Surrender to Her Spanish Husband (6 page)

Accustomed to only having to snap his fingers and get what he needed, Rodrigo was appalled at the doctor’s seemingly cavalier attitude. Wrestling the strongest urge to call the man an uncaring imbecile, he corralled his temper and quickly scribbled down the ensuing medical instructions. In any case, he had already made up his mind to ring his own personal physician in Barcelona for help should the advice he’d been given take too long to effect a change.

Back upstairs in Jenny’s bedroom, he touched his hand to her forehead again. Her skin still felt hotter than a radiator with the dial turned to maximum. As if to echo the fear that bolted through him, a deafening explosion of thunder burst violently overhead. Refusing to believe that her condition would worsen, Rodrigo urgently tugged down the quilt that covered her. The warm woollen dressing gown would have to go too.

Half lifting Jenny’s limp slender form towards him, he tried to be as quick and as deft as he could. But his heartbeat accelerated as he observed her unnaturally rose-tinted cheeks and fluttering lashes, her body jerking now and then as if in acute pain. Out of the blue a partially remembered Spanish lullaby came to him. Softly, beneath his breath, he began to sing.
‘Duerme, niña Chiquita sleep my little babe Duerme, mi alma sleep my precious soul.’

Lifting his hand, he smoothed some delicate golden tendrils back from the pale fevered brow before him. Then, with the dressing-gown cast aside, he gently lowered Jenny back down into the bed. The nightdress she wore underneath was a sleeveless cotton affair in white, with a chain of tiny pink rosebuds dancing across the demure round-necked bodice. In the innocent gown she looked like some fairy tale princess waiting to be woken from a dream with a kiss from a handsome enraptured hero.

Grimacing ruefully, Rodrigo levered himself to his feet. First the lullaby he had not heard since his grandmother had crooned it to him as a child, then an observation that was too whimsical for words! Ever since he had stepped over the threshold of Raven Cottage he’d been feeling as if he was under some kind of enchantment. But there was no time to waste reflecting on the strangeness of his reactions. Not when he had to urgently bring down that temperature.

Hurriedly seeking out the adjoining bathroom, he filled a decorative ceramic bowl with tepid water, grabbed a washcloth off the towel-rail and returned to his patient’s bedside. Steeping the washcloth in the water, he carefully squeezed it out again. Pressing it against Jenny’s forehead, then at the sides of her neck, he murmured, ‘You will be better very soon sweetheart…I promise.’

Where did he get such confidence in his healing powers? he wondered. Especially when the tight little knot of anxiety that had taken up residence inside his chest had to be a far truer indication of how he was feeling.

‘So…so hot…’ she murmured, moving her head from side to side. ‘Need some…water…’

‘Here.’ Sliding his arm round Jenny’s shoulders, Rodrigo helped raise her head, then reached for the carafe of water on the nightstand. Pouring some into the matching glass, he touched the cup to her lips. She sipped thirstily, some of the liquid escaping to streak down her chin onto her gown.

‘Please…let me lie down again.’ Her sky-blue eyes opened wide to stare up at him. ‘You—you shouldn’t be doing this.’

‘Why?’ Rodrigo smiled, lifting an eyebrow at the flash of lightning outside the window that for electrifying moments dwarfed the dim glow of the lamp. ‘What else should I be doing on a night like this? You are ill, Jenny, and I am the only one around to take care of you.’

‘But you—you’re not responsible for me any more.’ As she bit down anxiously on her quivering lower lip her feverishly bright blue gaze was shrouded in tears.

‘Do not talk further…you will only distress yourself. Rest. That is what you must do now. It’s all you
can
do.’

Moving back to the bathroom, Rodrigo searched through the mahogany cabinet for some of the regular medication that was recommended for flu and fever. The doctor had advised him to give some to Jenny just as soon as he could. It would settle her and help her have a more comfortable night. Discovering an unopened packet near the back of the cabinet, he scooped it up in triumph and not a little gratitude.

It wasn’t the easiest task to get her to take the two capsules he placed in her hand. She was trembling so violently with fever. Fear slashed through Rodrigo’s insides that she might take a turn for the worst after all. If she did then that singularly unhelpful doctor would rue the day he had refused to come out to her, he vowed passionately.

