Playing the Billionaire (International Temptation)

by MK Meredith

  “Don’t you dare.” She grabbed his arm and gave it a playful shake.

  Looking up at the blue sky, he said, “But tomorrow it’s supposed to rain.”

  “There is not one drop of rain in the forecast. I already checked.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you fighting this so hard?” She waited to see if he’d tell her, if he’d finally admit to his game.

  But he just shook his head. “No, of course. Whatever you want.”

  They rested on two hammocks strung between mandarin trees in the garden. There was a special pace in Spain. No one seemed to rush.

  She smiled to herself as Mateu snapped pictures with his cell. He always seemed to be capturing little moments. Maybe he was afraid he’d forget which were real and which were not.

  She closed her eyes for a second and listened to the slight breeze rustling the leaves and the sweet song of the day birds. Images of his smile, the way he squatted down when he spoke with Felip, and the warmth with which he embraced his mother clicked through her mind like her grandfather’s old View-Master she’d played with as a little girl. She blinked a few times, trying to reconcile the man she’d witnessed today to the reality of who he really was.

  Mateu stretched out a hand to assist her from the hammock. “Come, there’s more to see.” They enjoyed the quiet hum sung by nature as they weaved in and out along the sun-dappled grounds. She took it all in, but with every second that passed, she became more and more aware of the heat of his palm and the earthy scent of him.

  She wanted more. She shouldn’t, she’d probably regret it, but in that moment, she was afraid she’d regret it more if she went home without showing him how she felt.

  Mischief brightened his eyes, and he pulled her toward the house and up the back stairs that led to the second floor.

  “What are you up to?” She tugged on his hand.

  “Well, I’m sure you wanted to see the house, and your wish is my command.” He winked.

  “Oh please, that’s only when you don’t have a wish of your own. Otherwise, you just argue.” She laughed as she followed him up a narrow spiraling staircase. Once they stepped on the wide tiled hall of the upper level, Mateu spun her around, then walked her backward until she met the solid wood of a door. A fissure of excitement shot up her spine at the look in his eyes.

  “Here we are.”

  The intricate carvings of the door pressed into her back. “Show me.”

  His jaw clenched. “London.” His voice was strained, as if he fought for a different word but lost. Sliding his hand beside her hip, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

  “Why you?” He cupped her cheeks between his hands, holding her gaze as if demanding an answer. “I’ve told myself to stay away. You’re leaving. But here I am.”

  “Yes. Here we are.” She wanted to be with him, to be connected to him in a way the memory would stay with her long past returning home to the States. Against her better judgment, she’d fallen head over heels for a Catalan, and all the game strategy in the world couldn’t save her.

  Losing herself in the heat of his gaze, she traced his brows. She deserved this moment of passion. Regardless of his intentions, she wanted the pleasure her body had ached for since meeting him. A salve for her heart. Regardless of whether it was real or not.

  With a groan, he wrapped both arms around her, lifting her from the ground, then carried her to the large wood-framed bed along a wall with tall, arched windows. White sheers hung to the floor, filling the room in a soft glow.

  He tasted of tapas and Cava. His lips demanded answers, and she did without hesitation, greedily brushing against his with slick precision. He lowered her to the bed and followed, as if he was right where he belonged. “I have waited more patiently to feel you like this than anything I’ve ever waited for before. You’ve cursed me with every curve of your body.”

  The delicious weight of him was everything her imagination promised, and she focused on the give and take of his body so she wouldn’t forget. “I’ve cursed you?” She chuckled, but his face was serious.

  “I dream about you. Wonder if you dream of me. I think of you when we aren’t together though I’ve known you less than a week.” He kissed her, a gentle caress of the lips, a light tug of his teeth.

  She wanted him. But not here, in his home where she was a guest. “Take me to the hotel.”

  He leaned back to look at her.

  “I want you, but not here,” she said. “Not after your parents have welcomed me into their home.”

  “They wouldn’t care.”

  “But I do. Take me back.”

  With a look of determination, he led her down the stairs and through the house to the town car. The trip felt like an eternity and, no less than a thousand times, she went over all the reasons they shouldn’t be together. But the way he held her hand, the nervous, vulnerable need emanating from him mirrored her own in such a way, she couldn’t say no. Not to him, but even more not to herself. She wanted this.

  As they slid from the car, the driver handed him a bag.

  He passed it to her. “I almost forgot.”

  “You didn’t have to—”

  “It isn’t for you, it’s for me,” he replied with a devilish grin.

  Taking the bag, she questioned her sanity. He couldn’t possibly feel anything real for her, but she did for him, so she was taking what he offered with her eyes open.

  She’d worry about what it would cost her later.

  Chapter Twelve

  In her hotel room, London’s heart slammed in her chest as Mateu closed the door and turned the lock. The soft tsk signaled a point from which she could never return.

  Surprises, gifts, all of it was so new to her. The only gifts she ever received were the new collections of Hanky Panky underwear, when she actually wore any, that she gave herself each year for Christmas, and the occasional facial from her mother. Both were her thirty-something-year-old attempts to stay sexy and keep gravity from pulling on her ass and cheekbones like the magazines all warned. She always did prefer to plan ahead.

