No! She couldn’t even think that!
But her gaze fell to his mouth. His sensual, masculine lips had taught her to kiss. Taught her to want. With one heartbreakingly fierce embrace, he’d taught her the meaning of the word desire. Her lips tingled, spreading heat down her limbs to the molten core between her thighs.
“Annabelle,” he ground out. She looked up. “What?” His dark eyes burned through her. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to push you back against this bed. And make love to you until you scream.”
She sucked in her breath, then licked her lips nervously. “I … I don’t. Want you to kiss me.”
“So you keep saying. Lying. To me. To yourself.” Moving the pillow and her ankle off his lap and onto the bed, he stood. He handed her a blanket and said tersely, “The doctor will be here soon.”
She felt vulnerable, lying in the large bed with him standing over her like a giant. “I told you, I don’t need a doctor.”
“You’ll do as I tell you.”
“You’re not listening to me.” She started to rise from the bed. “I don’t want your help. I don’t need it. I don’t want you. I already quit this job. I’m going back to London—”
With a low snarl in Spanish, Stefano pushed her back against the bed. For a long moment, he held her there, his hands holding her shoulders against the mattress, his half-naked body hard alongside hers.
Their eyes locked, and Annabelle couldn’t breathe. She was lost in his dark g
aze, in the sensation of his body pressing her forcefully into the bed. They were alone, and if he chose, he could strip her bare—in every way.
Stefano’s eyes fell to her lips.
“Why do you fight me so constantly?” he said in a low voice. “Why do you refuse to let me take care of you?”
Annabelle’s heart pounded in her throat. “I can take care of myself.”
“It’s all right to rely on others for help,” he bit out.
“No, it’s not.” She looked away. “I’m better off on my own.”
“Do you really believe that?” Against her will, Annabelle looked back at him. She could smell his woodsy masculine scent, like saddle leather and scorching sun. Like heat and hardness and fire. And she yearned.
With a softly muttered curse, Stefano pushed away from her. He stood beside the bed, glaring down at her. “Stay here until the doctor comes. Don’t make me lock the door.”
“Fine,” she said, still shaking from her desire.
“You give me your word?”
“Yes,” Annabelle said. “I’ll see your doctor. Then I’m gone.”
He moved slowly around her bedroom and sitting room, closing all the blinds until it was quiet and dark. A soft breeze blew from the ceiling fan high above, moving the air against her skin.
A moment later, there was a knock at the door. The elderly Spanish doctor inside gave her a kindly smile. As the man checked over her ankle, she submitted to the examination stoically, aware at every moment of Stefano watching her.
The gray-haired man finally turned and spoke in the Galician dialect of Spanish to Stefano, who suddenly smiled down at her as he translated.
“It’s fine. A mild sprain. He says to keep ice on it and stay off it for the rest of the night.”
“I told you,” Annabelle said, exasperated.
The doctor patted her hand and left. As she started to rise, Stefano came to the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?”