His gaze swooped up again, lingering on the dark shadow of her cleavage, so deep and lovely. He longed to lose himself in it, to bury his tongue and more besides in its warm, clinging silkiness. But it wasn’t just her beauty that bewitched him. He needed her. He had never needed anyone in his life before—he’d made sure of it. But Zoë was different—he was different when he was with her, and perhaps that was the most important thing of all.
He watched as she freed the tiny thong and inched it down over her thighs. Had he ever been so aroused? Clamouring sensations gnawed at his control, but he held back. Her trust was too hard won to risk now. How could anyone have abused her? Her skin was as soft and as fragile as the silk upon which she lay. Her eyes were darkening with growing confidence and her lips were parted in invitation. As their eyes locked and she reaffirmed her faith in him, he knew he would defend her with his life.
‘Rico…’
As she breathed his name he remembered wryly that foreplay was intended to be an aphrodisiac, not a torture.
He went to pull off the rest of his clothes, but she stopped him. He drew in a deep shuddering breath. He would stop even now if she asked him to.
Scrambling into a sitting position, she touched the belt buckle on his trousers. ‘You’ll have to help me—my hands are shaking.’
Taking both her hands in his, he kissed each one of her fingertips in turn and then, turning her hands over, planted a tender kiss on each palm.
When Rico finally stood naked before her, Zoë’s breath caught in her throat. He was totally unabashed, his dark gaze steady on her face. A lasso of moonlight fell across him, showing the power in his forearms and the wide spread of shoulders. She saw now that his broad chest was shaded with dark hair that tapered down to a hard belly, below which…
She stared into his face, waiting for him to come to her.
Her perfume was intoxicating, drawing him towards her. He stretched his length against her on the bed, not touching her, still holding back. Inhaling deeply, he stroked her thick, silky hair, sifting it through his fingers and enjoying the texture. He loved the way she quivered beneath his touch, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, her breathing nothing more than whispery puffs.
‘Rico—’
He kissed her lightly on the lips.
‘Kiss me properly.’
‘Properly? What do you mean?’ His restraint was making her bloom beneath him like a flower that had been too long out of the sun. Her breasts, two perfect globes, were thrust towards him, and her nipples, cruelly neglected, were almost painfully erect. The soft swell of her belly led his gaze down to where she was aching for his attention. Cupping her breasts, he made her gasp. And that gasp soon turned to a whimper as he began to chafe each perfect nipple with his firm thumb pads.
The pleasure was so intense it was almost a pain. He had forgotten how exquisite she was, how sweetly scented, how tender she felt beneath his lips. As he suckled and tugged, and heard her cry out his name, he knew that all he wanted in the world was to keep her safe and love her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS so pleasurable, so seductive and intoxicating, fear never entered her head. Zoë wanted to beg Rico to hurry when his firm touch reached her thighs. She had never been so aroused. She cried out with pleasure when his searching fingers finally moved between her legs, and then she begged him not to stop.
Reaching for him, she found she needed two hands to properly encompass him, and he groaned softly beneath her questing fingers until at last she was forced to lift her hands away. Dropping a kiss on her lips, he probed deeply with his tongue, and she pressed against him, searching for the firmer contact she needed so badly.
‘Not yet—be patient, querida…’
Lifting Zoë’s arms above her head, Rico drew her underneath him. As one powerful thigh moved between her legs she shuddered with desire.
‘Open your eyes, and look at me, Zoë.’
It was the most exquisite pleasure Zoë had ever known, and the warm, insistent pressure took her to a place where she could only breathe and feel. And then he caught the tip inside her, and it was she who swarmed down the bed to take him deeper. It was so easy, so right, there wasn’t a moment of fear or the hint of a painful spasm to wipe out that pleasure.
The pain she had always felt before had been caused by fear, Zoë realised. She wasn’t frigid at all. She was just a normal woman who had been waiting for a normal man. And all she wanted now was that Rico took full possession of her body and filled her completely.
