Her lashes fluttered as he leaned closer. He knew what he wanted. The same thing he’d wanted ever since he’d kissed her on the bridge. He wanted to lose himself in her, just for a little while. To live again, as he hadn’t lived in three years. It had been his choice. Always his choice. But Sophia had awakened something in him. Curiosity. And hunger. He wanted more.
She tried to hide it, but he knew she was just as curious about him as he was about her. It was in the sidelong glances, the way she pulled back from the little touches as though his skin was on fire. The way her lips tasted. The little sound she made as their kiss ended. Was she
even aware she did that? Did she know how hard it was for him to walk away? He wasn’t sure he could any longer.
He watched, fascinated, as her tongue sneaked out to wet her lips. She was nervous. Somehow the thought was comforting. He was glad she wasn’t taking this attraction—if that was what it could be called—in stride. He wasn’t completely insensitive to what she’d been through. She’d caught her fiancé with another woman, for heaven’s sake. She’d come on her honeymoon alone. A deliberate act of defiance, but he could see through it to the insecurity underneath. He adored her for it.
They were only a breath apart. “You, Sophia, are a delightful contradiction.”
“What sort of contradiction?”
Her lids fluttered open and he could see the reflection of himself in her pupils. Had he ever needed a woman with such intensity? He cupped her face in his hands, gathering strength from feeling her soft skin against his palms, finally giving in to the insane desire he’d been feeling ever since she’d arrived and making the conscious decision to let it have its way. “One side gutsy and brilliant. The other side fragile as a flower. Both sides equally attractive, you see. Querida, there are times I’m not quite sure what to do with you.”
“Querida…” she murmured, their lips only inches apart, “What does that mean?”
His heart clubbed, hearing her say the Spanish word, wanting to hear her say it again. “It means darling,” he replied, and the simple voicing of the sentiment ratcheted everything up another notch. Darling. Was she his? Or was he hers? Did it matter?
She lifted her hand and put it over top of his, then turned her head to kiss his palm. “Querida,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Tell me, which side do you like most?”
Her voice was soft, but it shook, and Tomas knew he was sunk.
“This one,” he replied, and lowered his mouth.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SOPHIA melted against him. Finally. Her body seemed to breathe the sentiment as she returned the kiss, looping her arms around his neck and losing her fingers in his hair. Her heart accelerated as she let herself give in to the moment, realizing where she was and who she was with and just awed enough to be stunned by it all. She felt like a butterfly set free from a cocoon. No longer the Sophia of old, but a reinvented one, seeing new places, trying new things. And one of those things was a very sexy Argentinian willingly in her arms.
The kiss gentled and Tomas pulled his lips away from hers, though they hovered near her ear and his breath sent shivers down her spine. His hands rested on her hips. Suggestion slid through the air and Sophia felt all her nerve endings kick into overdrive. She ran her hands down his shoulder blades, marveling at the taut muscles beneath the cotton of his shirt.
And then he touched his lips to the soft spot behind her ear and whatever else was in her mind fled.
The early evening sun sent a blaze of amber light across the yard as Tomas slid his mouth across her cheek and captured her lips again. He pulled her against him with a new urgency and the air caught in her lungs.
“Tomas, I…” She wanted to find the words but somehow couldn’t string them together. How could she explain how much she wanted him? How touched she’d been that he’d confided in her this afternoon, and how awed she was that he wasn’t pushing her as she’d expected? How could she resist a man who had loved so deeply? She knew perhaps she should be careful. He was moving on but reluctantly so. It was potentially a red flag, but as his hands spanned her waist she knew that the depth of his feeling for Rosa was part of his allure. He was touching her so gently, so reverently, that she was afraid she’d melt into a pool at his feet.
How could she explain how special he was and then express her own hesitation and fear? Why did she keep holding back? She was twenty-five years old and an independent woman. Why did it have to be so difficult to make the choice to move forward?
She sighed with bliss as his lips touched the underside of her jaw, the curve of her neck. His hand trailed over her hip to cup her bottom.
She knew why she held back. She was smart enough to know that the way they were holding each other—touching each other—created a certain expectation. It was foreplay. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him. She did. She closed her eyes and knew she shouldn’t let her inexperience matter so much. What was she waiting for? Tomas would be gentle and… Her body shivered with pleasure as his fingers played in her hair. And thorough. A gasp erupted from her lips as he licked the column of her neck.
But Tomas wasn’t expecting a virgin.
Gently he cupped her jaw with his hand. “Are you sure, Sophia?”
Of course she wasn’t. Everything her body was screaming right now was at war with her heart and head. Making love for the first time was important. She wanted it to go right. She didn’t want to be awkward or show her inexperience. She wanted it to be with the right person. As she looked up into his eyes, her heart thumped. She knew he was a good man. His actions had shown it and this afternoon had confirmed it. But she wasn’t able to form an answer to his question.
Tomas didn’t wait. “Sophia,” he murmured, and did what every woman fantasized about at least once in their lives—he scooped her up in his arms. The first time he’d done this, after her fall, had been a surprise. This time it was filled with a darker intention, and it thrilled her right to her toes.
With strong, purposeful strides he carried her to the door of the house and into the cool, shadowed hallway. She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to the side of his throat, tasting his warm and slightly salty skin. She could do this. She could. She wanted to. Here, on the wild plains of South America, with the warm, scented wind wafting through the windows, carrying the sweet sound of the finches in the bushes outside. Here nothing else mattered. Just Tomas. And her. Two damaged souls healing each other.
He took her to the room he occupied in the family quarters at the opposite end of the house. It was smaller than her room, and hadn’t been through the obvious renovation of the guest wing. But it was warm, with woven mats covering the floor and a homemade blanket stretched out on the bed. The window was open, the draft tingling over her skin as Tomas laid her carefully on top of the blanket.
And, oh, he was so gentle. Instead of using his physicality to dominate, he shattered her with patience, opening up all her nerve endings and making her feel beautiful, desirable beneath his touch.
He took his time, removing the clip from her hair, letting the weight of it fall around her shoulders. He sank his fingers in it and Sophia closed her eyes, luxuriating in the feel of his hands against her scalp.
“I love your hair,” he said roughly, tightening his fingers so that he controlled her head. He lifted and brought her face up to his. “The colour of flames,” he said. “The colour of sunset on the pampas.”