Forgotten Daughter Read online

  Annabelle’s cheeks became hot as she recalled the look in Stefano’s dark eyes as he’d taken that single step toward her in the stables … and how, in spite of all her defiance, she’d fled from him like a coward. Like a pathetic virgin.

  But a virgin was exactly what she was. She closed her eyes. A pathetic virgin.

  “C’mon, don’t act like some pathetic virgin,” the older boy had said, leering at Annabelle’s low-cut lace top. She was just fourteen, and she’d snuck out of Wolfe Manor to follow her twin brother Alex to a party in the village with his older friends. Then her brother had seen her.

  “Damn it, this is no place for you, Annabelle!” Alex had marched her straight to the door. “Go home, where it’s safe!”

  Her brother hadn’t known she would go home and walk smack bang into their father, who’d just returned drunk from a frustrating day of hunting. Alex hadn’t realized that their father would take one look at Annabelle all tarted up and explode into murderous rage at his daughter for the first time—and the last.

  Annabelle’s hand went unwillingly up to her forehead and cheek, feeling the hard ridge of the scar beneath her makeup, the scar that had never completely faded.

  Go home. Where it’s safe.

  Her lips twisted with bitterness. No place was ever safe. Especially not home.

  And no person was safe, either. People died, like her mother. People turned on her, like her father. People left, like her assistant. Or they betrayed her, like Patrick.

  Better to just be alone.

  Closing her eyes, Annabelle took a breath of the fresh mountain air. She heard the ragged sound of her breath over the birds of the forest and stream.

  “There you are,” a deep voice growled behind her.

  She whirled around. The cold feeling in her heart exploded into heat that almost brought her to her knees.

  “Stefano,” she whispered.

  Still shirtless, he stood before her, his muscular body and jean-clad legs planted on the ground before her. He looked powerful, rugged. Dangerous.

  She licked her lips. “What are you doing here?”

  His dark eyes looked at her across the shadows of the forest. “I came for you.”

  “You followed me?”

  “It wasn’t difficult.”

  She tried to glare at him, but she was so tired of fighting. So tired of running. “I … I don’t appreciate you sneaking up on me. Can’t you see I’m here trying to … to work?”

  Sunlight and shadows shifted over the muscular curves of his half-naked body as Stefano walked toward her. In the slanted sunlight, dust motes floated lazily through the golden air. He seemed like a handsome gypsy, a dark prince from a fairy tale.

  Then, wordlessly, he held out her camera.

  Looking at it, Annabelle felt the blood rush from her face. Reluctantly, she reached out to take the camera.

  Their fingers touched, and the shock of his rough fingertips against her skin caused a seismic tremble through her body. She started to pull away.

  With a low Spanish curse, he grabbed her hand. “Why are you so afraid?”

  She felt like she was falling apart. Desperately, she lifted her chin. “Afraid? Of you?”

  “Yes, of me, damn it,” he said harshly. “Of everything. Of life!”

  His words hung between them, echoing in the cool air. She took a shaking breath.

  “Because I don’t want you to seduce me.”

  “But you do.” He lowered his face until it was inches from hers. “You want it badly.”

  He knew too much, saw too much. Her heart hammered in her throat.

  He abruptly released her. “You didn’t run into this forest to take photographs,” he said harshly. “You ran away from me because I was getting too close. And that’s how you use your camera, your rudeness, your coldness. To keep people at a distance.”

  She swallowed, looking away. When she spoke, her voice was almost too quiet to hear.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” he demanded. She took a deep breath, lifting her chin. “Because,” she whispered, “it ends badly if I let anyone close to me.”

  Stefano’s eyes were suddenly gentle as he reached his hand toward her cheek. “But, querida, just because a journey sometimes ends badly, doesn’t mean it’s not worth taking—”

  Annabelle jerked her head away before he could touch the makeup that hid her scar. She flashed him an angry glance. “I’m not like you, all right? I’m not promiscuous. I don’t try to seduce total strangers. I don’t have one-night stands in hotels, with anonymous lovers I don’t even want to bring home!” He sucked in his breath. “No,” he said in a low voice. His eyes glittered. “Instead, you have no home. You share yourself with no one, because you are afraid!” She gritted her teeth. “You don’t know me!”