  “You know you didn’t have to get me anything. Taking me to your family’s orchard was more than I’d ever expected.”

  He backed her toward the bed with a decidedly wolfish grin. “You know I did. I’ve been in physical pain since kissing you at the museum.” His tone was desperate and in no way matched the look in his eye or the strength in his touch when he picked her up and tossed her on the bed.

  She caught herself in a not so graceful stumble and blew her hair from her face. “Men are such babies,” she teased, trying to lighten the pressure gathering in her center.

  “Now see, I think you’re mistaken.” His voice was low as he toed off his shoes, then removed his shirt, exposing inches and inches of what would surely be her new favorite meal. “It’s not a matter of being weak and helpless, it’s a matter of craving something you know you’re going to love.”

  His words washed over her as soft as a caress. She wouldn’t read too much into them. He may not admit anything about his scheme, but there was no way he could connect with her so completely if he didn’t care a little. It wasn’t love, but it was enough for tonight.

  Rising to her knees at the edge of the bed, she pulled her shirt up over her head, taking her bra along with it, while he removed his pants. Then she made quick work of her shorts, catching them on one foot, then giving them a little toss. His eyes skimmed over her naked body, lingering at her breasts, then again at the juncture of her thighs.

  A warm, persistent throbbing deep inside her answered the heat in his eyes.

  His voice was gruff, turning his accent into an aphrodisiac. “If I’d have known you weren’t wearing any underwear at the orchard, we wouldn’t have made it back to the hotel.”

  She slid her hands onto his shoulders. “I find them constricting and rarely wear them. It’s my little secret.”

  “I don’t like secrets.”

  Sliding her tongue along his lower lip, she nip
ped him gently with her teeth. “Then you shouldn’t keep any.”

  He pulled back, staring down at her as she toed off her shoes. “That reminds me…” Breaking away from her grasp, he strolled across the room and grabbed the gift bag he’d brought up from the car.

  “Like I said, you didn’t have to get me anything. It’s all been too much. The food, the hotel, being driven from place to place with no lines or waiting or worry. It’s going to be very hard going back to reality.”

  The look in his eye softened. “I’d make this your reality if I could.” His voice was low, almost to the point that she missed what he’d said.

  She stared at him hard and matched his tone. “But you can’t. I have my mother and my work and my bills in the States.”

  “And I have my family’s orchard. Besides, I learned a long time ago that things were rarely what they seemed. This vacation has an expiration date. It’s easy and fun and will end before it has a chance to go bad.”

  Her heart rebelled at his words, but she dug her fingers into her palms and forced a smile on her face. “You’re right. No way for anyone to get hurt.”

  He studied her for a beat, then handed her the bag. “Believe me when I say these are as much for me as they are for you. But I wanted you to have them. Something to take home with you.”

  Pulling a familiar box from the bag, she gasped. With her heart in her throat, she whispered, “Wait…you didn’t.” It was a shoebox from the boutique she first shopped at when she arrived in town. With one finger, she lifted the lid and peeked inside. “You did.”

  Her sex-on-heels with the dainty chains that she’d had to return. Why would he get these for her if he didn’t care? How did he know she’d loved them so much? It was a pair of shoes, mundane to most people, but the thought, the generosity, turned over her heart.

  He picked up one from the box and moved to kneel at her feet. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before. The muscles he displayed in the wide set of his thighs boasted of more time at the orchard than the office. It took all her strength not to reach for him.

  Tipping her off her feet with a gentle push, his hand fell to her calf then slid down to her sensitive arch. Nerve endings she never knew she possessed woke up with his touch. With a gentle grip holding the back of her ankle, he slid the straps of the shoe over her toes, then fit it into place.

  “What are you doing?” The rise and fall of her chest competed with her need to breathe.

  He raised a brow. “I’ve wanted to see you in nothing but these heels since meeting you at the bar.”

  Well, hell. She’d been more successful with her plan that night than she knew. He slid the next shoe into place, taking his time with the tiny clasps of each delicate chain. Each slide of his fingers left waves of goose bumps washing up her legs, and her body wound tight with need.

  Pushing back to his feet, he helped her from the bed. Holding one of her hands above her head, he turned her before him. “Deu meu.” He groaned, deep and low in his throat.

  “Mateu.” She wanted him. Now.

  “I’m here.”

  His growl reached her ears, sending her heart off on a rampant beat. She might be playing with fire, but she’d never felt sexier in her life. And it wasn’t so much the shoes as it was the look of possession, of need, completely bare on his face.

  “Do you like them?” she asked as he lowered to the edge of the bed.

  He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward him. She slid her knees to either side of his thighs, straddling him. The length of him pulsed insistently against her center. Leveraging against his shoulders, she slid forward then back. No one ever set off her body like he did, made her feel so beautiful or powerful. “Oh my God. I don’t think I can play games anymore.”

  “Good.” Wrapping his arms about her waist, he stood, then walked over to the large desk positioned in an alcove and flanked by mirrors. With one sweep of his hand, he cleared the surface.

  She squeezed his shoulders trying to find leverage, wanting to feel more of him, all of him.

