Exotic Nights

thought he was anything but perfect. Had he been in an accident? She’d never asked him about the scar on his mouth. Perhaps he got them on the streets.

She shuddered to think about what he must have gone through.

He said something else in Spanish, his head twisting on the pillow. Francesca dropped to her knees beside him.

“Marcos,” she said, touching his shoulder. “Marcos.”

“No!” His hand flew up suddenly, as if he were about to strike her. Defensively, she grabbed his wrist. But he was strong, so strong, and the act of enclosing her fingers around his wrist only seemed to enrage him further. He shot up, his eyes snapping open, glaring wildly into the night.

Before she knew what was happening, he’d flipped her onto her back and stretched full-length on top of her. Both her arms were pinioned above her head, gripped in his strong hands that held her down so tightly.

“Marcos!” she cried. “For God’s sake, it’s me. Francesca!”

He seemed to hesitate. “Francesca?”

“Yes!”

“Dios,” he swore. “I could have killed you.”

But still he did not let her go.

“I was only trying to wake you. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You should not have come in here.”

“I couldn’t let you suffer.”

His laughter was broken. “Ah, if only that were true, querida.”

Her heart went out to him. “What can I do to help, Marcos? I can stay with you. Or I can get you something. Just tell me.”

His eyes were hot, but whether from the inferno of his dreams or the way he was now looking at her, she wasn’t certain. She didn’t understand what was going on, yet she felt it was changing so fast she couldn’t keep up.

“What if the thing I need from you is more personal?” He flexed his hips then, the rigid form of his erection pressing into the cradle of her hips. Igniting an answering ache in her body.

“Then I would give it to you.” She said it without hesitation, which both shocked her and aroused her.

His gaze slid down her body. Her nipples peaked beneath the thin cotton shirt as she thought of what he’d done earlier. His eyes lingered there for a moment. Then he murmured, “God, I do admit I am tempted.”

His head dropped, his lips sliding along the column of her throat. The floor at her back was hard, but she didn’t care. The hardness of his body pressing into her, the heated, shivery feeling of his lips on her flesh, and the anticipation of something far more explosive made the ache between her legs sharper. She wanted him, and right now she didn’t care about the consequences.

She arched against him, enjoying the hiss of his breath as she did so.

“Then do it, Marcos,” she said. “I want you to do it.”

His mouth fastened over her nipple. She gasped, wanting the wet cotton barrier to be gone, but he made no move to lift her shirt away. No, he simply teased her nipple through the cotton, driving her insane with the heat and pressure that weren’t quite enough.

“Please, Marcos,” she gasped.

But instead of ripping her shirt out of the way, his head lifted, his eyes searching hers.

“Please what?”

“Please.”

“You can’t say it, can you? You want to tell me to make love to you, but we both know that’s not what this is.”

He let her wrists go and pushed himself to a sitting position, his back against the side of the bed, his eyes closed. She propped herself on her elbows, confused and disappointed all at once.