All the emotions she used to be able to disguise in a blink flooded behind her eyes with hard pressure. She couldn’t breathe.
“Of all the memories I’ve lost, the most maddening is not remembering what it’s like to make love to you. I cannot wait for our do-over.” He bent and covered her lips with his own, hard, but not hurtfully. He seemed to catch himself at the last second and decide whether he wanted to plunder or merely sample.
Maybe he was waiting for a rush of memory, trying to remember how their first kisses had tasted. She remembered. She wanted to protest and turn away from his kiss, but her body knew him in a primal way that made her soften in welcome. Her hand lifted to caress the stubble on his cheek, urging him to linger, playing her mouth against his in invitation.
With a gruff sound deep in his throat, he took control of the kiss and ravaged, but gently, his stubbled beard lightly abrading her skin. He claimed in a way that felt familiar, yet new. He stole, but gave back at the same time, started to pull away, then returned as if he couldn’t help himself. The teasing sent flutters of arousal through her, burning her blood to the ends of her limbs, making her fingers and toes tingle. It was disconcerting to become so aroused when she was hardly in a state to make love.
It was so amazing, though. She never wanted him to stop, but he finally did with a few soft, wet bites of his teeth catching at her lips.
He drew back enough to see into her eyes. His gaze was disturbed, frustrated yet excited. Hot with desire. They were both breathing heavily.
“Seriously,” he said in a quiet rasp. “How was it?”
The question felt incredibly intimate, like he was asking her to describe an experience with a stranger, yet she could see he was deeply invested in her response. He wanted details. She wanted to be flippant, self-protect and be cool and pretend he hadn’t set the bar so high she had despaired before it was even over. She had known she’d never find another man to give her the same level of pleasure.
Memories flooded in, the way he’d kissed the skin he’d revealed, made her climax with barely a flexing touch between her thighs, had her wrapping her legs around his waist, then had taken his time, making love to her gently and slowly, savoring each thrust until she’d been pleading for him to drive harder and faster and deeper—
He stroked his thumb against her stinging cheek. Satisfaction relaxed his expression as he read everything he needed to know in her blush of fresh response.
“I wish I remembered that.” He sounded so wistfully sincere she blushed harder and flinched in torment at the same time, raw. Feeling like the most important experience of her life was forgotten by the man who’d provided it.
And it was.
She swallowed and dropped her hand, ducking her head.
Then there was that agonizing reason why it had been so good. He was an aficionado of women, having dedicated himself to learning how to pleasure multitudes before her. So many.
She’d been dying on a distant level that day, wondering how she stacked up. It hadn’t helped that he’d disappeared before she’d woken. She’d needed the reassurance of his approval and satisfaction. His absence had been so demoralizing she still didn’t know how to deal with it. Things had worsened from there until they were here.
Frowning at the flowers Octavia had given her, Sorcha tried to imagine how she could balance the heaven and hell of being married to him. There was no question he expected her to sleep with him. What if she wasn’t up to his standards? Sometimes she let herself believe that Diega had been lying when she’d said he had begged for forgiveness. She didn’t want to believe she had been merely a conquest, but what else would she have been?
What if the only reason he wanted her today was because he couldn’t remember that he hadn’t enjoyed himself the first time?
“I’ll take this back to my father and tell him you’ve had a better offer.” He retrieved the check from the floor and folded it to tuck it in his pocket.
“Cesar—” He was such a pushy, dogged, overwhelming man.
But there was no way she could look into her son
’s eyes and admit that she’d had the chance to give him everything he was entitled to and turned it down. Not when she knew how it felt to receive nothing from her own father.
As for love, well, she’d long ago resigned herself to this infatuation of hers with Cesar not being returned. At least she’d be with him, not pining from afar.
“My mother is anxious to see Enrique,” she said as she realized he was waiting for her to speak. “I want to go to her as soon as I’m released.” Way to be a tough negotiator, Sorcha.
“Of course. We can marry in Ireland. One of us ought to have family present.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE been surprised that Cesar would be so single-minded. Or so possessive. His protocols with intellectual property told their own story about the lengths he would go to ensure he would never be stolen from again.
But could he not see that if she wanted her son to have a father, that meant she expected him to be a father? He disappeared to Spain until she was released, asking her to text a few photos of Enrique, but showing little interest in his son or the final DNA report that proved it.
“Go ahead and forward it. My parents will want that reassurance,” he said like it was a bureaucratic hoop he couldn’t avoid.
“Don’t you want to see it?” she challenged.
“If I thought you were lying, I wouldn’t have upended my life to marry you. Are they releasing the two of you now?”