She loved this new sensation, the stretching, filling, pulsing. They started moving together, oblivious to the hungry sounds that escaped their lips, moving firmly until Zoë’s fingers bit into the firm flesh of Rico’s shoulders and she gave herself up completely to pleasure.
He held her in his arms, stroking her until she was quiet again, and then turned her so that now she was on top of him, straddling him, her legs widely parted. Sweeping the curve of her buttocks with a feathery touch, he tantalised her until she squirmed with delight and longed for him to drag her to him, plunge his tongue deep into the warm secret places of her mouth. But he had more skill than that, and made her wait until she was intoxicated by the raw power burning beneath her.
Feeling the insistent pressure of Rico’s erection, Zoë took him deep inside her until she was completely filled. Then she began to move slowly, backwards and forwards, until she felt him take over. Throwing back her head, she closed her eyes, losing herself in sensation while he claimed her breasts, agitating her nipples between thumb and finger until she groaned out her pleasure and begged him for more. He turned her again, bringing her beneath him and using a few firm thrusts to bring on an electrifying climax that went on endlessly until she fell back panting on the bed.
Every part of her was glowing pink in the stunning aftermath of pleasure, Zoë realised, laughing softly with happiness. She had not thought it possible that a man could give himself to a woman so unselfishly. The expression on Rico’s face was a fierce mix of passion and tenderness. It made her want him more than ever. She wanted to be the only woman who could put that expression on his face. She wanted his warmth and his strength curled around her for ever. She wanted everything.
As she murmured his name and reached out to him he dragged her close. His drugging kisses, the seductive touch of his hard body was more tantalising than anything she had ever imagined. He knew how to play her, to gently tease her and build her confidence. It was as if they had all the time in the world, and he meant to devote every moment of that time to pleasing her.
His hands were skilled, the look in his eyes commanding. He could order her to new heights of pleasure and she would obey at once. As she enjoyed his warm musky scent, laced with cinnamon and juniper, she felt as if her bones had turned to molten liquid. Her legs moved restlessly on the bed, seeking a cool place and then wrapping around him so he could be in no doubt as to what she wanted.
A great pulse was throbbing between her legs, and yet still he toyed with her, teasing and tempting until she could think of nothing but his firm touch. He must thrust inside her again to the hilt, stretching her wide— ‘Please, Rico!’
‘So you have not had enough yet?’ He sounded pleased.
‘Not nearly enough.’ She didn’t care what he thought of her; all she knew was her need for him. ‘Please.’
Rico looked at Zoë, writhing beneath him. More pleasure could be gained by testing themselves to the limit. She must wait. He moved now with an agonising lack of speed, holding away from her until at last he consented to catch just inside her.
Her eyes shot open. ‘How can you tease me now?’
‘Easily.’ He smiled. When she gasped with delight, he slowly brushed the velvet tip against her. ‘Is this what you want, Zoë?’ He slipped one controlling hand beneath her buttocks.
‘You know it is.’
‘More than anything?’ But she didn’t hear him now. Her mind was closed to anything as demanding as speech. She only
wanted to feel, and be lost in his arms.
It was late by the time Rico took Zoë back to the castle. He still had work to do, and so did she. The sat in the Jeep like two teenagers who had just discovered each other. They kissed and touched as if every moment might be their last.
Parting from Rico was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, Zoë realised as she climbed out of the Jeep and shut the door. She stood motionless in the courtyard until he had driven away, disappeared from sight, and she couldn’t even hear the noise of the engine.
But as she turned she felt as if she was walking six feet off the ground. It was as if the world around her had suddenly come into sharp focus and she had only been viewing it through a veil before. So this is what happiness feels like, she thought as she turned her face up to the sky.
Hurrying inside, Zoë couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She didn’t try. She didn’t care if the whole world knew about her and Rico. This was love.