  “No?” His eyes narrowed. “Your body reveals the truth. You turn to me, querida, like a flower to the sun.”

  She gasped in outrage at hearing the truth spoken aloud. “No, I don’t!”

  His dark eyes electrified her as he stepped closer. “Even now, you want me to take you in my arms,” he said. “You want me to kiss you so badly you’re trembling.”

  “I’m not!”

  His handsome face was brutal, his body lithe and powerful, and he moved closer until only an inch separated them. She could feel the warmth emanating off his naked skin, feel the dark hair of his chest brush against the fabric of her jacket.

  “Are you sure?” he said softly.

  Ruthlessly, he took her in his arms. His broad, rough hands cupped her chin, tilting her face upward. She saw his lips curve wickedly beneath the dappled sunlight.

  And he lowered his mouth to hers.

  She tensed, expecting him to ravish and plunder her mouth, almost expecting him to roughly take her with force.

  Instead, to her shock, his lips were warm and tender. His sensual mouth moved against hers gently, luring her, tempting her to pleasure, and against her will, she melted into his arms.

  She felt dizzy, swirling in a whirlwind of bliss and need. She felt his hard chest crushing her breasts. His skin was hot and silky beneath the trail of hair. He was so powerful. He could have taken her at his will. But he had no need to force her.

  Annabelle found herself kissing him back with trembling, innocent lips.

  He deepened the embrace, pulling her more tightly into his arms. Her lips melded with his as he guided her, teaching her the rhythm. His hands softly stroked her back, up and down. He parted her lips with his tongue, and as she felt him brush inside her mouth, a gasp of pleasure came from the back of her throat.

  Annabelle’s knees trembled. She twisted her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. His hands moved to her hips and he held her firmly, keeping her close and tight against his body.

  His tongue teased her mouth, tasting the corners of her lips, entwining and dancing with her trembling tongue. Pleasure cascaded in waves down her body. His kiss was hungry, his body hot and hard against hers. He held her against him, not allowing her to escape or deny his sensual demand. As if she could …

  Her first kiss. She was lost in sensation, overwhelmed with desire. The whole world seemed to shrink to their physical points of contact, to his strong arms around her, to his hard, naked chest, to the fiery heat of his lips against her own.

  His kiss changed. His lips no longer softly lured her. They became more demanding. Stefano no longer tried to convince her. He simply took what he wanted. He kissed her savagely, hungrily, hard enough to bruise. Clutching his shoulders, Annabelle kissed him back with the same force, with all her pent-up need of her lonely life.

  Her mind was long gone, her body possessed. She only knew she had to kiss him or die. And it was so good she almost wept …

  It seemed minutes or hours later that Stefano pulled away.

  “And you still say,” he breathed against her temple, “that you did not need to be kissed?”

  Eyes still closed, Annabelle pressed her cheek agains
t his chest. Her heart was beating so fast. Her lips were bruised. She felt warm sunlight on her skin. His strong arms felt like a shield, protecting her from the hard, cold world.

  He stroked her hair tenderly. “How long has it been, querida?”

  “What?” she whispered, dazed.

  He smiled down at her. “Since you last took a lover.”

  She blinked. Then she stared up at him in slowly dawning horror. Her heart pounded in her throat as all the passion and heat and fire turned to cold ash inside her.

  You’ll never have me, Stefano, she’d said. Never.

  She’d lied. The playboy was seducing her.

  Annabelle sucked in her breath as waves of fear whipped through her. She couldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t! If she gave her virginity to a playboy like Stefano, she would lose everything. Her heart. Her soul.

