The Hostage Bride (7 page)

It meant remembering how his touch had felt on her skin, feeling the ache of wanting start up again in spite of her efforts to wipe it from her mind.

And his mouth was so close to hers that it was impossible not to recall the pressure of it against her own. The way it had tasted when he had kissed her so forcefully last night. Kisses that were etched on to her memory. Kisses that she longed to feel again.

‘Rico…' she managed chokingly.

She wasn't sure who moved first, whether his proud dark head lowered or her own lifted to his. Or perhaps they both moved together, both driven by the same urgent impulse, the same burning primal need that would allow no restraint.

His kiss was hard and demanding and sure. Sure of her response. Sure of his own welcome. And at first that arrogant confidence was so shocking that just for a second she fought against it, resisting the sensuous invasion of his tongue, trying to close her mouth against it.

But in the space of one, wild, unsteady heartbeat her resistance crumbled and she found herself opening to him, succumbing to the hot, melting sensation that swamped her mind, destroying all rational thought. She was only conscious of two things—this man and his strength holding her, and the heavy, honeyed pulse of need that set up at the most feminine centre of her being.

‘Felicity,
belleza
!'

It was a raw, husky murmur against her skin as his mouth left hers to press hard, forceful kisses over her face, on her cheeks, her temples, on her weakly closed lids. She let herself be hauled up against him, the rough material of his
jeans harsh against the tender skin of her legs. The tee-shirt she wore was pushed even higher, bunching around her waist, leaving her naked below.

‘I think we can dispense with this,' Rico growled, pulling it up and off her in one smooth movement. An action she did nothing to resist but instead helped him as much as she could, effecting a small, eager little wriggle that effectively freed her from the last clinging folds of the inadequate garment.

‘You too…'

Her own voice sounded as husky and shaken as his had and her fingers were unsteady as they fumbled the navy shirt free from the leather belt at his waist and pushed it aside. Every sense in her body was hungry for him, for the sight of the olive smoothness of his skin, for the feel of the strong, pulsing life of his body. All around her was the warm, clean scent of him, and as she pressed her lips to his chest, feeling the taut muscles bunch and tense under her caress, the ragged, uneven sound of his breathing was the only sound that she could hear.

‘Madre de Dios!'
he muttered thickly, his long body twisting sharply so that instead of being on top of him she was now underneath, lying on her back and being hoisted against the pillows, crushed into the yielding softness of the mattress by the dominant strength of his body.

Blindly she reached for him again, wanting to tangle her nerveless fingers in the silken black strands of his hair, draw his mouth down to hers again for another of those potent, mind-blowing kisses. But Rico had other ideas, rearing up slightly and arching away for her, deep brown eyes burning with carnal hunger as he subjected her pale, slim body to a slowly searing survey that licked over her exposed flesh with a touch of fire.

Hot, hard hands smoothed her skin, shaping every curve, every contour, arranging her just so, with her head on the
pillow, her fine blonde hair spread out all around it, her hands at her sides, her limbs straight and relaxed.

And when she was positioned exactly as he wanted her, he let his fingertips trail once more down the line of her body, making her writhe in sensual reaction beneath his touch.

‘Rico…' she gasped, his lazy, indulgent approach warring with the fiery hunger he had awakened inside her.

But Rico simply shook his dark head, his dark-eyed gaze absorbed, intent on what he was doing.

‘Wait,
gatita
,' he murmured softly. ‘Take things slowly. The pleasure will be all the greater that way.'

Easing himself down in the bed, he lifted one slender leg and pressed the heat of his mouth to her foot, kissing it unhurriedly from the tip of her curling toes to the fine bones of her ankle, and then upwards, his hands following the same movement with soft, featherlight caresses.

Felicity's protests died to a murmur of pure delight as she lay submissive to his control of the situation. She had thought it was impossible for her body to awaken any more, to become even more responsive to the feel of this man's touch, the stroke of his lips along her skin. But wherever his hands or his mouth had been her skin burned with pleasure, leaving her feeling as if she had been bathing in the heat of a brilliant sun, every cell experiencing the glorious sensation of well-being.

Her breath caught in her throat, her limp body tensing momentarily as Rico's kisses brought that tormenting mouth to within an inch of the most intimate core of her being. But still he moved slowly upwards, kissing his way over her quivering stomach, pausing momentarily to let his tongue slide around and briefly dip into the shallow dimple of her navel, and then continuing inching progress upwards.

