Читать книгу Modern Romance July 2019 Books 1-4 - Мишель Смарт, Sharon Kendrick - Страница 14

‘IT’S HIM! IT’S definitely him! Hey, Alej—can we get a selfie with you?’

Two beautiful young American women with tumbling hair and super-tight denim shorts had spotted their entry into the hotel and were clattering their way across the lobby towards them on gravity-defying shoes.

‘No,’ snapped Emily. ‘Refuse politely.’

Alejandro turned his head towards her, his dark brows raised. ‘Why?’

‘Because if you’re serious about politics, you need to stop people constantly seeing you with gorgeous women fawning all over you. It makes you look like a lightweight and a flirt. Tell them you’re expecting a call.’

‘But I’m not.’

‘Just make an excuse.’

‘If you insist,’ he said drily.

‘I do. And my advice is what you’re paying for. Remember?’

‘When did you get so insistent, Emily?’

‘When I started my own business and recognised the need to assert myself. It’s a particularly useful trait when I’m dealing with stubborn men.’

‘You don’t say?’ he mocked.

‘Indeed, I do. Now, be polite by all means—if such a concept isn’t alien to you—but walk straight past them.’

Without pausing mid-stride, Alejandro called out his apologies to the two women, who pouted prettily as he and Emily made their way towards the elevator. She wondered if she had imagined their look of astonishment as they’d stared at the Argentinian’s companion but an unexpected glimpse of herself as they walked past an enormous rose-gold mirror made her realise just how awful she looked.

The doors of the executive elevator slid open and the rapid ride towards the penthouse was just long enough to remind her what real luxury felt like. She hadn’t experienced it since her mother’s marriage to Paul, when extravagance had been part of her daily life and it had been drummed into her that she must be grateful at all times. Grateful that her stepfather had given her a home—and what a home!

And she had tried. She’d tried so hard. Pretended not to mind those interminable dinners, which had gone on and on and the adults had forgotten she was there. Pretended not to be bored at being dragged around yet another stuffy museum to which her stepfather had donated money in his attempt to ingratiate himself into society. Because wasn’t all that preferable to listening to the muffled sobs of her mother and having to play ignorant about where she’d left her bottle of pills?

Sometimes it seemed she’d spent her whole life pretending. She was even pretending now, wasn’t she? Trying to make out that she wasn’t in the least bit affected by the sexy hunk who was standing on the other side of the elevator.

‘We’re here.’ Alejandro’s words shattered her reverie and Emily followed him into an enormous suite where the first thing she saw—perched on a raised dais—was a white baby grand piano.

Searching round for evidence of more luxury, she quickly found it. Futuristic glass lights in candy shades spilled shafts of colours all over the modern, monochrome furniture. An angular sculpture stood framed against the city sky in one of the vast picture windows. Everything seemed so stark and pristine, which somehow emphasised Alejandro’s earthy appeal as he put down her suitcase and walked towards a large desk. His olive skin glowed as he glanced down at a pile of cards and began to flick his way through them. The thick tumble of his hair looked almost blue-black in the sunshine and suddenly Emily found herself wanting to run her fingers through the lustrous waves, just like in the old days. She wanted to press her body up against his and slide her tongue against the roughness of his shadowed jaw. And yet it was dangerous to feel like that. She might be unfulfilled, but at least she was not hung up and obsessing. Not bereft or aching or staring at her phone, waiting for some man who was never going to ring.

She thought how at home he seemed in this lavish setting, he who had been born to abject poverty—and how, ironically, it was her who now felt out of place. And her travel-weary and un-showered state wasn’t exactly helping. How could she possibly concentrate on work when she still felt so hot and sticky—especially when Alejandro looked so cool and pristine?

‘Perhaps you’d like to point me in the direction of my room?’ she suggested. ‘I’d like to freshen up before we get down to work.’

‘Sure.’ He picked up her suitcase. ‘Come with me,’ he said, observing her instinctively shrinking away as he came close.

Leading her down the wide and spacious corridor towards the two bedrooms, Alejandro wondered when she had become so uptight. He remembered her astride a horse, with the wind in her hair—someone who bore no resemblance to the sensible creature she’d become in her plain clothes. Maybe that was what happened to women when they lost their innocence. Perhaps they lost their softness, too. She was the only virgin he’d ever had so he had nobody to compare her with. Cynically, his mouth twisted. There weren’t too many virgins to be found in the world he inhabited.