  While thirty seconds after Stefano had possessed her, he would forget her and move on to his next conquest!

  With a gasp, she pulled away. Turning, she started to stumble back through the shadowed forest.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  She tossed back over her shoulder, “I quit!”

  “Running back to London? The fearless Annabelle Wolfe?” he taunted behind her. “Over one small kiss?”

  She paused, looking back at him, her heart still pounding. “It wasn’t small.”

  Stefano stood motionless, staring at her. Overhead, the green trees swayed in the warm breeze, causing dappled sunlight to scatter over them both like topaz.

  “You hated it so much?” he said softly.

  Hated it? No. She hadn’t hated it. That was the problem.

  Stefano’s kiss had exploded her world. For the rest of her life, her memory would be divided in a new before and after. Today would forever be the day when she knew, without a doubt, how deep her loneliness and hunger went. And that she’d always be alone.

  Annabelle felt a painful sting beneath her eyelids. She wanted to rush back into the warmth of his arms, to cling to him and beg him to kiss her again, to hold her tight and never let go.

  But she knew how it would end.

  You won’t be able to resist him. No woman can.

  The broken hearts he’s scattered are as infinite as stars.

  All the warnings hadn’t saved her. He’d still penetrated her defenses. If she stayed at Santo Castillo, he’d have her flat on her back in a week!

  A week? She shuddered. She wouldn’t last the night.

  “I’ll tell the magazine to send another photographer,” she choked out. Clutching her camera, she whirled around, her eyes blinded with tears. Her foot stumbled over the uneven ground on the edge of the stream, causing her to trip forward into the shallow water.

  She fell hard against the rocks. A wrenching pain in her leg made her gasp, clutching her ankle.

  “Annabelle!” Stefano was instantly at her side in the cold stream. “Don’t move.”

  His touch was gentle as he lifted her out of the water and set her gently down on the banks of the stream. Her calves were wet and cold as he pushed up her pink linen pant leg. As he ran his hands along her ankle, she was mesmerized by the feel of his fingers against her bare skin. Then he brushed her ankle and she winced.

  He looked up at her. “That hurts.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “I’ll carry you back to the house,” he said grimly.

  She blinked. “Carry me? In your arms?” He looked down at her with his ruthless dark eyes. “Si.”

  Ohmygodohmygod. She shook her head vigorously. “No, I’m fine. Really! I can walk!

  See?”

  Rising, she tried to show him how well she could walk, only to wince and stumble when she put too much weight on her right foot.

  Stefano’s black eyes blazed as he growled a

  Spanish curse. Without asking for permission, he swept her up in his arms. She felt the warmth of his bare skin, the fire of his touch as he held her against his chest.

  He looked down at her, his eyes as hot as fire.

  “No more arguments,” he growled. “Now … you are mine.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANNABELLE FELT DAZED, in a dream, as Stefano carried her out of the forest. A soft wind blew through the trees, moving the dark branches high above as beams of golden sunlight moved in patterns against Stefano’s face.

  When they reached the field, she felt the warm Spanish sun against her skin. She felt the shifting muscles of his arms and bare chest as he held her, heard the rustle of jean-clad thighs as he walked through the swishy grass.

  Annabelle looked at Stefano’s tanned forearms encircling her. She closed her eyes, shivering as she pressed her cheek against his rough, hair-dusted chest. Over the sigh of the wind through the grass, she could almost hear his heartbeat.

  She hadn’t been this close to anyone. Not for twenty years. Even before that. She hadn’t been held like this by anyone, not since her mother had died when she was a baby. She’d had no embraces by lovers, not even a long hug from a friend. She hadn’t allowed it. She wouldn’t have allowed it now if he’d asked her, but Stefano had simply taken it as his right.

  She was overwhelmed with feelings. Of safety. Of longing. Of need.

  As they grew closer to the hacienda, some of the young stablehands saw them. Three came running with a shout.

