Kissing Sara had always been pleasant—fun, even. But this, this was something else altogether. It was all-consuming and lit a fire inside him that burned brighter and hotter than anything he’d experienced before. And, as it continued, drove all rational thought and conscience from his mind leaving him only open to glorious sensation.
The taste of her generous mouth filled his senses, stoking his hunger to flaming levels of demanding need. And because he could, he took more. His tongue stroked the seam of her lips until they parted, then swept inside her to lay claim without dispute. Logically, he knew he should stop—should demand to know who she was and what she was doing pretending to be Sara—but logic had no place here and now.
Her body melded against his, her hips meshed against his lower body, her mound pressing against his hardness and inciting an ache that threatened to consume him. While he continued to hold her firm against his body, his other hand reached up and tangled in her glorious hair, and he coaxed her head back a little more, allowing him a clear angle to the smooth curve of her throat.
Even her skin tasted like more. A subtle blend of sweetness and flowers that made heat pool heavily in his groin. His lips blazed a trail from the corner of her mouth down across her jawline until he reached the tiny hollow behind her ear. His tongue flicked over her skin and she moaned—an uncontrolled, instinctive sound that reverberated through his ears and sent his heart rate soaring.
He felt her hand on his chest, her fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt, her other hand now curled behind his neck, holding him to her, anchoring him.
Dios, he wanted more than this. He wanted to taste all of her. To discover if her hidden places were as deliciously sweet as those he’d tasted now.
Tremors shook his body as he left a hot path of kisses down her throat and the hollow at the base of her neck. Again, he flicked his tongue against her skin. As before, the intoxicating elixir of the flavor of her sent hunger clawing through him.
Both her hands were now knotted in the short strands of his hair and the pleasure/pain of it added a new dimension to their embrace. He lifted his head and captured her mouth once more. Starving now for the taste of her, for the softness of her lips, the heat and wetness of her tongue as it met his and tangled in a duel that knew no losers.
This was passion. This was absolute. His body knew it even as his mind struggled to equate the reality of the ardent, hotblooded woman pressed against him—her hunger equal to his own—with the skittish creature who’d kept him at arm’s length for weeks.
He couldn’t stop kissing her, consuming her. He just couldn’t get enough of the taste and texture and feel of her. The hand he’d kept at the small of her back coasted lower, over the curve of her buttocks. She felt different from the Sara he knew. The same general size, yet there was a hardness missing from her body. The tensile strength of an event rider gone, and in its place an enticing edge of softness. Not that there was anything out of condition about her body. To the contrary. She felt lithe and strong, yet yielding in all the right places.
No. This was definitely not Sara Woodville. It couldn’t be. But then who was she?
Slowly, he loosened his embrace and tempered the heat in his caresses until he could gently push her away. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, her gray eyes reminding him of a stormy, turbulent sky right before a storm. Her lips were slightly swollen, still moist and parted. Still inviting him to sup at their softness.
Reynard fought with his instincts, overcoming them with the cold reality that she was not who he’d thought, and driven by the need to find out exactly who she really was. His family had been the target of scammers before—people who thought, for whatever reason, that they deserved a slice of the wealth that made up the del Castillo fortune. He’d developed an instinct for them. One that had saved him and his family much heartache. The fact she had slipped under his radar was disconcerting, but he knew he daren’t show his hand too early.
“I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse, as if words were more than she could handle right now.
Somehow he found the strength to tear his gaze from her face and to drop his hands back to his sides and walk to the front door. As he drove away, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. It was difficult with his heart still racing, his blood still hot in his veins and an erection that demanded to be assuaged.
She looked like Sara, sounded like Sara—even moved the same way—but she was definitely not Sara. He’d wager his life on it.
He racked his memory, trying to think of what he knew of Sara Woodville beyond her talent as an equestrian, beyond her flaming beauty that drew looks and turned heads wherever she went. She’d mentioned family in New Zealand, he was sure of it. A sister, perhaps? Yes, a sister. They’d both competed in equestrian events as teenagers but Sara had stayed with the sport, going so far as to qualify to represent her country—as she had done while here on Isla Sagrado, when he’d met her. But the sister? He shook his head as he tried to force the memory from his brain.
By the time he’d pulled into the underground car park at his apartment building and ridden the lift to the penthouse—overlooking Puerto Seguro’s harbor lights—his blood had finally begun to cool, but he was no closer to an answer. Still, how difficult could it be in this wonderful Internet age, he wondered, to find out just how close a sister Sara Woodville had?
It was only a matter of minutes before he had the information he needed. He stared at the search results on his computer screen and sipped slowly at the delicious red del Castillo Tempranillo wine he’d poured for himself while his computer booted up.
An identical twin.
