The Latin Lover

by Lucy Monroe

  ‘How would you like it?’ he asked, unbuttoning his shirt as he joined her on the terrace, pulling off his shirt and exposing that olive expanse of chest she loved so well. ‘Or maybe I should ask where?’

  ‘Right here,’ she heard herself say. ‘On the terrace.’ She yanked off her top, letting her unrestrained breasts fall free, feeding on the flames she saw flare in his eyes as she walked towards him. He thought she was going to kiss him, but instead she surprised him by dropping to her knees. Her hands went to his belt, feeding the leather through the straps, while his hands seared her back, radiating his need like a brand.

  ‘Leah,’ he groaned, as she unleashed him into her hands, took his silk-coated shaft between her lips and told him how much she loved him without uttering a single word…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘CRISTO!’

  Leah walked out of the bathroom the next morning to see Alejandro wrenching off a newly laundered shirt.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he insisted, ‘that Housekeeping can’t fix.’

  She picked up the shirt, brushing the fabric smooth, noticing the problem immediately. ‘You’ve lost a button.’

  He was already picking up the phone, jabbing at a button. ‘I haven’t lost anything. I’ll get somebody to take care of it.’

  ‘I can fix this,’ she said, cutting the connection with her finger on the cradle before anyone could pick up.

  He glared down at her, all bare-chested Spanish indignation. ‘I need a shirt. With all the buttons intact. In two minutes or less.’

  ‘You could have had more time,’ she said innocently, ‘if you hadn’t insisted on accosting me in the shower when you knew time was already short.’

  He took a playful swipe at her and growled. ‘Time was the only short thing going,’ he said, and she laughed, dodging around him as she reached for her bag and the tiny sewing kit she carried with her everywhere.

  The needle was threaded, the button sewn on, secured, and ends snipped in less than thirty seconds. ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Try that on for size.’

  He frowned, his brows tugging together as he considered the shirt, the look in his eyes strangely confused.

  ‘You did that for me?’

  She gave a nervous laugh. What was the big deal? ‘It was just a button.’

  Was it? He mumbled his thanks as he took the shirt, slipping it over his shoulders and turning away from her as he buttoned it up, wondering what it was that was bothering him. The visual of her fingers sending the needle flashing through the fabric with such precision was still vivid in his mind.

  People didn’t do things for him. Not really. People were paid to do things for him. It was the way things worked. It was the way he liked it. It was the way he’d got Leah back in his bed when she’d made it clear it was the last place she wanted to be.

  Given her enthusiasm for the activities of the last few nights, he wasn’t so sure about that any more. But considering what he had to do to her tomorrow, before he left for Spain, he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with her doing things for him now.

  Just a button? He wasn’t entirely sure.

  It was scarily light for five-thirty in the morning, the early sun already warm on the terrace, the birds loud in the trees and the breeze nothing more than a promise. And now the deal was all but stitched up, with Caloundra set to become the first foray into Australasia by the Casino de Diamante group. It had been a productive few days.

  Alejandro stretched in the morning air, and his gaze strayed towards the bed where she lay still sleeping, half covered by a sheet, her hair streaming across her pillow.

  Not to mention a productive few nights.

  But last night had been their last.

  There was time, he knew, to have her again before they needed to have breakfast and meet the launch that was taking his team on a tour up the coast. There was time to take her in his arms and bury himself in her welcoming depths. Time to forget what he was going to have to do.

  But his gut churned, twisting itself into knots, clamping down so tight he could barely breathe. He turned away from the bed—away from her—and leaned against the railing, trying to force air into lungs there was suddenly no space for in his chest.

  This was what he wanted, what he had planned. He had her right where he wanted her. She owed him. She was his for the taking.

  And for the discarding.

  It was no more than she deserved. She’d walked out on him, chosen a life scraping together an existence with a sewing machine over a life of luxury with him. It made no sense to him, but if that was what she preferred then he would happily send her back there.

  He pushed himself off the railing and paced the terrace, looking for answers in the push-pull of the ocean’s edge below. If only he had more time. But there was no time. He had to return to Spain. He’d been away from the business long enough as it was. And he could hardly return to Madrid with Leah and risk her pulling a similar stunt again. What was to stop her, when he didn’t know what it was that had driven her away in the first place?

  He had no choice. He had to get in first.

  And then he could return home, the slate wiped clean, justice having been done.

  Maybe he needed that wife after all. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. A wife would get both Catalina and his father off his back, and would have the bonus of taking his mind off Leah. Francesca de la Renta was pretty enough to provide a distraction. It would be no chore to introduce her to the delights of the bedroom. Maybe in time she might even become as adventurous and provocative as the woman in his bed. Maybe she might surprise him.

  ‘Alejandro?’

  He turned at the husky early-morning voice to see her watching him, her sleepy eyes blinking against the light, her breasts swaying enticingly, an invitation in stereo.

  ‘What are you doing up so early?’

  ‘Just thinking.’

  She patted the empty space alongside her. ‘Come back to bed. You can think here.’

