“Really? After you’ve proven yourself to be so good at it? I don’t believe it.”
“This all must look very simple from the outside.” His gaze came up from her white nail beds where she gripped his arm. His voice lowered a shade into something intimate. “Would you stay in your job if I refused to marry her? Is that why you’re trying to convince me?”
“Would you refuse to marry her if I canceled my notice?” she scoffed, pretty much making it a dare. She didn’t mean that much to him. She knew she didn’t. Given all he stood to gain, he couldn’t call off his marriage just to sleep with his secretary.
“If you let me have you, I might. You would be surprised what I would do for that privilege.” He was looking at her mouth.
Her heart began to pound.
“Cesar...”
“I need to know what it’s like to kiss you, Sorcha.” He brought up a hand, one strong finger tracing a line under her jaw to a point under her chin.
Breathe, she thought, but couldn’t make her lungs work. She was frozen in hot ice, mouth parting as he angled his head and leaned to cover her lips with his.
This was what he meant by her needing a man who could take control. As the oldest of four in a single-parent home, she’d been an adult from an early age, taking care of her siblings, then helping with the breadwinning. She easily shouldered responsibility—even for her own pleasure—but from the first touch, Cesar let her know he was more than willing to give her anything she desired.
There was no hesitation in his kiss, only command. He didn’t overwhelm, wasn’t forceful, but his kiss had the same quality as his voice or his directing hand. We’re going here and this is how we’ll get there. Come with me. I’ll show you.
She softened under his thorough kiss, liking the light abrasion of his stubble. Her lips clung to his and her hand climbed his arm and found his shoulder. She tried to maintain her balance as they sat there, side by side, quietly devouring each other.
He shifted, gathered her and drew her into his lap. Just like that. Strong and sure, making his intention clear, right down to the bulge pressed against the cheek of her bottom.
They broke off their kiss, looked into each other’s eyes. This was the point when she was supposed to remind him they had an agreement. He was her boss—if he was serious about refusing to marry Diega.
You would be surprised what I would do for that privilege.
His neck was hot against her palm and the trace of his fingers against her thigh triggered a rush of tingling need into her loins. She had imagined making love with him so many times, had longed for it in the dead of night, tossing and turning while he made love to other women.
This time he would make love to her. She would know what it felt like to feel his touch, to bask in his attention. Her sex life was dismal, she’d reasoned. She hadn’t gone all the way with that dumb artist. Their bit of fooling around had been great for him and left her feeling nothing. She ached for a good experience.
She wanted sex, wanted Cesar, yearned to feel even closer to him than she already did. She wanted to make love with him.
Stay with him.
She moved her hand to the back of his head and lifted her mouth to meet his kiss.
CHAPTER FOUR
CESAR DIDN’T GET back to the hospital until late the next morning. By then he’d had a number of tablet conversations with his mother and brother—you know she’ll tell me to marry Diega if you don’t—and finally, the unsurprising arrival of his father.
The consensus seemed to be that the situation did not warrant calling off a wedding, even if he could be sure the baby was his.
Their attitude was almost as frustrating as Sorcha’s accusation yesterday, when she’d called him out for using her, then asked him to leave. She’d been pale with dark circles under her eyes, the nurse standing by with one of those paper cups full of pain pills. He’d had to give her the opportunity to rest that she needed.
And he hadn’t known how to counter her accusations. He didn’t remember what he’d said to Diega about her, but he’d obviously confessed that they’d slept together.
It was all such a frustrating mess, but the signpost for the way forward hinged on whether Enrique was his.
He returned to the hospital in a driven state of mind, going directly to the nursery for a long, proper look at the boy, determined to find proof.
Sorcha was there, putting the baby down, her expression relaxed and tender until she glanced up and saw him. Her smile fell away. “I assumed you’d jetted back to Spain.”
One sharp look had her sealing her lips, but her chin went up. She wasn’t cowed. He’d always found her inability to be intimidated refreshing—it allowed him to be who he was without signing up for sensitivity training—but engaging in battle with him at this precise moment was not her best move.