  “Be patient. I don’t know when I’ll kiss you again. I don’t want to rush this moment.”

  “I can’t help it. Kiss me now. I can’t wait.” She didn’t care that she was begging.

  “I’ve never needed anyone before, but I need you. I need to touch you everywhere, to taste you everywhere.” He gripped her thighs tighter, sliding her up and down the heat of him, as his mouth finally gave her what she wanted.

  Diving her fingers through his hair, she slid her tongue along his lips to memorize his taste. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he lowered her backside to the desktop.

  There was an urgency in their touch now; the knowledge that it was the only chance they had roared in the silence. With a quick tug, he brought her bottom to the edge and spread her legs.

  She ran her fingertips from the tip of him to the base, then gently cupped his balls in her palm. This time he sucked in a breath, and a thrill shot through her body.

  “Don’t push me too far our first time out, carinyo. You expect too much of me.”

  “You promised me once in a lifetime. You haven’t disappointed me yet, and I don’t think you will this time, either.”

  He chuckled, grabbing her wandering hands as they made their way up the ridges of his stomach to his chest. “If you don’t slow down, I’ll give the whole male Spanish population a bad name. Don Juan would roll over in his grave.”

  “Don’t you mean Catalan?”

  With one hand, he pinned her arms against the wallpaper above her head and with the other, he gently pushed her thighs wide. Seeing his head lower to her breast was almost too much. He ran a hand up her side to cup her breast and taste it with his hot mouth. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, tightening it to a peak, and she arched into him. The feel of him would stay with her forever.

  “You are so beautiful. More than I’d ever imagined, if that’s possible,” he whispered against her skin.

  She gave a small shake of her head and squirmed beneath him, tugging her hands, but he kept hers imprisoned in his. Trailing his fingers along her rib cage, then the hollow of her navel, he followed suit with his tongue and lips, causing a shiver to flair across her skin.

  Her stomach dipped at his touch, so he repeated the motion again and again. With deft fingers, he skimmed over her most sensitive place that was throbbing with need.

  “Hurry.” She slipped her hands free and explored him. If the strain in his eyes or the tight set of his jaw was any indication, she challenged his already strained self-control. And when she closed around the length of him once again with a firm squeeze, his eyes slammed shut.

  “Deu meu.” He groaned deep and low in his throat.

  “I want to taste you.”

  He resisted her attempt, sliding down her body to situate himself between her legs. “Not yet. You’re too much.”

  “I can work with that.”

  Grazing his fingers up along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, he encouraged her bottom closer to the edge of the desk, toward his mouth. With a featherlight touch, he glided his tongue over her folds.

  Every thought flew from her head, and she sucked in a breath, forgetting she’d eventually need to breathe. He gripped her ass tighter in his hands and tasted her—a long suckle, a longer stroke, then short fluttering flicks of his tongue in a rhythm set long before either of them knew what they were doing. Pressure built, her legs trembled, and she gripped his shoulders in a wild attempt to ground herself.

  In one smooth motion, he rose and settled between her legs, stopping just at the point where their bodies could and would unite. The length of him pulsed, and with each one, her fingers flexed into his biceps. He hesitated, staring into her eyes, as if making sure she was with him, that this was surely what she wanted.

  “Yes,” she said, desperate for him to continue.

  “Yes, what?” he demanded.

  “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

  The sound of
cellophane tearing barely reached her ears. Then he whispered with desperate intensity against her lips, “I wish we had forever.”

  She fell back against the textured wallpaper, dropping her head to one side, with his declaration echoing in her heart.

  Their image greeted her and went on forever in the endless reflection of opposing mirrors. The look on her face was open and vulnerable and completely new, making her almost unrecognizable. It wasn’t a vulnerability based in weakness or fear, but total acceptance of the truth.

  She’d fallen for him, regardless of the con.

  Her body was ready, primed and greedy with need. With one long thrust, he buried deeply, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles at the chains of her magic heels. They moved together as if it was a dance choreographed for them and them alone.

  There was a desperation to their lovemaking. An attempt to hold onto something that was fleeting. His hands were in her hair, massaging her scalp, teaching her how sexual her flipping head, of all things, could be. Then his hot mouth encased a sensitive nipple, and her body arched into him with a mind of its own. That’s what it was like with him. His body spoke and her body answered, and no matter how hard she tried to take control, the effort was useless. In those moments of passion, she was helpless against the power, the beauty that was between them.

  He suckled her in a matching rhythm to the joining of their bodies, and the intensity of pleasure was so great, her head spun.

  Mateu pulled, and she pushed. Faster, deeper, until they broke over the threshold and released all their building energy into each other in waves of spiraling pleasure.

  Over the ragged sounds of their breathing, the little chains of her heels jingled against each other as her legs slid off his hips in the heavy-limbed aftermath of her release. “Mateu.”

  A tightness banded around her chest. How was she going to leave?

  “I know.” Wrapping himself around her once more, he lifted her from the desk, then carried her to the bed. He drew back the blankets, tumbling them both onto the sheets, blissfully cool against her skin. She wanted to say something to acknowledge how powerful what they’d just shared had been, but he pulled her into his arms and buried his face into her neck.