the kitchen table between herself and him. Not so much for her protection from Joaquin, though the fury in his eyes was dangerous enough, but more as a defence against herself and her own weak impulses.

If he tempted her just once more, she knew she would give in. She was only human, and so desperately vulnerable where he was concerned. With the table between them, the time it took to walk round it might just give her space to have much-needed second thoughts.

‘Cassie?’

What the hell was wrong with her? Joaquin asked himself. What had happened to make her change her mind, behave this way?

She didn’t usually do anything like this. Cassandra wasn’t a tease; never had been. At least, the Cassandra he had known had never been a tease.

Just what the devil had happened in that missing month? Was there something he really should know? Something important?

Okay, so the bang on the head had scrambled his brain, but he remembered the Cassandra he had been living with before he’d lost those weeks. Or thought he did. And she had never been one to pull back, to say no. That had always been the best thing about their relationship.

So could it have changed so much in a month?

‘Just what in the devil’s name is wrong? Why can’t we go to bed? We live together.’

‘We mustn’t…’

She wasn’t teasing. Her white face and dark, shadowed eyes told him that, far from playing with him, she was deadly serious. Something had shaken her badly.

And because of his stupid head, he didn’t know what.

‘Why the hell not?’

He took a step forward, then stopped when immediately she stiffened, edging back herself, away from him. Oh, she tried to conceal the fact, but he’d caught the small, uncontrollable movement and it shook him rigid. He’d never seen Cassandra back away from him before—at least, he thought he hadn’t.

‘Why not?’ he asked again, more quietly but no less intently.

‘Because—because I told the doctors I’d look after you. Because I promised.’

‘And is that all?’

Could that really be all it was? Had she really got into such a state over that?

‘Of course that’s all! What else could there be? You’re only just out of hospital and I gave the doctors my word I wouldn’t let you overdo things and…and…’

‘All right, I understand,’ Joaquin cut in sharply when she began to stumble over her words, clearly upset. ‘I never meant—Oh, hell, Cassandra, I’m sorry! I never thought…’

‘Too damn right you didn’t think,’ she came back at him, but he was relieved to see that she had relaxed a little, the tension leaving her shoulders, her back and neck held less rigidly erect. ‘You never do—except with one part of you.’

Her glance down towards his groin was both a delight and a torment. Delight because it revealed that he hadn’t been mistaken in the Cassandra he recalled. That she was still the gloriously uninhibited, sensual woman who had shared his bed and brought him so much pleasure over the time they had been together.

But at the same time there was a bitter torment in knowing that, in spite of his efforts to subdue it, his wilful body was instantly responding to even her glance. That even under the slightest of provocations, he was hot and hard and hungry in an instant, the ache of unappeased desire threatening to become an agony before too long.

And that physical discomfort gave him a sudden, blindingly clear insight into the way Cassandra was feeling now. She too must have experienced the frustration of breaking off lovemaking when her senses were already fully aroused. And she had been aroused. He had known it. Sensed it in the yielding suppleness of her body, the way she had swayed towards him, the way her mouth had opened under his and she had returned his kiss with every ounce of the intensity that he had put into it for her.

She had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. And breaking off as abruptly as she had done must have left every nerve in her body screaming, her senses desperate for appeasement.

And she had had to break away because of concern for his health. No wonder she had reacted so violently.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I understand.’

Right now he really did understand. Along with the ache of frustration, an uncomfortable pounding had started up inside his head. If he needed any indication of the fact that Cassandra was right and he had been pushing things, then that was it.

‘Okay,’ he said abruptly. ‘We’ll eat instead.’

The look she turned on him was pure Cassandra, exasperation evident in the flash of her eyes, the irritated exclamation. But at least this time he knew what was going on, and recognised what was pushing her. And knew that she recognised what had brought about his hasty capitulation.

‘You see!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was right!’

‘Yeah,’ Joaquin admitted wryly. ‘You were right. I think I’ll go and sit quietly by the pool for a while.’

‘You do that.’

It was so prim and smug that it tugged at the corners of his mouth, quirking them into a reluctant grin.

‘And don’t gloat,’ he flung at her.

Cassandra’s smile was instant, wide and spontaneous.

‘Would I?’ she teased. ‘You’ve admitted I was right—what more do I need? Now go and sit down.’

‘Sὶ, senorita!’

His response was light, flippant, relieved. This was the Cassandra he remembered. The Cassandra he wanted in his life. That other woman was a stranger; one he didn’t understand.