Biting back his apprehension and doubt, he persuaded Jenny to swallow the pills with a slurp of water. With her eyes closed again, she turned onto her side. A couple of minutes later she displayed all the signs of sleeping deeply.

Freeing a relieved sigh, Rodrigo scraped a hand round his stubbled jaw, studying her closely, with microscopic thoroughness.
It was no hardship to watch her…not when she resembled some slumbering angel lying there.

Downstairs in the kitchen, a gratingly anxious
meow
greeted him. Smiling, he dropped to his haunches to gather up the softly striped ball of fur that had instantly pressed against his ankles, as though desperate for reassurance. The feline was clearly jittery about the storm, and he took a few moments to pet and make a fuss of her before popping the animal back onto the woolly plaid blanket in her basket beside the range.

Making a swift inspection of his surroundings and spying the uncovered cake of which he’d enjoyed a slice earlier, he replaced the lid on the tin so it wouldn’t dry out. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he flicked off the lights and headed back upstairs. Dropping by his bedroom first, Rodrigo grabbed some paperwork relating to the meeting rearranged for the following day, dragged the satin quilt off the bed and returned to Jenny, unable to suppress the concern that had been building inside him ever since she’d fainted into his arms earlier. He was anxious to ascertain how she was doing.

He saw at once that she was still asleep, but even so he laid his cheek briefly against her chest to reassure himself that the soft rise and fall of her breathing was progressing normally. The action sent a spasm of volcanic need jackknifing through his body that almost tore his breath from his lungs. The sweetly intoxicating scent of her flesh combined with the touch of her soft breast beneath his cheekbone almost made him forget she was ill and made him long to be able to lie down beside her instead.

He glanced ruefully across at the rattan-cushioned chair he planned to spend the night in to watch over her, and his sigh was stoic. He didn’t suppose he would get much sleep at all tonight, no matter
where
he slept. Not when he needed to keep his wits sharply about him to take care of Jenny. In four hours’ time he would get her to take another dose of flu medication. Before that he would be sponging her down with tepid water again, to cool her temperature.

Moving across to the chair, Rodrigo stared down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. His reluctance to give the words on the page the proper attention hardly surprised him. Not when every sense and faculty he possessed was completely given over to the welfare of the lovely young woman sleeping fitfully in the bed before him. His unexpectedly dedicated commitment to his former wife left him with little desire for anything else right now.

If Jenny were well, no doubt she’d find it quite ironic. She firmly believed he had no inclination to care for anyone but himself. Many times during the brief year they’d been together she’d bemoaned the fact that he was too wrapped up in his work to spend proper time with her. Eventually Rodrigo had had to face up to the fact that he was poor husband material because it was true…he
was
married more to his work than Jenny. And that was ironic too, really, when he considered the simplicity of his mother’s long-ago hope for him. Her heartfelt desire had been that her only son would find a warm, loving partner for life, father a healthy brood of children and then settle down somewhere he could be happy—preferably somewhere in Andalucia—and be content for the rest of his existence.

It was his
father
who had conditioned and programmed him from an early age to seek the lucrative rewards of a successful career in business. Benito Martinez had all but banged the idea into Rodrigo’s head with a sledgehammer, giving him no choice to explore the alternatives. As a young man Benito had tried and failed to make his fortune from a house-building business. He had made some poor financial decisions and—to his shame—had lost everything. If Rodrigo achieved success in business then he, Benito, would truly be able to hold his head up in their village at last, and show them that the Martinez name meant something.

The implication had been that until such a time he would remain disappointed. And in pursuing an idea that hadn’t even originated from him Rodrigo had learned that sometimes children were expected to fulfil the frustrated dreams of their parents instead of following their own…

The most disturbing images and feelings had been running through Jenny’s brain. Nearly all of them involved a man who looked as if he’d stepped out of a Renaissance painting. Such endlessly dark soulful eyes he had, such glossy black hair and a heavenly shaped mouth.
His beautiful face haunted her.
His warm accented voice took her to a land of hot sun, cool Mediterranean waters and the echo of an ancient drumbeat that had been the heart of its people for centuries. Her Renaissance man also had powerful muscular arms that could carry her anywhere he wanted if Jenny allowed it, and those arms seemed to represent security and safety and something else—something essential that she’d longed for. It didn’t matter right then that her fevered mind struggled to put a name to it.

