And she didn’t care, because she felt something of that desperation too.
His hands slipped down her shoulders, over her waist, cupped her buttocks and brought her against the heat and hardness of his thighs. He was aroused, and her heart beat ratcheted up a level.
When his fingers slipped beneath her tank, she fought down a wave of panic. He would find her inadequate … he would change his mind and she would be humiliated again …
Slowly, he circled from her spine to her ribs and then up to cup the weight of one bare breast. A groan issued from his throat. The sound thrilled her. She’d forgotten what passion felt like, what those first moments of discovery in another’s arms could be like. It was a drug—a heady, beautiful, natural drug.
His thumb whispered over the aching peak of one nipple. Francesca shuddered, but not from cold. Liquid heat blazed inside her.
He was the architect of her ruin, the in
strument that had shattered all her girlish dreams, and her body didn’t care.
She ached for want of him, for want of what she’d never had with him.
The kiss deepened, their mouths demanding more and more. Had she ever been kissed like this? Ever wanted a man as much as she wanted this one?
Francesca shoved the questions aside, torn between conflicting emotions. She hadn’t been with a man in four years, hadn’t wanted to be, and now she could think of nothing else but lying naked with Marcos, feeling the power of his body moving inside hers, watching the expression on his face as he found his release.
She wanted to wipe away the anguish and heartache she’d seen on his face earlier tonight. She wanted to be the one to make him forget, even if only for a little while.
Almost without conscious thought, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer, if that were possible.
She felt the heat and hardness of him, the rigid bulge of his arousal.
“I want you, Francesca,” he said against her ear, tugging her shirt up to bare her breasts.
Too fast, too fast.
But she didn’t want time to think, didn’t want to realize she was making a mistake in letting herself be this close to him. Didn’t want to know that to survive the experience, she needed to hide behind the wall around her heart.
When he stepped back to look at her, her arms dropped. She would have covered herself if he hadn’t stopped her. Her shirt rested on the swells of her breasts, refusing to fall and hide her body from his greedy gaze. He lifted her arms out to the side, studying her.
“Dios, you are beautiful. How could you think any man would not find you so?”
“Marcos, you don’t have to—”
He silenced her with a kiss, his hands threading into her hair. Then his mouth dropped down her neck, her collarbone. She knew what was coming, knew what he would do before he did it.
And she was powerless to stop him.
Powerless because she wanted it.
His lips fastened over one taut peak, teasing her, tormenting her.
Francesca gasped, her head falling back, heat spilling through her body as his tongue slid around and around her nipple. And then he sucked just hard enough to spike a shot of pure pleasure straight to her center.
The moan that escaped her was raw. Marcos made a sound of pleasure and repeated the motion.
And Francesca had to grasp his arms to keep from melting beneath his expert touch. Much more of that, and he could make her shatter simply from the pressure of his mouth on her breast.
It was exquisite, the pleasure. Surely she’d felt this kind of need before? Surely she had done so with Robert, with the man she’d nearly married before he’d walked out and left her to face the future alone?
Thoughts of Robert brought thoughts of her baby. Of the lifetime of loneliness she would lead because she could never have children of her own. Of the shattered fantasies she’d once harbored about having a family with Marcos Navarre.
Unbidden, a tear spilled down her cheek.
No, she would not cry.