Flinging open a bedroom door where creamy drapes framed a blue sky, he wished he could just tumble her down on that big white bed and take her without ceremony. Because wouldn’t some perfunctory sex rid his mind and body of his damned hunger for her?

‘This is it.’

‘Wow,’ she said softly, glancing at the modern artwork which adorned the walls and appearing to look at everything in the room, except for the bed. She walked over to the window. ‘That’s some view.’

‘Best in the city. Come and find me when you’ve finished. And don’t be long. There’s a party on Marcus Hedlund’s yacht in the harbour.’

‘The Swedish industrialist?’

‘The very same. I hope you’ve come suitably prepared.’ His gaze swept over the wilting fabric of her dress. ‘These affairs tend to be quite dressy.’

‘I know that. I’ve done my research. Don’t worry, Alejandro. I’ll try not to let you down.’

The quick tilt of her chin suddenly reminded Alejandro of the daredevil teenager he’d once taught to ride and something unknown and dark twisted deep inside him as he remembered how close they’d once been. Until he reminded himself that the teenager had grown up and become a snobbish replica of her grasping mother. ‘I look forward to seeing what miracles you can perform,’ he said curtly, before turning away.

Returning to the drawing room, he tried to concentrate on the pile of paperwork awaiting him, but for once he found it impossible to lose himself in his workload. He should have been overjoyed at the fact that he was about to float his highly successful drinks company on the stock market for an eye-watering sum of money. Whoever would have thought that every teenager on the planet would have considered it the height of cool to quaff a cleverly marketed drink which was packed with herbs from his homeland and based on Argentina’s favourite drink of yerba maté? Or that every business gamble he’d ever taken would confound even his own expectations and lead him to unimaginable riches?

And all this had happened to someone who’d been born in a villa miseria—a miserable shack crammed beside hundreds of others in a dirty settlement outside Buenos Aires, with unpaved roads and no sanitation. Even after his mother had managed to shed her past for long enough to get herself a job as a rich Englishman’s housekeeper, Alej’s education had been almost non-existent. His passion and talent for riding had allowed him to put learning on the back burner and nobody had really cared that he’d skipped school most days. Able to read and write but without a single exam to his name, it had been a matter of pride and perseverance which had later made him devour books and newspapers and educate himself that way.

But his subsequent successes had never managed to fill the void deep inside him, or to lighten the darkness which seemed a fundamental part of his nature. He had been betrayed, first by Emily and then by his mother, and had sometimes wondered if those two key events had scarred him irrevocably, making him the man he had become—someone who functioned efficiently on every level but who never really felt anything. He would never know and he didn’t really care. His mother was dead now, taking her sordid past to the grave with her, and he had tried with varying degrees of success not to be judgemental about the things she had done.

But Emily was alive, wasn’t she? Delicious and luscious and alive. Some people said that moving into the future was only possible if you were properly reconciled with your past, and that was something which had so far eluded him. Until now. His mouth tightened. Because that was what he intended to do. To claim her. To enjoy her in a way which had not been possible before. To tie up all the loose ends so there was no chance they could ever become unravelled again.

The sound of soft footsteps broke into his thoughts and he looked up, his groin hardening when he saw Emily standing in the doorway.

He swallowed. A quick glance at his watch showed him that in a little over half an hour she had managed to achieve a remarkable transformation. Her newly washed hair had been piled into a messy updo which gave her a tantalising just-got-out-of-bed look. Escaping strands had already begun to dry dark gold and shiny as they tumbled around her long neck and framed a face which had been delicately touched with make-up.

But it was her outfit which made the most startling difference. Gone was the functional cotton shift and in its place a flirty dress of red silk, a colour he’d never seen her wear before. His throat tightened. Had she deliberately bought it a little on the small side, or was the delicate material supposed to cling to her generous breasts like that, so that he could barely tear his gaze away from them? Bright and bold, it had tiny buttons all the way down the front and fell to just above each shapely knee. Hugging her narrow waist, it flared slightly over her hips and the hot-faced, crumpled creature who had greeted him at the racetrack suddenly became a distant memory.

