Janette Kenny - Proud Revenge, Passionate Wedlock

He whipped the car to the side of the highway and fishtailed on the narrow shoulder as he brought the car to a dead stop.

“Allegra!” He grabbed her arms and forced them down.

She blinked at him then stared into the rear seat, her mouth dry, her breath no more than a flutter. “Oh God, I thought—”

She couldn’t go on, couldn’t force the words out.

“You thought what?” he said, a quaver creeping into his deep voice as his hands glided up and down her suddenly chilled arms. “Tell me.”

“I thought that car was going to hit us.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to take metered breaths to still her racing heart. “Like before.”

“What do you mean?”

“The accident.”

A tense silence vibrated between then.

“A car hit you?” An incredulous rake of his gaze followed his question that echoed with skepticism.

She shook her head, annoyed her memory was littered with holes. “I don’t know. I hear the explosion of the airbags and the suffocating pressure on my chest. I hear Cristobel crying.”

“What do you remember?” he asked.

“Very little. What I do recall comes in snippets that often seem out of order.”

“You suffer from a memory loss?” he asked, incredulity ringing loud and clear in his voice.

“Yes, a form of amnesia,” she said. “Didn’t Uncle Loring explain?”

His dark brows slammed into a vee over the aristocratic blade of his nose. “Not one word.”

Allegra didn’t know what to make of that. If Miguel was to be believed, her uncle had lied to him about her condition and her whereabouts. Why would he do such a thing?

“How often do you have these flashbacks?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice now.

Most nights, or any of the other triggers she hadn’t anticipatedthat caught her off guard. “Often enough, though of late the same snippets have played over and over.” She looked into his eyes then and said simply, “The accident and two weeks following it are a mystery to me.”

His dark eyes flared with surprise, but the strong hand that closed protectively over hers was her undoing. For he didn’t merely touch her. His thumb stroked her hand, and the warm vital connection between them brought back vibrant memories of the time when they’d merely sit close and hold hands.

She’d mourned that link with Miguel nearly as much as she grieved over her daughter’s death. But too soon he released her and scowled out the windshield, and the darkening of his tanned cheeks hinted he disliked revealing that much of his feelings to her.

“How long do they think this block will last?” he asked.

“The doctor said it could last a day or forever,” she said, which was the reason she’d decided to leave Bartholomew Fields.

She was suffocating under the doctor’s watchful eye. She hadn’t wanted to be dependent on others for the rest of her life, so she dug deep for the gumption to take matters into her own hands.

It was clear nobody else was coming to her defense. Not her uncle. Certainly not her husband.

“I believed what I was told,” she said. “Just like you did.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You gave up on us, Miguel,” she said. “If you’d really wanted to find me, I wouldn’t have been a virtual prisoner in Bartholomew Fields.”

Her charge rose as a wall between them, for she knew he could move mountains if he chose to. He hadn’t tried hard enough to find her. He’d given up on her.

He swore under his breath and jerked back behind the wheel, but instead of throwing the car into gear, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile. “I will call Señor McClendon and give our regrets for tonight.”

“Don’t.”

She laid a hand atop his and jolted when a intense bolt of emotion shot from him into her. Anger. Confusion. Empathy.

“You need to rest,” he said. “The trip taxed you.”

“I’m all right.” She’d done nothing but rest for months. “There is no reason to postpone your dinner.”

He tipped his head to the side and studied her, as if he was gauging if he could trust her to pull this off. He likely suspected she’d flake-out and embarrass him in front of the paparazzi that were sure to be present.

“If you are feeling—” he paused, as if searching for the right word to describe her spell “—unnerved, then we should postpone this evening until you are more in control of your emotions.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “There’s no need to alter your plans for tonight.”

His critical assessment of her screamed disagreement. “You are certain of this?”

“Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t sure of anything.

She’d let her uncle handle things when she was hospitalized. Now it seemed that he’d lied to her, and he’d lied to Miguel.

Why would Uncle Loring keep her from Miguel? She could only guess that he’d sought to protect her from an uncaring husband.