But perhaps he was the one who was behaving like a stranger. Perhaps he had been so shaken up by the accident—and he had to admit that being in hospital for the first time in his life had rocked him badly—that he wasn’t thinking straight.

Cassandra wasn’t the one who had changed but him.

‘I promise. For the rest of the night, I will do exactly as you say. Follow the doctors’ orders to the letter.’

‘If I could believe that, I’d relax a lot more.’

It was said with such feeling that he couldn’t stop himself. He had to reassure her. Had to let her know that he understood, and appreciated, her behaviour.

Walking over to her, he reached out a hand, put it under her chin, and lifted her face to his so that wide, brilliant blue eyes locked sharply with deep, intent black.

‘Believe it,’ he declared huskily. ‘To the letter.’

And then, because he just had, he dropped a firm, swift kiss onto her mouth, just enough pressure to communicate how much he meant what he’d said. And knew immediately that it was a mistake.

His still-hungry body wasn’t lying quiet as he had thought. The carnal craving that he had for this woman had only been subdued, not suppressed. And as soon as his mouth touched hers it sprang to hard and brutal life again, clawing at him mercilessly, making him want to grab at her, fling her to the floor, tear that dress…

No!

He had to get out of here. Get away and calm down, cool down. Think of something—anything else.

He had promised her he would do as she asked. And he’d meant it. So now he had to stick to it.

Ruthlessly suppressing the hungry clamour inside him, he looked her deep in the eyes one last time before dropping a kiss down on the delightful, faintly upturned tip of her nose. Just a brief butterfly kiss. There and then away again, because he didn’t trust himself not to do anything else if he lingered.

‘To the letter,’ he promised again. Then made himself walk away, heading for the door out into the garden.

It was as he stepped out in to the shadowy warmth of the evening that he turned to glance back and saw her still standing where he had left her, watching him, wide-eyed. Her right hand had been lifted to her mouth and was covering her lips, fingertips pressed against their softness.

But it was something in her expression that caught on his nerves, jagged and twisted uncomfortably.

And suddenly all the hard-won peace of mind that he had fought for vanished, evaporating swiftly, and he knew once again that nagging feeling of edginess and uncertainty that had so unsettled him all day.

Cassie didn’t know how she managed to prepare the meal without slicing into her finger or putting salt into the fruit salad. She couldn’t force her mind to concentrate, and the knowledge that this was only the beginning was what made things so much worse.

She had managed to deal with things this time, had got Joaquin to understand this once—but what would happen next time?

And there would be a next time, of that she was sure. Joaquin might have seemed understanding and reasonable tonight, but she couldn’t rely on him being in the same mood again. For one thing, it was the lingering after-effects of his accident that had pushed him into an unexpectedly swift capitulation. But with each day that passed he would grow stronger, getting his health back as quickly and efficiently as he did anything.

The bruise on his head wasn’t likely to be a problem for very much longer.

The memory loss was a very different matter indeed. And it kept her trapped in that very uncomfortable cleft stick for as long as it took for the events of the past four weeks to come back into Joaquin’s mind.

Just how uncomfortable her situation could become was brought home sharply to her at the end of the evening. And it hit her all the harder because of the way she had actually managed to relax in the end.

Joaquin had stuck strictly to his promise. He would follow her orders to the letter, he’d said—and that was just what he did.

As soon as she said that the meal was ready, he came to help her carry plates through into the dining room. Then he joined her at the table, ate what she put in front of him, stuck strictly to mineral water for himself, but offered to open a bottle of wine for her. An offer that Cassie decided it was more than wise to refuse. She needed all her wits about her at the moment, and, although the thought of the relaxing effects of a little alcohol were appealing, there was always the danger that, feeling as uptight as she did, she might indulge in one glass too many, relax way too much—and let slip things that she really should keep to herself.

But in the end she found that she didn’t really need the wine. Joaquin kept the conversation light, and on strictly neutral topics, never once straying into controversial or problematic territory. He managed to steer his way perfectly between the twin problems of assuming too much and behaving like the lover he had been, and that of being almost a complete stranger, so that the evening had to be spent dancing round each other mentally, not knowing how much to say, how much to reveal.

It was only later, when she had gone to bed and was lying wakeful in the darkness, that Cassie realised that the behaviour that had made her feel so much better during the evening should in fact have acted as a warning. It revealed that Joaquin was very much alert to the way she was feeling. That he had noticed her unease, and was determined, for that night at least, to ease it. As a result he had lulled her into what might well be a totally false sense of security.

