8 Brand-New Romance Authors. Avril Tremayne

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      His dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘You wanted authenticity and you’ve damn well got it.’

      He let go of her hand and stepped back from her, then turned and walked back to the villa. She watched him go, just as she’d watched her father go all those years ago.

      What was she doing? She couldn’t stay on the beach—an abandoned bride for all to see. Propelled into action, she kicked off her sandals, picked them up and marched after him. They’d been married for only a matter of minutes and were already arguing. Surely that would make him see they needed to go their separate ways?

      ‘Okay,’ she said as she caught up with him, injecting as much ferocity as she could into her voice. ‘We’ll have the honeymoon. But once Emma and Carlo get married this farce ends.’

      ‘Farce?’

      He stopped and turned to face her. The fury in his face served only to increase her need to keep what she really felt for him concealed.

      Without warning he pulled her into his arms, his lips claiming hers in a demanding and hungry kiss, weakening her body so that she could barely stand. She wanted to respond, wanted to take the pleasure his lips promised, but instead she reminded herself it wasn’t real. None of it was. At least not for him.

      His hands pressed her ever closer to him, until she had no doubt that although the marriage wasn’t real his desire for her was. Her lips parted and his tongue plundered her mouth, entwining with hers in an erotic dance, making her sigh with pleasure.

      Heaven help her, she wanted more. She wanted this man in a way she’d never wanted a man before.

      He pulled back from her, his breathing deep and ragged. ‘Now, deny that, Mrs Ramirez. Deny that you want me. Deny what your body tells me.’

      ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’ Her lips were bruised and her body trembled with unquenched desire as she looked into his eyes, seeing sparks of passion within their depths.

      ‘Come,’ he demanded as he took her hand, and the gentleness of yesterday was gone.

      Was he about to drag her to his room, take her to his bed? Excitement fizzed in her veins, only to be replaced by disappointment as he walked straight through the villa and out to his car.

      ‘Where are we going?’

      He opened the door of the car for her and she got in, hampered by the silk and chiffon of her dress. Mesmerised, she watched his hands expertly gather the silk skirt and bundle it into the car, his fingers brushing against her bare leg where the gown so daringly parted. She shivered as their eyes met. Their gazes remained locked; his hand rested on her leg.

      ‘To my yacht.’

      His voice was deep and incredibly seductive. Her heart jolted and her pulse raced as his fingers trailed over her thigh, moving teasingly higher.

      ‘For our honeymoon.’

      The smouldering flames she saw in his eyes should have been warning enough, but she didn’t want to listen to sense any more. This man wanted her, desired her, and she wanted him too. All sensible reasoning slipped away as he bent and kissed her thigh, where his fingers had made a blazing trail.

      ‘Santos.’ She placed her hands either side of his face, forcing him to look up at her. ‘Please don’t. At least not here.’

      He smiled and stretched up to press his lips to hers, breathing Spanish words against them. She had no idea what he said and neither did she care. She watched, anticipation throbbing in her blood, as he shut the car door and strode around the front to the driver’s side. He looked at her as the engine growled to life, his gaze so hot it seemed to melt the chiffon from her body and dissolve the silk of her skirt. And when those dark and dangerous eyes met hers she knew it was already too late. She’d lost. His expert charm and arrogant confidence had won.

      She was as good as his.

      She sat silently contemplating what had just happened between them as Santos drove. The car sped along the coast road, but she didn’t doubt his ability to handle it. The sea glistened in the afternoon sun and she realised that very soon they’d be alone out there.

      Tyres screeched as he came to an abrupt halt next to what was probably the biggest yacht in the harbour. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed that they weren’t going to be alone after all. A yacht this size must have at least a dozen crew members.

      As they boarded he fired off rapid instructions in Spanish and everything seemed to come to life around them. A maid stepped forward, offering a glass of champagne, and Georgina took it, grateful to have something to hold other than Santos’s hand.

      She looked at him and he raised his glass to her. ‘To my beautiful wife.’

      His gaze openly devoured her and her body tingled.

      ‘To my handsome husband,’ she flirted.

      Just one sip of champagne was making her braver than she really was. She had to play the game well, so she smiled as he smiled. But her words weren’t lies. He was more handsome than she could ever have dreamed of, standing on deck in his designer suit, glass of champagne in hand, passion for her sparking in his eyes. He was everything and more from her abandoned dream of the perfect man.

      ‘As we sail we shall have our wedding breakfast.’

      He sipped his champagne and she watched him swallow, mesmerised by the movement of his throat. Food was the last thing she wanted right now, but maybe it would bring her back to her senses, dull the thud of desire in her veins and enable her to think rationally.

      Whilst they’d been talking the yacht had slipped away from the harbour and was now sailing past the long stone wall and out into the sea. The small but affluent town of Puerto Banus looked picturesque, nestled below the looming mountains, and Georgina was transfixed by the view.

      ‘So beautiful,’ she whispered, unable to drag her eyes from it.

      ‘Beautiful indeed.’ Santos’s voice was firm and strong as he stood next to her. ‘But it is outshone by the beauty of my bride.’

      Georgina took another sip of champagne—anything to calm her nerves—and then turned to face him. ‘Surely we don’t need to keep up the pretence here?’

      His hand reached out, his fingers lifting her chin so that she had no option but to look at him. Her legs became unsteady and she wondered if it wasn’t more to do with the man next to her than the motion of the yacht.

      ‘Tonight I ask only one thing of you, Georgina.’

      Her heart accelerated and pounded in her chest like a drum. Her gaze locked with his, held there by only the smallest touch of his fingers to her chin. Her breathing deepened and she wondered if she’d be able to stand for much longer so close to him.

      ‘And that is...?’ She maintained control of her voice, but control of her body was much harder. Heat was building low down in her stomach, spreading slowly and relighting the fire that had so nearly consumed her last night.

      ‘No pretence. Not tonight, at least.’

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