There were five Louis Vuitton suitcases lined up neatly at the end of her bed. Frowning as she dipped down to read the labels, Zoë pulled her hand away as the door swung open behind her.
‘Can I help you?’
The voice was young and supercilious. High-pitched. The slight accent suggested she was Spanish.
And very beautiful, Zoë discovered when she turned around. Dressed all in red, the young woman was slender, and shorter than Zoë. The tailoring was Chanel, Zoë guessed from the buttons on her suit jacket, and her glossy black hair was arranged high on her head in an immaculate chignon.
She made Zoë felt scruffy in comparison—scruffy and apprehensive. Her heart was thudding heavily in her chest as she tried not to let her imagination get the better of her. She hadn’t a clue who the woman could be. They certainly didn’t know each other. This was Rico’s castle, yet she seemed perfectly at home. Her mouth was pursed with disapproval, and she was doing a good job of making Zoë feel like the intruder. Zoë was conscious of her own tangled hair, still damp from Rico’s shower. Her face had to be glowing from the aftermath of so much lovemaking, and she knew she was under close inspection.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I always stay here,’ the young woman said confidently. Crossing to the window, she threw it wide open. She fanned herself theatrically and inhaled deeply, as if its previous occupant had somehow polluted the room.
‘I’m sorry—have we met?’ Walking up to her, Zoë extended a hand in greeting.
‘I’m sure we haven’t.’
Dark, cold eyes bored into Zoë’s. Fingertips were proffered reluctantly. They were cold too.
‘Beba Longoria.’
Zoë couldn’t have been more shocked, but she hid it as best she could. The Beba? This woman looked nothing like the voluptuous young girl in the poster at the mountain hut. Success had stripped away her bloom, replacing it with an edgy tension. Maybe that was a result of having to defend her position against a constant stream of younger rivals. Yet Maria had remained unchanged…
Zoë pulled herself round with difficulty. ‘I’m Zoë Chapman.’
‘Ah, so you are Zoë Chapman. I hardly recognised you. You look quite different from the way you appear on television—much older.’
Touché, Zoë thought grimly. She tensed as Beba tossed her handbag onto the bed. The sight of the shiny red pouch clipping the edge of her pillows was the last straw. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had all your things brought in here—someone should have told you I’m using this room. But don’t worry. I’ll have them transferred.’
‘Transferred? What are you talking about?’
‘To one of the spare rooms.’ Zoë smiled helpfully.
‘You clearly don’t know who I am.’
‘I’ve seen your poster at the mountain hut—’
‘Then Rico must have told you.’
‘Rico?’ Zoë’s confident expression faltered. Inwardly she was in crisis. But she had to try not to jump to conclusions. Rico had brothers and sisters. Beba might be one of them. Longoria could be her married name.
‘Alarico Cortes? You do know who I’m talking about?’
‘Of course I know him.’
‘I see.’ One perfectly groomed brow lifted as Beba stared at Zoë thoughtfully, and Zoë realised her hasty response had given away too much. She was on the back foot, cheeks blazing, when it should have been Beba feeling the heat.
‘There’s an understanding between us.’ Beba’s voice had dropped to a confidential level, as if she was trying to drop a bomb lightly on Zoë’s head. ‘Rico and I have been together since we were children. I’m surprised he didn’t mention you to me—but then I suppose he can’t be expected to remember every woman he meets.’
Turning away, she checked her hair in the dressing-table mirror, picking up Zoë’s hand mirror to look at the back.
Zoë could feel the hostile black eyes spying on her through the mirror. But she was determined to hold herself together. ‘There’s obviously been a mistake.’ She shrugged, and kept it pleasant. ‘You see, I have taken a lease on the castle, and I’m using this suite of rooms during my tenancy. As you haven’t unpacked yet, I’ll just call down and have one of the crew come up and help you move to another room—’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘I don’t want to cause you any inconvenience.’ Zoë’s anger propelled her into action. She was already freeing the handle on the top of one of Beba’s suitcases when she spoke again. ‘So of course you are welcome to stay at the castle until you find alternative accommodation.’