Her breasts were subjected to the same sensual torment. Rico's mouth kissed its way infinitesimally up each soft,
curving slope before pausing at the crest to flick a warm, moist tongue around and around the pouting nipple until it hardened with desire. Only when she was gasping in wordless protest at the torture of waiting he was imposing on her did he take pity on her yearning body and capture one swollen nub, drawing it into the heat of his mouth and suckling hard.

‘Rico!'

His name was all that she was capable of as her body clenched in violent response to the savage sting of pleasure that burned its way along every nerve, pooling in a flood of liquid heat at the most intimate point between her legs.

‘Rico,
please
!'

And now it seemed that at last the inhuman patience that Rico had shown was exhausted. The whole tempo of his lovemaking changed, slow control giving way to a hungry impatience that matched and outstripped her own. Hands clumsy with desire, he fumbled with his belt, yanking the buckle open. For a moment he cursed in soft Spanish as the zip on his jeans stuck briefly, but then it was free and seconds later the last of his remaining clothing had been kicked off, discarded wildly onto the floor.

‘Now…' he rasped harshly, looking deep into her wide, dazed grey eyes. ‘Now I will love you properly.'

Above the flare of heated colour high on his cheekbones his eyes were like black coals, blazing in the firestorm of passion, burning away all restraint.

‘Now…'
he muttered again, roughly pushing her legs apart and sliding his own powerful hair-roughened limbs between them.

‘Now…' Felicity echoed, meeting and matching the hard hot force of his desire all the way.

She lifted her hips to meet the thrust of his possession, a sigh of mindless pleasure, of completion, escaping her as she felt the full force of his arousal fill her in one fierce
uncontrolled movement. But that sigh turned to wild cries of delight, small at first, but growing to a sharp crescendo as each slide and twist of his powerful body, each new refinement of the pagan throbbing pace of his lovemaking roused her to fever pitch in seconds. She was mindless, out of control, able only to follow where he led.

Her pulse was a hot, heavy pounding inside her head, her body matching its demanding rhythm as together they moved to higher, sharper peaks of pleasure. And those pleasures took them further and further into a dark heated world of passion from which there was only one escape. And in the final seconds as the waves of ecstasy broke over her Felicity clutched at the muscled strength of Rico's shoulders, clinging on to the one hard fact of reality in a world in which all that she was seemed to be splintering about her.

But then the erotic pressure inside her exploded into a blaze of whirling stars and she lost herself completely.

W
HAT
the hell had he done?

Rico woke to a rush of realisation that swamped him like a forceful tidal wave.

What in the name of God had he been thinking of? Had he lost all common sense? Had the past twenty-four hours drained every last drop of sanity from his mind?

What was he? A mature, developed adult or some hormone-driven adolescent whose every motivation originated below his waist?

Making every effort to avoid any further physical contact with the woman sleeping beside him in the bed, he turned until he was lying on his back. Pushing both hands roughly through the sleek blackness of his hair he stared up at the ceiling, his breath leaving him in a sigh of disbelief at his own foolishness.

He hadn't wanted any part of this at the beginning. Maria had made her own bed; she would have to lie in it. It was time that she learned that everyone made mistakes. And mistakes had consequences.

Everyone made mistakes!

The thought was like a dash of cold water in his face, driving away the last remaining shadows of sleep and bringing his mind fully wide awake. Uncomfortably so. Suddenly too restless to lie still any more, he flung back the quilt and got out of bed. Snatching up his jeans and underwear from where they lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, he pulled them on swiftly, still yanking up the zip as he moved to stare out of the window at the far side of the room.

Wasn't what he had just done every bit as much of a mistake as Maria's unthinking behaviour had been? And what in the name of heaven was he going to do if
his
mistake resulted in the same sort of consequences as his half-sister's had?

‘You fool!' he berated himself out loud, slamming one hand hard against the wall in a gesture of impotent fury. ‘You damn, stupid fool!'

Some unexpected sound penetrated the deep, drugging sleep into which sheer exhaustion had finally driven Felicity, making her stir slightly in the bed, frowning faintly in confusion.

Even before her eyes opened she became aware of the space beside her, the cooling sheets where the last time she had been capable of any sort of conscious thought there had been the hard, warm strength of a very male body.

Rico's body.

Reality flooded back with a shock that jerked her upright, blonde hair wildly tousled, grey eyes clouded with shocked despair at the situation in which she found herself.

Oh,
what
had she done! How could she possibly have let this happen? How could the situation have got so completely out of hand? How could she…

‘Good afternoon, Señorita Hamilton.'

