Proud Revenge Passionate Wedlock

ISBN-13: 978-0-373-52739-7

Wedlock — for revenge or pleasure?

Untamable conquistador blood runs fiercly through Miguel Gutierrez's veins. He's conquered the business world to make billions, built his luxury hacienda — he owns all he can see... But the one thing he can't buy is his wife's love.

Miguel is a proud and passionate man. He has vowed to honour Allegra to his dying day. But now that promise has changed. Miguel will make her regret her callous disregard of their marriage vows. He will not let her go — not until he's had his revenge...

Excerpt:

Allegra got a white-knuckled grip on the knob and forced her hand to open the door on the past she’d dreaded visiting again. Until one month ago, she’d remembered nothing of the previous five months.

Much of it was still shrouded in shadow. But the memories that were clear nearly killed her.

Her precious baby was dead. The husband she’d loved beyond words hadn’t inquired about her health since the accident.

It was as if she’d died that day. God knows she’d wished she had after she’d realized she was to blame for the accident.

“ Miguel doesn’t deserve you,” her uncle had told her more times than she could recall. “Divorce him.”

The thought of dissolving her marriage sickened her, but she couldn’t move forward with her life if she was bound in an estranged marriage. No, she needed closure.

She had to come to grips with her daughter’s death. She had to sever all ties to the life that had held such promise in Cancun. And she had to do it here where it had begun.

Allegra drew in a shaky breath and stepped into the beach house where her love with Miguel had begun. She’d steeled herself to be greeted with an onslaught of cherished and troubled memories, but she was totally unprepared to cope with this soft whispering sense that she’d just come home after a long arduous journey.

The rightness of being here played over and over in her mind as she stood on the threshold a moment and tried to slow her racing heart. It was useless, for her nerves were tied in tight apprehensive knots.

Run, her mind screamed. Run back to England and the promise of a safe quiet life there. Run away from the tempting vibrancy that made her feel alive for the first time in months.

Determined to face the past head-on, she walked into the sala as she had countless times before. The spun-gold sunlight that streamed through the bank of windows to dance over the pasta tiles seemed far too welcoming for a place that should still be deep in mourning.

She’d notified the housekeeper of her return and that kind woman must have hurried to tidy the place. She’d even left the windows open to air the house out.

It looked as if Allegra had stepped out for a day of shopping and had just returned. If only that were true-

“Señora, where would you like me to place your luggage?” her driver asked her.

“In the upstairs bedroom facing the sea, please.”

Allegra was unwilling to step foot in the master bedroom this soon. Besides sleep had been a stranger to her of late. And the memories made in that room were better left undisturbed.

As if she could ever forget Miguel.

The driver toted her bags upstairs and was back in a heartbeat, hand extended. Allegra paid him for the fare from the airport, plus a generous tip.

“Gracias, señora,” he said, smiling broadly in a gracious manner she’d once taken for granted.

She’d taken so much for granted. What was it they said? You never appreciated what you had until it was gone?

The heavy ache of loss washed over her like the incoming tide, threatening to erode her moorings. The doctor’s warning that she wasn’t strong enough to go through with this rocked her shaky confidence.

She hated the uncertainty. Hated the black void still there in her memory.

Allegra swallowed the impulsive request that the departing driver return her to the airport. She closed and locked the door, then pressed her forehead against the cool wood until her breathing steadied. Leaving would solve nothing.

Closure. She had to shut the door on the past and walk away a new woman.

She had to find peace of mind. She could think of no better place than her beach house.

Allegra turned toward the shady palapa where she’d relished taking her afternoon tea and drank in the tranquil sights that she’d fallen in love with when she came here two years ago. Gentle steps lead down to the expanse of white sand that would be warm underfoot.

If she closed her eyes she could see herself the day she moved into this house. She’d hurried into her bikini and dashed down to the private beach. The water was warm and clea, and the gentle breeze was a sensuous massage on her skin.

England was a world away, and she’d promised herself she’d partake of every delight the Yucatan had to offer while she made the biggest decision of her life – should she marry the very proper English doctor that she’d dated for over one year?

She liked him. She loved him in a way. But she wasn’t sure of making that final commitment.

That was when Miguel had risen out of the surf like a pagan god, his bronzed body long and lean, his smile slow and sensuous, his eyes promising her pleasures she’d barely tasted.

She shook her head and smiled at that memory. She’d been sure Miguel was a beach bum. How wrong she’d been.

Even after all that had gone wrong, she remembered well how he’d wrap his arms and legs around her, holding her so close after they made love that she believed they were one. She’d been helplessly naïve. Hopelessly in love.

She’d known whatever happened here, she’d never be able to marry her doctor.

Then too soon the hot Latin lover who’d swept her off her feet on the beach and caught her up in his privileged world suddenly became too busy building an empire to spend more than stolen moments with his wife and newborn child.

She’d made excuses for him that he needed time away from a fussy infant and frazzled wife. She’d waited for her lover, her husband, her hero.

But he never came.

He never came.

The sun slanted just so through the windows to catch the gilded edge of a lone picture frame on the far étagère. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

She crossed to the étagère on legs that trembled. Her hands shook as she reached for the picture, her grip too tight, her heart beating too fast. Her precious baby, her Cristobel.

She’d never wanted anything as much as she’d wanted this beautiful child conceived in love. A gift from God, Miguel had said, and she’d agreed.

Her trembling finger traced the plump cheek of the life she and Miguel created when their love was new and unencumbered. How could she have been so careless with this child?

She gathered the picture to her heart and squeezed her eyes shut, but her daughter’s smile filled her mind’s eye and her gurgling laugh replaced the quiet that crashed in the room like an angry sea. One wracking sob escaped her, then another.

Her fault, her conscience needled her as she crossed to the sofa with the photo digging into her flesh and tears blinding her to cruel reality. Her fault.

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