Forgotten Husband. HELEN BIANCHIN

away, and she bore the light sweep of his tongue as it explored the sweet recesses of her mouth, creating an acute sense of loss as he slowly withdrew. For several long, timeless seconds her eyes were held mesmerised by his, then his lips curved into a slow, warm smile as he reached for her nightgown and eased the straps over her injured hand, then her head, before pooling the silk at her waist while he removed her trousers and briefs.

      ‘Do you need help in the bathroom?’

      ‘No,’ she refused, infinitely relieved that this was an area there was no need for him to invade.

      ‘I’ll be back with a tray in ten minutes.’

      Oh, dear God, she breathed silently as the door closed behind him. What was happening to her? How could she react so damnably with someone her conscious mind failed to recognise?

      She had made no effort to move away from the touch of his mouth, merely stood mesmerised as he had initiated a sensual foray that had played havoc with her vulnerable emotions.

      ‘There are two dinner-plates,’ Elise declared with a slight frown as Alejandro re-entered the room and set the covered bed-tray into position across her lap.

      One eyebrow lifted in quizzical query as he subjected her to a long, considering look from beneath dark-fringed lashes. ‘You imagined I would leave you to eat alone?’

      She had hoped he might. He emitted a sensual vibrancy that was intense—dangerous. To envisage him as a lover was sufficient to set alarm bells jangling inside her brain, awakening feelings deep within that raised questions she had no desire to answer.

      ‘Eat, Elise,’ Alejandro commanded. ‘Before the food becomes cold.’

      Obediently she picked up the spoon and started with the soup, then when it was finished she used a fork to dissect the omelette.

      It was impossible not to be aware of him as he sat a few feet distant in a comfortable chair. His movements were economical, and her eyes were drawn to the strength of his jaw, his mouth.

      Remembering how that mouth had felt against her own brought a flood of soft colour to her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would like to be kissed by him…really kissed, not the controlled brushing of his lips against hers that had been little more than an affectionate salutation.

      He looked the sort of man who would consume a woman—with a deep, drugging passion that gave no quarter, demanding an abandonment so complete that there could be no room for reticence.

      She did not know the measure of her own personality, or the strength of her emotions. Yet even in her wildest imagination she couldn’t imagine acting like a wanton in his arms.

      He had said he had tasted every inch of her. He couldn’t mean…

      ‘You have finished?’

      His query startled her, and she met his unfathomable gaze with widened eyes. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’ll be fine now,’ she added quickly in dismissal, and saw his eyes narrow slightly as he removed the tray.

      He regarded her steadily, his expression revealing, and there was latent steel beneath the velvet tone of his voice. ‘The bed is sufficiently large to accommodate both of us.’

      The thought of sharing the bed with him made her stomach knot with unenviable nerves. ‘I’d prefer a room of my own.’

      ‘No.’

      It was a categorical refusal. One that made her uncommonly resentful. ‘I think——’

      ‘Don’t think,’ Alejandro advised with dangerous softness, and her eyes acquired an angry sparkle.

      ‘How can I not?’ she declared, with a degree of asperity. ‘I have no knowledge of you in any sexual sense. I know I’m not ready to resume intimacy. Dammit,’ she flung heatedly, ‘I can’t even remember if we’re——’

      ‘Sexually compatible?’ he drawled in silky query. ‘I assure you we are, mi mujer. Passionately, primitively so.’

      The retort she wanted to fling at him died in her throat as he began unbuttoning his shirt. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t prevent her gaze from focusing on him, watching beneath lowered lashes as deft fingers competently dealt with remaining shirt-buttons before moving to free the belt at his waist. Seconds later the shirt was tossed over a nearby chair, closely followed by his trousers.

      It was impossible not to be aware of his impressively muscled frame: broad shoulders, chest tapering down to a trim waist, slim hips and long, powerful thighs.

      Something deep inside her stirred, then slowly unfurled at the sight of his chest, liberally covered with whorls of dark hair which arrowed down over a taut waist to disappear beneath black silk briefs.

      ‘Are you going to join me in the shower?’

      He had to be joking!

      Elise’s eyes widened measurably, then grew dark as her gaze shifted to a point somewhere beyond his right shoulder, and she was powerless to stop the faint flood of colour covering her cheeks as her imagination ran riot.

      ‘I can cope on my own,’ she managed in strangled tones, hating him as he calmly scooped her to her feet.

      She wanted to hit him, or at the very least hurl abuse at his merciless head. Sparks of topaz accentuated the green of her eyes, and her chin tilted in open defiance. ‘I hate having you play nursemaid,’ she said with a degree of anguish as he carefully undressed her.

      ‘I refuse to stand by and have you inflict further damage on your shoulder out of a foolish need for modesty.’

      The tone of his voice should have warned her, but she was too angry to take any notice. ‘And I dislike the thought of a husband who practises voyeurism.’

      He stiffened, his large frame an awesome sight as he held himself severely in check. Anger emanated from every pore, and his eyes were so dark that they resembled polished onyx. ‘Perhaps you should give thanks to the good Dios,’ he intoned in a hard voice. ‘If it were not for your injuries, I would teach you a lesson you would not easily forget.’

      As he had in the past? Dear God, was he an abusive man? she agonised in shocked silence. Her features paled at the thought, and she heard him utter a string of viciously soft incomprehensible words.

      ‘Go and have your shower, Elise,’ he commanded with dangerous silkiness.

      She needed no second bidding, and her mouth set in mutinous lines as he followed her into the bathroom and switched on the water, tested its temperature, then stood aside as she stepped into the large stall.

      Despite the rising cloud of steam she was aware of his presence a few feet distant on the other side of the glass screen, and she gritted her teeth against rising anger, feeling no remorse for taking longer than necessary before closing the taps.

      He was waiting as she slid open the glass door, and her eyes waged a silent battle with his as he stepped forward and removed the waterproof covering from her bandaged hand, then collected a towel and began blotting the dampness from her body.

      ‘I’m quite capable of completing the task,’ Elise said tightly, and almost swayed beneath his long, intent gaze.

      Did he have any idea of how vulnerable she felt? How damnable it was to have to stand naked before him and suffer his ministrations?

      ‘Of course,’ he drawled with hateful amusement as he discarded his briefs and stepped into the shower.

      There was an enviable selection of toiletries to choose from atop the long marble vanity unit, and after making use of a few Elise collected a large towel and was about to secure it sarong-wise around her body when the water stopped.

      Seconds later the door slid open and Alejandro emerged from the stall.

      Elise hastily averted her eyes from the electrifying image of his superbly muscled frame, with its generous mat of curling chest-hair arrowing