Read Online A Spanish Marriage by Diana Hamilton - Free Book Online
Authors: Diana Hamilton
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with shattering immediacy into his mind. He just about managed to smother a driven groan.
As if his tension had touched her, she turned, her glorious eyes widening, her smile irradiating his veins with the fire of lust. His mouth pulled back against his teeth, he noted the way her breasts peaked against the soft fabric of her dress as she pulled a sharp breath into her lungs and knew he had to have her, claim what was his by right. Receive what had been so freely given to others if Sherman was to be believed.
Fielding his fatherâs, âWhere the hell have you been?â and his motherâs accusatory, âYouâve been neglecting your bride!â with a smooth, âI had to attend to a vital piece of business and Iâm about to remedy my brideâs neglect,â he fastened strong fingers around Zoeâs fragile wrist and drew her to her feet.
Her elusive, utterly tantalising perfume made his head spin. The warmth of her sensuous body as she fluidly closed the space between them sent a shaft of driving need through his nervous system, the force of it rocking him back on his heels.
This was about sex. He knew it; she knew it.
It was there in the hazy glow of her golden eyes, the rapid pulse beat at the base of her long creamy throat, the wild rose colour that stole across her cheeks, the erect nipples angled against his chest just below his thundering heart. There in the quiver of heated flesh beneath slinky silk as he scooped her into his arms, tossing over his shoulder as he walked through the doorway, âI know youâll excuse us. My wife and I have some serious remedying to do.â
CHAPTER THREE
J AVIER hadnât set foot inside the blue suite since Zoe had picked it out for her use when sheâd first come to live at Wakeham Lodge. Illuminated as it was by a couple of cream-shaded table lamps, it was like walking into the heart of a cool delphinium, perfect, pristine, no sign of the muddle of strewn discarded clothing or lurid pop-star posters pinned to the walls as heâd automatically expected. Just the softly feminine enclosure of misty blue and the ornate brass bed with its oyster-coloured spread.
He pulled air sharply into his lungs as he conjured up the image of her breathtaking body on that bed. Naked. Willing.
That she was willing was not in dispute here. The moment heâd gathered her up into his arms her own arms had snaked around his neck and stayed there, her head tucked into the angle of his shoulder, just beneath his chin, her body fusing into his as heâd carried her up the stairs.
He could feel the frantic beat of her heart beneath the palm of his left hand, the heat of her smooth thighs beneath his right. As he leant back against the door to close it she lifted her head, her hair brushing like pale, perfumed silk against the hard plane of his cheek. Kissable lips a scant inch away from his. His loins jerked. His eyes closed as he fought the primeval instinct to set her on that bed, drag every scrap of clothing from that delectable body and brand her with his ownership, wipe the memory of all the others from her mind.
Red mist sprang beneath his closed lids. It was a tough call. He opened his eyes as she twisted within his arms, the thrust of her beautiful breasts pressed against his chest in open invitation. An invitation he would have little chance of turning down, he recognised with a savage burst of self-despising. And the first damn thing he saw was the gaudy bouquet from her former lover, glimpsed through the open door that led into the tiny sitting room.
Self-disgust dealt him another swiping blow. His behaviour, the thoughts in his head, put him on a level with Sherman, a man intent on grabbing what he wanted with no thought of the consequences. Zoe might look and act like a woman but she was still a child at heart.
Setting her briskly on her feet, he walked away from her, further into the room, furious with himself for thinking like an
As if his tension had touched her, she turned, her glorious eyes widening, her smile irradiating his veins with the fire of lust. His mouth pulled back against his teeth, he noted the way her breasts peaked against the soft fabric of her dress as she pulled a sharp breath into her lungs and knew he had to have her, claim what was his by right. Receive what had been so freely given to others if Sherman was to be believed.
Fielding his fatherâs, âWhere the hell have you been?â and his motherâs accusatory, âYouâve been neglecting your bride!â with a smooth, âI had to attend to a vital piece of business and Iâm about to remedy my brideâs neglect,â he fastened strong fingers around Zoeâs fragile wrist and drew her to her feet.
Her elusive, utterly tantalising perfume made his head spin. The warmth of her sensuous body as she fluidly closed the space between them sent a shaft of driving need through his nervous system, the force of it rocking him back on his heels.
This was about sex. He knew it; she knew it.
It was there in the hazy glow of her golden eyes, the rapid pulse beat at the base of her long creamy throat, the wild rose colour that stole across her cheeks, the erect nipples angled against his chest just below his thundering heart. There in the quiver of heated flesh beneath slinky silk as he scooped her into his arms, tossing over his shoulder as he walked through the doorway, âI know youâll excuse us. My wife and I have some serious remedying to do.â
CHAPTER THREE
J AVIER hadnât set foot inside the blue suite since Zoe had picked it out for her use when sheâd first come to live at Wakeham Lodge. Illuminated as it was by a couple of cream-shaded table lamps, it was like walking into the heart of a cool delphinium, perfect, pristine, no sign of the muddle of strewn discarded clothing or lurid pop-star posters pinned to the walls as heâd automatically expected. Just the softly feminine enclosure of misty blue and the ornate brass bed with its oyster-coloured spread.
He pulled air sharply into his lungs as he conjured up the image of her breathtaking body on that bed. Naked. Willing.
That she was willing was not in dispute here. The moment heâd gathered her up into his arms her own arms had snaked around his neck and stayed there, her head tucked into the angle of his shoulder, just beneath his chin, her body fusing into his as heâd carried her up the stairs.
He could feel the frantic beat of her heart beneath the palm of his left hand, the heat of her smooth thighs beneath his right. As he leant back against the door to close it she lifted her head, her hair brushing like pale, perfumed silk against the hard plane of his cheek. Kissable lips a scant inch away from his. His loins jerked. His eyes closed as he fought the primeval instinct to set her on that bed, drag every scrap of clothing from that delectable body and brand her with his ownership, wipe the memory of all the others from her mind.
Red mist sprang beneath his closed lids. It was a tough call. He opened his eyes as she twisted within his arms, the thrust of her beautiful breasts pressed against his chest in open invitation. An invitation he would have little chance of turning down, he recognised with a savage burst of self-despising. And the first damn thing he saw was the gaudy bouquet from her former lover, glimpsed through the open door that led into the tiny sitting room.
Self-disgust dealt him another swiping blow. His behaviour, the thoughts in his head, put him on a level with Sherman, a man intent on grabbing what he wanted with no thought of the consequences. Zoe might look and act like a woman but she was still a child at heart.
Setting her briskly on her feet, he walked away from her, further into the room, furious with himself for thinking like an
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