A Spanish Seduction (13 page)

Words failed Jessica. For all she thought she’d been hardly done by in her youth because of the path her mother had chosen, she hadn’t endured grief like Ricardo. Her vision blurred as tears flooded her eyes. ‘His grandfather died and never made his peace with Ricardo?’

Marguerite shook her head. ‘Raoul and his father had a dreadful falling out. Just a few days after the crash, while they were arguing, Hernandez had a fatal heart attack.’

Jess sat mutely and shook her head, hardly able to digest all the loss and pain.

‘I’m not even ashamed to say I was pleased when Hernandez died,’ the older woman confessed.

‘I don’t blame you. He sounds like a horrible man.’

‘Ricardo quit racing immediately after the crash, and was accepted as a board member when Hernandez died.’

‘Ricardo’s passionate about the company,’ Jess acknowledged. ‘He’s going to be a wonderful CEO.’

‘Love him, Jessica. He so deserves to be loved,’ the older woman cried.

Jess couldn’t hold back. She hugged Marguerite. Not only did she like the Spanish woman, but they shared a very special bond in both loving Ricardo.

‘Enough tears!’ Ricardo’s aunt said after a few moments. ‘Come, let’s wash our faces and reapply some make up. Ricardo won’t be happy if he knows of our discussion.’

Jess hoped that one day he’d trust her enough to tell her about this past sadness. Now, she thought she understood why Ricardo didn’t believe in love. His mother had been unfaithful and planned to dessert him. He’d lost his parents and cousin, and never gained the love he wanted from his grandfather.

Despite having the example of his aunt and uncle’s devotion, he’d chosen to date cold women. She doubted either of the ex-love interests she had met would know the meaning of the word love. The deepest attachment Simone or Carla had ever experienced was probably for their latest pair of designer shoes.

The enormity of the task that lay ahead of her hit her like a blow from a sledgehammer. If she was to win Ricardo’s heart she’d fight an uphill battle all the way. Closing her eyelids tight, she squeezed back tears.

She loved Ricardo.

He was worth fighting for and she was determined the power of her love would flow to him, heal him, and ensure they enjoyed a happy future together.

C
hapter Ten

Ricardo swallowed down the last of his coffee and gazed unseeingly at the lights of Barcelona. It was almost sunrise but sleep had eluded him since they’d returned from Raoul’s.

His gut churned with indecision over Jessica. For the last few hours he’d tried to immerse himself in paperwork, but it had been too difficult to focus. She was like a fever in his blood, consuming his every waking moment and haunting his dreams.

What was it about her that affected him so undeniably?

For all that he’d had countless women on his arm and, to a lesser degree, through his bed, he didn’t know how to handle her. Being with her was like steering an unknown, high-powered vehicle through a long chicane, blindfolded. With each encounter, he rounded a new bend on the track. She challenged him and made him feel he was close to spinning out of control. He warred with himself — part of him wanted to apply the brakes while another part urged him to accelerate, and each time he thought he was making progress, she’d erect a guard rail to stop him.

The words she’d issued a couple of evenings ago replayed in his mind.

‘Don’t you think you can grow from being with someone else?’

Was he a coward, just as she’d accused?

Right from the start he’d wanted to understand her, protect her and ensure her happiness. Was that strength or a weakness?

When Juan had kissed her hand, Ricardo had been like a caveman who’d wanted to push him away and shout, ‘Mine!’ Ricardo hadn’t shied away from declaring their engagement announcement was likely. He’d done it without thinking — to protect her from Juan’s attention.

Marriage.

The word had always sent shivers down his spine. His parents’ marriage had ended in disaster and he’d sworn he’d never go down the same path.

‘Ricardo?’ Jessica’s voice startled him.

‘Jessica. Are you okay?’

The baggy cotton pyjamas she wore were far from sexy, but her hair was mussed up as though she’d been in bed. Her tousled look was definitely a turn-on.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she said. ‘Obviously you haven’t been to bed even though you’ll be going to work before long.’

The look he sent her surely conveyed his self-derision. ‘There seemed little point when I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’

‘I haven’t slept either.’

Awkwardness stretched and simmered in the air.

‘I’m going to make a cup of tea,’ she ventured.

‘The great English cure-all.’

‘Would you like a hot drink?’

He drew her attention to the empty coffee cup he held. ‘I’ve just had one.’ Another coffee wasn’t going to help. What he wanted was to take her to bed and lose himself in her body. That was the problem. How did he convince her to become his lover without breaking her heart in the process?