He oughtn’t to have been surprised, yet somehow the news still came as a shock to him. So, Sarina Woodville was standing in for her twin sister—an engaged Sarina Woodville at that, if the notice showing her and her fiancé in a local paper was any indicator. So why was she here instead; and where the hell was Sara? What scheme lay behind those identically beautiful faces? The web information he’d attained showed they came from fairly humble beginnings. Clearly, money was an enticement—how else would they maintain the kind of lifestyle and extravagance he’d seen Sara indulge in? Her riding sponsorship could only go so far and eventing was an expensive sport.
Even though the del Castillo wealth had diminished somewhat over the years—the result of the curse in action, as Abuelo would insist, Reynard thought with an ironic curve of his lips—the family was very well-placed in Sagradan society. And they were definitely wealthy enough to attract a scam. Estella Martinez had been a perfect example of that. Maybe in this case, the twins had decided that two scammers were better than one?
Anger welled from deep within. Slow and determined and gathering momentum until his body vibrated with suppressed energy. How dare they assume they could hoodwink his family? There was one thing he knew they would learn—no del Castillo would ever tolerate being played for a fool. No scandal had previously destroyed them; it had only made them stronger.
He thought for a moment of Abuelo, of his current infirmity and the ever present risk of another stroke. Was that going to be their angle? he thought. Were they going to somehow lure him into trouble and then threaten to expose him to his grandfather? Risk an old man’s health, his fears of an ancient curse and the ghost of a governess who’d been dead three hundred years, for the sake of money?
What was their aim? Did they think they could use their switch to make him look a fool? Engaged to one woman while possibly bedding another? Was that how they planned to use their switch for financial gain? The papers would lap it up, paying huge money for exclusive rights to the story. Or was their aim like Estella’s? To threaten to expose the story in a bid to get more money to keep quiet?
Anyone who knew his family knew that they would do anything to protect their own. And that was exactly what he was going to do. Protect his family—and if that meant ensuring he became a great deal closer to this Sarina Woodville, he’d do whatever it took.
Reynard took another sip of his wine, savoring the flavor, and allowing his mind to roam. Yes, he knew exactly what tack he’d take now that he had the upper hand in this charade the Woodville sisters were employing. They would discover they had met their match, and as his lethal anger came under control, he began to find himself strangely exhilarated by the upcoming challenge.
Rina looked at her reflection through bleary eyes. Last night had been the worst she’d had since arriving on the island. The worst since Jacob had broken off their engagement, actually.
Sara had called late in the night. The line had been bad, reception patchy at best, but her message had been quite clear. Whatever she was going through was taking a massive emotional toll on her and she was relying on Rina to keep things together in Isla Sagrado for her. To keep up the charade until she was strong enough to come back. Wracked with guilt over the kiss she had shared with Rey, a kiss she’d wished could go on forever, Rina had promised she’d do whatever it took.
Her sister had called upon her for help, albeit in typical Sara fashion with all too little notice and even less detail, and Rina had betrayed her. Worse, she’d actively enjoyed it.
Rina pressed her fingers to her lips, the memory of Rey’s mouth against hers still too vivid in her mind. She’d succumbed to his touch as if she’d been made for him and him alone, and in doing so she’d broken every unwritten law of sisterhood. She’d kissed her sister’s fiancé and, God help her, she wanted to do it again. In fact, she wanted more than that. She wanted all of him, over and over again.
She reached for the taps over the white porcelain sink and turned on the cold water with a sharp twist of a shaking hand. This was all wrong. She and Sara had never been attracted to the same man before. They hadn’t even so much as liked the same type, let alone ever had to worry about poaching on one another’s ground.
But she’d done more than poach now and, somehow, without letting the truth come out, Rina had to find a way to step back and prevent anything like last night’s kiss ever happening again. If it did, Rina knew she could never forgive herself.
She bent over the basin and splashed liberal amounts of cold water directly over her face, scrubbing at her skin with her bare hands until her cheeks tingled. She reached for a towel and wiped her face dry before looking at herself in the mirror once more. It was no good. She looked just as tired and disgusted with herself as she had when she’d woken.
The sound of the cottage’s phone ringing in the sitting room stirred her to action. Please, please, let it be Sara calling to put her out of her misery, she prayed silently.
“Hello?” she answered, lifting the near museum quality handset from its cradle.
“Good morning, mi corazon.”
Rey’s voice flooded through the phone, as rich and liquid as warm dark chocolate. Instantly, she felt every nerve in her body react and hone in on the deliciously deep timbre—as if just the sound of his voice could reach through the telephone wires and stroke the surface of her skin.
Her nipples pebbled into tight aching buds against the surface of the old T-shirt she’d continued to wear to bed each night—the soft fabric a caress as light as a lover’s touch against the taut peaks. Heat streaked, like lightning, through her body, centering low and deep in her body. Creating a throbbing need that all the cold water in the world could not extinguish.