The quiet voice, edged with a note she couldn't interpret, came from by the window, bringing her head round in a rush. The sun was so brilliant that she had to narrow her eyes, squinting slightly, before she could make out exactly where he was, but even then he was still just a dark silhouette etched against it.

‘Is it really that late?'

She didn't really need to ask. The light that poured into the room, casting a shadow of Rico's tall, lean body across the rich blue carpet was so very different from the one that had woken her earlier that day.

‘Late enough,' he returned laconically. ‘We were—occupied for quite some time.'

The reminder stung, making hot colour suffuse her whole body at the memory of just how ‘occupied' they had been. That first wild coming together had only satisfied them both for a short time. It hadn't been long before the shuddering aftershocks of passion had subsided into a languid peace, a peace that had soon been broken by the slow dawning of a new phase of desire. And in the space of a couple of heartbeats the hunger had gripped them again, making them reach for each other in mutual need.

‘I—fell asleep…' she managed shakily, lifting a faintly unsteady hand to sweep back the tangle of blonde hair that had fallen forward over her eyes. She regretted the action immediately as the brush of her arm against her breast brought home to her that she was still as completely naked as the moment she had fallen asleep in Rico's arms.

Instinctively she clutched at the bedclothes, wanting to pull them up over her exposed body, but just at that moment Rico moved out of the direct path of the sunlight. For the first time she could see his face clearly and the expression of burning scorn deep in the dark eyes froze her actions.

She could almost read his mind, hear the cynical comment that it was way too late for any degree of modesty clearly forming on his lips. She would do anything rather than give him the opportunity to use it, she told herself, fierce pride forcing her to regard him from behind a mask of cold indifference that she prayed he would see as genuine.

‘You look as bad as I feel,' he declared roughly, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and standing, bare feet planted firmly apart, shoulders slightly hunched, exactly halfway between her and the door. ‘Very definitely
the morning after the night before, except that in our case it should really be the afternoon after the morning before.'

‘Is that a polite way of trying to tell me that this shouldn't have happened?'

To her intense relief some of the control she was imposing over her body had its effect on her voice as well. She sounded every bit as cool and indifferent as she would have wished.

‘We both know it shouldn't have happened.'

If she had been cool, then Rico was positively glacial.

‘This was a mistake from start to finish and one I have no intention of repeating.'

‘I don't remember offering you the opportunity to do so!' Felicity retorted tartly. ‘I regret what happened every bit as much as—'

‘Oh, I never said I
regretted
it,' Rico inserted smoothly, stopping her dead. ‘There's not a man alive who could ever regret an experience like that.'

The ebony gazed dropped to the bed, surveying the crumpled disorder of the sheet and duvet for a long second before it flicked back up to her stunned face. And the look in those brilliant dark eyes made her skin veer from burning heat to icy cold and back again in the space of a second, making her feel as if she was in the grip of an unpleasant fever.

‘But it complicates things unnecessarily, and that is something I can do without.'

‘Complicates…?'

It was all Felicity could manage, her thoughts reeling in shock. Was that all she was to him? A complication? It was shocking how much it hurt.

‘Oh, of course!' she murmured bitterly. ‘You wouldn't want to mess up your clever little plan with something as untidy as feelings.'

‘Feelings?' Rico sounded as if he didn't even understand what the word meant. ‘Who brought feelings into this?'

‘Well, not you, that's for sure!'

She wouldn't—couldn't—let him see what he was doing to her. She mustn't let him see how every word he spoke stabbed further into her feelings, slicing them into tiny, bleeding pieces. And the worst thing was that she couldn't see why it should hurt quite so much.

After all, Rico was nothing to her—he was little more than a stranger. A man she had only known for barely twenty-four hours. A man who had already proved himself capable of taking a cold-blooded revenge on someone he hated, for whatever reason, and had been prepared to use her as part of that plan. She knew what he was like so this new evidence of his callous heartlessness should not have come as such a shock. She should have expected it all along, armoured her feelings against it.

But somehow she couldn't even convince herself that it was that simple.

‘And not me,' she continued, the turmoil of feelings deep inside adding an extra bite to her words. ‘Men aren't the only ones who can enjoy sex for its own sake—for just the simple pleasure of it.'

He flinched. He actually flinched, just for a second, as if in distaste at her words. The hypocrisy of his reaction incensed her further, fury driving all thoughts of caution from her mind.

‘Does that shock you? Oh, come now, darling…'

She'd never thought of herself as an actress but somehow she dragged up enough strength to perform the role she'd set herself with something close to conviction. Her chin came up determinedly, grey eyes flashing defiance, and her voice dripped acid as she goaded him deliberately.