But by the time that darkness had fallen and the silence of the night had gathered round them, she had just been so thankful that they had got through the evening without any more unpleasantness or a problem that she would have had trouble explaining, that such worrying thoughts hadn’t entered her head.

In fact, she’d been so relieved to find that the time had passed so pleasantly that she’d never even thought twice about saying, as she’d watched Joaquin’s eyelids grow heavy, drooping over the jet brilliance of his eyes, and his long body slump lower in his chair: ‘You’re getting tired. I think it’s time that you were in bed.’

She knew how worn out he must really be when he didn’t even rise to the provocation, but simply nodded slowly and murmured, ‘That would be a good idea.’

‘Well, then, why don’t you go on up? I’ll tidy things away here and follow.’

Again, no protest. Could it really be that easy? After the way he had behaved earlier, she very much doubted it, but she wasn’t going to question too strongly—not tonight. She was worn out too, though probably not as exhausted as Joaquin must be on his first day out of hospital. The strain of the past seventy-two hours was catching up with her, and she had spent long hours in the hospital, sitting in a chair by Joaquin’s bed, and then had barely slept when she’d got back to Ramón’s flat.

Stretching wearily and yawning so widely that she felt her jaw would crack, she switched off the lights and made her way to the stairs, plodding slowly up them, thinking longingly of sinking into her bed. Joaquin would probably be asleep already. He had looked so exhausted that he must have crashed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He hadn’t.

She reached the top of the stair and turned to go along the landing, then jumped in fright as she became aware of the tall, dark, silent figure leaning against the wall in the shadows, waiting for her.

‘Joaquin! Oh, you gave me such a fright! What is it? Why are you—is something wrong?’

‘I don’t know,’ was the response, in a voice that turned her blood to ice in her veins and made her throat close up so tight that it was difficult to breathe. ‘You tell me.’

Straightening up and taking a step forward, he kicked open the nearest door. The door to a bedroom—her bedroom, she noted with a sickening lurch of her stomach. The bedroom she had chosen to sleep in tonight, knowing she could not possibly share a bed with Joaquin under the circumstances.

As the door swung open it revealed what Joaquin must have seen, the details that betrayed her, the silent evidence that revealed her plans. Her nightdress and robe lay on the bed, her wash bag on the dresser. She could only be intensely grateful that she had pushed the case she’d brought back from Ramón’s firmly to the back of the wardrobe so that he didn’t realise she had only just managed to unpack part of her luggage before he and his brother had appeared downstairs. And that all of it was in this room—not the one she had once shared with him.

‘I…’ she began but her voice failed her hopelessly.

‘You?’ Joaquin questioned cynically, his carved face just a cold mask of contempt and barely controlled cold fury. ‘So just what explanation were you planning on giving me for this? I take it you do have one?’

‘Of course I do.’

The realisation that there was nothing more revealing than her nightdress on show gave a new strength to her words, giving her the courage to face him with a touch of defiance.

‘And you’d know what it is if you were thinking straight!’

Joaquin scowled darkly, glaring at her ferociously.

‘Don’t tell me—the doctors’ orders again?’

‘Got it in one!’ Cassie retorted sharply. ‘And you’ll also have to admit that it makes sense.’

The cynically sceptical look he turned on her declared that he found that very unlikely, but she swallowed hard and forced herself to continue.

‘You’re just out of hospital. You need a good night’s sleep and for that you need to be undisturbed.’

‘And you’ll disturb me?’

‘I—I might. Or you might let yourself be disturbed by me. Oh, come on, Joaquin!’ she risked a protest. ‘You promised me that you’d do as I said.’

‘I know I did—and I have. But this—’

He broke off abruptly, glowering at her darkly. Cassie held her breath in apprehension, not knowing what on earth she would do if he flat out refused to co-operate.

But Joaquin must have been even more tired and out of sorts than she had anticipated, because just as she had drawn in a breath to argue further, to try and persuade him to understand, he gave a deep sigh and lifted his shoulders in a shrug of concession.

‘All right. If that’s what you were told, I suppose I can’t argue.’

‘It was!’ Cassie assured him, crossing her fingers against the small white lie. ‘Doctors’ orders.’

‘And I promised…’

‘Yes, you did.’

Still he held out, looking into the room, black eyes going from the bed to her taut, anxious face and back again.

‘All right, then,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll go along with this for now—because I promised. But let me make one thing plain…’

When he hesitated Cassie froze, knowing she wasn’t going to like what was coming.

‘I’ll go along with this for tonight. And only tonight. Tomorrow is another day and tomorrow I want things back to normal—or I’ll want to know why.’

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