She walked toward him. ‘This tension between us isn’t healthy.’

‘There’s an easy solution.’

‘Thinking about your solution has kept me awake,’ she confessed.

Frustration tore through him. ‘Why does sex have to be an emotional thing with you? Don’t you realise emotion complicates everything?’

‘Maybe it’s because I grew up in a home where sex was a means to an end for my mother?’ She moved her shoulders and head in a gesture of apology. ‘I always vowed it would mean more to me — that it wouldn’t be just a mechanical act.’

‘Sex between us would not be a mechanical act!’
Dios!
He wanted badly to hold her. He’d be far better at expressing himself physically than he was verbally. ‘I want
you
, Jessica, not just a physical release that any woman could give me. If you come to bed with me, I’ll be making love to you, not just having sex. But, I won’t lie to you and tell you I believe in love or marriage.’

Jessica frowned.

He wasn’t sure what else to say to persuade her he was offering her more than just a quick tumble between the sheets.

‘You’ve told me I need to grow up. I spoke to my friend, Tiffany, last night on the phone after we returned from dinner. She said much the same thing.’ He noted the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took. ‘You said everything shouldn’t be about my mother, but I think I have a lot of hang-ups about sex because of my mum,’ she admitted quietly.

Her admission wasn’t surprising. ‘When we go to bed, it won’t be a commercial transaction.’

‘I know and I promise you I’m working through this in my head, but I’m not ready yet.’ She sent him an appealing look. ‘Would it be terribly unfair of me to ask you to hold me?
Just
to hold me? I so badly want to be in your arms.’

He closed his eyes for a second and considered the sweet torture of having her in his arms and not in his bed, then he put down his coffee cup. ‘Come here.’

She almost ran the short distance into his outstretched arms.
Madre de Dios,
she felt so good. She smelled so good. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the fragrance of her shampoo.

Raising her head and standing on tiptoes, she took his face in her hands and angled his head so she could kiss him lightly. ‘I love being in your arms. You make me feel safe and incredibly feminine and soft.’

His laugh was short. ‘And you make me feel painfully hard,
querida
.’

‘I’m sorry. The thing that’s holding me back is that when I have sex again, I really want to feel loved.’

‘I like you and I care about you very much, can’t it be enough?’

She bit down on her lip before replying, ‘I’m working on my mindset. Tiffany said I was over-thinking everything.’

Her confusion reached out and squeezed his heart. Being exposed to her mother’s occupation had really messed with her head and left her with a huge complex. She had to separate herself from the actions of her mother.

There were only two ways he could think of to get through to her, and taking her to bed at this stage was clearly not an option. He didn’t want to rush her and have her regret it later. Decision made, he led her over to the couch and sat down, cradling her on his lap.

The silence lengthened between them for a few more moments before he said, ‘We’re not responsible for the actions of our parents. You’ve assumed my life has been easy, but that isn’t the case. In fact, you and I have more in common than you realise.’ He stroked her hair as she nestled against his chest. ‘My father committed suicide too — after he murdered my mother.’

Jessica’s head jerked up abruptly.  ‘I had no idea! I’m so sorry.’

He ignored her sympathy and pushed on with his point. ‘You’re no more a prostitute like your mother than I am a murderer like my father. We can’t be judged by the actions of our parents. They were the adults responsible for us, we were in no way responsible for their behaviour, or the choices they made.’

The ugly truth was out. The dirty family scandal his grandfather and uncle had used all their wealth and influence to cover up, lay between them.  He’d never spoken of it to anyone, yet he’d told Jessica to make her understand she was her own person, just as he was.

He almost wished he could take the words back, because now it became impossible to erase from his mind’s eye, the image of his mother’s bloodied body sprawled on the linoleum of the kitchen floor.

‘I came home from school one afternoon and my world fell apart.’ His life had changed forever. The moment he’d seen his mother’s body, he’d dumped his school bag and rushed forward to her. Stabbing pain ripped at his chest all over again as he relived the memory of her lifeless eyes and saw her body lying in a pool of blood. His mind had grappled with the evidence of the obvious bullet wound near her heart. He still agonised at having lost her in that violent way.

‘I found my mother and realised I was too late to save her. Then, I heard a strangled cry.’ It was the most mournful, soul-breaking sound he’d ever heard. ‘My father sat huddled in the corner of the room. When I called him, he began crying inconsolably.’ 

