“But—”
He placed his finger against her open mouth, but instead of pressing to quiet her, he traced first her upper lip and then her lower one. “Such a pretty mouth.”
Desire shivered through her, her vaginal walls spasming with need. Oh, man. She was in trouble if such a small caress had this effect on her.
He leaned down and she didn’t do a single thing to stop him, didn’t tell him no, just sat there waiting for what she knew was coming. Her brain warned her she was on a slippery, dangerous path, but her body was not listening.
Neither was her heart.
The kiss, when it came, was soft, a caress of lips against lips, no tongue, no urgency. And it went all the way to her soul. One hand remained over hers; the other came up to cup her nape, under her hair, and hers came up of its own volition to rest against his chest.
The tender, almost chaste kiss went on for long moments, bridging a gap she didn’t know something so simple could do.
It was terrifying how much the press of his mouth against hers impacted her.
It was that fear that made her break the kiss and pull away from him. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I disagree. Kissing you is never a mistake.”
“I’m sure your family would not agree.”
“Meet my father before you decide to speak for him. He will adore you.”
“I thought you said he wasn’t going to be in Madrid when we arrived.”
“He will not, but you will meet him.”
“You’re talking like we have a future together.”
“It does sound like that, doesn’t it?”
“How am I supposed to take that? You don’t even believe in love.”
“Erotic love, no, but I love my family. Even my disreputable brother, who has much to do to earn my respect again, if that can be done.”
She shook her head, trying to clear it. The man was too persuasive and confusing. “No more kissing.”
“I cannot promise that. You are very kissable.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“The truth is foolish to you?”
“No. That’s not what I... Listen, you can’t just go around kissing me. We aren’t dating anymore.”
“I would like to fix that.”
“You deceived me a second time. How could I ever trust you again?”
“Perhaps you could examine my intentions in both cases?”
“I’d rather know you were never going to lie to me again, by omission or commission,” she clarified when he opened his mouth to deny actually lying again.
“This is important to you?”
“Would you like knowing I was happy to deceive you?”
“No.”
“Then?”
He was silent for almost a full minute, considering. “I can make that promise.”
“Now I just have to believe it.” But the fact he’d really thought about it went a long way toward her doing so.
A brief flare of pain flashed over his handsome features. “That is the hope, cariña.”
“You’re not going to stop using endearments on me, are you?”
“Does it truly offend you?”
“No, it’s just...” Too pleasant. Too seductive. Too intimate. But to admit any of that would be to admit she still had feelings for him when he didn’t even believe in those feelings. “It irritates me.”
“Are we not both committed to honesty between us?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“So?”
“It did irritate me.” Right after she found out about his reason for engineering their meeting, but now the endearments were part of that slippery slope that both enamored and scared her.
“Now?” he pressed.
“I like it too much,” she admitted, not entirely sure this full honesty between them was a good thing.
“That is good to hear.”
“You are a very annoying man.”
“And you are the one woman I want.”
“Right now.”
“Do you want promises for the future?”
“No, of course not. I don’t want anything from you.”
“Are you lying to me again, or only to yourself now?”
“I’m tired. I think I’ll get some shut-eye.” Not waiting for him to respond, she reclined her seat and closed her eyes, trying to shut him out.
But nothing could make her any less aware of the gorgeous, tantalizingly sexual man sitting beside her on the private jet.
* * *
No wonder Baz didn’t mind having his father living with him.
His home was a darn palace. A very private palace. Hidden away at the end of a long drive with access via a wrought iron gate that slid back when Baz had pressed something on his phone, the exterior stucco of the giant three-story abode was painted a traditional pastel with white trim. The enormous house was surrounded completely by a second-story balcony, with decorative railing. It served as shade for the oversize slate porch on the ground floor that also wrapped around the stately building.
The grounds looked like something out of a How to Garden for Rich People book, laid out in perfect geometric patterns, each bush trimmed into submission, every blade of grass cut just so and a pristine green. Deep-red carnations filled the flower beds on either side of the double-size, eight-foot-high front doors.
Baz pulled his sleek Jaguar to a stop on the circular drive laid with white pebble just as a butler in a smart black suit opened the door on the left. Seriously? He had a butler? With a home this size, he probably had a whole army of servants.
Randi stared out the window, making no move to open her car door. She craned her head, trying to see as much as she could without actually getting out. “Good grief!”
“What?” Baz asked, his own door already open and his seat belt off.
Randi just shook her head, startling when the door beside her opened without her touching it.
The butler stepped back from the car. “Welcome to Casa Clavel, Miss Smith.”
Feeling like she’d stepped into some kind of fantasy, Randi made herself climb out of the luxury sports car. “Um...gracias. I’m happy to be here,” she lied in Spanish.
What she was, was overwhelmed.
The butler nodded and then turned to Baz, who had gotten out and come around the car. “Welcome home, sir,” he said in Spanish.
“I
t is very good to be home, Emilio.” Baz replied in the same language, his body relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen since meeting him.
“You call this place home?” she asked with disbelief.
“What else would you have me call the place where I live?” Humor laced his voice as he offered her his hand.
Feeling out of place and in need of a connection to reality, she took it. “Royalty would be comfortable living here.”
“And have stayed behind its walls throughout the years. It was built in the mid-eighteenth century.”
“Though it has remained in the same family for more than two centuries, Casa Clavel has been completely remodeled and refurbished as recently as five years ago,” the butler offered with obvious pride.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Neither man seemed to detect the sarcasm lacing her words.
The inside was every bit as imposing as the outside, and yet somehow felt like a home. Like a place she could stay without feeling like she didn’t belong. Which was totally weird, considering the fact that no way could Randi belong in a place like this.
She didn’t even try to hide her gawking as she took in the soaring ceilings, giant foyer and grand staircase. The floors were marble, a huge gold drape pulled back between the foyer and what looked to be a living room the size of a gymnasium, but way more elegant with its cream, black and gold accented decor.
Baz squeezed her hand, giving her a reassuring smile. “There is a conservatory in the back of the house, where we have citrus trees that bear fruit year-round, and we grow more of the carnations the house is named for. It is my favorite place to have breakfast and to relax.”
“Of course it has a conservatory.” She looked around at the massive rooms, halls leading to more living space and the giant chandelier hanging in the center of the foyer. “My entire apartment complex would fit in this place.”
“It is only about eighteen thousand square feet.”
“Only?” she asked faintly as another man, not the butler, walked by, carrying her luggage.
“Most modern-built mansions of this caliber are twice as large.”
“That’s insane. Who needs that much room?” Okay, maybe billionaires did, for entertaining or something.