Surrender to Her Spanish Husband Read Free Page A

pine furniture, old-fashioned cooking range and long wooden shelves lined with quaint but fashionable china it was a million miles from the state-of-the-art bespoke modern interiors that his exclusive holiday resorts prided themselves on featuring. But its homespun charm was seductive and inviting all the same. In fact it reminded Rodrigo very much of the simple Andalucian farmhouse high in the Serrania de Ronda hills he had grown up in. He experienced a fierce pang of longing as the not very often explored memory unexpectedly gripped him.
    ‘This looks very good,’ he muttered, taking a swig of the burning coffee and a hungry bite of a ham and English mustard sandwich.
    ‘If you’d arrived earlier you could have had dinner…I cooked a cottage pie, but I’ve put what was left of it in the freezer now. Will this snack be enough for you? I’ve some fruitcake you can have afterwards with your coffee, if you like.’
    As she talked, Jenny brought a decorative round tin to the table and opened it. Inside nestled a clearly homemade fruitcake that smelled mouthwateringly of cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg.
    Rodrigo nodded approvingly. ‘I might have to take you up on that offer. You know how fond I am of homemade cake.’ His well-cut lips curved in a smile. ‘ Is it one of yours?’
    ‘I made it, yes.’
    ‘Still the little home-maker, I see, Jenny Wren.’ The nickname he had settled on from the very first time they were together came out before he could halt it. The flawless alabaster skin bloomed hotly with what he guessed must be embarrassed heat. Checking his apology, he lazily watched to see what she would do next.
    Outside, a flurry of stormy wind crashed against the windows, bringing with it a sleeting rush of hammering rain. Jenny’s clearly affected gaze locked with his.
    ‘Don’t call me that,’ she said brokenly, the volume of her voice descending almost to a whisper.
    Beneath his black cashmere sweater, Rodrigo sensed tension grip his spine. ‘Why not?’
    ‘You forfeited the right when you told me our marriage was over…that’s why.’
    ‘Then I won’t use it again.’
    ‘Thank you. Besides…I told you it’s the name my father always called me, and he really loved me. Eat your food, Rodrigo, you must be hungry.’
    Miserable with regret, he knew that any comment he made would likely pour petrol on an already simmering fire, and automatically crammed another bite of bread and ham into his mouth. It might as well have been sawdust for all the enjoyment he received from it.
    Jenny moved away across the unadorned warm brick floor to one of the many immaculately clean pine worktops that filled the room. Presenting her back to him, she started slicing up more bread from the generous-sized loaf on the breadboard, her hurried, quick movements telling him that mentioning her father had definitely made her even more upset than she was already.
    ‘I know how much you loved him too. He raised you and your brother single-handedly after your mother died,’ he remarked. ‘I would have liked to have met him. I too lost my parents when I was young…remember? My father first, and then my mother.’ Carrying his mug of coffee with him, Rodrigo went to join her at the counter.
    Clearly startled, Jenny glanced up, her hands stilling on the knife and bread. ‘Yes, I remember.’
    ‘Their deaths spurred me on to make my own way in life…so although it was tough for a while without them I am grateful.’
    ‘Would you—do you need that coffee topped up? The water in the kettle should still be hot,’ Jenny said, anxious to move the conversation away from the dangerously personal direction it had taken.
    ‘No, thanks. It is fine just as it is.’
    ‘Are you sure? It’s no trouble.’
    Warmth spread through Rodrigo’s entire being as he stared down into the lovely face before him. How he resisted the almost overwhelming urge to pull Jenny into his arms, he didn’t know. Except that—as she’d told him earlier