‘Papa!’ Ricardo called, with all the emotion of a broken, ten-year-old boy. ‘What happened? Who did this?’

The red-rimmed, swollen eyes of his father looked his way, but straight through him— as though they didn’t see him. His father’s eyes were completely blank and lifeless just as his mother’s had been. Eyes of the dead.

‘She was going to leave me,’ he said. ‘Your mother didn’t love us at all. She only loved the Garcia name. She only wanted the wealth she thought I’d give her.’

‘I saw a flash of steel and watched in horrified disbelief as my father put the gun to his temple.’

Jessica’s hand smoothed over his cheek, but even her touch couldn’t wipe away the traumatic memories.

‘No!’ he cried out to his father.

Fernando Garcia’s voice was toneless as he uttered his last words. ‘Don’t ever do it, Ricardo. Don’t ever fall in love. You’ll lose everything you ever had — everything you could ever be.’

Ricardo froze, unable to make sense of his father’s words. He watched in terror as his father depressed the trigger slowly and...

Now, unwilling to relive the blind panic, Ricardo shook his head and forced the memory away. He realised his shoulders were rounded and his hands had covered his face as he tried to shut out the images of the tragedy he’d witnessed.

‘That’s so much worse than what I’ve been through,’ she said with great empathy.

Embarrassed and exposed, he removed his hands from his face. ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice shook as he apologised. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve recalled the events in such detail.’ He didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t want to see any sympathy in her eyes and he didn’t want her to see any trace of vulnerability in his. The trauma he’d relived gave way to anger for having allowed the memories infiltrate his mind and his emotions.

‘I’m sure it’s not something you want to remember,’ she said quietly, before she covered his lips with her own.

He accepted her healing kisses passively for a few seconds before raising his hands to her head and responding with increased passion.

The soft stroking of her hand against his was like a balm to his raw heart.

He broke the kiss and looked at her hands, thinking absently that it was no wonder she was a good masseuse. She had healing hands and her eyes were full of care. 

‘Do you know why he did it?’ she ventured.

‘I heard my uncle and aunt talking about it years later. It was only then I found out my mother had been having an affair. I remember my father telling me my mother was leaving him. I didn’t make any sense of it as a child, but now I understand. It wasn’t my father she loved. She’d wanted to be part of the esteemed and wealthy Garcia family. When my grandfather cut him off from the family, he no longer had any wealth or social standing. My mother soon turned elsewhere for her affection.’

‘Your father must’ve been devastated.’

‘My father was a weak, selfish bastard. He didn’t care about any impact his actions had on others. He certainly didn’t care about me or how his actions would impact upon my life.’ He let his head fall back against the soft leather of the couch. ‘I haven’t spoken of it in twenty years. I’ve spent all that time trying to forget.’

‘I can’t imagine the trauma you’ve been through.’ She gave his hand a small squeeze. After awhile she ventured, ‘You said I needed to forgive my mother, and you were right. I don’t know how hard her life was. I don’t know whether she had any choice other than prostitution.’ She brushed her lips over his. ‘You were ten years old when you lost your parents. You can’t know what either of your parents went through. To have done what he did, your father must’ve been gripped by severe depression and a sense of utter desolation. You have to forgive him. You have to forgive your mum as well because you can’t know what life was like for her and what truly motivated her.’

Without thinking, he took her hand and pressed his lips against her soft skin. Jessica touched a place within him that had never been breached by another soul.

‘I told you about my parents because I want you to realise how important it is to leave your past behind you,’ he said. ‘You have to stop comparing yourself to your mother.’

Her lips trembled as she smiled up at him. ‘You’re right. You make me see I can move forward. I’m not my mother and I never will be. Taking that next step with you isn’t going to turn me into a hooker.’ She held his face in her hands.  ‘Ricardo, now you’ve told me about your parents, I can see the parallels between us.’

He frowned in incomprehension. ‘We both had a parent who committed suicide.’

‘Not that.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘I’ve held back from becoming your lover because I didn’t want to be like my mum. You refuse to believe in love because you’re scared you’ll be hurt like your father.’

His mind clamped, denying her accusation. ‘No. I’ll never be weak like my father.’

‘I know. I’m sure you’re stronger than he was. You can find the happiness that alluded him, but you have to reject your belief that love will make you weak.’

Ricardo’s chest was tight. Each of her words pressed on his lungs like the tightening of a vice, making it difficult for him to breathe.