The Latin Lover

She smiled, and for probably the first time tonight really meant it. ‘So what are you waiting for?’

Something swirled across his blacker-than-night eyes, and then he was on his feet, pulling her out of her chair. ‘We’re leaving,’ he said, thrusting a wad of notes at the flustered maître d’.

‘You have barely touched your entrées,’ he protested. ‘Was something wrong?’

‘Everything was perfect,’ Alejandro assured him, bundling her towards the exit, a man on a mission. ‘I have business to attend to.’

‘What business is this?’ she joked breathlessly as he wrenched open the door. His acceptance of her challenge had taken her unawares, but it was the speed at which he’d moved that fed the thrill of knowing it wasn’t just her that burned.

He spun her bodily against the wall, his hands either side of her head, his face a study in light and shadow and his eyes glinting with need. ‘Important business.’

He cupped her jaw with one hand, and then his mouth was on hers, punishing and yet sweet, firm and yet so utterly gentle, a marauder and yet simultaneously a seducer.

Her heart sang as she gave herself up to his pleasure, as she gave herself up to him. Her Alejandro. And even though she knew he could never really be hers she had him now, she had him for tonight. And, with the deal she’d brokered with him, she’d have him for as long as he wanted her.

She would live to regret it, she had no doubt. She would wake up and be disgusted with herself that she had practically thrown herself at him when she had done so well escaping from him the first time.

But that was later. Right now one thing motivated her and one thing only. And it wasn’t her brother and the knowledge that he would now be saved from the retribution of the money-lenders. Right now it was more important that Alejandro was going to make love to her. And she might hate herself afterwards, she might wish she’d been stronger and figured out a way to save Jordan all by herself, but it would be worth it!

His hand scooped down her throat, lingered over one tight breast and down over the flare of her hip. Fire scorched a trail in its wake. ‘Dios, I want you,’ he muttered, his voice grating as his fingers bunched in her skirt, the tension obvious in his clawed fingers. ‘I cannot wait for the car to get us back to the hotel.’

And neither could she. Not when she could feel his hard length pressing into her belly. Not when she wanted to take him inside, to wrap herself around him and never, ever, ever let go.

‘We don’t need to wait,’ she whispered, and his growl told her it was the response he most wanted.

Almost by instinct they melted silently away from the lights and into the shadowed recesses of the garden. A trellised rose arbour framed with trimmed hedges shielded them from view from the restaurant on one side, while the harbour glistened under the moonlight and the reflections of the city lights on the other. Ferries and other watercraft cut their way through the water, jostling with people heading home, going places—busy people.

But here in the scented garden there were only two.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves above, winding the sweet fragrance of roses around them. He spun her back into his arms, holding her so close she could barely breathe, and even when she did it was only to capture the scent of him, one more part of him inveigling itself into her senses.

His hands were everywhere, sliding down the length of her arms, firing up the naked skin of her back and capturing her breasts, caressing them, kneading them with an urgency that fed into her wants and needs. His hands were everywhere, and yet never anywhere enough. She angled herself closer to him and he groaned, his hands going to her hips and pulling her close against him, grinding her against his own need.

‘I want you,’ she told him, because there was no need to lie, no need to hide the truth any more. It was the truth and, besides, he’d know damn well she was lying if she told him anything else. ‘Make love to me, Alejandro. Make me come.’

He gave her no time to change her mind, even if she’d had half a mind to. He hustled her hard against the back of a timber park bench, cupping her behind with his hands, his heat like a brand on her skin, before lifting her, sitting her atop the bench. She felt the cool kiss of air as he smoothed the silk skirt of her dress up her legs. She trembled, her back arching, as his fingers neared their goal, brushing against her curls, teasing her.

‘Are you cold?’ he murmured as he nuzzled against her neck.

Far from it. She was burning up with desire, aflame with need. Then he touched her—there—and her world almost came apart. ‘Alejandro!’ she pleaded, as his fingers tested her control, her arms anchored tight around his neck, her fingers splayed desperately in his hair. ‘Now!’

His hands left her as he prepared himself for a space of time she knew to be only seconds and yet which seemed an eternity. And then he was back and butting against her, seeking entry to her very core, holding himself there as if all the waiting, all the anticipation, had distilled into this one crystal-clear moment. And it occurred to her right then and there, as he hesitated on that knife-edge, that this coupling had been as inevitable as night following day, that her fate had been sealed the moment he’d walked into her shop. It had been inevitable that she should end up back in the Spaniard’s bed.

And then with a cry, half-groan, half-victory, he was inside her.

Bliss!

That sheer bliss of the moment of joining, the feel of him inside her, filling her, stretching her. There was nothing like it in the world. It was everything she ever wanted. And then he moved, slowly withdrawing, only to fill her again, and her bliss was magnified tenfold.

She wrapped her legs around him, holding him tight to her even when he pulled back, keeping him locked in her embrace and welcoming him back inside when he returned to her, always wanting him deeper, wanting more.

And he answered her demands. He gave her deeper and he gave her more, until there was no more to give, nowhere left to go for either of them. She felt herself come apart as he pumped into her, shattering into a myriad twinkling particles that scattered on the wind and merged with the stars and the harbour lights around, before drifting slowly earthwards again.

Limp in his arms, drained of energy and her breathing ragged, she rested her head against his chest, his heartbeat thumping loud in her ears. I love you, she mouthed against his chest, as tears squeezed silently from her eyes.

She was his again, and she had never felt better, had never driven him to such heights merely by welcoming him into her body. He rested his head on hers, kissing her hair, feeling her breathing steady and calm.

Beyond their private enclave the world slowly came into focus again—the sounds of music and laughter wafting from the restaurant, the hum of harbour and city traffic. He eased himself away, supporting her while he slid her down, holding her tighter when she swayed on landing.