One Night in Buenos Aires: The Vásquez Mistress. Sarah Morgan

the fact that the chemistry between them had been raw and explosive and nothing to do with who he was.

      And even when she’d discovered his identity, it hadn’t changed her. She’d continued to be herself, challenging him constantly without guarding what she said. Surrounded by people who deferred to him, he’d found Faith a revelation. And then there had been the sex.

      ‘Raul, it’s over.’

      ‘You’re my wife, Faith. I want you back in my bed.’

      She gaped at him. ‘You have to be kidding.’

      Taken aback by her less than enthusiastic response to his statement, Raul frowned. ‘Every relationship goes through rocky patches.’

      ‘This isn’t a rocky patch, Raul, it’s a mountain range!’

      ‘I told you earlier that there wouldn’t be a divorce.’

      ‘I assumed you didn’t mean it.’

      ‘We were good together.’

      ‘At sex. You’re just being ridiculously possessive and macho. You’re doing it again—that whole Argentine-man thing.’ Her face was terrifyingly pale and she rose to her feet so suddenly that her body swayed.

      With a sharp frown, Raul stepped towards her but before he could reach her her legs gave way and she sank to the floor, unconscious.

      ‘These things happen after a head injury, but it’s important that she avoids any unnecessary stress.’

      Faith woke to find herself lying on the bed with a doctor hovering over her and groaned. Not more doctors.

      ‘She really needs peace and quiet,’ he was saying and Faith struggled to sit up.

      ‘What happened?’

      ‘You fainted,’ the man said calmly and Faith frowned.

      ‘I never faint.’

      The man closed his bag. ‘You can’t expect to return to full health immediately. You need to take it gently.’

      ‘I intended to take her back to the estancia tomorrow.’ Raul’s face was strained and the doctor nodded.

      ‘It’s only a short drive. She will be fine, I’m sure. But you need to remember that a miscarriage followed by a head injury—it’s a lot for anyone to cope with.’ He picked up his medical bag and left the room with Raul.

      A few moments later Raul was back, a wary expression on his handsome face.

      Faith lay still, just watching him. ‘Why are you staring at me like that? I’m not about to break in two.’

      ‘The doctors think that the reason you’re so emotional could be because of the miscarriage,’ he said tightly. ‘They think you should be encouraged to talk about it.’

      ‘Talk?’ Faith gave a weak laugh. ‘They don’t know you very well, do they? Now I understand why you’re looking green around the gills. You’re afraid I suddenly want to expose you to my inner feelings. Relax, Raul. I wouldn’t discuss it with you if you were the last person on earth.’

      He absorbed the insult without attempt at retaliation, his face grim as he studied her in silence. Then he dropped something into her lap.

      Faith looked at it and her heart stopped dead.

      ‘It’s your wedding ring,’ he said in a harsh voice. ‘The wedding ring you threw at me only two hours after I’d placed it on your finger. Put it on. You’re mine and don’t ever forget it again.’

      Remembering how she’d felt when she’d removed it, Faith felt the lump return to her throat. ‘Do you know something?’ she said in a shaky voice that didn’t sound like her own. ‘Until I met you, I could never understand why a woman would be so stupid as to cry over a man. And here I am, doing exactly that.’

      ‘Put it on. You should never have taken it off your finger.’

      ‘You should never have put it on my finger, feeling the way you felt.’ She took the ring in her hand but didn’t put it on.

      ‘I did not intentionally upset you.’

      ‘Don’t say that, Raul, because if you’ve achieved this level of devastation without even trying, I don’t even want to think about what you might manage if you really applied yourself.’

      ‘I’m willing to admit that I was thinking of my feelings rather than yours.’ His surprising admission left her speechless and he sat on the edge of the bed, his dense lashes lowered as he studied her. ‘I am trying.’

      ‘Are you?’

      ‘I’m here.’

      ‘Claiming your “possession”; wasn’t that the word you used? Give me one reason why I should even think about putting this ring back on my finger.’

      ‘Because you love me.’

      His arrogant statement rocked her to the core. Did she love him? Was she really such a poor judge of character? ‘Go away, Raul. You heard the doctor—I’m not supposed to be subjected to any stress and you definitely fall under the category of stress.’

      ‘You love me, Faith.’ His voice was dangerously intimate and she glared at him angrily but the anger was as much directed towards herself as him. She shouldn’t be listening to him. She shouldn’t be giving him air-time.

      ‘Do you want to have to explain to the doctor why I’ve collapsed again?’

      His response to that was to take her cold fingers in his warm, strong grip and slide the ring onto her finger in a decisive gesture. ‘Don’t take it off again. And now I want you to tell me how you feel.’

      ‘No, you don’t.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Trust me, you really don’t want to go there. And anyway, we both know that you would sooner eat glass than discuss my feelings.’

      ‘That is not true.’ His fingers tightened on hers. ‘Whatever you may think, I do care about you. The doctors say you need to talk about the miscarriage. I explained that the pregnancy was an accident, but they didn’t seem to think that would make any difference to the emotional impact.’

      ‘And that was news to you?’ Her voice shook as the pain shot through her. ‘You think that made any difference to my feelings? Do you think that made it hurt any the less?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ His tone was cool and detached. ‘I have no experience in this area.’ And he hadn’t wanted any experience; that much was obvious from every taut, stiff line of his powerful frame.

      ‘I don’t know why we’re talking about this.’

      ‘Because the doctors seem to think it might help you. Did it hurt, physically?’ His voice was gruff and she stared at the ceiling, feeling as though the bottom was dropping out of her world, yet again.

      ‘Raul, I really don’t—’

       ‘Talk to me!’

      ‘Why? So that you can watch me unravel like a ball of wool?’ Her strangled laugh was like a warning bell, indicating that the volumes of tension building inside her were reaching danger levels. ‘Is that what you’re asking?’

      ‘Dios mío, do not attack me when I am trying to help! Tell me what is in your head.’

      His hand rested close to hers and the fact that her own fingers tingled with the need to touch shocked her. He wasn’t capable of giving comfort, so why was she hoping for it? ‘I’m angry. That’s how I feel.’

      ‘Sí, that much I can see for myself,’ he growled. ‘What else?’

      ‘Sad,’ she whispered, curling her fingers into the soft duvet that covered her. ‘And guilty. Because I was