His Ultimate Prize

He leaned closer. Her heart thundered.

‘No, Sasha,’ he said hoarsely. ‘This is my default setting.’

Strong hands cupped her cheeks, held her steady. Heat-filled eyes stared into hers, their shocking intensity igniting a fire deep inside her.

Sasha held her breath, almost afraid to move in case...in case...

He fastened his mouth to hers, tumbling her into a none-too-gentle kiss that sent the blood racing through her veins. He tasted of heat and wine, of tensile strength and fiery Latin willpower. Of red-blooded passion and intoxicating pleasure. And he went straight to her head.

Sasha felt a groan rise in her throat and abruptly shut it off. She wasn’t that easy. Although right now, with Marco’s mouth wreaking insane havoc on her blood pressure, easy was deliciously tempting.

His tongue caressed hers and the groan slipped through, echoing in the dim cavern of the moving car. One hand slipped to her nape, angling her head. Although he didn’t need to. She was willingly tilting her head, all the better to deepen the pressure and pleasure of his kiss. Her mouth opened, boldly inviting him in.

His moan made her triumphant and weak at the same time. Then she lost all thought but of the bliss of the kiss.

Lost all sense of time.

Until she heard the thud of a door.

Their lips parted with a loud, sucking noise that arrowed straight to the furnace-hot apex of her thighs.

Marco stared down at her, his breath shaking out of his chest. ‘Dios,’ he muttered after several tense, disbelieving seconds.

You can say that again. Thankfully, the words didn’t materialise on her lips. Her eyes fell to his mouth, still wet from their kiss, and the heat between her legs increased a thousandfold.

Get a grip, Sasha. She reined herself in and pulled away as reality sank in. She’d kissed Marco de Cervantes—fallen into him like a drowning swimmer fell on a life raft.

‘We’re here,’ he rasped, setting her free abruptly to spear a hand through his hair.

‘Y-yes,’ she mumbled, cringing when her voice emerged low and desire-soaked.

With one last look at her, he thrust his door open and helped her out.

They entered the exclusive apartment complex in silence, travelled up to the penthouse suite in silence. Sasha made sure she placed herself as far from him as possible.

After shutting the apartment door he turned to her. Sasha held her breath, guilt rising to mix with the desire that still churned so frantically through her.

‘I have an early start—’

‘Sasha—’

Marco gestured for her to go first.

Sasha cleared her throat, keeping her gaze on his chest so he wouldn’t see the conflicting emotions in her eyes. ‘I have an early start tomorrow. So...um...goodnight.’

After a long, heavy pause, he nodded. ‘I think that’s a good idea. Buenos noches.’

All the way down the plushly carpeted hallway she felt his gaze on her. Even after she shut the door behind her his presence lingered.

Dropping her clutch bag, she traced her fingers over her lips. They still tingled, along with every inch of her body. Resting her head against the door, she sucked in a desperate breath.

One hand drifted over her midriff to her pelvis, where desire gripped her in an unbearable vice of need. A need she had every intention of denying, no matter how strong.

Wanting Marco de Cervantes was a mistake. Even if there was the remotest possibility of a relationship between them it would be over in a matter of weeks. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would also spell the end of her career.

And her experience with Derek had taught that no man—no matter how intensely charismatic, no matter how great a kisser—was worth the price of her dreams.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘COFFEE...I SMELL coffee,’ she mumbled into the pillow, the murky fog of her brain teasing her with the seductive aroma of caffeine. ‘Please, God, let there be coffee when I open my eyes.’

Carefully she cracked one eye open. Marco stood at the foot of her bed, in a dark green T-shirt and jeans, a steaming mug in his hand.

‘If I demand to know what you’re doing in my bedroom so early, will you withhold that coffee from me?’

There was no smile this morning, just an even, cool stare, but awareness drummed beneath the surface of her skin nonetheless.

‘It’s not early. It’s eight o’clock.’

With a groan, she levered herself up, braced her back against the headboard. ‘Eight o’clock is the crack of dawn, Marco.’ She held out her hand for the cup. He didn’t move. ‘Please,’ she croaked.

With an uncharacteristically jerky movement he rounded the bed and handed it to her. Sasha tried not to let her eyes linger on the taut inch of golden-tanned skin that was revealed when he stretched. Her brain couldn’t handle anything so overwhelming. Not just yet.