A Spanish Awakening (9 page)

‘W
OULD
you like to not behave with me?’

This time the invitation left no room for misinterpretation.

Megan felt vulnerable, exposed and excited all at the same time. ‘It really isn’t that simple.’ A person standing on the brink of a precipice stepped back; they did not jump—so why was every atom in her body screaming, Jump?

‘It is.’ There was no trace of uncertainty in Emilio’s voice.

But then why would there be uncertainty in his voice? This was simple for him: he felt an attraction and he acted on it. He had no moral dilemma, no trust issues, no deep fear of having his heart broken.

‘Has someone hurt you, Megan?’

His question triggered her self-protective instincts.

‘No. There are no great dramas in my life.’

He looked unconvinced by her response, but was quickly distracted. ‘Your skin is so soft,’ he said, looking at her mouth. ‘And I have dreamed of your mouth.’

She lifted her head and groaned. ‘It’s not even dark! ‘

Emilio threw back his head and laughed. The deep, attractive sound lowered the sexual temperature but the respite was brief. A moment later he was looking at her, his teeth bared in a white, wolfish grin, and the expression of
predatory intent written into every line of his lean face as he looked down at her sent the sexual temperature zooming off the chart!

‘Are you a lights-out girl?’

She was a good-book-and-a-mug-of-cocoa girl, but even had she felt inclined to confess this Megan doubted he would have believed her.

‘While I agree darkness has an allure,’ he continued in the same deep, seductive, throaty purr that made the downy hair on her neck and arms rise and the skin they covered tingle. ‘It breaks down restraints and frees up the imagination.’

Megan, whose imagination had broken free of all her own restraints, her eyes sealed to his, began to pant softly. She couldn’t seem to draw enough air into her tight, aching chest.

‘I find visual stimulus very—’

With a cry she pulled her hands out from between their bodies and clamped them over her ears, closing her eyes and yelling, ‘We weren’t talking about your sexual predilections!’

A static silence followed her outburst. Megan stood there with her eyes tight shut, knowing she had pretty much blown her I’ve-been-here-done-this-got-the-T-shirt card!

‘No, we were talking about yours.’

At the quiet but firm correction her eyes flickered open. She angled a wary look at his face and immediately felt her defences crumble as she read tenderness mingled in with the driven hunger in his lean face.

‘I would like to know what pleases you.’

The answer did not require much thought and Megan felt her knees give as the truth emerged uncensored from her lips. ‘You!’

Heat flared hot in Emilio’s eyes in response to her whispered admission.

Megan could not understand a word of the flood of liquid, passionate Spanish that flowed from his lips, but she listened raptly, observing with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension the smile of gloating male satisfaction that curved his sensually sculpted lips.

‘I don’t know what you just said, but—’

He cut her off, which was possibly just as well because Megan hadn’t the faintest idea what she wanted to say. What sort of
but
was appropriate after you’d just told a man that he virtually embodied your sexual fantasies? There was actually no virtual about it—he did!

‘I said I intend to please you,’ he promised thickly.

Megan’s heart lurched wildly further south; the liquid heat between her thighs throbbed. She never doubted for a moment that he could fulfil his promise and she couldn’t wait—it was what she wanted.

It was what she’d always wanted.

You can’t have what you want. You can just have a tiny piece of it. Will that be enough?

Megan lifted her chin and silenced the whisper of doubt in her head. You had to take a risk. Life was short and when it threw the possibility of something precious your way it would be churlish, not to mention stupid, not to grab it with both hands!

The alternative was always wondering what if? Megan didn’t want what ifs. She wanted Emilio. She wanted Emilio heavy on top of her; she wanted him inside her.

For the first time she allowed herself to look at him without trying to disguise what she was feeling. The sensation was simultaneously liberating and scary, but since when was anything that involved Emilio uncomplicated?

‘I want you so badly, Emilio, I can’t stand up.’

Megan heard the sharp intake of his breath and sighed as his long fingers slid into her silky hair. Her head fell back, the expression in her golden eyes hazed by a sheen of lust as he slid a supporting second hand into her hair and angled her face up to him.

