Kept at the Argentine's Command

But not enough to stop. He couldn’t have stopped now if the whole damn farmhouse had collapsed around them.

Besides, she’d assured him she only wanted one night. It was his problem if it felt like something more.

He put his hands to her cami-knickers and drew them down, past her ankles, feasting his eyes on her.

She had surprisingly rounded hips, and tiny dark curls at the apex of her thighs, and her skin had clearly never seen the sun—it was like snow.

Lulu was breathing shallowly. There was something touchingly private about the way she watched him, as if trying to work out what he was thinking.

He could have told her what he was thinking—that he was the luckiest man in Scotland tonight.

Her eyes were big, her mouth wet from their kisses. Her nipples looked like bright jewels against her flushed breasts.

Her arms tightened around his neck.

‘I have to tell you something,’ she blurted out.

‘Tell me.’ He tried not to sound too gruff, because right now talking wasn’t high on his agenda.

‘I watch a lot of old films.’

Alejandro looked at her and wondered if lust could jam up your hearing.

‘You watch old films?’ he repeated huskily.

She nodded. ‘There’s a film… Joanne Woodward…Paul Newman. It’s very good.’ She moistened her lips. ‘It’s about a girl who tried love once but it didn’t stick. So she’s given up on men.’

‘Good. I’ll watch it some time.’

He lowered his mouth to her throat, where the skin was soft as satin. But Lulu kept talking.

‘She’s a semi-maiden.’

His head came up. He looked into her eyes, surprise registering. ‘This is you?’

She nodded, no longer talking, just fixing those big brown eyes on him.

He wasn’t completely taken off guard, but there was something about her admitting it and giving him that trustful look that made him feel incredibly protective of her.

It’s a gift, he thought. She’s giving you a gift. Her trust.

It twisted inside him painfully. Because what did he have to give her in return? Cynicism born of a deep understanding. Most people had strings attached to gifts—everyone had a motive. Nothing was ever as it seemed.

‘It’s worse than being one thing or the other—you’re sort of stuck.’ She spoke softly, tangling her fingers in the soft whorls of dark hair on his chest. ‘I’m so very, very tired of being stuck, Alejandro.’

This he could understand. She wanted a little more experience—he could give it to her.

‘Let’s see what we can do about it, then,’ he said, and slid down the bed, parted her thighs and put his mouth on her.

She gave a squeak of dismay and a husky, ‘Non!’ But her body was on board and she melted under his tongue as he had known she would, until he had her twisting, panting, pinned to the mattress as he drew an orgasm from her that had her crying out into the pillow.

He considered telling her that the Baileys assumed they were married and she could yell as loud as she liked, but there was something about her restraint that was highly erotic.

He kept his mouth where she most wanted it until she subsided and then he began again, until the throbbing in his own body became unbearable and all he could concentrate on was being inside her.

He dealt with a condom and joined her on the pillow, kissed her soft, responsive mouth. She was flushed and gratifyingly dazed.

He told himself this was what he did. He worked hard, he rode like a demon, and he gave good sex. Women didn’t leave his bed disappointed.