They’d been panting, laughing; he’d been teasing her, had pulled her onto his lap. Pretending had been so easy, but now…now this mouth, this man, the hands gripping the back of her head, were too real. Rough. Raw. Devastating.
She moaned helplessly as he slanted his head, murmuring something indiscernible to her, and his warm, hot tongue came at hers, and his hard need grew larger and stronger under her bottom, and the realization that he really wanted her barraged through her.
He began to take little nips, and those lush, sure lips moving against hers set off the flutters in her stomach, the fireworks in her head. “Sabes a miel.”
He spoke in an aroused rasp against her lips. She clung to his neck and tried not to moan as his warm breath slid across her skin, heating her like a fever.
“Te quiero hacer el amor,” he murmured, running his hands down the sides of her body, his fingers brushing the curves of her breasts, his chest heaving with exerted restraint. “Toda la noche, te quiero hacer el amor.”
She had no idea what he said, but the words pulsed through her in a wave of erotic pleasure. Her breasts swelled heavy, her nipples in such pain she pressed them deeper into his chest and she opened her mouth wide, moving instinctively against him, and she knew this was wrong, so wrong, would not happen again, which surely must be why she incited it. “What are you saying to me…” she murmured into him.
His breath was hot and rapid against her. “I’m saying I want to make love to you. All evening, all night.” He groaned and twisted his tongue around hers as their lips locked, the attachment intense, driven, absolute.
She sucked in a breath as his palms engulfed her straining nipples, felt his desire in every coiled muscle, in the rough way his palms kneaded, the thrusts of his tongue as his mouth turned ravenous on hers.
He groaned, appearing decidedly out of control for the first time since she’d known him. He stroke
d the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs and whisked his lips along the curve of her jaw, and she cocked her ear to his nibbling lips, shuddered when he murmured to her. “Your gasps tear me to pieces.”
“Marcos…”
She was hot and burning inside.
He made a grinding motion with his hips, and her thighs splayed open as he desperately rubbed his erection against her.
His tongue plunged into her ear, wet, hot, sloppy. “Stop me, Virginia.” One determined hand unerringly slipped through the V of her dress and enveloped her breast. “Virginia. Stop me, Virginia.”
He squeezed her flesh possessively, and when his palm rubbed into her nipple, her eyes flew open in shock. The feel was so delicious, so wrong, so right, she hid her heated face against his neck and almost choked on the sounds welling at the back of her throat. Sensations overpowered her body, her mind struggling to comprehend that this was really happening with Marcos Allende.
“That’s your hotel up ahead, sir.”
Swearing under his breath, Marcos gathered her closer. His ragged breaths blasted her temple. He squeezed her. “We’ll finish this upstairs.”
Virginia pushed back her rumpled hair. Upstairs? God, what were they even doing?
Chuckling at the look on her face, Marcos bussed her forehead with his lips as his gentle hand stroked down her nape, trembling slightly. “I should’ve known we’d be combustible,” he murmured.
The Mercedes pulled into a wide, palm tree–lined hotel driveway and Virginia fumbled for her purse while Marcos stepped out and strolled to her side, reaching into the car and helping her to her feet.
His glimmering, dark gaze didn’t stray from her face, not for a second. We kissed, his dark eyes said. I touched you. I know you want me.
And for an insane second, all she wanted was to forget why she was here and who she was and be swept away by this one man, this one night, in this one city.
As though discerning her thoughts, Marcos cupped half of her face in his warm palm, and his eyes held something so wild and bright it almost blinded her. “Upstairs,” he said again.
The promise plunged into her like a knife as he moved away to discuss something with the chauffeur, and Virginia stood there like someone in a hypnotized state, watching his big, tanned hands at his sides. Hands she’d felt on her.
She gritted her teeth, fighting the lingering arousal tickling through her. He was playing with her. He was pretending. He was a man who’d do anything to win—and he wanted Allende.
Marcos seemed oblivious to her frustration when he returned, slowly reaching behind her, his fingers splaying over the small of her back as he led her up the steps.
She followed him and no, she wasn’t imagining him naked, touching her, kissing her in the exact way he’d just done—no, no, no. She studied the beautiful hotel and the potted palms leading to the glass doors with the intensity of a scientist with his microscope.
The lobby and its domed ceiling made her lightheaded. It was so…so… God, the way he’d touched her. With those hands. As if that breast were his to touch and his hand belonged there. How could he pretend so well? He’d been so hard he could’ve broken cement with his…his…
“Do you like it, Virginia?” he asked, smiling, and signaled around.
She gazed at the elegant but rustic decor. “The hotel? It’s beautiful.”