Valaquez Bride Read Free Page B

that she couldn't marry Pablo, he had insisted she was
being unduly apprehensive about such a marriage. And considering his
advancing years and the debt she owed him, Juliet had been unwilling to
allow their disagreement to deteriorate into a bitter battle of wills.
Fearing they might lose all the closeness they had shared if they
continued to argue, she had decided retreat was in order. So she had
left Granada with Benny, as much for her uncle's sake as her own.
    The sound of the
sala
doors opening
roused Juliet from her disturbing memories. She sat up straighter on
the sofa but as she turned, the smile she had meant for Rosita faded
abruptly from her lips. Heat suffused her cheeks. Her hands began to
tremble. Her amber eyes widened with surprise as her heart seemed to
lurch against her breastbone, then plunge down to her stomach. She
couldn't quite catch her breath. It wasn't Rosita who was walking into
the
sala
. It was Raul Valaquez and the expression
on his angular face made Juliet realize that if he had owned a dungeon,
he would have gladly tossed her in it.

Chapter Two

    Every muscle in Juliet's body seemed paralyzed. Raul
walked into the circle of lamplight, stopping only a few feet from the
sofa where she sat, unable to move.
    "Well, Juliet," he murmured tonelessly. "This is something
of a surprise."
    She could only stare at him. In her thoughts during the
past months, he had become a nebulous being, almost unreal. Now that he
was within touching distance and she had heard the deep timber of his
voice again, she was disconcerted by the conflicting emotions rising in
her. She had nearly forgotten exactly how tall and muscularly lean he
was and how overwhelmingly masculine. Her body traitorously responded
to the reality of him, her senses reawakening to the vital aura of male
magnetism that had always intrigued her. Though she berated herself for
being so aware of him, she couldn't help noticing how his dark vested
suit subtly defined broad powerful shoulders, tapered waist and lean
hips. The muscular lineation of his long legs was accentuated as he
widened his stance, flicked back the sides of his unbuttoned coat, and
placed lean brown hands on his hips, his long fingers slipping inside
his trouser pockets, as he assumed a posture that was at the very least
intimidating, if not downright threatening.
    Subjected to his relentless stare, Juliet felt rather like
a germ under a microscope and swallowed convulsively. He looked the
same, yet different somehow. The chiseled features of his dark
aristocratic face were unchanged, except perhaps for a tauter set of
his strong jaw. Yet, as Juliet stared silently at him, she began to
recognize an unfamiliar iciness in his green eyes, eyes that had never
failed to fascinate her. Dark jade, they commanded attention because
they were set in such a bronzed, obviously Spanish face and should have
been black or at least brown. But Pablo had once explained Raul owed
their unusual color to the bride of Rafael Valaquez, the family's
eighteenth century black sheep, supposedly a pirate who kidnapped a
green-eyed Englishwoman, with whom he subsequently fell in love and
married. Juliet had suspected this story was more family fiction than
fact but now, impaled by Raul's piercingly cold green eyes, she could
believe one of his ancestors had been a ruthless pirate. His merciless
appraisal of her conveyed no hint of the tenderly amused indulgence she
had become accustomed to last year.
    Looking up at him, she could scarcely breathe. Then, when
two long strides brought him to the sofa and he stood towering over
her, it took all her courage not to shrink back against the cushion.
Why was he here? And why did he look so furious? Though she had
expected him to be displeased with her, she hadn't imagined he would be
this angry because she hadn't wanted to marry Pablo. After all, his
grandmother had never been thrilled with having an American girl as a
prospective granddaughter-in-law. So why was Raul