  That was the trouble. He couldn’t think in bed. Not once Leah was in his arms, blinding him to everything else, blanking out his mind to logic and reason and reducing him to lust. But it was their last morning, and the last thing he needed was to alert her that anything was wrong. So he went, sliding between the sheets and stretching out an arm under her head.

  She nestled into his shoulder and settled her body in close to his, one leg over his thigh and resting between his, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath and sighed, pressing her lips to his throat. ‘You smell good.’

  Did he? He gazed up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the turmoil going on in his gut. He’d played his hand well. She wasn’t merely his mistress any more. She was playful and affectionate, and now she was even doing things for him. Thoughtful things like sewing on buttons. She wouldn’t have any idea that he was about to pull the rug right out from under her feet.

  It was perfect.

  So why did he feel so bad?

  The sleek launch was waiting at the end of the Diamond Head jetty, its deck crowded with the smiling Spanish team, their white teeth flashing in the sun at the prospect of a wind-down day after the hectic negotiations and plans of the last few days and before, for some of them, the long flight home.

  The waiting staff moved between them, offering sparkling water and nibbles as the crew prepared the launch for departure. And Catalina was there among them, dark glasses hiding her eyes, but failing to disguise the smirk that adorned her red lips when Alejandro swung Leah on board.

  ‘Planning to enjoy your last day, Leah?’ she enquired, all saccharine sweetness.

  Alejandro shot his sister a look that told her to shut up, and, while Leah smiled, he could see the tightness around her eyes and mouth. ‘Hello, Catalina. I’ve been looking forward to it.’

  Catalina’s smile widened measurably. ‘I’m sure Alejandro is going to get a big kick out of it. We all will.’

  He took a warning step closer. ‘Cata
lina!’

  She backed away, one hand held upright, long acrylic tips spearing the air. ‘I’m sorry, Alejandro. You must excuse my enthusiasm. It’s just I’ve been so looking forward to this day.’

  And suddenly he didn’t want his last day with Leah to be filled with his sister’s poison. He’d brought Leah here to pay her back for what she’d done to him. It had nothing to do with his sister.

  He grabbed the arm of a passing waiter. ‘Where’s the skipper?’

  Ten minutes later they were standing on the jetty, watching the launch disappear through the heads.

  ‘What was that all about?’ she asked. ‘I thought we were going with them?’

  ‘I had a better idea. Come with me.’

  On the other side of the jetty bobbed a small dinghy the crew had organised, with a cooler and other gear stashed under cover. He stepped in, bracing his feet wide, and held out his hand. ‘Come on—but watch out. It’s not as stable as the launch.’

  ‘You want me to get in that?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Where’s the engine?’

  ‘You’re looking at him.’

  ‘You row?’

  He put his hands to his chest. ‘You mortally wound me. Did you not realise I was in a crew that won a rowing blue at university?’

  ‘No,’ she said, and paused. ‘No, you never told me that.’ But then he’d never told her anything of his past, of his growing up or his life before taking over the reins at Casino de Diamante. He’d never given her so much as a glimpse of the boy who’d become a man.

  She took his hand, feeling his confidence as his strong fingers wrapped around her own, and stepped down into the dinghy, sitting on the bench at the back of the boat. He untied and pushed away from the jetty, sitting down opposite her and fixing the oars in the gates. He certainly looked as if he knew what he was doing.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Across the passage to the island. I hear the beaches there are the best.’

  She looked over his shoulder. ‘That must be five hundred metres away at least.’

  He just smiled and started to row. ‘At least.’

  The dinghy cut through the water to the sound of the gates creaking, the slap of the blades on the water and the cry of seabirds whirling overhead. It was beautiful on the water, the boat gently rocking over the swell as they left the land and the city behind, but nothing was more beautiful than the view she now enjoyed.

  The wind in his black hair, he was smiling. His eyes were obscured by sunglasses, but he was watching her watching him as he worked the oars, his arms out wide, his rolled-up cuffs flapping as he planted the blades into the water and drove them forward. A slice of olive-skinned chest tantalised, giving her a hint of the muscles working beneath, and she could tell the amount of pressure he was applying so seemingly effortlessly by the cording of his forearms as he powered the boat through the water. Beauty and strength. It was a heady combination—especially now, with that smile that warmed her to her toes.

  ‘Where did you go to university?’

  ‘Oxford.’

  ‘What did you study?’

  ‘International Law and Economics.’

  ‘Did you like it?’

  ‘Why so many questions?’ He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder, not bothering to let her answer. ‘You see that small sandy beach over there?’

  She looked around him and found the spot he was talking about amidst the scrub. ‘I see it.’

  ‘That’s where we’re heading. It’s your job to keep me on course.’

  ‘Ha! Like anyone could ever give you directions.’

  He laughed, his concentration lapsing, and one blade didn’t dig in deep enough, catching the surface and showering her with spray. She squealed, the water ice-cold on her skin after she’d been sitting in the sun. ‘You did that on purpose!’

  He grinned. ‘Then don’t give me any cheek.’

  She raised one hand to her forehead in a salute. ‘Aye-aye, Skipper.’

  They made it across, due more to his rowing abilities than her navigation skills, pulling the boat up on the sandy shore and tying it to a tree trunk.

  ‘What now?’ she asked, as he hauled the picnic basket and beach gear out of their stowage.

