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When they reached the bedroom there were more candles, more flowers, and her heart became so huge she could barely breathe.
How could such an austere, forbidding man have done something so sweet and sentimental, just for her?
He dropped her on the bed, his expression focused and determined. She watched, transfixed by how magnificent he looked as he towered over her. Desire charged through her system like a drug. He tore off his jacket and tie and wrenched the tailored shirt out of his suit trousers. Buttons popped, his magnificent chest bared at last—the hard muscles bunched and tensed, the tanned skin, the sprinkle of hair trailing through his abs, softened by the glow of the candlelight. She shivered as he shoved off his trousers and stood gloriously naked before her—to roll a condom on the huge erection.
‘Take off the dress, Cerys,’ he growled, his voice rough with demand.
Her gaze snapped to his, to see the fierce frown.
‘Now,’ he added. ‘Or I will destroy it. I cannot wait any longer.’
She nodded, snapped out of the erotic fog. Lifting onto her knees, she fumbled, trying to find the tab under her arm, but before she could drag it down, he had brushed her hands away.
She could feel his urgency, the fight to be gentle, as he hooked a finger under the straps and shoved them down. He found the zip at last, releasing her from the shimmering fabric, which had felt like a straitjacket for hours. She moaned as his lips found the pulse in her neck and suckled hungrily while he dragged the dress down and freed her tender breasts from the constricting lace.
His hands were everywhere, caressing, stroking, divesting her of the gown, the lingerie she had worn especially for him, until she could feel the night breeze against her skin.
He captured one stiff peak between hungry lips as his fingers found the slick folds of her sex and circled the swollen nub. She lurched off the bed, already so close.
He pressed one finger, then two inside her, finding the spot he knew would take her over and caressed it with ruthless efficiency. The first orgasm slammed into her, driving her up—too far, too fast—even as he grasped her hips and drove into the tight clasp of her body.
Impaled, possessed, she struggled to breathe, couldn’t think, the adrenaline, the need lost in the burst of furious emotion. And desperation.
She needed this, needed him.Always.
She gripped his shoulders, the rocking thrusts taking him deeper still. So deep she could feel him touch her soul. The second orgasm layered onto the first, building harder and faster, terrifying in its intensity. She tried to hold back, to hold on, as the powerful erection stroked in and out, filling every part of her to bursting, and taking her to a place she had only ever been with him.
‘Again, Cerys, you must come for me again. Now you are mine.’
As if by his command, her body responded, the pleasure cascading through her in a thousand glittering shards of sensation. She cried out, feeling terrified and exhilarated, scared and yet cherished.
The shout of his release was like a validation, a promise, sending her soaring over that final ledge and plunging her into the beautiful abyss.
CHAPTER TEN
Santiago strode acrossthe courtyard, aware of the morning sun already beating down on the remnants of last night’s festivities, which were still being cleared away by the crew employed by the event planner.
When was the last time he had indulged himself like this? And stayed in bed until noon.
Cerys had woken him just after dawn, writhing in the throes of a nightmare, calling out for her mother. But when he’d roused her the rest of the way, she had been unable to recall the details of the dream. Luckily, he had known the perfect way to distract her. To distract them both.
He frowned, recalling how they had both drifted back to sleep, sated and content in each other’s arms.
Uneasiness settled in his gut. For the first time in—well, for ever, really—he would happily have stayed in bed all day, because his work did not excite him as much as Cerys. He pushed the unsettling thought to one side, the memory of her face the night before—full of hope and possibilities—when she had seen the flowers, though, only disturbed him more.
He tugged his phone from his pocket to check the time. Pérez had arrived at thecastillotwenty minutes ago, with an item which the detective believed could be one of the possessions Santiago had described being pocketed by the thief in Barcelona.
He hoped to hell the item held the key to Cerys’s identity. And helped unlock her memory the rest of the way. He had hated seeing her confusion and panic this morning, the sadness on her face when she had struggled to recall the details of her dream. But more, he knew he was becoming too invested in this relationship. Once the legalities could be settled, and the prenuptial agreement signed, he could surely begin to get this union in perspective. Perhaps the decision to have the marriage blessed in the family chapel according to the De Montoya tradition had also been a mistake—bringing emotions into play which had no place in this arrangement—but how would he have been able to persuade anyone the marriage was real if he did not make vows before God? And why did he still feel as if the impulse to do so had been a lot less pragmatic than he might wish, that deep-seated urge to claim Cerys in all the ways that mattered something he could no longer ignore.
He jogged up the back stairs and headed to his study. When he arrived, Pérez was waiting for him.
‘Your Excellency, I apologise for waking you on the morning after your wedding,’ the man began.
‘It was a church blessing for the union, to recognise it in the eyes of God. The marriage, however, will not be legal until we have Cerys’s ID documents,’ he replied gruffly, trying to convince himself as much as the detective that yesterday’s service had been a necessity demanded by religion and tradition. Nothing more. ‘So, I’m hoping you have news for us that will tie up the loose ends.’
‘I’m afraid I do not have any of your betrothed’s ID documents,’ the man said, dashing Santiago’s hopes.
But then the detective reached into his briefcase to produce a tattered leather-bound book. ‘But my contacts in Barcelona discovered this for sale on the black market, which I believed might be the item you described.’