SHEER disbelief had Cristina twisting to stare at him. ‘You are asking me to marry you?’ The words arrived gasping from her lips.
Anton’s face hardened, his whole demeanour turning to ice. ‘Take note, Cristina, that at no point in this discussion am I asking you to marry me,’ he said, very clearly. ‘This is a business arrangement. I need a wife,’ he repeated. ‘You happen to fit the bill. You are young, presentable, and still desirable.’
‘Even for badly used goods?’ she quavered.
‘As you say.’ He nodded. ‘You also need my money more than I need you.’
‘Why do you need a wife?’
‘That’s my business.’
‘You want a silent wife?’ She was unable to stop the slicing sarcasm from coming out.
‘You could say that—though I think it might be stretching my luck.’ He smiled in spite of the ice.
‘I wonder you are not putting your secretary in the role, then.’
‘She does not suit my requirements.’
‘But she would not say no to you.’
‘Are you thinking of saying no to me?’
Cristina was too busy trying to grapple with it all to say anything.
‘Maybe you would rather let Kinsella suffer my English touch than be forced to suffer it for yourself again.’
That did it. She turned on him, swivelling in the chair to burn him with a look. ‘I never once said I did not enjoy making love with you, Luis!’ she said hotly. ‘And stop throwing my six-year-old words back at me!’
‘Strong words, though, Cristina. Hard words from a proud Marques mouth.’
‘As you have already pointed out, what pride is there now in being a Marques?’ she countered, then had to heave in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘The name, like my reputation, is demolished. Do you think I am too stupid and too proud to have realised that for myself, long before you came back into my life?’
‘My apologies,’ he said.
She looked away from him and said nothing. An apology only meant something if it carried regret.
‘Am I allowed to ask what my role as wife to you is supposed to entail?’
‘Of course you may ask,’ he answered, so smoothly it was like a slap in her face. He was sitting there—relaxing there now—as if the anger of before had never been, while she…
Was hurt and fighting not to show it.
And afraid of what was going to come next.
‘Your role will be the same as any other wife,’ he told her. ‘You will keep my house, be my hostess and sleep in my bed. You will also make yourself available to me for sex whenever I desire it…’ He sat forward then, so he could look into her face. ‘And here is the bad one, Christina, so prepare for it because you are not going to like this,’ he warned. ‘We—as in you and I—are going to have to go all-out for a fast and probably furious attempt at conceiving a baby. I need you to be pregnant, you see, within a few months…’
Having shot his final past-avenging dart into her useless little heart, Anton watched, totally riveted—because it actually was like witnessing a murder take place. She seemed to die right there in front of his eyes.
‘Too much to ask?’ he prompted.
She didn’t answer.
‘Still protecting your gorgeous figure at all costs?’
She still made no response.
Something vicious tightened inside him. ‘Or perhaps you still cannot face the prospect of my half-English blood mixing with your blood?’
She breathed then—blinked. One of those very slow lowerings of fine-veined eyelids over terrible blank eyes. As they lifted again so did Cristina, rising out of the chair like a zombie. Then she just turned and walked towards the door, leaving Anton sitting there, stunned and so damn angry that she could do this to him—again!
He threw himself to his feet. ‘I see that we have found your ceiling price,’ he fed harshly after her. ‘But know this, Cristina. The deal remains in place only until you reach that door!’
She stopped walking, trembling from hair root to toe tip.
‘I hate you, Luis,’ she whispered painfully.
‘I am so gutted by that, querida,’ he drawled in return. ‘Do you go or do you stay?’
She spun on him then, her beautiful face blanched of its warm golden colour, dark eyes shot through with a kind of agony that had him folding his arms across the sudden tightness trying to band his chest.
‘Stay for what?’ she cried out shrilly. ‘So that you can take more revenge for that precious ego that I bruised so badly once?’
‘Did you bruise it? I don’t remember.’
‘I battered it!’ she spat at him. ‘I crushed it in my fist and flung it to the ground! You want more of the same from me, querido? You want to feel the same rejection again?’
‘Reject me, then. Use the door,’ he invited. ‘You never know—if you spread your net wide enough you might catch another withered old man willing to buy his way into that sensational body of yours.’
She flew at him then. It did not surprise him. He’d been goading her towards it since she’d first walked through the door. The tied hair, the grim suit—as a disguise they were useless where he was concerned. With every flash of her eyes and every smart-mouthed comment he’d seen the real Cristina lurking there. Now she was out, and he was going to make sure that she stayed out.
He fielded her arrival without having to do very much other than catch her as she arrived at his chest, wrap his arms around her and lift her clean off the ground. Their faces came level—hers whitened by stark fury, his as un-giving as rock. She hit out at him with her fists. He laughed—once—harshly, then treated her angry mouth to a totally carnal flat-tongued lick.
All hell broke loose with that one action. She quivered from wetted lips to slender thighs. A whimper broke from her—a sobbing, cursing protest. He did it again, only this time he took the lick inwards and turned it into a full-blown deep and devouring assault. Her angry protest vibrated through both of them. As he levered himself away from the table and started walking her fingers clawed into his hair.
Did those fingers attempt to pull his mouth away from her mouth? Not this woman. She held him down, held him right there, where she was greedy for him. He knew her. He knew what made her explode sexually—and what made her his!
When he reached the door that would give them access to his private suite, he flattened her against it with his body, so he could use his hand to seek out the handle. As the door swung open, with the weight of their bodies as impetus, he had to use his hands against the heavy wood to cushion the moment when it hit the wall behind and they followed it. Her feet found solid ground again, but she didn’t let go of him. So they remained there, pressed against the door, kissing like hungry maniacs for long lost minutes. Time in which he managed to rid her of her jacket. The skirt was too big. He had only to release the zip for it to fall in a heavy whisper to the floor.