The Argentinian's Demand

All that mattered was the here and now, and satisfying this physical craving that seemed to have the power of a tsunami.

So she had been affected by a dubious past, by the example of a father who had betrayed his family...?

Was it his concern?

‘I’m not one of those women who sleep around...’

‘And I’m not one of those men who use women, despite what you think. So why don’t we just agree to keep our opinions of each other to ourselves and to just...enjoy...?’

He hitched up her thin summery dress in one quick, smooth motion and the feel of his hands on her waist, underneath the shimmery fabric, nearly induced a fainting fit.

‘What do you think about taking a dip naked...?’

‘Are you mad?’ Her heart was beating so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath properly.

‘I shall have to work on that unadventurous streak in you, my dear secretary...’

‘Please don’t call me that. It reminds me of how crazy this is...it reminds me that you’re my boss and I didn’t come here to...to...’

‘Have wild, passionate sex with me...?’

‘Something like that,’ Emily muttered.

The liquid pooling between her legs made her fidget and, as if knowing precisely what was going on with her body, he dipped his hand lower, leaving it poised tantalisingly over her lacy underwear, a delicious promise of what she might expect.

‘So you won’t be fulfilling my fantasies by dressing in your very best work outfit so that I can rip it all off you...?’

The picture he painted was horribly evocative. She had a vivid mental image of herself back in London, in the office, with the door shut as he tore her clothes off before making love to her sprawled across his big desk.

‘Never mind.’

Leandro slipped his finger underneath the top of her underwear and lazily stroked her. He delighted in the feel of the downy hair. In fact it was a massive turn-on—and not just because touching her was beginning to make him think that he had been fantasising about it for longer than he cared to admit to himself.

No, that patch of hair was a sexy reminder that this was what a woman should feel like, as opposed to the fashionable baby-smoothness he was accustomed to.

He wanted to burrow and nuzzle against her, breathe in and taste the honeyed wetness between her legs, but instinct told him that he couldn’t rush things. He didn’t want her running away.

She might be marrying for the wrong reasons, might feel nothing but mild affection for her husband-to-be, but somewhere there must still be a conscience telling her that what she was doing was not exactly morally acceptable.

Fortunately that wasn’t his problem. He had given her conscience an out clause but he still didn’t want her to suddenly decide to take it...not when he was burning up for her, his body raging with need and desire...

He slipped his fingers underneath the lacy briefs and along her crease, seeking out the slippery nub of her clitoris, wanting to play with it until she was begging him to carry on, until her mind was for him and him alone.

Emily gasped. She arched back and gripped his shoulders. They were still fully clothed and there was something wickedly decadent about that—something that made his finger rubbing against her feel shockingly, wonderfully intimate.

Leandro curled his free hand into her hair and titled her head back at just the right angle so that he could kiss her senseless, barely giving her the opportunity to surface for air.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ His voice was a husky murmur and Emily nodded on a groan. ‘Do you,’ he grunted, against his better judgement, ‘feel unfaithful to the man you’re about to engage with in joyous wedlock?’

‘Please, Leandro...’ she panted as he began to rub his finger against her, bringing her to soaring heights before slowing the pace so that she could catch her breath and try and get her brain working.

‘Do you?’

‘No,’ Emily whispered. ‘I told you... Our relationship... We... It’s not physical...’

Not physical yet...

‘Shall we go back to the hotel?’ he murmured huskily. ‘You don’t want a midnight swim in the ocean with me, and my practical streak is telling me that making love on the sand might get a little...uncomfortable. When I enjoy you, I want to enjoy you without the distraction of any discomfort...’

Without warning, he swept her off her feet and began walking back in the direction of the hotel.

Emily squealed.

‘People will see us, Leandro!’

‘Oh, the joy of owning this place. I don’t care. I’m sure tongues are already wagging anyway...’

‘You haven’t said anything, have you?’ she asked, alarmed, and she heard the wicked grin in his voice when he replied.

‘I don’t have to. Any idiot would have been able to notice the way I’ve been looking at you for the past few days.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘That’s because you’ve been busy trying to keep your eyes off me.’

‘I can’t imagine what you must think of me,’ she muttered against his chest.

She could well imagine. A woman with no moral scruples. A woman who was happy to sleep with her boss while making wedding plans to marry another man. She might have sketched out some of the truth behind her relationship with Oliver—and who knew? Leandro might well have bought it—but she had to admit to herself that he wasn’t quite the cad she had always imagined him to be.

She felt that she had deliberately chosen to see the superficial side to him—to see the man who played the field, picking up women and dumping them without a backward glance.

She had never questioned his ethics. Instead she had chosen to equate them with the ethics of her father. She hadn’t stopped to consider that Leandro was simply a single red-blooded male who was free to have affairs and to enjoy the single life—unlike her father, who had been married, with a child, and had chosen to fool around in the most despicable fashion behind his wife’s back. Where her father had made a career out of deceit and lies, Leandro had promised nothing to the women he had dated.

At heart, he was far more of a romantic than she was, and while that should have absolved her from feeling any guilt she was still overwhelmed by it as he nudged open the door to his cabana and carried her to his bed.

His room was similar to hers, with variations in the colour scheme and in the local paintings on the wall over the bed. Flowers in her room...birds in his.

She allowed herself a few seconds of distraction, looking around her curiously, registering the clothes neatly folded on a chair—obviously part of room service and tidied by one of the hotel cleaners. She imagined that he was not a man who spent much time keeping his surroundings pristine.

Inevitably, though, her eyes returned to him, to where he was standing at the foot of the bed with one hand on the button of his trousers.

‘You were saying...?’ Leandro drawled, not making a move towards her.

‘What was I saying?’

‘I think your conscience was beginning to act up...’

‘I didn’t think you’d heard.’

‘I heard. You want to succumb to a change of mind, Emily? You’re free to go. I’ve always made it a rule never to get into bed with any woman who didn’t want to be there.’

‘I bet you haven’t had anyone who didn’t.’

‘Are you about to spoil my record? If you are, tell me and I’ll get the cold shower running.’

Automatically her eyes skimmed the bulge in his trousers that was vibrant proof of how aroused he was, and all over again her thoughts went into meltdown.

So who cared what he thought of her? They weren’t about to embark on a soul-searching relationship, were they? No. They were about to have sex and this might be the only time in her life when she felt this way—out of control, trembling with anticipation for a man. It had never happened before. Who was to say that it would ever happen again?

If he thought she was easy, then so be it. She wasn’t and never had been. The most she could be accused of would be greed. Greed to taste what he had to offer.

Besides, within a couple of weeks she would walk away and never lay eyes on him again. His opinion of her wouldn’t matter.

She was guiltily aware of a certain amount of double standards. She had been free to express her negative opinions of him and yet she was uncomfortably aware that he was now more than entitled to negative opinions of her—and she didn’t care for it.

‘I’m not having a change of mind,’ she denied. ‘My feet are sandy.’

‘We can have a shower together...’

Leandro dealt her a slashing, sexy smile that made her toes curl.

‘And I’m glad you’re not having a change of mind...’

‘I don’t suppose it matters one way or the other, but I’m not...this person...’

Leandro raked his fingers through his hair and looked at her. ‘You needn’t have this conversation if you don’t want to...’