Surrender to Her Spanish Husband (4 page)

The idea sent a burning arrow of explosive heat straight to Rodrigo’s loins and he murmured an expletive in Spanish. How long since he had had a woman? He traced the outline of a circle in the collected steam on the shower stall’s glass, added a downturned mouth and scowled.
Clearly long enough for it to seriously start to bother him.

It wasn’t that there was ever a lack of opportunity. Females of all ages had taken a profound interest in him ever since he’d started to hit puberty at around thirteen. But he had done nothing about more recent opportunities because he had allowed work to gobble up his free time like an insatiable termite instead. Before he’d realised it the days and weeks in his diary had suddenly revealed that a whole year had gone by—a year during which he could practically equal a Franciscan monk for lack of sexual activity. Not to mention the complete dearth of a social life or even anything remotely related to relaxation.

He was beginning to feel a little like an automated machine—going here, going there, and hardly even noticing his surroundings. It scarcely mattered whether it was some sensual eastern paradise or one of the glamorous foreign playgrounds of the rich and famous—private playgrounds to which gradually, through his single-minded dedication to his goal, Rodrigo had at last gained membership. But the successful business he’d been so focused on achieving from such a young age had gradually turned into a monster, intent on gorging every ounce of energy and life force he possessed in return for the rewards he’d once deemed so essential to his self-esteem and his life.

Frighteningly, he had experienced periods of late when his body had threatened to barely get him through the day at all. More frightening still was the fact that very little in his life—either some achievement or something material—managed to give him pleasure any more. It appeared as though he was numb to the sensation. Even this new project, installing one of his exclusive resorts in this scenic, wild and—as research informed him—
desirable
corner of south-west England was quickly starting to lose the excitement and appeal it had initially held. But the last thing his shareholders wanted to hear was that he had lost that lucrative, moneymaking killer instinct that had helped so spectacularly to line their pockets too.

Sighing, Rodrigo stepped out of the shower onto the aquamarine tiled floor. Reaching for a voluminous white towel that had been left warming on the radiator, he dried himself vigorously, dressed in clean jeans and a sweatshirt, combed his fingers through his still damp hair and then turned to view his scowling reflection in the steamy mirror.

He didn’t like what he saw.
The confirmation of his thoughts about the lack of relaxation in any form was written clear in the dullness of his eyes, in the new lines he spied round his mouth and gouged into his forehead. Even through the steam they mercilessly confronted him.

A picture came into his mind of his angelic-looking ex-wife. Would a hot night of unconstrained lust in her bed, with soft sighs, mutually hungry needs passionately met, cure him of the dullness in his eyes? Would it help him regain some of the strength and vitality that lately he sensed he had lost?

Grimacing as another wave of erotic heat seized his body, Rodrigo didn’t doubt it would. But after the way he had treated her would Jenny even consider it?

As he turned to leave the room he silently acknowledged that it wasn’t just the promise of a warming nighttime drink he was hoping for…

She was standing by the stove, watching over a simmering pan of milk. Somehow knowing he was there, she turned towards him and, surprisingly, gifted him with a smile. Her lovely face was scrubbed clean as a child’s and her huge china-blue eyes set up such a violent longing in Rodrigo that he barely knew how to handle it. It wasn’t just the natural healthy longing of a sexually aroused male at the sight of an attractive woman either. It was the totally contradictory yearning for an impossible dream that he usually dismissed as viciously as swatting an annoying fly—a dream that he had had within his grasp but had incredibly let go. But sometimes—like now—it broke through his insatiable need for success and acceptance by the world and almost throttled those desires by the throat.
Yet its tantalising promise could never be for
him.
He was a pragmatist, a realist…a man a million miles away from ever putting his faith in such an impossibly unattainable idea.
No doubt his lovely ex-wife would back him up on that.

