in his mind, in perfect recall. And what would she see in his face then? What sort of accusations would he throw at her—and would he even wait for the answers?
How could she live with the tension, the uncertainty, the fear? How could she get through each day not knowing what was going to happen next?
And what about the nights?
That was something she just wasn’t ready to face until she felt a lot braver, and had managed to drag together some sort of composure. So she deliberately avoided going back into the room where she knew Joaquin was waiting for her, heading instead for the kitchen, finding herself an endless string of unimportant and largely unnecessary tasks to keep her occupied. She washed up the coffee mugs by hand instead of simply putting them in the dishwasher, washed and sliced a salad to go with their evening meal, wiped every possible surface within reach, set about mopping the floor…
‘Are you trying to avoid me?’
Joaquin’s voice, mild enough but with an edge that might have been curiosity, or perhaps something else, came to her from the open door, making her jump in nervous shock.
He was standing in the doorway, dark and, to her already nervous mind, disturbingly dangerous. The dark bruise that had spread across his forehead was already turning into different colours, deep burgundy at the centre, yellow at the edges like some malign sunset, adding to the impression of menace.
‘Avoid? N—no. Why would I want to do that?’
‘I don’t know—you tell me.’
This time it was definitely challenging, making her heart thud in uneasy response.
‘I had things to do if we’re going to eat soon.’
‘To tell you the truth, I’m not that hungry. Except for two things.’
‘What two things?’
Did she have to ask? Weren’t they there, in the darkness of his eyes, the set, controlled expression on his face?
‘Facts…’
‘Oh, now you know I can’t tell you anything. The doctors were insistent about that. We have to wait—’
‘For my memory to come back; I know,’ Joaquin supplied, his tone sending chills down her spine.
Forcing herself not to react, she turned her attention to an imaginary spot on the already immaculate worktop surface, rubbing at it hard with a cloth.
‘And the other?’
‘Oh, come on, Cassandra,’ Joaquin mocked, sending even more shivers along every nerve, but in a very different way from before. ‘You know. I want you.’
The cleaning cloth froze mid-rub and Cassie stared down at it, but blindly, seeing nothing.
He was right; she had known this was coming. But not so soon. Not yet! Not when she was still totally unprepared to handle it.
‘That isn’t a very good idea, is it?’
She jumped almost sky-high as strong, tanned fingers closed over her own hand, stilling the nervous movement and holding her there.
‘Why not?’
She flicked a nervous, uncertain sidelong glance in his direction and then away again, meeting the black, searching eyes only for a moment. Her heart was racing in a way that had nothing to do with the shock of his sudden grab at her hand, but everything to do with the stinging awareness of the size and strength of his body so close to hers.
She could feel the heat of his skin where her arm touched him, seemed to be surrounded by the clean, intimate scent of his body, and he was so close that his breath caressed her cheek as he spoke, its warmth stirring her hair, drying her mouth.
‘You—you know why!’
‘No.’
The cloth was plucked from her nerveless fingers, tossed in the vague direction of the sink, and then he took hold of her arms, spinning her round so that she had no option but to face him. But she couldn’t look up so as to meet his gaze, instead staring fixedly at the point where the open neck of his white shirt lay open revealing the bronze skin and muscular strength of his throat, and just the beginning of his broad chest.
Even that was bad enough.
Her fingers itched to touch, to slide in at the open edges of the shirt and feel the warm satin of his skin, the crisp curl of body hair under their tips. Her lips actually tingled, knowing that all she had to do was to purse them slightly, lean forward a little, and they would rest against the muscles, the sinews, under the tanned covering of his flesh. In spite of herself, she inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of him, drawing in as much of him as she could without actually making contact.
‘Tell me why. And don’t mention the damn doctors!’
That brought her head up, sharply, protest flashing in her eyes. She would have pulled away but the strength of his arms, linked apparently loosely, at the base of her spine held her back. If she pulled against it, she knew that that seemingly gentle hold would tighten. She would be held a prisoner, fighting a futile battle against his superior strength. And that would give too much away. Much more than she dared risk anyway.
‘That just isn’t fair and you know it. I have to mention the doctors—I don’t have any alternative! They only let you home on the condition that I looked after you and in order to do that I have to follow their instructions—to the letter.’
Joaquin’s silence made her even more uncomfortable than ever. He had narrowed his eyes until only the jet gleam showed through the curtain of long black lashes and his mouth had completely stopped smiling and was clamped into a thin, hard line. Every instinct she possessed warned of danger but she couldn’t heed the caution. This was no longer a question of concern for herself, but for his health.
For that she was prepared to fight him as hard as she could.
‘You were told to take things easy and I intend to make sure that you do just that! And I don’t think that—that what you have in mind is taking it easy.’
She could almost read his train of thought in his face as a gleam started up in those newly opened eyes and a wicked grin played over the sensual mouth.
‘It could be, if we let it.’
One strong hand strayed upwards, drifted over her hair, smoothly it softly, the tenderness of the gesture pulling at her heart.
‘I could take it very easy…’
His proud head lowered very slowly, making her heart skip a beat as she guessed at his intentions. The soft, lingering pressure of his lips against the side of her temple, her ear, her cheek made her melt, swaying in towards him in spite of her resolution not to.
And that moment of weakness left her in no doubt at all that for all his calm demeanour, his subtle, sensual approach, Joaquin was hotly, heavily aroused, the bulge of his masculinity pressing tight against the black denim of his jeans.
‘Joaquin…’
She struggled to find a voice with which to argue with him. She had to argue. She had no other choice.
‘Cassandra, querida—I don’t have to make any effort at all. If we were to go to bed…’
Once more his tormenting mouth teased at her nerves, caressing the line of her jaw, before moving to tantalise her lips, his tongue sliding out to trace around them delicately.
‘And I’m sure that the stern doctors would approve of my taking to my bed so early in the evening…’
‘No…’ Cassie tried again, but her voice had no strength, no authority.
‘Then you could do all the…’
That wicked mouth quirked up into the most sinful grin that he directed straight into her troubled blue eyes.
‘All