A choking cough suddenly seized her. Each breathless convulsion was like a scythe slicing through her brain, it hurt so much. The arms she had dreamed of were suddenly holding her up, lifting a glass of water to her parched lips, patiently supporting and encouraging her as she gulped thirstily. Sensing her hand tremble where it circled the glass, Jenny gripped it a bit too tightly to still the tremors and accidentally tipped half the contents over her nightgown. The icy water that connected with her heated skin was akin to the touch of the coldest steel blade, and she gasped in shock.

‘Oh, how stupid! What have I done?’

‘It’s nothing to be anxious about,
querida
, and nothing that cannot be put right in a moment. Here…I will help you remove this, then get you a towel and a clean gown.’

Before Jenny could find the strength even to protest, Rodrigo was lifting up her nightgown, bunching it into a ball, and heading off into the bathroom. Too sick to mind that he’d just seen her naked, she crossed her arms over her chest, shivering violently from a combination of fever, cold, and pure distress that she was too weak to help herself. He returned quickly, to drape a large bathtowel round her shoulders. The floral smell of lavender-scented washing detergent as well as the disturbingly sensual whiff of her ex-husband’s aftershave permeated her fogged brain to cause a faint skirmish of acute awareness deep in her belly.

‘Thanks.’ She couldn’t bring herself to raise her eyes to look at him.

‘Where do you keep your clean nightgowns? In that chest of drawers over there?’

‘The second one down.’

As deftly as he’d removed the wet nightgown, Rodrigo slid a fresh one down over Jenny’s head and shoulders, with the same pragmatic ease. Outside the bedroom window another starburst of vivid white lightning followed by another rumble of thunder reminded her that the persistent storm had not yet exorcised its rage.

A sense of feeling safely cocooned here inside, whilst the elements caused mayhem around them, rippled beguilingly through her. It was no good feeling resentful or embarrassed about needing Rodrigo’s help tonight, she concluded wearily. All she could do was surrender to the deep malaise that dragged at her limbs and made her head feel as though it was stuffed with cloth and pray and hope that when the morning came she would be over the worst and finally able to care for herself. Till then, she had no choice but to leave Rodrigo in charge.

Lowering her head resignedly against the pillows once more, Jenny shut her eyes to the surprising and hypnotic sound of his husky velvet tones softly singing what sounded very much like a lullaby in Spanish.

Chapter Four

I
N THE
space of a heartbeat a lovely consoling dream—a dream about a man who had a healing touch and a honeyed voice to match—turned into a nightmare of a passage in darkness, with flames licking under the only door. Jenny’s pulses were wild with terror. Suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Consumed with fear that she would die there, she let words tumble from her lips incoherent and terrified as she pleaded to be rescued—pleaded for her very life.

Strong hands imprisoned her wrists and implored her to calm down in case she hurt herself. It was all right, the disembodied voice soothingly promised. Nothing was going to harm her—he would make sure of that.

As awareness of her true surroundings returned, Jenny stared frantically at the lean, high-cheek-boned face that stared back at her with rock-like steadiness in his depthless black eyes, as if whatever troubled her—however big or small—he would handle it. Her heart continued to thump crazily beneath her ribs until bit by agonising bit she recognised Rodrigo.

‘It’s all right,’ he soothed again and the kindness mirrored back to her from his glance and his voice was like being in receipt of a warm woollen blanket on a raw winter’s night. Slowly her terror started to recede. ‘You were having a nightmare, baby…but you were here all the time, safe in your bed. You’re burning up with fever. You’re going to have to let me do what I can to help make you more comfortable.’

‘A nightmare…’ she mumbled through the tousled skeins of spun-gold hair that in her urgency to be free had spilled across her face.

‘Don’t move,’ Rodrigo told her firmly. ‘I’ll be straight back.’