Wearing a full-length cream dressing gown, its lapels patterned with tiny sprigged red roses, little Jenny Wren radiated the kind of innocence and purity that made Rodrigo briefly mourn for the hopefulness and joy of his early youth.
Before
he had discovered that in his ardent pursuit of success the world would extract every ounce of that hopefulness and joy and pay him back with constant growing tension and a vague unease that all was not right.

Rubbing his hand over his chest in a bid to ease the sudden clutch of discomfort that had collected there, he appreciatively registered that Jenny’s golden hair had been left to dry naturally, in almost too tempting to touch blonde ringlets. Finding himself in a trance, he paused in the doorway just to gaze at her…enjoying the stirring sight she made as if paying homage to an exquisite work of art in a gallery.

‘I’m making hot chocolate. Is that okay?’

‘It is more than just okay. I could not think of a more perfect ending to a night like this.’

Liar
, his silent inner voice mocked as he easily thought of a far more exciting and alluring alternative. But, as if to illustrate his comment, a violent blast of furious thunder overhead made the whole house feel as though the very walls were about to disintegrate into a pile of rubble.

‘Sit down. I’ll bring it over to you when it’s ready.’

‘I get the feeling that there’s no one around tonight but us. Am I right in thinking I’m the only guest staying here?’

‘You are. Like I said…’ she whipped up the milk in the pan with a tiny whisk as if she was no stranger to the task ‘…we’re pretty quiet at the moment. The summer holidays are long over, and it probably won’t get busy again until nearly Christmas.’

‘And will you still be here then, helping Lily out?’

Jenny’s slender shoulders visibly stilled. ‘No. I won’t. I told you…she’s due back in a couple of weeks and I’ll be returning to London.’

‘To the house you grew up in as a child.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yet you seem more at home here than anywhere I’ve seen you before.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because this rural environment suits you…In fact, it wouldn’t require a great stretch of the imagination to see you as a country girl, Jenny. Yes, I can visualise you sitting in your cosy little stone cottage each evening as the sun goes down, the tantalising smell of the day’s fruitful baking lingering in the air.’

‘And in this tantalising little scenario am I on my own?’ The catch in her voice had Rodrigo frowning deeply.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘You tell
me
.’ Even though his voice was calm, it felt as if an icy boulder had taken up residence inside his belly.

‘You know I’ve always wanted a family.’

‘Yes.’ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I do know that.’

‘But you never wanted children, did you?’

‘No. I didn’t.’

‘Then it was just as well you decided our marriage wouldn’t work, wasn’t it?’

Lifting the pan off the stove, Jenny poured the steaming milk into two waiting ceramic mugs, then gave the contents a brief stir. Bringing their drinks to the table, where Rodrigo sat silently and broodingly waiting, she lowered herself into the chair opposite him. Straight away he scented the soap she’d used to wash herself with. It smelled like newly laundered linen. Once again it lit a fire in his blood that made him feel more alive and intensely aware than he had in ages.

Sighing softly, she focused her shimmering corn-flower-blue eyes on his. ‘One day you might meet someone you really care for, Rodrigo, and change your mind about having children.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because I know exactly what I want and what I don’t want. There’s no confusion about that.’ His mouth set uncompromisingly.

‘It must be marvellous to be so certain of things…to be so sure that you’re right.’

Jenny turned her face away. When she glanced back Rodrigo couldn’t pretend he didn’t see the avalanche of hurt in her eyes. It all but sliced him in two, knowing he was the cause of it.

‘It doesn’t feel so marvellous when you put it like that,’ he replied drolly.

‘Then let’s change the subject. Let’s not talk about us—what we want or don’t want—let’s stick to safer topics. Your shower…was the water hot enough?’

Shrugging, Rodrigo warmed his still chilled hands round his mug of hot chocolate. ‘It was fine.’

‘Good.’

‘You worry too much about others, Jenny.’

‘I suppose I do. At least I worry that Lily’s guests have everything that they need and are comfortable. It’s a big responsibility, taking care of someone else’s house and business, and I want to do a good job for her while I’m here.’

‘Trust me…you do such a good job of taking care of your guests that you would put a top hotel to shame.’