Alejandro couldn’t fault the way she looked and yet something raw and primitive began to throb through his veins as he wondered how many times she had performed this Cinderella scenario in the past. Had she dressed up like this for other men? he thought, with a sharp surge of jealousy. Had they too been busy thinking about how much they’d like to slide their fingers beneath that scarlet hemline to caress her cool thighs, before travelling further upwards to find her melting wetness? A pulse throbbed at his temple. Of course they had. Why wouldn’t they, when she’d been the hottest woman he had ever known and had told him that she planned to take as many lovers as possible? That declaration had filled him with an impotent rage for a long time after she’d left and he’d sometimes found himself punching at his pillow in the middle of the night, until he had completely flattened it.

But he doubted any man had pleasured Emily Green as thoroughly as he was about to do. He wanted to rip the dress from her body and for her panties to follow, but he forced himself to put his desire on ice and to adopt the indifferent mask which both intrigued and infuriated his many lovers.

‘Did somebody wave a magic wand?’ he questioned carelessly. ‘Does it turn back into a sensible cotton dress at midnight?’

She gave a shrug which didn’t quite come off. ‘If you’re referring to my outfit, I borrowed it from my friend, since she goes to a lot more fancy functions than I do.’

Which might explain why the dress was straining so tantalisingly across her breasts that he could see the faint outline of her nipples. He swallowed. ‘I see.’

‘But we aren’t here to discuss my wardrobe choices,’ she said, primly nodding her head like a schoolteacher who was about to start a lesson. ‘I suggest we get down to work.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Though you could probably use a drink first?’

‘Nothing alcoholic!’ she responded swiftly.

He gave a low laugh. ‘Don’t worry, Emily. I wasn’t planning on plying you with fine wine. I was offering you water.’

‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘Well, thanks. Water would be great.’

Emily watched as he got up from the desk, unable to tear her eyes away from him. She’d told him that she wanted to work, but the sight of Alejandro moving across the room made it difficult to concentrate on anything other than his dark beauty and physical grace, as he walked over to a sleek bar of polished black wood. He added ice to two drinks—yet when he handed her a glass it wasn’t coldness she felt but a sizzle of fire as his skin brushed against hers.

She wondered what was the matter with her. She didn’t usually have showers which turned into something disturbingly erotic, but that was what had just happened as she’d washed herself in the luxury bathroom. The warm water had failed to remove the prickle of goosebumps as she’d started imagining Alejandro’s fingers sliding over her flesh and the corresponding throb of her nipples had made her feel restless as she had towelled herself dry. Yet this was nothing like the person she usually was. The prim and efficient woman she’d become. She prided herself on the professionalism which was so important to her and on her ability to think coolly and impartially. So stop focussing on sex and start concentrating on what you’re being paid for, she reminded herself.

Sipping at her water, she cleared her throat and put the glass down. ‘Right. First of all, I think we need to establish some clear objectives.’

‘Some clear objectives?’ he echoed, green eyes faintly mocking. ‘Perhaps you could be a little more specific.’

‘Certainly. We’re going to use this high-profile weekend to make people start thinking about you in a different way. But in order for us to work together successfully, I need you to be completely frank with me. You have to answer my questions truthfully, Alejandro. Do you think you can do that?’

‘I can try.’ He stared at her. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’

She jerked her head towards the white baby grand. ‘Why the fancy piano?’

‘Rock and roll,’ he explained with a touch of bemusement, as if her question was a curveball he hadn’t been expecting. ‘The hotel send up a pianist if any of their guests want to hold an impromptu party.’

‘Is that what happened last night?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Last night?’

‘Surely you can remember back to a few hours ago? You say you want to abandon your playboy image in order to pave the way for a possible career in politics, but you aren’t exactly going out of your way to help yourself, are you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘This!’ Emily delved deep within her shoulder bag to produce a folded newspaper, which she held in front of him, the splashy headline easily visible. ‘I picked this up at the airport and it features a gushing report about the “wild, champagne-fuelled celebration” you held last night. There was even a photo of a very beautiful actress staggering out in the early hours, obviously the worse for wear. If you’re going to plan a party, I would advise you to think more carefully about your guest list in future.’

‘I didn’t plan a party, it just happened.’ He shrugged as he met the question in her eyes. ‘Two of the other sponsors wanted to see the view from my suite. It’s a pretty amazing view—’

‘I can see that for myself. Perhaps you could try sticking to the point? It will save us a lot of time if you do.’

He gave a slow smile in response to her sharp words, as if being admonished was something novel. ‘And they brought a few people along with them. You know what it’s like.’

‘Not really, no.’

He seemed undeterred by her stonewalling. ‘Apparently a few of the models who are in town for the race gatecrashed a bit later, but I’d gone to bed by then.’

