It felt as though they had forever to make love, and she savored the dance until they were both too dizzy to stand. She led him toward the bed. It was neatly made with a black duvet.
“I don’t want to ruin your clothes,” he murmured.
She’d forgotten she was wearing any. She looked down to find the dress she’d worn the first time they’d danced together. “I’ll go home in a bed sheet if I have to.”
He picked her up in a tight hug. “No, we can do better than that. Let me help you.”
He slid the zipper down the back of her dress and held her hand so she wouldn’t lose her balance as she stepped out of it and kicked off her shoes. He tossed the dress over the back of the sofa and reached for the hooks on her bra. She’d worn lavender lace lingerie, and her panties soon sailed with her bra to the sofa.
His glance rolled over her slowly. “You’re as beautiful as I knew you’d be.”
“Thank you.” She played her fingers down his arm and reached for his belt buckle. “The first time I saw you…”
He tapped a fingertip against her lips. “I was mad at Santos and rude to you. I’m sorry.”
“Was that only three days ago?”
“No, it was in another lifetime.”
She understood. Together they’d created somewhere entirely new. When he eased her down on the bed, there was none of the anxiety she’d felt with other men. There was only a deep hunger, as though he were the real reason she’d come to Barcelona. She’d never believed in fate, but as he ripped off his boots and threw his pants aside, he made it clear he intended to be part of hers. With his pride, she’d expected him to be worth seeing in the nude, and she wasn’t disappointed. Long, thick, and rigid, clearly he was ready to partner her in a whole new kind of dance. She wanted the black curls framing his penis wet with her own moisture and squirmed to welcome him.
He crawled up over her to lave her breasts, sucked on her fingertips and slid down her body to curve his tongue into her navel with a playful tickle. “You taste good,” he murmured against her inner thigh. He sucked to create a vivid heart-shaped print on her fair skin. He left a matching memory of his kiss on her other thigh, then swept his tongue up her cleft.
She reached for his thick black hair to encourage him, and he slid his hands under her bottom to tilt her toward his mouth. “Give me a pillow.”
She threw it to him with a careless toss, and he wedged it under her hips to free his hands. He opened her with his thumbs and licked her, circling her clit with a taunting flick. He drew back, and she scooted down to lure him close again. He pressed his mouth against her, rolled his tongue to slide into her and followed with two fingers.
His tender touch created the most luxurious sensations, and pleasure rose within her in sparkling bubbles. She was soon so limp with desire that when he rose up to turn her on her stomach, she flopped across the pillow with the grace of a rag doll. She glanced over her shoulder to watch him pull on a condom, and he entered her, sliding across her G-spot. Braced on one arm, he found her clit with his free hand and rubbed lightly in time with his thrusts. She responded with a musical sigh, pushed back to meet his next lunge, and fell into a free-falling climax.
Flooded with heat, her vagina throbbed around him, holding him, caressing him as he delved deep. She came again with a moaning shudder, pulling him down with her until he surrendered with a hoarse cry. Time stilled around them, and the last echo of lingering bliss rolled down her legs to crimp her toes. When he at last moved aside to spare her his weight, he still held her close. She’d never felt so thoroughly loved, and, filled with a delicious ache, she dozed in perfect peace until he kissed her awake.
“I should have asked what you like,” he said.
She turned to
kiss him and tasted her own lingering essence on his lips. “That was perfect, a glimpse of heaven.” She combed his hair off his forehead with her fingertips, and he leaned into her hand. She’d expected the fire but not his lush tenderness. It was more than any man had ever given her and heartbreaking their affair would be so brief. “I need to go home.”
“Why?”
She couldn’t bear more of his loving and needed a moment to come up with a reason. He’d asked to be invited to the ranch, so she wouldn’t tell him Santos’s plans. How quickly the lies begin. “I’ve been having breakfast with my father. It’s our time together, and I don’t want to miss it.”
She rolled off the bed before he could stop her, grabbed her clothes and, with deliberate effort, walked gracefully, rather than stagger into the bathroom. She tossed her clothes over the side of the bathtub and splashed her face with water. As she straightened up, she caught the startling reflection of a matador’s traje de luces, or suit of lights, in the mirror above the sink. It was hanging on the back of the door. It was heavily decorated with gold thread, some tailor’s work of art, and black like all of Rafael’s clothes.
Her first thought was Death had stopped by to shower and left his clothes hanging on the door. A wave of revulsion churned through her, and although she shut her eyes tightly, darkness wouldn’t minimize her anguish. Rafael made love with the same finesse he’d show in a bullring. He’d danced with her, held her hand, kissed her, drawn her closer with every breath. She wasn’t an innocent lamb being led to slaughter. She’d pushed him into bed, but she’d conveniently blocked out the bloody horror of the bullring. How did any woman come to terms with that dance of death?
He knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”
She had to swallow hard to find her voice. “Yes.” She yanked on her clothes and wondered if she’d been wearing shoes.
He was already dressed when she left the bathroom. “That’s a magnificent suit. Is it new?”
“Yes. It’s for my Alternativa. I should have put it away.”
“No, I’m glad you didn’t. I needed the reminder.”
His expression hardened. “How could you forget I’m a matador? Are you sorry you slept with me?”
“No, not at all. You’re wonderful, and I’ll never forget it.”