‘I suppose you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?’

‘I suppose I would.’ Regarding her from beneath the sweeping black lashes that any female would envy, Rodrigo edged a corner of his mouth towards a smile. ‘Anyway, I’ve always believed in acknowledging effort and good work where I see it.’

‘Your staff must love you for that. As well as being paid well, everyone wants to feel valued.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I agree. Sometimes employers can forget that.’

In his mind Rodrigo made a quick inventory of some of the people who worked for him…Were they happy? Did they consider him a good employer? Certainly his management team seemed to think so. After all, in fifteen years he had had very few complaints. From that he had to deduce that all must be well. For their loyalty and hard work he rewarded his staff with regular bonuses and luxury breaks at different foreign resorts from the ones they worked in, as well as seeing to it that they all had good pensions and private healthcare. He also knew that despite his strict adherence to high standards, he was well liked.

‘So, you still enjoy your work?’ Jenny enquired, dark blonde brows lifting a little.

‘Yes, I do,’ Rodrigo replied.

Now it was
his
turn to guard and protect his feelings. The stormy night, this warm cosy house and its unexpected pretty and familiar hostess might have lulled him into relaxing far more than he had in ages, but he was not about to confess to Jenny that lately he had fallen a little bit out of love with his chosen career.

‘I suppose that was a bit of a stupid question.’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘I mean…your work is your life, right? Of course you must still enjoy it.’

Taking a brief sip of her drink, Jenny licked the chocolate-coloured froth from her lips with the tip of her elegant pink tongue. Already feeling the disturbingly sensual effects of her alluring sweet company, Rodrigo felt the taut muscles in his belly constrict even more.

‘My dad was only a plumber, but he really enjoyed his work too.’ Her gaze roamed from Rodrigo’s features down to his Ralph Lauren sweatshirt. ‘Of course he didn’t dress nearly as stylishly or expensively as you. Truth is he never made a lot of money, even though he worked hard. If he thought a customer would struggle to pay his bill he’d only charge them half the price. He wasn’t a natural businessman, I’m afraid. But he was the very best father you could wish for.’

‘You clearly admired and loved him very much.’

‘I did. After all, what could be more important than being a good parent, and supporting, loving and adoring your children so that they don’t ever doubt they mean everything to you? Being good at business is nothing in comparison to that.’

Chapter Three

R
ODRIGO’S
expression suggested an iron portcullis had slammed down over his emotions—as if everything in him, every feeling and sense, had been incontrovertibly closed and shielded against anything Jenny cared to throw at him.

She hadn’t deliberately intended to make a jibe about his preference for work as opposed to having children, but she supposed it was inevitable it should come out like that. The fact was she had loved being married to him. Had prayed he would change his mind about them having a family together, and hoped his love affair with work would one day dim when it was replaced by the joys of fatherhood…But her prayers and hopes had been cruelly shattered the day he’d come home and announced their marriage was over.

It had been like listening to an icily aloof stranger, Jenny remembered with a shudder. Here in the kitchen, where the heat from the cooking range lent an air of cosiness and security as the storm rampaged outside, she wished the sense of safety and warmth she felt went beyond creature comforts.
She wished it were created by mutual love between her and Rodrigo.

The force of her yearning made her want to weep. But she was wasting her time, dwelling on such futile things. Better that she remembered that her handsome ex-husband was just a visiting guest in the house, staying for one night only because circumstances dictated it…
not
because he’d intended them to meet and be alone together.

As soon as Lily had asked her to stand in for her for three months Jenny had vowed she’d be utterly professional and considerate at all times, and that was how she meant to proceed for the remainder of the time Rodrigo was there. She would treat him just like any other guest. She could manage that for twenty-four hours, couldn’t she?

Her head swam for a moment.

‘I’m going to check the house, then go to bed,’ she announced, rising to her feet.

‘Why do I get the distinct feeling that you’re running away?’ Rodrigo asked lazily.

‘I’m not running away! If anyone knows how to do that it’s
you
, not me.’