“I trust you slept well last night,” Rey continued, oblivious to her traitorous body’s reaction. “I thought that you might like to see a little more of the island today. Perhaps in the late afternoon?”
Rina gathered her scattered thoughts and forced them into words through lips that were suddenly dry and uncooperative.
“Late afternoon?”
“Sí,” he replied. “I will see Benedict this morning for a while, and again this afternoon, but I must also now attend to my office for some hours. I thought to pick you up around four or five and we could drive along the coast before coming back to my apartment for dinner. What do you say?”
His apartment? Dinner? Was that all he asked? She knew that he and Sara had not yet been intimate together; a fact that still surprised her given their engagement. But did he plan to change all that tonight? And if he did, would she have the strength, let alone the will, to discourage him?
“Sara?” he prompted, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Yes…yes, that sounds lovely,” she finally spoke. At least she would have the day to herself. Time enough, hopefully, to shore up her defenses against her forbidden attraction to him. “Um, should I wear anything special?”
“Good question,” he answered. “We might go out for a drink along the harborside, first, so something a bit dressy, perhaps. What about what you wore the night I proposed? You always look beautiful in that. Until this afternoon, then. Hasta luego.”
Even after he’d hung up, Rina still stood there holding the phone to her ear. Her fingers clenched around the old black plastic, which creaked in protest at her white-knuckled grip. The dress she wore the night he proposed—the dress Sara wore, that is. What on earth was she to do? She had no idea which one it was and, without any contact from Sara, no way of finding out, either.
Numbly, she replaced the phone in its cradle and walked back to the bedroom to throw open the wardrobe doors. Given its rather frugal size, and the number of clothes Sara had kept here, it shouldn’t be impossible to narrow it down—but what if her twin had taken the dress with her?
Rina slumped onto the edge of the bed and stared unseeingly at the contents of her sister’s closet. Her eyes began to burn with unexpected tears. Suddenly this stupid charade was all too much. She loved her sister with an affection that transcended most sibling boundaries—would give her life for Sara’s if necessary—but continuing to masquerade as her twin this time around was taking a toll she’d never anticipated.
Maybe she should come clean. Tell Reynard the truth about what had happened. Let him know that Sara was suffering cold feet and that she’d asked Rina to stand in for her—after all, he deserved the truth. As one who’d been lied to and cheated on, she knew with personal understanding how cruel that type of behavior was.
But Sara had her reasons for wanting to perpetuate this falsehood. Reasons she hadn’t seen fit to disclose yet to Rina. And blood was thicker than water. Rina had never had any cause to doubt her sister’s choices before—had never been in open conflict with her, ever. Regardless of her original intention to stop this charade in its tracks, Sara needed her to do this for her and do it she must, whatever the price, because, if their situation had been reversed, Rina had no doubt Sara would step in for her.
She got up off the bed and fingered the clothes hanging neatly in the closet, wondering which dress it was that Sara had worn when she’d accepted Rey’s proposal—or if it was even in here at all. She shook her head. She was being silly. She didn’t have to worry. It would be a simple matter to say the dress was at the cleaners or that she’d spilled makeup on it or something like that.
She could do this. For Sara she could do anything. She just had to remind herself of the mini-adventures they’d conducted when they were younger, standing in for one another. Though, this felt entirely different. This time, for the first time, she wanted what her sister had with a longing she had never experienced with such intensity. Walking away from Reynard after this, and leaving him to Sara, was going to be the toughest thing she’d had to do, ever.
Rina spied her suitcase shoved in the bottom of the wardrobe and knew exactly what she’d wear tonight. The dress she’d bought once she’d made her mind up to come here to lick her metaphorical wounds, supported by her sister’s tender love and care, was an aberration to her usual style. If anything, it was far more like something her party-mad sister would have chosen for herself.
Shorter than the type of dress she’d worn since she’d started going out with Jacob, the dark periwinkle blue fabric skimmed her thighs with flirty layers of hand painted chiffon and the softly draping cowl neck dropped from tiny spaghetti straps to give a hint of the swell of her breasts.
She’d even bought a special strapless bra to wear with it, and in a fit of extravagance, matching G-string panties. The second she’d tried on the dress in the store, she’d known it was perfect for her. She’d instantly felt empowered again, feminine and strong. Certainly not like a woman whose fiancé had only thought to let her know he’d be marrying someone else a week out from their proposed wedding date.
Yes, she might be pretending to be someone else, but she’d be doing it in her own clothes and wearing her own silver-strapped high-heeled sandals at the same time. And she’d do it with all the flair she could muster. Even as she made the decision to be herself, she felt conflicted. In the past, pretending to be her sister had been all about exactly that—being Sara. Was she treading too fine a line now?