When Da Silva Breaks the Rules (Blood Brothers 3)

Standing up straight for a moment, Cesar undid his buttons and opened his shirt. Lexie closed her eyes when the intoxicating scent of man and musk hit her nostrils. Like when she’d first seen him.

When she opened them again they widened. He was magnificent. Broad and hard muscled. Dark blond hair dusted his chest, drawing her eye down to where it bisected the ridges of his abdomen muscles in a line and then disappeared into his pants.

And just like that Lexie became aware of being out of her depth. Overwhelmed. She knew that if they didn’t stop now this would end in bed, and as much as she thought she wanted that she wasn’t sure if she was really ready. And she realised a small part of her needed to know that he would stop.

She put a hand on his chest and felt him tense. It almost made her forget her intention.

‘Wait...’ Her voice felt rough, breathy. ‘This is moving so fast...’

She looked up at him, wishing she could read what was in those green depths. Decipher that inscrutable expression.

Cesar stepped back and Lexie let her hand drop. It felt as if a chasm had opened between them. With a shaky hand she pulled her shirt and bra strap back up. She couldn’t really think straight when Cesar was half clothed in front of her, and cringed as she realised it was only seconds ago that she’d been begging to see him.

Humiliation scored her insides. She was damaged. She couldn’t just throw caution to the wind and do this. That was the problem.

She slid off the table, her legs unsteady. Between them she throbbed lightly. Mockingly.

Expecting Cesar to be irritated, put out, she caught her breath when she looked up at him and he smiled. Lexie nearly had to put her hands behind her to catch the desk. Lord. When he smiled something inside her ached because she hadn’t really seen him smile before now.

He moved close again and rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. His smile faded. ‘We want each other.’

Lexie’s heart thumped. Hard. ‘Yes...’ How could she deny it? God. She felt as gauche as a sixteen-year-old contemplating her first make-out session. But then she’d never had that experience.

‘Next weekend there’s a function in Madrid. You said you wanted to see the city?’

Her head felt fuzzy. Had she?

But Cesar didn’t even bother to wait for her agreement, he just said, ‘We’ll go together. I have an apartment there so we can stay overnight.’

Lexie’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest at the thought but she managed to nod. ‘It’ll be good for us to be seen together. It’ll be good for the press.’

‘Yes,’ Cesar agreed equably. ‘But it’s not just about that, Lexie. It’s for us.’

* * *

When Lexie had left Cesar had to wait another few minutes for his body to cool down. He’d been ready to lift her up and carry her into his bedroom. His conscience mocked him—as if he could have held back from taking her right there on his desk.

When she’d pulled back, put her hand on his chest, everything within him had screamed with rejection. And then he’d come to his senses and realised just how close to the edge he was. So he’d welcomed a little space...sanity.

He was a civilised man, even though the last time he could remember feeling remotely civilised was over a week ago—just before he’d laid eyes on Lexie Anderson for the first time.

Cesar went to the window that looked out over a private section of the castillo gardens, tucking one arm under the other across his chest.

Something skated over his skin...a very old memory. A feeling. Vulnerability. He didn’t like it. It harked back to a time before he’d made sure he was immune to such weaknesses.

He wanted Lexie, but she was dangerous. Because when he was near her he seemed to forget himself. His mouth tightened.

Everything in him had always urged him to trust nothing—and especially not women. After all, his mother and grandmother had taught him that lesson very well.

A memory came back, blindsiding him: his grandmother, dragging him painfully up to a first-floor window. Forcing him to sit down on the window seat. Every day, for hours on end. Before and after his lessons. Because she’d found him there one day. Watching...waiting.

‘If you like it here so much then you’ll do it every day. Watch, Cesar. Watch. See how she does not return for you. And when you tell me that you believe me we can stop playing this game.’

Cesar could remember glaring at his grandmother’s thin, bitter face mulishly before she’d taken his ear painfully and pulled his face back to the window. Tears of pain had sprung into his eyes but he’d blinked them back. Loath to show her any emotion. Because even at that tender age of five he’d already known better.

And so he’d looked out of the window—fiercely—for hours on end, willing the figure of his mother to appear. Sometimes he’d thought he’d seen something, but it had only been a mirage. It had taken another full year before he’d finally told his grandmother what she wanted to hear.

His grandmother had made sure that he would see pictures of his mother enjoying her life in Paris. Becoming successful. Famous. A model. Having another son. His half-brother. Forgetting about him.