Modern Romance April 2019 Books 5-8. Chantelle Shaw
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though each had been waiting for the other all their lives. What madness had driven them into bed?
‘Because it is too late to change your mind, you know,’ he said, a tight smile stretching across his too-handsome face, the expression shoving more pleasurable thoughts from her mind.
‘Not at all.’
‘So you have been twisting your fingers to shreds because you are relaxed?’ he responded with scepticism.
Had she been? It was a nervous gesture she’d had since childhood: lacing her fingers over and over as worries tumbled through her mind. She’d thought she’d conquered it but old habits, apparently, died hard.
‘I’m thinking about our marriage,’ she said honestly. ‘And about the fact I know very little about my husband.’
He turned to face her again, slowing down at traffic lights.
‘And what I do know,’ she said quietly, ‘I don’t like, at all.’
His expression was one of grim mockery. ‘I’m a big, bad Herrera,’ he pointed out. ‘Of course you do not like me.’
‘It has nothing to do with this ridiculous feud,’ she returned. ‘I had no idea about that when we slept together; I hadn’t even heard of you, except for an occasional mention in the papers.’ Her teeth dug into her lower lip. ‘This is all about your behaviour. To my brother, my father—your attitude to my family, and now me...’
‘And what is my attitude to you?’ he enquired, looking back at the road and easing the car into gear when the lights changed to green. The city had given way without her realising it, and now there was green on either side and he slowed as they approached a large gate. It flashed as the car neared and swung open, allowing Antonio to drive through.
She didn’t answer that. It was hard to pinpoint what was bothering her, when actually he hadn’t done anything but argue for this marriage. And she had understood his reasoning, had even agreed with him. But she knew why she’d done this—she wanted to give their baby everything she’d never had.
Why had he married her? Was it something so simple, and barbaric, as insisting that their child have his surname? He’d claimed that was a part of it, but what else was there?
Many possibilities came to mind; none of them relaxed her.
At the base of all her worries was the likelihood that Antonio saw this baby as yet another pawn in his war with her family, and there was worry there—worry that he might end up hurting the child. That her hopes for this baby having stability and love would be destroyed by his need for vengeance. And what would she do then?
A sigh escaped her lips without approval. She didn’t see the answering look of impatience that crossed his face: her attention was captured by the view they drove past.
On one side of the car, heavenly grass and enormous oak trees spread for miles, with a lake at the centre. On the other? Mansions. Enormous, palatial homes with tall fences, stretches of darkly tinted glass, infinity pools, landscaped lawns.
She knew the drill.
She compressed her lips, disapproval filling her body.
Of course he lived somewhere like this.
Only his house wasn’t one of the homes lined up in a fancy row, overlooking the park. His house was in the park. What she’d taken to be a public area was, in fact, part of Antonio’s garden. The house itself was like a twenty-first century palace—all white walls and blue glass, with sharp lines and bright flowers tumbling out of terracotta pots on the endless balconies.
It was beautiful, she admitted grudgingly to herself. ‘If you think we’re raising our child in this museum, you’re crazy,’ was what she said. And when he drew the car to a halt at the front of the mansion she continued to stare at it.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ he asked, the words flattened of emotion.
‘Well, for one thing, look at the terraces. Do you have any idea how risky that is?’
His tone was curt. ‘Yes, if only there were some handy way to keep children off terraces. I don’t know, something flat that could be pulled to create a barrier. Something a bit like, oh, what’s the word for it...a door?’
She scowled. ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’
He laughed then, a husky sound. ‘And pettiness doesn’t suit you. The house is fine, and you know it, so stop complaining for the sake of it and come and have a look.’
Only the fact he’d stepped out of the car and was coming around to her side had her pushing the door open and making a hasty exit before he could open the door for her. It was symbolic of the marriage she wanted—separate, but together. She nodded to herself at that description. It was perfect.
Marriage didn’t mean they had to know everything about one another. Courtesy, civility, distance.
That could work, right?
Only his look showed he knew exactly what she was doing and she was left with a sense of having acted childishly, and she hated that! Her fingers knotted together before she realised what she was doing.
‘The house itself is gated,’ he pointed out, ‘so there is little worry our children would find their way into the lake.’
‘Children?’ She stopped walking, pressing a flat hand against her stomach. ‘This is one baby, so far as we know.’
He shrugged. ‘So far.’
‘You mean...?’ She gaped. ‘We aren’t having more children.’
He gestured towards the house. ‘Lots of rooms to fill...’
‘That’s a great reason to compound this situation,’ she muttered, to cover the way her heart had speeded up at the very idea of a big, happy, noisy family—with this man.
‘You want to give our child everything, don’t you? Does that not include siblings?’
She stared at him, her eyes sparking. ‘No.’ Not if it means sleeping with you again, she added inwardly, but her traitorous body surged at the very idea and she spun away from him to hide her reaction. The dress was a fine cotton and her nipples were hardening at the mere thought of being possessed by him once more.
‘We’ll see.’ He simply shrugged and the hand he placed at the small of her back might have been intended only to guide her forward, but her body was already on fire, her pulse racing, spurred on by memories of that night, so that she was electrified by the simple touch.
But pride held her steady; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her by jerking out of his reach.
‘The door opens with a code,’ he said, tapping in some numbers. ‘Raul will programme yours.’
‘Raul?’
‘Head of my security and operations.’
‘You have security?’
He shot her a look of impatience. ‘Yes, querida.’
‘What the heck does someone like you need a bodyguard for? You’re six and a half feet of muscle. Are you telling me you couldn’t defend yourself?’
His smile showed both amusement and something else, something darker and more dangerous, because it spoke of a desire in his bloodstream that answered her own.
She blinked it away.
‘Raul is not a bodyguard,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘His purview is the security of my properties, the safety of my staff, and protecting my cyber interests. He monitors the alarms, ensures staff are vetted appropriately. And he will oversee your protection as well, from now on.’
‘I don’t need protection.’
‘Amelia—’ He expelled a heavy breath, clicking the door