  “Get a doctor,” Stefano ordered in Spanish. “Miss Wolfe has been injured.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Annabelle said in English. “You’re making too much of a fuss!”

  Ignoring her protests, he took her inside the house and up the stairs. Carrying her as if she weighed nothing, he brought her to her bedroom and set her down carefully on the bed. Then he glowered at her.

  “Wait here.”

  A moment later, he returned with an ice pack. Sitting beside her on the bed, he grabbed a pillow and put it in his lap. Pulling off her shoe, he put her bare foot on the pillow and pressed an ice pack gently against her ankle.

  Annabelle’s cheeks burned as she submitted to his care. Looking up at his face, all she could think about was the way he’d kissed her in the forest. The way his body had felt against hers as he carried her back to the hacienda beneath the warm morning sun. And the way he looked now, still shirtless, sitting on her bed. Annabelle’s eyes unwillingly traced the muscles of his tanned chest. They were so close, alone in her bedroom. It would be so easy to.

  No! She couldn’t even think that!

  But her gaze fell to his mouth. His sensual, masculine lips had taught her to kiss. Taught her to want. With one heartbreakingly fierce embrace, he’d taught her the meaning of the word desire. Her lips tingled, spreading heat down her limbs to the molten core between her thighs.

  “Annabelle,” he ground out. She looked up. “What?” His dark eyes burned through her. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want me to push you back against this bed. And make love to you until you scream.”

  She sucked in her breath, then licked her lips nervously. “I … I don’t. Want you to kiss me.”

  “So you keep saying. Lying. To me. To yourself.” Moving the pillow and her ankle off his lap and onto the bed, he stood. He handed her a blanket and said tersely, “The doctor will be here soon.”

  She felt vulnerable, lying in the large bed with him standing over her like a giant. “I told you, I don’t need a doctor.”

  “You’ll do as I tell you.”

  “You’re not listening to me.” She started to rise from the bed. “I don’t want your help. I don’t need it. I don’t want you. I already quit this job. I’m going back to London—”

  With a low snarl in Spanish, Stefano pushed her back against the bed. For a long moment, he held her there, his hands holding her shoulders against the mattress, his half-naked body hard alongside hers.

  Their eyes locked, and Annabelle couldn’t breathe. She was lost in his dark g
aze, in the sensation of his body pressing her forcefully into the bed. They were alone, and if he chose, he could strip her bare—in every way.

  Stefano’s eyes fell to her lips.

  “Why do you fight me so constantly?” he said in a low voice. “Why do you refuse to let me take care of you?”

  Annabelle’s heart pounded in her throat. “I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s all right to rely on others for help,” he bit out.

  “No, it’s not.” She looked away. “I’m better off on my own.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Against her will, Annabelle looked back at him. She could smell his woodsy masculine scent, like saddle leather and scorching sun. Like heat and hardness and fire. And she yearned.

  With a softly muttered curse, Stefano pushed away from her. He stood beside the bed, glaring down at her. “Stay here until the doctor comes. Don’t make me lock the door.”

  “Fine,” she said, still shaking from her desire.

  “You give me your word?”

  “Yes,” Annabelle said. “I’ll see your doctor. Then I’m gone.”

  He moved slowly around her bedroom and sitting room, closing all the blinds until it was quiet and dark. A soft breeze blew from the ceiling fan high above, moving the air against her skin.

  A moment later, there was a knock at the door. The elderly Spanish doctor inside gave her a kindly smile. As the man checked over her ankle, she submitted to the examination stoically, aware at every moment of Stefano watching her.

  The gray-haired man finally turned and spoke in the Galician dialect of Spanish to Stefano, who suddenly smiled down at her as he translated.

  “It’s fine. A mild sprain. He says to keep ice on it and stay off it for the rest of the night.”

  “I told you,” Annabelle said, exasperated.

  The doctor patted her hand and left. As she started to rise, Stefano came to the bed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Like I said, back to London.”

  He sat down on the bed beside her. “Because I kissed you?”