‘Alone?’ she demanded quickly.

‘That sounds like the accusation of a possessive girlfriend,’ he observed softly. ‘Or what a prosecution lawyer might call a very loaded question.’

‘Or a pertinent one?’ she returned. ‘Just for the record, I read the book your ex-girlfriend wrote—on your recommendation, I might add. According to her, you’re very fond of these kinds of parties. And of the type of women who frequent them, often without invitation.’

‘And you believed every word of it, I suppose—along with the rest of the world?’ His face grew hard and assumed a look of unfettered cynicism. ‘Especially the part where she hinted about me enjoying “variety”—which seemed to be the phrase which got most people excited. She made me sound like the worst kind of serial philanderer. She didn’t actually mention mirrors on the ceiling and black satin sheets but she might as well have done—although, unfortunately, my lawyers told me there was nothing you could actually put your finger on and call libel.’

‘And did you?’

‘Did I what, Emily?’ he mocked.

‘Enjoy...’ she licked her lips, wishing she could clear her thoughts of the image of Alejandro making out beneath a mirrored ceiling amid rumpled black satin sheets ‘...variety?’

‘Never.’ A note of contempt hardened his voice, matching the sudden forbidding line of his lips. ‘I’ve always enjoyed the attentions of women, but only ever one at a time. And I’ve never found promiscuity a particularly attractive quality. You of all people should know that.’

Emily flinched, wondering if he’d believed the stupid lie she’d told him. And why shouldn’t he have believed it when she’d made it sound so convincing? Hadn’t she practised saying it over and over again?

Alej, I don’t want to be with you any more. I don’t love you any more.

And then, when he had persisted, she had taken the lie one stage further.

It was only ever about sex and I’ve seen other men in England. Men who are more suitable. Rich, well-bred men I want more than you.

It had been so over the top that she’d half wondered if she’d gone too far and whether he would see through it for the invention it was. But he hadn’t. He had believed every word of it and she would never forget the answering look in his eyes. Not for as long as she lived.

But there was a different look in his eyes now because while they’d been talking something had changed. His gaze was no longer icy-cold as it had been the day he’d touched down in his helicopter in Argentina, nor disapproving like when she’d arrived in Melbourne a couple of hours ago. Now it held some of the familiar heat of old as he looked at her, and some of the old hunger, too. It spoke to a feeling inside her. A feeling which had been dead for so long that she’d thought she’d lost it for ever. Or maybe it was just that only Alejandro could ignite it. Only he could make her body seem as if it had fired into vibrant new life.

Against the scarlet silk of her bodice she could feel the ripening thrust of her nipples and, low in her belly, the first sweet rush of awakening, and in those few seconds she longed for him to touch her again. To do those things which used to give her so much pleasure. Most of all, she wanted him to kiss her. To put his arms around her. To make her feel safe and protected.

And that was the feeling which scared her most of all, because you could never rely on a man to provide you with sanctuary. Hadn’t that been just about the only thing her mother had taught her?

So concentrate, she urged herself fiercely. Don’t start thinking like that, and don’t start acting in a way which will lead you into trouble. Send out the subliminal message that this is strictly professional and if you start believing it yourself, then Alejandro might believe it, too.

‘You’re going to need to start protecting your own space a bit more in future,’ she advised. ‘You can’t just let parties happen. If things get out of hand it’s your image which will be damaged and you need to start guarding it more carefully. Image control, they call it.’ She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and subjected him to a cool look. ‘We need the world to start thinking of you in a new way, so your reputation as a playboy becomes a thing of the past and in its place comes the sometimes serious, always thoughtful would-be politician.’

‘But achieving that is going to be a monumental turnaround, I suppose?’ he suggested sardonically.

‘I’m not denying it’s going to be a challenge, but I have a few ideas.’ Feeling more confident now, Emily unzipped her shoulder bag and drew out a plastic-covered folder, keen to prove she’d done her homework. ‘I understand your team is going to present you with a special award after tomorrow’s race—as a thank-you for all your backing and support and for ploughing so much money into the sport. I think we can use that ceremony as a platform.’

He frowned. ‘A platform for what?’

She drew in a deep breath. ‘Tell me why you want to go into politics.’

A few seconds elapsed before he began to speak. ‘I’ve been approached by the progressive new party which is riding high in the polls and they are keen for me to represent them. A breath of fresh air blowing through the stale air in the political arena is how they’re terming my inclusion.’