  ‘Now we walk.’

  The scrub closed in around them, a narrow sandy path taking them through ferns and shadowed bush. Butterflies flitted across the path in front of them, and tiny birds darted from tree to tree. Over the gentle sounds of the scrub was overlaid the distant roar of the nearing ocean. There was a small rise, a sandy dune, and then they were there at the top, the Pacific Ocean rolling in to shore before them in an ever-changing display of white foam.

  To the right there was nothing but an endless stretch of sand and surf, curving into the distance. To the left more pristine beach stretched to the northernmost tip of the island, with the mainland jutting out in a headland just beyond. The air was clean and fresh and she just wanted to drink it in. And the best thing of all was that there was absolutely nobody else there.

  ‘It’s magic!’

  And she wasn’t only talking about the view. Something was different today. Something had changed on some indefinable level, and Alejandro was suddenly more relaxed towards her than he’d ever been—certainly since he’d walked back into her life barely a week ago. For today there was no sign of the ruthless businessman who’d demanded her return to his bed in exchange for paying off her brother’s debts. And while logic told her that it could just be his relief after a few intense days of negotiations and contracts that the casino deal was coming together, inexplicably, illogically, she wanted to believe there was more.

  He smiled at her and took her hand. ‘Come on.’ They jumped down onto the beach, shrugging off their sandals and digging their toes into the warm white sand. They walked a short way down the beach until they found a grassy spot at the edge of the bush, sheltered from the sun, where he spread out a picnic blanket. Leah dropped to her knees and dug out the sunscreen.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ she asked, unable to believe such a beautiful beach so close to the city could be so empty. She stripped off her T-shirt to apply another layer of sunscreen.

  Alejandro took the tube from her and knelt behind her, squeezing the cream into his hand and smoothing it onto her back in slow circular movements, more like a sensual massage than any casual application of cream, his fingers tracing her ribcage, caressing her shoulders. ‘Without a four-wheel drive or a boat you can’t get here.’

  ‘I like it,’ she said, turning towards him, placing an arm around his neck, her fingers splayed in his thick curls at the base of his neck. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’ And she kissed him.

  It was a small kiss of thanks, no more than a brief meeting of their lips that had ended almost before it had begun. She was already pulling away when he grabbed her arm, holding her there, the look of turmoil in his eyes a frightening thing.

  ‘Alejandro?’

  He shook his head and closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, whatever she’d seen there was gone. He smiled and let her go. ‘How about a swim before lunch?’

  He stood, peeling off his shirt and shorts to reveal his black swimming trunks. Leah felt a tremor of excitement. He looked magnificent in black, his lean hips and natural endowment accentuated by the band of black Lycra. But here they were on a deserted beach. And there was one thing Alejandro wore even more magnificently…

  She rose to her feet, sliding her shorts down her legs, feeling his gaze sear a trail down with them. He was about to take her hand when she moved them both out of his reach, behind her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he growled, as she pulled on the end of her bikini tie.

  ‘There’s nobody here but you and me. And there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.’

  She dragged the bikini top over her head, letting it fall to the rug below. His eyes let it go, his attention riveted on her breasts.

  ‘I didn’t pu
t sunscreen there,’ he growled.

  Then her thumbs hooked into the sides of her bikini pants and his gaze headed south.

  ‘If someone comes?’

  She smiled wickedly across at him. ‘Bring it on.’

  The band of black around his hips grew tighter as she pushed the garment down her hips, letting it slide down her legs. ‘Are you coming?’

  He uttered something, a sound like gravel, but she was already running across the beach, her feet squeaking on the sand as she bolted for the surf.

  It met her in a cold rush that sucked the air from her lungs as it tugged around her legs, but still she ploughed on, diving through a crashing wave that turned the water around her to foam. She jumped up high, gasping and exhilarated, her body feeling more alive than ever as the cool Pacific water discovered every part of her.

  The sea erupted alongside her. Alejandro, bursting from the sea like some fabled sea creature, dark and sleek and glistening in the sunlight.

  He captured her in his arms and pulled her in tight, slick skin against slick skin, his mouth hot against hers, his erection pressing into her belly. The water swirled and sucked around them, holding them in its own embrace. A wave caught them, sent them tumbling, and she spun away, diving into the foaming depths to escape him. But his hand found her ankle and he hauled her back for another heated kiss, another glimpse of paradise.

  Then his mouth was on her breasts, sucking the salt from her, rolling first one nipple around his tongue then the other, heated and desperate, while she clung to him, her fingers laced in his hair as he devoured her.

  ‘Do you have any idea what you do to me?’ he groaned against her breast, his breathing ragged and coarse.

  ‘Show me,’ she said, arching her back, pushing her nipple further into his mouth, her whole body tingling, her thighs aching in anticipation.

  The waves crashed around them, and the blood crashed in his ears, and somehow the two were in time, an endless symphony, spurring him on to another inevitable union.

  He cast one scant look towards their clothes, to where he’d left protection, before he decided that there was no time. The moment was now. He moulded her to him, lifting her, wrapping her legs around him, feeling for her core as his mouth sucked the salt from her throat.