‘You are so beautiful—that face, that body.’ Megan saw the raw hunger in his eyes and tasted for the first time some of the female power he had spoken of—it felt pretty good. She wanted to tell him it was the first time she’d felt this way, that he was the first man who—

Her eyes widened. God, she had to warn him that she hadn’t done this before it went any further, even at the risk of her confession ruining the mood. The possibility of that happening made her hold back, but only for a moment. If he had a problem with her inexperience it was better to know now, not later down the line.

Rejection later on really would be crushing. ‘Do you remember that night in the car?’ Emilio swore softly under his breath at the reintroduction of the subject.

Obviously he remembers, stupid, she told herself. He thinks it’s the event that triggered your moral downfall. ‘Well, I know that it looked—’ ‘I remember that that night I came this close …’ he interrupted, bringing his face within a whisper of hers.

Megan’s eyelids drooped. She could feel the waft of his warm breath on her skin, on her mouth. The thought of confession slipped from her head as lust and longing shuddered through her body. She stared transfixed at the fine lines around his eyes, the gold tips at the end of his otherwise ebony eyelashes. Her heart ached. He was the most breathtaking, perfect thing on the planet and he wanted her.

‘This close?’ she parroted, fighting her way through the sensual fog in her head.

‘To throttling the bastard,’ he explained matter-of-factly.

Not following this instinct had taken a large chunk of will power, but the effort had faded into insignificance beside the will power he had needed to tap into to stop himself taking Megan in his arms to comfort her.

The sight of her standing there, white-faced and shaking, looking so vulnerable and fragile, had awoken every protective instinct he had and some new ones. While she had struggled not to cry he had struggled to keep his distance.

Emilio hadn’t allowed himself to even touch her.

He couldn’t. If he had he knew it wouldn’t have stopped at comforting.

He had been tempted.
Dios,
but he had been so tempted standing there, fighting against his baser instincts, especially given the status of his relationship with his then wife playing in a loop through his head.

Little snippets of the beginning of the end of his marriage slid into his head now.

‘I understand,’ Rosanna said when she discovered he had removed his things from the room they shared.

‘And are relieved?’ he asked, genuinely curious, and taking no satisfaction from her obvious distress.

Emilio felt a lot of responsibility for what had happened. His mindset when he had entered into the marriage had not differed from how he would enter into any other contract.

With the benefit of hindsight he could see that this had been a mistake—this wasn’t any contract.

Mistake number two had been not factoring in the
emotional factor, not allowing for the possibility that, despite what she had said, Rosanna needed more than he had been prepared or able to offer.

What had happened had been inevitable.

The suggestion made his errant wife look uncomfortable. ‘I wasn’t dissatisfied with what we had. That isn’t why I slept with—’

Emilio took pity on her. ‘It’s all right, I don’t want a score out of ten, Rosanna, and I don’t want to know his name.’

‘I know you don’t. If you’d loved me you would have.’

‘I never—’

‘I know you didn’t,’ she cut in quickly.
‘He
didn’t love me either, but he said that he did, and I needed to hear that even if it was a lie,’ she admitted sadly. ‘Don’t look like that, Emilio. Don’t be sorry for me. I’m not asking you to sleep with me. I don’t expect it, and I do realise that you will need—when you do I won’t make a fuss.’

‘So you are giving me permission to have sex with other women?’

‘It’s a sensible solution.’

Cold-blooded and clinical were the words that slid unexpectedly into Emilio’s mind; they were two things that he had been accused of in the past. And mostly those accusations had been justified, so why now did settling for a dispassionate solution make him feel discontent?

Why did he think it was settling?
Settling
implied there was a better option. He knew there wasn’t—marriage was by definition flawed, at best a compromise.

‘More sensible than a divorce? ‘

She looked at him, white with anxiety under the perfect make-up he had never seen her without. ‘But you agreed we could make this work.’

‘I agreed that a divorce would be messy. I agreed that we
make better friends than lovers. I agreed that domesticity is not something I am suited to.’