‘That’s the method, Alejandro—not the reason. You haven’t told me why you want to do it.’

Alejandro saw the scepticism in her gaze, slightly disconcerted by the thought that she might be more perceptive than he’d given her credit for. He felt a flicker of irritation. Did she see his ambition as nothing more than a stunt—the latest shiny hobby for a man who was bored with life? Was it that which made him want to demonstrate that there was more to him than the cliché? The daredevil sportsman turned billionaire playboy. The shallow, two-dimensional Lothario invented by the press. A wealthy man who cared for nothing but gambling and seduction and expensive toys. Because he was more than that. Much more.

And maybe because it was Emily, he found himself speaking with the kind of candour he might not have used with anyone else. Was that because once she had known him better than anyone? Before the helicopters and the private jets and the homes scattered carelessly around the globe?

‘Because there are still people who are born poor and hungry, just as I was,’ he husked. ‘People condemned to a deprivation which will be repeated through every generation which follows—unless, like me, they’re lucky enough to be born with a gift. People who die before their time because decent healthcare isn’t available. I want to help to change that,’ he finished. ‘And politics is a route towards making that happen.’

‘That’s good. In fact, it’s very good,’ she commented slowly. ‘I think you should say something on those lines when you accept your award tomorrow evening—especially if you can manage to replicate the same degree of passion and conviction.’

Alejandro heard the insinuation, which was highlighted by the look of surprise which had grown on her face while he’d been speaking. Was she suggesting his message was all about delivery, rather than content? That it was more style than substance? Did she believe in the cliché herself? His jaw tightened and suddenly he was angry with himself for caring what she thought. Because he didn’t have anything to prove. Not to her—of all people.

‘You think I’m just a showman, do you, Emily?’ he murmured as, without warning, he reached out to cup her chin between his thumb and forefinger so that their gazes were locked on a collision course. That first contact felt like pure, powerful electricity and he waited, wondering if she would push him away. But she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. Because the chemistry between them hadn’t changed, had it? She was as hot for him as she’d ever been. He could see it in the nipples which were thrusting like iron tips against the scarlet silk of her dress, and in the way her lips automatically parted. He had desired many women in his life but his lust for Emily seemed to be stamped into his very DNA and, even though he despaired of it, his blood was heating at the thought of what he was about to do. He stroked his finger slowly over her cheek. ‘You think my words are empty?’

‘I...’ The word was breathless and the sapphire of her eyes nothing but thin rims against the fathomless black pooling. ‘Alejandro...what...what are you doing?’

He could see the pulse which was hammering away beside an errant strand of blonde hair and already he could detect the faint perfume of her sex. If he’d been feeling stronger he might have denied her. Made her wait. Left her high and dry before going to relieve his own frustration, alone in his bedroom, in a way he hadn’t done for years. Because wouldn’t it make her even hotter if he spun it out? But he couldn’t. How could he, when his groin was on fire? When the hard bulge pressing so exquisitely against his jeans felt as if it might explode at any moment?

‘Let’s pass on the game-playing, shall we, Emily? I’m about to do exactly what you want me to do,’ he said, his throat thick and tight. ‘In fact, it’s the only thing you’ve ever really wanted me to do, because I sure as hell was never good enough for anything else.’

Emily saw his head lowering towards her in slow motion, giving her all the time in the world to stop him. But she didn’t. How could she, when most of what he said was true? Because yes, she wanted him. She’d never really stopped wanting him—not through all the arid years since last he’d held her like this. Because Alejandro Sabato possessed a power which he wielded over her like some dark and erotic spell. He could make her hot for him. Wet for him. Instantly.

She shuddered when at last he bent his head to kiss her because it had been a long time since anyone had kissed her, and never like this. Only Alej could kiss like this. His tongue slid inside her mouth and the intimacy of that fed her spiralling hunger as she looped her arms around his neck. And then she was close. Close enough to feel the sudden hard jerk of his erection pressing against her.

‘Alej,’ she whispered against his mouth and this time he didn’t object to the familiar use of his name.

His response was to stroke his fingertip down her neck, drifting a slow line to her cleavage—before slipping it inside her dress to cup her straining breast. And still she didn’t object. How could she, when he was tracing a tantalising circle over one rock-hard nipple which was thrusting eagerly against his finger? He deepened the kiss and she writhed against him. Hungrily. Restlessly. And then, without warning, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to a huge black leather sofa before depositing her on top of it. She was on fire...so eager for him to touch her again that she didn’t care about the implications of being horizontal. All she could think about was how much she wanted him in her arms and she groaned with pleasure as he lay down on top of her, his mouth reclaiming hers with an urgency as flattering as it was irresistible.