She curled her fingers into her palms, angry over the lost time apart, the lost memories she may never recover. Most of all, it angered her that they’d lost the chance to cling to each other in the face of tragedy.

She glanced at Miguel. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and scowled out the windshield. She knew he was on the verge of taking her back to the beach house because he doubted her stamina.

She refused to be locked away from life or cower before the paparazzi. She’d come back to the Yucatán for closure, but now she wanted answers as well.

“Do you intend to sit here all night staring out the window, or are we going to Playa del Carmen for dinner?” she asked.

His gaze flicked to hers, and the hot challenge simmering there made her breath catch.

“We join the Tejanos as planned. Hold on.” He’d jutted out into traffic as he spoke, as if testing her to see if she’d lose her grip on reality again.

She dug her fingernails into the leather seat and cast him a sideways look. A muscle ticked madly in his lean cheek. Some perceived that tic as anger, but she knew better. It was the only visible sign she’d seen that belied he was nervous.

She suspected a good deal of it was his aversion toward the paparazzi he’d decided to court this night. But had her barb truly hit a nerve? Could he possibly feel guilty for not finding her?

More likely she’d tweaked his formidable pride by tossing the truth back in his face. He’d not wanted her anymore.

She’d known that when she’d come back here. Still, she’d left the safe haven her doctor offered to confront the most exciting man she’d ever met.

Time would tell if it was a choice she’d live to regret.

DARE he believe Allegra suffered amnesia following the accident?

That certainly hadn’t been an act meant to dupe him when she’d whipped around and stared into the rear seat. The terror on her face had been too real—her skin too pale, her eyes distant and filled with an anguish that sent chills careening down his spine.

No, that hadn’t been an act.

His body leaped into full protective mode the second he realized her fear was genuine. If she hadn’t been strapped in her seat, he was sure she would have thrown herself into his arms.

His open arms, for he was reaching to gather her close at that same moment. Even now after her terror had passed and she seemed in control, he sensed a vulnerability in her that kept his nerves dancing on the razor’s edge.

He was compelled to believe she’d been injured in the accident even though he knew that wasn’t the case at all. For if she had suffered an injury great enough to cause amnesia, his madre would have informed him after the accident. He rued the fact he had been out of country, unable to see the truth for himself.

No, Allegra had walked away from the accident and left Cancún with Amando a mere two days after the accident. She left the care of their daughter’s interment to his madre . She hadn’t even had the decency to attend the funeral!

Bearing those truths in mind was the impetus he needed to gain the upper hand over those tender emotions he reviled.

As for her memory loss, he suspected Allegra had suffered another accident while she was off with her lover. Perhaps her guilt over what she’d done had been so great that she truly believed she’d been injured in the same accident that took their daughter’s life.

If so, then it was fitting, but not nearly punishment enough for what she’d done to their innocent daughter.

He wanted her to hurt as badly as he did. He wanted her to realize she could not cuckold him and walk away without repercussions.

“Okay,” he said, “We proceed as planned.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

When he married Allegra, he’d vowed to love, trust and protect her. But he’d failed on all counts.

That admission lashed him like his ancestor’s cat-o’-nine tails. He’d professed to love her, yet he’d held a part of himself back from her. He’d vowed to honor her, yet he’d hired a man to watch her in his stead.

He’d entrusted others to keep her safe while he threw himself into shoring up his empire. He’d left her and his child alone and clearly she’d grown bored.

Sí, he’d given her ample reasons to take a lover and leave him. He’d given her damn few to stay.

He drove the Jaguar up the palm lined driveway and whipped beneath the palapa at the El Trópico and parked, giving the valet the barest nod as he climbed from the car. He took a moment to adjust his tie and rein in his anger while another valet rushed to assist the lady.

Allegra stepped from the car and swayed slightly, as if caught unaware by the increasing wind pushing in from the Caribbean. The innate sense that her unsteadiness wasn’t an affectation had him rounding the hood of the car.

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