‘You haven’t met anyone?’ she began tentatively. ‘Someone special?’

The idea amused him. ‘I have met no one I wish to have sex with and, even if I had, I have no desire to leap into another marriage,’ he promised, believing it.

They left it like that.

When six months passed and he had not taken up the offer of guilt-free cheating, he did pause to consider the situation. Six months was a long time and he was a man with a healthy sex drive. He recognised channelling his energies, no matter how successfully, into work was not a long-term solution to the problem.

Did his reluctance to even acknowledge a problem existed stem from the fact he still thought of sex outside marriage as
cheating?

It was not a distaste of cheating that held him in check when he looked at Megan that night and burnt with a primal need to make her his.

It was the knowledge that following through with his instincts, taking advantage of her at a moment like this would make him no better than the man he had just sent packing.

The idea filled him with repugnance; for the first time in his life he wanted more than sex. He did not want some sordid hole-in-the-corner affair; he did not want their relationship to be tarnished with his past mistakes. He knew he had to be patient.

Despite his reputation for infallibility, Emilio had made bad decisions in the past. While he did not advertise that, neither did he agonise over it; he shrugged and moved on.

But the decision he made that night to be patient had not
been one he had been able to shrug away. It had tortured Emilio for two years.

He never made the same mistake twice.

Emilio was going to make Megan Armstrong his. He was going to make her forget every man she had ever known. Determination hardened to steel inside him. The need to claim her had not lessened with time, but deepened—she was going to be his.

He ran a finger down her smooth cheek, smiling as he felt her shudder. He breathed in the fragrance of her hair and allowed the scent of apples to flood his senses.

‘I did not warm to the man,’ he explained.

Megan, deep in the sensual thrall, responded to the wry admission with a vague, ‘Who?’ The warmth of his breath on her ear lobe was sending shivers of sensation all the way down to her curling toes.

He brought his face close to hers until their noses were almost touching. ‘The clown you were fighting off in the car.’

‘I
was
fighting him off,’ she said, thinking, Kiss me, please kiss me. Every second he didn’t was sheer torture.

‘I know.’ He lifted his head fractionally and hooked a thumb under her chin, tilting her head from side to side as he studied the soft curves of her face with an expression of ferocious fascination. ‘I should have throttled him,’ he mused thickly. ‘I
really
wanted to, but not as much as I wanted to do this.’

Without warning he grabbed her bottom, his big hands curling over the feminine curves as he hauled her upwards and hard against his body, sealing them from waist to thigh.

Megan’s eyes flew wide, the breath leaving her body in
a gusty sigh as she registered the bold imprint of his rock-hard erection as it ground into the softness of her belly.

‘Oh, God!’ she groaned as a rush of liquid heat exploded inside her. ‘You wanted. That night. But you were married.’

His mouth twisted into a smile that left his dark eyes cold. ‘Do you think that a piece of paper stops a man wanting another woman? You of all people should know that isn’t so, Megan.’

She flinched at the reference. ‘So you’re saying if it did I wouldn’t exist,’ she said quietly, trying not to be shocked by his admission. Maybe some men shouldn’t get married. Especially highly sexed ones like Emilio.

He kissed her then, hard and possessively, the bruising pressure of his lips driving the breath from her lungs, his tongue probing deep into her mouth. Megan’s arms slid around his middle as she clung, kissing him back wildly, without finesse, just with a hunger that equalled his.

When he finally lifted his mouth from hers it took several seconds for her head to clear, for a tiny sliver of sanity to filter back.

‘You’re going to do that again, aren’t you?’ Not that much sanity.

He smiled, his liquid, dark, incredible eyes fastened on to her face absorbing every detail as he ran his fingers down her throat. ‘That’s up to you.’

His reply frustrated her. ‘Do I have to beg?’

No wonder he looked so smugly confident; he had to have had women begging him all his life.

God knew Megan didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost, but if she had to beg she would. Where Emilio was concerned it seemed she had no pride.