‘Have you never heard the saying that what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander? This is the twenty-first
century, after all. Women have been liberated for decades and we enjoy all the same freedoms that you men have. The double standard is dead and gone and if you don't like it, well—tough.'

‘And why should I not like it?' Rico demanded, cutting her off in mid flow. ‘If you must know, it suits me fine that you feel that way. At least now I know that I'm not likely to be troubled by any unwanted emotions on your part. That when this is over we can go our separate ways without a second thought.'

And he wouldn't have to live with the reproaches of an uncomfortable conscience. Maria had warned him that this woman was no angel, but a calculating opportunist who had seen marrying Edward Venables as the quick route to a fortune and a place in society. And hadn't his own investigator said much the same in the reports he had submitted? Reports that detailed this Felicity's regular trips to a seedy night-club where she spent long, probably drunken evenings, never emerging until the early hours of the following morning.

He had let himself forget about those evenings when he had been at the mercy of his clamouring sex, but he knew differently now. Felicity's outburst had taught him how wrong he had been to let himself be blinded by a beautiful face, distracted by the undeniable charms of her body. It was a lesson he had needed, but one he would now never forget.

‘After all, we're both adults.'

‘Of course.'

Felicity's throat ached from the effort she was making to keep her voice even and firm. She was painfully aware of the fact that the rigid control she needed made it sound even harder and more brittle than ever. But the way she felt inside was in complete contrast to the way she sounded. She couldn't stay in bed like this. It made her feel too
defenceless and vulnerable sitting there while Rico towered over her, big and dark and infinitely disturbing. Defenceless enough to actually be prepared to expose herself to his cold-eyed scrutiny when she forced herself to fling back the covers and stand up.

‘We're both grown up and understand that sometimes sex can do some very strange things to otherwise reasonably intelligent people.'

Spotting the white tee-shirt that Rico had stripped from her body with such impatience—a lifetime ago, it seemed—she stalked over to where it lay on the floor and picked it up. Much as she longed to huddle herself into it in a frantic rush, she forced herself to take her time, knowing that any haste would not escape those coolly observant brown eyes and would be interpreted as a sign of the weakness she couldn't afford to show.

With the protective barrier of the soft cotton between herself and the burning dark gaze, she felt stronger, more confident. So much so that she even managed to flash a coolly supercilious smile in the direction of Rico's darkly brooding face.

‘It can push you into the arms of the most unsuitable people, drive you wild with passion for someone that you hate the sight of when you wake up again the next morning. We've all had one-night stands that we're embarrassed by afterwards.'

At least she assumed that he had. The only experience she had to go on was one sweet, almost childlike relationship that had had a terrible ending. She had never had a one-night stand with anyone in her life.

‘How very mature of you to see it that way.'

Rico's tone implied the exact opposite of his words.

‘So is that what we've had—a one-night stand?' he continued.

‘Near enough—except that in our case, I suppose, strictly
speaking it was a one-morning stand, but we won't quibble about words.'

‘Of course not.' The black cynicism of his tone made her wince. ‘And I presume that as mature adults we now forget that it ever happened?'

Oh, if only they could! If only it
had
never happened!

‘I think that would be best,' she said instead.

Forget! Rico almost laughed out loud. He had as much chance of not remembering the morning he'd just spent as of forgetting his own name. And even if his mind tried to push away thoughts of the heated lovemaking, the intense pleasure, his body refused to follow suit. He might have thought that once Felicity was dressed, if only in the skimpily inadequate tee-shirt, then it would be easier to drive the recollection of that glorious body from his mind. But instead it made matters worse.

Every movement she made tugged the soft material against the curves he had caressed only so recently. Even though it had been made in his size, and there was much more room for her slender figure than there had ever been for his bulkier frame, the shirt still revealed expanses of the soft creamy flesh on which he had planted so many heated kisses during the long, passion-filled morning. And there was something almost shockingly intimate about the realisation that she was wearing something that only days before had covered his own flesh. His body clenched with hunger just at the thought.

‘So we carry on as before?' he asked.

‘I think that would be best…'

Her smile was brief, tight, and blatantly insincere.

What would be best
for him
was that he should grab her, swing her up into his arms as he had the day before, carry her over to that bed and strip that sexy piece of nothing she was wearing from her…

Dios!
No! Wrenching his thoughts back under control,
he switched on a smile that matched hers for hypocrisy. He'd never been rejected by a woman in quite this way before—in fact, he'd never been rejected at all, full stop. It was an experience he wasn't enjoying and the feeling made him want to lash out, at least verbally.