The Latin Lover

‘How do you feel?’ Belinda asked over her shoulder as the team surrounded her and surveyed their work.

Like a princess. ‘Wonderful,’ she said, and it wasn’t just their work she was applauding. Their skilful artistry had paid dividends, but there was something else she hadn’t noticed before. A resilience, a firmness in her chin that shone through and told her she didn’t have to be afraid. She’d walked away from Alejandro once before. She could handle whatever he had in mind. And now she was ready to prove it. ‘Where are my clothes?’

‘They’ve been sent up to the suite already. There’s a private lift that will take you direct to the penthouse. I’ll let the concierge know you’re ready.’

Leah swallowed back on a tinge of panic. She was expected to ascend to his room wearing nothing more than a fluffy robe? Alejandro certainly expected things all his own way. But she refused to let it undo her resolve as Belinda led her to the lift and bade her a good evening. She was up to whatever he threw at her. Hadn’t she just convinced herself of that?

There was no lobby. The lift doors opened directly into an expansive living room, decorated in golden hues and sprinkled with antique furniture. A grand piano held pride of place in one corner, a massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the scent of fresh flowers from numerous arrangements perfumed the air.

But all these things were incidental when it was the body sprawled so seemingly casually into a chair, one foot propped up on a footstool, that held her interest. For there was nothing casual about him. He looked ready to spring from his chair like a jungle cat, all grace and dark power, beauty and danger, wrapped up in one irresistible package. That she would resist! He watched her over steepled fingers, his gaze dark and penetrating. She refused to shrink back, although she did tighten the belt around her waist.

‘They said my clothes were sent up here.’

His head moved the merest fraction—his concession to a nod. ‘Not that you will be needing them.’

He rose from the chair in one languid movement that emphasised the lean power of his body. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘for forgetting my manners. I was deep in thought, and then you emerged from the lift looking like a goddess. I was simply struck dumb.’

All her senses were on red alert as he came closer. Not just because of his silken words, but because he looked so good himself. He’d showered recently, she could tell. His hair was curled and damp at the collar of his stark white shirt—a shirt that emphasised his rich olive skin and made him look even darker and more dangerous.

‘Lucky for me I scrub up well,’ she tossed into the ring, wanting to show him she was not bothered by his presence, while desperately trying not to be bothered by the clean scent of him curling into her senses.

He circled her—the jungle cat back at work, sizing up his meal. ‘Indeed you do, querida.’ His voice rumbled through her. ‘You “scrub up” very well.’

‘I assume if we’re to go to dinner I am to wear something?’

He came to a standstill in front of her and smiled. ‘If you are not to drive all the men wild with lust and their women wild with jealousy, it would be wise, yes.’

‘Perish the thought,’ she said, t

rying to lighten the mood in the room, though her skin prickled under her robe, her temperature rising. She was immune to his hyperbole—for the most part it washed over her—but as much as she wished it were so, there was no way she was immune to the man. The way he looked at her, the way his eyes sought hers and held on, tempting her, teasing, promising things he couldn’t deliver—she should know better, but how did one gain immunity from the man one loved?

‘So, what am I to wear?’ she asked, impatient with the game. The sooner she got dressed, the sooner they could go to dinner—and the sooner she could find out what he knew about Jordan’s situation.

‘Through here,’ he said, leading the way through the vast suite to an elaborate bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed. She hesitated when she realised where he was leading her, but he turned and smiled. ‘If I were going to seduce you, querida, do you not think I would employ a more subtle method than leading you straight to my bed?’

Knowing Alejandro as she did, she had to concede he was right.

‘Your dress,’ he said, waving in the direction of a swathe of sapphire-blue silk lying on the bed. A pair of diamante-studded high heels sat below on the floor. ‘And I am assured these will be a perfect fit.’

She moved closer, letting her fingers slide over the silk as she took in the stunning halter design, the fabric gathered at one hip to fall gracefully to the floor. It was complexity designed to look simple. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

‘No more beautiful than you. I shall leave you to it.’

She had turned to thank him when another thought occurred to her. She shifted the dress, scanned the bedcover, but there was nothing more to find than a small clutch purse.

‘Alejandro?’

He paused, the door halfway closed behind him.

‘There’s no underwear.’

He nodded, the merest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. ‘I know.’

CHAPTER THREE

HE HAD to be joking! ‘But, Alejandro—’

‘Don’t you remember that time you surprised me? The time you shocked me with your brazenness?’