He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt but left it on with his pants. “It’s an imaginary place, not real. What about the dressing room of the boutique where the salesclerk thought we were famous?”
She turned slowly in front of him. “That would do, but we’d have to be very quiet.”
“Was there a chair?”
“Yes, a small, dainty one.” She pulled a chair away from the table. “Do you want to sit down?”
He flashed a sly grin and shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I’m just going to bend you over the back. Put your hands on the seat.”
She leaned over as told and rested her hands on the seat. She looked over her shoulder and smiled, but he picked up the hem of her long dress and tossed it over her head, where it floated into a red tent around her. All she could see was the soft fabric, while he had the perfect view of her legs and bottom. He ran his fingertips up the back of her legs, then slowly up her more sensitive inner thighs. His touch had a captivating sizzle.
“I’ll never be able to enter a dressing room without thinking of this,” she murmured.
“Quiet, or the clerk will hear,” he cautioned. He caressed the smooth curve of her bottom, then leaned over to trail kisses down her spine.
Her gown was better than a blindfold, surrounding her in vibrant color and creating a dreamlike world. The fabric of his pants was soft and warm against her legs. He played on her senses with his delicious scent and magical touch. Bathed in love, she didn’t need the words others had spoken a thousand times. He knelt behind her, bent her knee and put the mark of his kisses on her right thigh and then the left as he had the first time they’d been together. She hadn’t kept count, but every moment of intimacy they’d shared had had its own special wonder. He slid his hand along her cleft, teasing her with a gentle caress that left her aching with desire. When he spun two fingers up into her, she cried out.
“Hush,” he breathed out on her bottom. “The clerk will come with her camera if you make any noise.” He pulled his hand away to lick up the salty fluid that dripped down her thighs. “You’ve always tasted so good.”
She was dizzy now and moved her hands to grip the bottom of the chair and held on. He teased her with his fingers and then his lips until she couldn’t have stood on her own. He brushed her clit with a fingertip, and when she came in a rolling wave, he caught her waist to steady her.
He had a condom in his pocket and donned it after shedding his pants. He guided his cock into her and rode her undulating contractions. He moved the way he danced, with forceful thrusts until she came again, and he found his own release. He grabbed the back of the chair until he could catch his breath, drew her dress off over her head and left it lying across the chair.
She looked up at him, her eyes not quite focused, and sighed. “I don’t believe we can ever visit this shop again.”
“Oh no, I want to go there tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Maggie snuggled against Rafael. He always slept cuddled around her, which she loved even when she couldn’t sleep. Maybe he wanted to pull her into his dreams or just be certain she’d be there when he woke. Whatever his reason, it was an endearing habit. Saturday morning, however, she was too anxious to see Dr. Moreno to rest in her lover’s arms.
She eased herself out of bed, showered, wrapped herself in a towel and found the journal she’d barely opened. She sat at the small table in the chair that had played such a prominent role in their games last night and worked on forming questions. Her first efforts were too blunt, but inspired, she wondered if she shouldn’t let the physician assume she knew more than she did.
She looked up and found Rafael watching her. “Good morning. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He sat up and yawned. “You didn’t. I hope you’re writing about last night.”
“I’m not sure I could do it justice, and even without a written reminder, I won’t forget a second. I’m working on questions for Dr. Moreno. I’d like to know more about my father’s heart condition.”
“Your grandfather died young, and now your father. Are you worried you might not live past middle age?” He got up and went into the bathroom for a towel to wrap around his hips and flipped his hair out of his eyes.
He was so sincerely concerned, and she hadn’t given her own health a thought. “No, I’m not sure there’s a pattern. My great-grandfather died in the bullring in Madrid at thirty-six, so he didn’t live long enough to fall victim to heart disease.”
He frowned and took the chair opposite hers. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”
“I thought you knew. His name was Juan Diego Aragon. I found his obituary in one of the albums at the ranch.” She chose not to reveal the terrible fright the notice had given her.
“I’ve not heard of him. I’ve studied technique, style, not the history of every matador who ever stepped into the ring, but I should have known about another Aragon.”
She reached across the small table to squeeze his hand. “You can look him up later. I’ve never thought much about the Aragon family, and I hope Dr. Moreno can provide some useful medical information.”
“Of course. My mother told us our father was a merchant seaman who was away on a long voyage. By the time I turned five, I knew no voyage could last as long as he’d been gone. My mother cried and told us our father had been lost at sea, and she’d not wanted to tell us when we were so small. My grandmother rolled her eyes, and I knew the story, like most of my mother’s tales, was untrue.”
“Whoever your father was, clearly he was a handsome man and undoubtedly fond of adventure.”
“Thank you, but he was probably a sailor from so far away he spent a single night in Barcelona and never returned. My sister and I didn’t resemble each other, so her father must have been another man.”
She offered a sympathetic smile. Carlotta was still a beauty, and at fifteen she would have been stunning and easily misled by a handsome man. “I don’t suppose your mother will ever tell you the truth?”