A Spanish Inheritance

She was being ridiculous. This was business—for both of them, Annalisa reminded herself, firming up her glance. And if she wanted to avoid making a fool of herself for a second time in twenty-four hours she should accept his invitation for what it was and stop running scared.

‘This will just be a quick lunch with no champagne. Deal?’ he demanded.

Taking her silence for assent, Ramon opened the door of his black Porsche and stood aside as he waited for her to climb in.

Mashing her lips together, Annalisa forced her feet to move. Right now running scared seemed not just the sensible option, but the only option. Then Ramon slammed the door and it was too late. She watched him stalk around to the driver’s side. Confidence like his was…irresistible, she realised apprehensively.

Slipping the key into the ignition, he gunned the performance machine into life. ‘That meeting has given me a real appetite.’

Me too, Annalisa agreed silently, acknowledging the powerful aura of the man beside her, an aura that had nowhere to go but around her, in the luxurious but compact interior.

‘Would you like the roof down instead of air-conditioning?’ he asked, turning to look at her.

‘Do you read minds?’

‘Sometimes,’ he said with the hint of a smile.

Good intentions weren’t nearly enough, she realised anxiously as waves of sensation coaxed her senses awake…and the steady thrum of pleasure was only intensified by the gentle but persistent vibration of the soft black kidskin seat that held her cradled in a firm and inescapable hold. A rogue shaft of arousal wrenched a sharper breath than usual from her. She knew Ramon heard it. He glanced across as if he knew exactly what she was thinking…feeling…

Determined to keep her mind on track, she began asking him about the marina as soon as they sat down at their spectacular harbour-front table.

He didn’t answer straight away. Instead he took the leather-backed menus from the waiter and arranged his long legs under the seat. ‘Surely it is the responsibility of your legal advisor, Don Alfonso, to provide that information,’ he said. His expression suggested that in spite of all his assurances he had not the slightest intention of discussing business matters over lunch.

Annalisa frowned, equally determined that they would. ‘Well, I won’t be held to ransom over the shoreline—by you or anyone else.’

‘And I won’t discuss the matter until we have both had something to eat,’ he told her firmly. ‘Shall I order for both of us?’

‘I’m quite capable—’

‘So I recall,’ he said, summoning the waiter.

And that was how Annalisa came to be facing a mountain of food on one plate whilst Ramon picked at a selection of delicious-looking delicacies, both hot and cold, on any number of small plates and dishes.

‘Would you like something?’ he murmured, catching her glance. And before she could say no he had picked out the plumpest prawn and was feeding it to her.

When some juice escaped and trickled down her chin, he wiped it up with his hand and then lapped his fingers with his tongue before reaching for his napkin. ‘Good?’ he enquired softly, his eyes diffusing the simple question into countless possibilities.

‘Very good,’ Annalisa agreed hoarsely. ‘Next time you can order for me.’

‘Next time?’ he challenged softly.

Well, there was still so much more she needed to discuss with him… Who was she trying to kid? An erotic heat was already stripping her mind of focus. She had to get away from him…from temptation. But he seemed in no hurry and ordered coffee for them both, exchanging pleasantries with the young waiter, who looked at Annalisa with naked interest until Ramon sent him on his way.

When he turned back to her Ramon’s eyes had darkened to twin pools of compelling intensity. With a jolt, Annalisa realised he was well aware of the effect he was having on her. It was written all over his face. He controlled her responses. He was her jailer while she was imprisoned inside a dangerously sensitised body. Her nipples were swelling and straining against the fine white fabric of the blouse that had arrived with the Armani suit, and even the exquisite underwear only served to remind her that the most erotically charged place of all had the merest cobweb for protection. She might just as well have been naked under the precision tailoring.

Had he chosen the clothes himself? Did he find the outward show of severity arousing, knowing how little she wore beneath? If he restrained her first, and then very slowly peeled away all the puritanical layers to expose the flagrant evidence of her arousal, would he be pleased, or angry when he saw what a wanton she had become…how hot and moist, how swollen with desire? She stole a glance at his handsome, brooding face and moved convulsively in a hopeless attempt to ease the ache between her legs. But all it proved was that there was no cure and no relief…something she suspected Ramon knew only too well when she saw his thoughtful gaze resting on her face.