Her eyes closed as she gave herself up to sensation and suddenly it was nothing but sensation.

The honeyed beat of blood in her veins.

The throbbing heat between her legs and exquisite peaking of her breasts.

‘Mmm...’ he said as he continued his expert caress of one puckered nipple, through her bra. ‘I had forgotten just how delicious these were and now I want to see them again for myself.’

Each word was punctuated by the swift undoing of each tiny button, his fingers operating with a dexterity which spoke of vast experience. And even though that should have daunted her, Emily felt powerless to protest—especially when the air felt so deliciously cool against her heated skin. Or maybe it was because he forestalled any such protest by the highly effective method of using his other hand to inch up beneath the hemline of her dress. The breath shuddered from her lungs. It had been eight years since anyone had touched her like this and it felt as if she had tumbled into paradise.

But he seemed momentarily surprised as the sides of her dress flapped open to reveal her bra.

‘Oh, my,’ he breathed.

‘Is something wrong?’ she questioned dazedly, opening her eyes to see him studying her breasts with rapt attention.

He shrugged as he tested the elastic of one flesh-coloured strap and it pinged rather inefficiently against her skin. ‘This doesn’t exactly fulfil the promise of the sexy dress.’

That was definite censure she could hear in his voice. Was he criticising the T-shirt bra she wore beneath all her clothes to give her a smooth line as well as contain her too-large breasts? ‘It’s practical,’ she defended.

‘I’m sure it is. It is also a little plain.’ He gave a lazy smile as he resumed his teasing ministrations. ‘Don’t the other men in your life demand you wear pretty lingerie from time to time?’

‘What other men?’ she supplied, her over-stimulated body playing havoc with her thought processes, especially when he was stroking her nipple like that.

‘I’m not going to flatter myself I’m the only one, particularly after your parting words to me,’ he whispered against her neck. ‘Or is your air of gauche innocence just a perk you provide to all your clients?’

It took a few moments for his meaning to register and when it did, the implication was so insulting that it completely took her breath away. ‘A perk?’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? It happens.’

Emily stared at him incredulously before pushing his hand away and slithering out from beneath him to scramble to her feet. Her hands were shaking with rage as she tugged the flapping halves of her dress together and began to rebutton it, glaring at him where he lay, like some dark and indolent panther. ‘You really think I would behave like that with just...anyone? That I would do this kind of thing with clients?’

Unperturbed by her accusation, he got up, raking his fingers back through the tumble of his hair, before tugging down his shirt and tucking it into his jeans. ‘I don’t know,’ he said coldly. ‘Discrimination was never your strong point, Emily. When you left you told me you were going to enjoy other men and I’m assuming you did.’

Because it had been the only way she could ensure he would let her go. The only way she could guarantee he wouldn’t test her resolve.

But what was the point of raking all that up now and revisiting a past which was surely best left forgotten? Even if he was looking at her as if she were nothing but a cheap tramp who put out for anyone who happened to turn her on. She wasn’t here to parade her virtue or seek his good opinion of her. And wouldn’t it make it easier to deal with the attraction which still burned between them if on one level he continued to despise her? She smoothed her dress down over her hips, and only when she was confident that her image was restored did she lift her gaze to his.

‘I’m not quite sure how that happened,’ she said, in a voice which sounded unnaturally calm.

‘You want me to describe for you how hormones work?’ he drawled.

Ignoring his sarcasm, Emily made her voice sound bright, like the one she’d used all those times when she’d been trying to rouse her mother from the deepest of sleeps. It was a note of determination, but it was also one of survival. Even if it didn’t always work—you still had to give it a try. ‘And we’re going to forget that it ever did happen. Do you understand that, Alejandro?’

He gave a low laugh. ‘Oh, I understand more than you think, querida, but I’m afraid it’s not that easy. Because you want me, Emily. You might wish you didn’t, but you do. You want me so badly I can almost taste it and, beneath that vampy borrowed dress, I’m willing to bet my entire fortune that your panties are wet.’ His eyes glittered. ‘The truth is that I’m excited about having sex with you and am counting down the hours until you’re honest enough to admit you feel exactly the same way.’