Kept at the Argentine's Command

He snatched the paper easily from her fingers and tore it up, along with his own, tossing it like confetti over his shoulder.

‘Problem solved—now we’re on the same team.’

Lulu felt hope soar up inside her and explode in a cascading spin of light like a Catherine wheel.

He kept her moving, guiding her up the stairs, the warmth of his body bracketing hers. Lulu had never felt so relieved in her life.

She couldn’t help looking up at him, to make sure he was with her and it wasn’t just some elaborate sensory hallucination she was having.

He pushed her ahead of him into the book-muffled quiet of what appeared to be the library and closed the doors behind them with finality.

Lulu knew he hadn’t brought her here for the reason other couples were vanishing into dark corners of the castle.

This was her opportunity to apologise. Even if she couldn’t explain.

‘Alejandro—’

He advanced on her and Lulu found herself edging backwards, towards an old nineteenth-century desk. A thrill darted through her.

Maybe he had brought her here for exactly that reason.

‘If you still want me to be your dirty little secret I’ll do it,’ he said, with that same ruthless focus that had so unnerved her earlier.

Embarrassingly, she experienced a liquid pull low in her pelvis and she took another backward step.

‘No,’ she muttered, ‘it’s not like that.’

‘Then how is it, Lulu?’

‘All I want is for you to not want me any more.’

Her bottom hit the edge of the desk. She would probably be struck down for her lies, because she did want him to want her—she wanted it desperately.

He leaned in, hot and male and crowding her. It was highly exciting. The most exciting thing ever to happen to her apart from last night.

‘Then we’ve got a problem.’

She wanted to tell him that, frankly, this wasn’t feeling like a problem just at that moment.

‘I still want you.’

Lulu made an involuntary sound, embarrassingly a little like a whimper.

His hips nudged hers and she registered that he was powerfully aroused.

‘What’s the problem?’ he growled. ‘Worried your mother’s going to find out?’

Yes. Yes, she was.

‘Certainly not. I’m a grown woman.’

‘Then behave like one.’

And there was the challenge—and also the escape route. Because making love he wouldn’t be asking questions, and she’d have this—one more time, just one. So many lonely nights stretched ahead for her. She’d have this and she’d apologise and then everything would go back to normal. Well, her normal.

In frustration she reached out and pulled on his shirt. A pearl button popped, and then another. Impatiently she ripped his shirt open with both hands, because sometimes life was complicated enough not to

have to deal with buttons.