‘Rico will hear about this!’
‘I’m afraid he has no legal rights over the castle until my lease expires. I doubt he can help you.’
‘Alarico Cortes wields more power than you could ever understand.’ Beba’s face was twisted in an ugly mask as she snatched up her handbag from the bed. ‘When he hears that I have been insulted—’
‘He’ll what?’
‘Throw you onto the street!’
As Beba swept out of the room Zoë sank down on the bed. Her heart was thundering, but her mind was mercifully empty. She was numb with shock. All she was aware of was the click-clack of heels rattling away down the landing towards the main staircase.
When it was silent again, Zoë found she was shuddering uncontrollably. Burying her face in her hands, she drew her feet up on the bed and curled herself into a tight, defensive ball. Had Rico known about this when they were in bed together? Would Beba have dared to march into the castle and throw her weight around unless they were an item, as she said? Rico had never mentioned another woman. But a man like Rico Cortes with no woman in his life? She really had been living in a dream world!
Was she the type of companion El Señor Alarico Cortes de Aragon would take to the court of the King of Spain? Or would he take Beba—glamorous flamenco star? It was a stark choice between a cook with red hands and wild hair, or someone perfectly groomed, someone fragrant and dainty, with long, manicured fingernails and a musical laugh. She was quite certain Beba had a musical laugh.
Zoë reached for the phone and punched in some numbers. Rico’s butler told her Señor Cortes was still out on business. No, he didn’t know when he would be back. When pressed, the man admitted Señor Cortes was expected to return before a dinner appointment out, later that evening.
Later that evening! She couldn’t wait until later that evening. She had to see him now—speak to him right away—resolve all this. There had to be an explanation.
Rico hadn’t mentioned any plans for them, Zoë realised as she cut the line. It had never crossed her mind to ask when they would see each other again—she had taken it for granted. She felt sick, faint. She wanted this to be a nightmare. Because if it wasn’t, she was on her way to making a fool of herself for the second time in her life.
She couldn’t do anything yet, and it was far better to be busy than to brood, Zoë thought, wheeling the last of Beba’s suitcases out of her room. She was hot all over again with the effort of l
ugging five overweight suitcases into position. She had showered and changed into fresh clothes right after Beba left, and now she would have to shower again, and dry and brush her hair until it shone. She had no intention of wearing her heartbreak on her sleeve. Life went on, with or without Rico Cortes. She was just glad to have a job to pour her energies into, as well as people who relied on her to take the helm.
This time when Zoë left her room she locked the door—something she hadn’t felt the need to do since she’d moved into the castle. Hurrying downstairs, she found the team busy working on something in the Great Hall.
Philip swung round when he heard her.
‘What’s going on?’ Zoë could see he was in one of his excitable moods. ‘Well, are you going to tell me?’ she said, smiling at him as she watched him picking his way over some camera cables.
‘Cazulas is one incredible place, Zoë. You won’t believe who has turned up now.’
Oh, yes, she would! ‘Try me.’
‘Only Beba! The best flamenco dancer in all of Spain.’
‘Maria is the best flamenco dancer in all of Spain.’
‘You know this Beba chick?’
‘I’ve heard of her.’
‘Well, you could sound a little more excited.’
‘We haven’t discussed another feature, Philip,’ Zoë said, frowning as she realised what he planned to do.
‘What about replacing that footage we didn’t like? It’s too good an opportunity to miss. Come on, Zoë. We could make this the last and best show of the series.’
He was right. ‘So what’s the angle? We already have the best flamenco dancer in Spain. That’s how we billed Maria.’
‘Beba appeals to the youngsters. She’s like a pop star in the Latin world. We’re talking glamour, we’re talking riches, we’re talking one sassy lady.’
Mediterranean Men Bundle Page 45