‘You mean the loan is paid off—the whole thing?’
‘It’s all settled. Hey, sis, that guy must really have the hots for you to do what he did. I thought you guys were through?’
Leah dragged in air and squeezed her eyes shut, resting her head on her hand. They had been through. They still were. But somehow things had got so complicated…
‘Give Alejandro my thanks,’ she heard her brother say, and it was too much.
‘Maybe you should tell him that yourself,’ she battled to get out, finally thrusting the phone back into Alejandro’s hands before her voice gave way entirely.
So it was official. She’d made a deal with the devil and now there was no going back. Now it was time for the devil to collect his due.
‘Eat,’ Alejandro urged again, when he’d terminated the call. And she knew that she needed to, and that he was right. But how could she think about her stomach when she knew that later tonight she would once again be making love with him?
Making love with Alejandro.
Anticipation crashed over her like a wave, leaving her skin tingling, her breasts aching for release from their silken halter. She was wearing nothing underneath, not a stitch of underwear, and never had she been more aware of it as the fabric caressed her skin, never had her desire been more acute. Because she could admit it now, could admit the one thing she’d been denying, repressing, the one thing she’d been lying about.
She still wanted him.
And now there was nothing stopping her. Now everything she’d bottled up tight and contained was let loose, unfurling inside her like a genie escaped from a bottle, promising her all kinds of magic and all manner of wicked pleasure.
How was she supposed to think about eating when her body was focusing on other more sinful pleasures?
‘You don’t like your fish?’
‘It’s perfect.’ And it probably had been long ago, when it was served, and likely was still so, the tiny slivers of ginger and spring onion coiled artistically over the plump white fish, drizzled with a sesame oil and soy glaze. If only she could eat it.
‘Mine is superb,’ he said of his plate of Moreton Bay bugs. ‘Here—try one.’ He removed a chunk from one of the miniature crustaceans with his fork and lifted it to her mouth.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, still thrown by this latest development and attempting to brush away his offer with one hand. ‘You have it.’
‘Try it,’ he pressed, holding the fork to her lips, and there was suddenly something so compelling in his eyes, something so insistent in his tone, that she had no choice but to acquiesce.
She opened her mouth and received the seafood, closing her lips over the morsel as he slowly withdrew the fork—his fork. She shuddered at the intimacy of the gesture as she bit into the tender seafood, the combination of chilli and lime dressing complementing the sweet white meat.
He smiled, his eyes alive with pleasure, the kind of pleasure that kicked her pulse into overdrive. ‘You see,’ he announced, his eyes never leaving her own. ‘Superb.’
‘It’s very good,’ she agreed, her senses buzzing. He was playing the game he played so well. Smooth seduction and potent masculinity all combining into the promise of sex. He was a master at it.
‘Yours?’ he asked, his intention plain.
She forked a piece of the white flesh and lifted it towards him, aware his eyes were aimed at her the whole time. He surprised her by cupping her hand with his own, an electric touch that sparked heat way low down in her belly, and guiding her hand to his passionate slash of a mouth. She’d always loved his lips, their sweep of curves and sculpted points, their ability to portray emotion. Most of all she’d loved them for the way they felt upon her skin. And right now those lips parted, accepting her gift, and she could just about feel them, could all but t
aste them. Could feel herself wanting to…
‘Perfection,’ he declared, without letting go of her hand.
But she’d had enough of playing his games. Anticipation was one thing. The act itself infinitely preferable. And now that she knew Jordan was safe, Alejandro’s part of the deal satisfied on that score, there was nothing to stop her satisfying hers. It was time to throw out her own challenge.
‘Better than sex?’
He smiled, a knowing smile that set off a chain reaction inside her. ‘You know better than to ask that of me,’ he said, relieving her of the fork and dipping his mouth to her wrist, pressing its warmth to her skin, reading her pulse with his lips. ‘Nothing is better than sex.’
If he’d been attuned, she thought, if he’d been able to read her heart with his mouth, he would know he was wrong. Because for all the wonders of sex there was one feeling more potent, one emotion worth more. There was nothing better than love.
And yet nothing worse.
But her path was clear, the decision she’d been forced to take tonight having given her the green light. If she couldn’t have his love she’d take the sex. At least it was something.