Surrender to Her Spanish Husband. Maggie Cox

      

       He froze. She must be dreaming, he thought. But then she laid her hand across his cheek, tenderly stroking it. ‘You’re such a good man really…and sometimes…sometimes so hard to resist.’

      ‘Do you know what you are saying?’ he demanded huskily.

      ‘Yes, I do. I’m wide awake, Rodrigo.’

      ‘This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Jenny Wren.’

      ‘Don’t you want to kiss me?’ she whispered, her hand moving gracefully from his cheek into his hair.

      His blood heating violently, Rodrigo gripped her shoulder. Self-control was suddenly frighteningly thin. ‘I want much more than just a sweet, drowsy little kiss, my angel. Unless you are prepared for that then we will stop this right here, right now.’

      In answer, Jenny gazed up at him with her bewitching light eyes full of longing, and then with a fleeting bold smile she slanted her petal-soft lips against his.

      Surrender to Her Spanish Husband

      BY

      Maggie Cox

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.

      MILLS & BOON

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      With grateful thanks to my lovely editor Sally Williamson.

      Her gentle guidance and support help make my part of the deal a joy!

      Chapter One

      AN EAR-SPLITTING bolt of lightning shrieked through the air, lighting up the interior of the house’s cosy hallway and outlining in threatening shadow the figure that loomed up behind the door’s decorative stained glass panels. Her foot on the first tread of the stairs, on her way up to the hot scented bath that promised to be the perfect antidote to the day’s accumulated stresses and strains, Jenny came to a sudden shocked standstill.

      It was almost ten in the evening. There had been no phone call to tell her of the imminent arrival of a guest, and there were no other occupants in the entire place but her. Bearing in mind Raven Cottage’s remote, some might say wild location—miles from anywhere—she had to quickly rid herself of the nightmarish scenario that her mind unhelpfully and frighteningly presented her with. But deepening dread paralysed her for long seconds before she could shake it off.

      Installed as temporary caretaker of the charming thatched-roof guesthouse for nearly three full months now, courtesy of her friend Lily, who had gone to visit her parents in Australia, in all that time Jenny had not once chafed against her isolated surroundings at all. If anything, its lonely proximity to the Atlantic Ocean had given her a chance to properly take stock of all that had happened. Bit by bit she’d been rebuilding her esteem.

      Divorce was never easy, but hers had been reluctant and sorrowful. She still ached for what might have been if her ex-husband hadn’t rent her heart in two by deciding he could no longer continue with the marriage. Even though that had been years ago, from time to time Jenny still reeled from it. Standing out at the water’s edge sometimes, she’d stare at the colossal waves sweeping into the shore and they seemed to symbolise the emotional battering she had taken. And If the divorce hadn’t been traumatic enough fate had then delivered another blow—one that that had been particularly cruel.

      But maybe it was because it was such a stormy ‘end of the world’ kind of night that her imagination seemed intent on putting her centre stage into a scene straight out of a horror movie…the kind that made her wonder if the people who watched them were altogether sane.

      The shadowy figure outside lifted the brass knocker, banging it loudly. The discordant sound was like nerve-jangling rifle-shot, intent on drilling a hole through her skull. Biting her lip, Jenny breathed in deeply.

      ‘Just a minute. I’m coming!’ Having raised her voice above the din of a growling roll of thunder she fleetingly wished she’d pretended she wasn’t home. Her caller would hopefully have just gone away and she could have enjoyed her longed-for bath in peace. But, knowing Lily needed the business, she plastered on a smile then opened the door.

      ‘Dios mio! Could there be a more remote inhospitable place in the world?’

      The darkly clothed male figure who, even after only the short sprint from his car, looked as if he’d been swimming in a roiling wild river, immediately vented his frustration.

      Eyes the colour of silken jet pierced Jenny like dangerously sharpened dagger-points. Her determinedly upbeat smile vanished. It had been on the tip of her tongue to burst out Well, if it’s so inhospitable, and you’d rather be somewhere else, why have you bothered to knock on my door? But the words died in her throat—because her visitor was shockingly familiar.

      Eyes widening, she pressed her hand to her chest. ‘Rodrigo. What are you doing here?’ Her body shivered hard from the blast of freezing air that the opened door brought with it.

      Her ex-husband stepped inside, causing Jenny to back up nervously. Shaking his mane of sleekly dark hair, then staring at her with a gaze that deluged her with a sea of haunting memories, he wiped the back of his hand across his damply glistening face. ‘I might ask you the same question.’

      ‘I’m looking after the place for Lily while she’s away in Australia.’ Clearly Jenny’s presence was as much a surprise to him as his was to her. The ridiculous hope that he’d sought her out because he wanted to reconcile was cruelly and devastatingly snatched away. Despite her sorrow, she forced herself to carry on speaking. ‘Now it’s your turn. What brings you to the wilds of Cornwall? I wouldn’t have thought it could hold much appeal—especially in the winter. The Mediterranean is much more your style.’

      He sighed, as though it pained him to even consider some suitably witty repartee. ‘I’m in the area because I have a meeting tomorrow. Have you a room? For pity’s sake don’t turn me out into that—that violent monsoon again!’

      ‘I’d take pity on anyone who was in danger of being swept away by such wild weather…even you, Rodrigo. It’s pretty grim out there tonight. Anyway…you’re in luck. We’re not fully booked. We’re actually very quiet at the moment.’

      Best not tell him he’s the only guest just the same…Unconsciously grimacing, Jenny skirted round her formidably built ex-husband to hastily shut the door against the raging storm.

      ‘Thanks.’ Reaching