Hot Nights with a Spaniard (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases)

by Carole Mortimer

  “The material is too clingy,” she babbled. “There would’ve been a line …”

  “This comes off,” he said. “Now.”

  “No, Alejandro—wait. What if someone sees me?” she said as he started to tug the material down.

  “They won’t.” He skimmed the expensive jersey from her body until she stood in nothing but high heels and a puddle of fabric. Then he took a step back, perusing her thoroughly. “You are exquisite, Rebecca. I have waited too long for this.”

  Her brain kicked into gear as her skin prickled from the cool air of the foyer. The man had servants, and he’d undressed her in a public area of his house. And she just stood there like a museum exhibit while he ogled her! Anyone could come along at any minute.

  She reached for her dress, but Alejandro was there first, scooping her into his arms.

  “No,” he growled. “I want you in my bed. You will not need any clothing for many hours yet.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A DIFFERENT kind of panic was starting to grip her by the throat as Alejandro carried her into his bedroom and kicked the door shut. She was naked in his arms, he’d brought her to his room, yet she still believed he somehow meant to shame her beyond her wildest imagination.

  This was a ruse, she was certain of it, and she began to kick her legs back and forth, trying to force him to put her down.

  “Be still,” he said. A moment later she was on the bed and he was hovering over her, his fully clothed body pressing down on top of her. “Tell me,” he said, his lips on her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. “Tell me you do not want this, Rebecca, that your body does not ache for mine …”

  His mouth fastened over one aching nipple and she arched her back, cried out. He gave her absolutely no time to adjust to the feelings assailing her body. His fingers slid between her thighs, parted her, found the sensitive heart of her.

  “Alejandro,” she gasped.

  “Tell me you don’t want me,” he said, his breath hot against her body as he moved to her other nipple, sucked it between his lips.

  She shuddered, her body alive with more sensation than she’d felt in a very long time. Even the other night in the pool she hadn’t quivered like this, hadn’t thought she would die with every slick pulse of his fingers against her, inside her.

  She was on the edge so quickly it shocked her, ready to tumble into an orgasm just from the feel of his tongue on her nipples and his fingers inside her. But he stopped, said heated words in Spanish, while he sat up and ripped at the studs on his shirt. She looked up at him, her heart tumbling over in her chest, breaking for the millionth time because of him.

  But she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him, from raising herself until she could touch his jaw, press her hand to his skin, her fingertips sliding down to his lips, over them.

  Those beautiful lips had given her more pleasure than she could ever have imagined. He’d been the first man to make love to her with his mouth. She’d never told him that.

  Now he’d gone completely still as she touched him, his gaze hot and intense as he watched her.

  She slipped a finger into his mouth, over the front of his teeth, across the tip of his tongue. When she would have retreated, he gripped her hand gently, sucked her finger in and out, his heated stare never leaving hers.

  “Alejandro,” she whispered, her blood pounding in her veins, her heart ready to burst from so much feeling. She hated him, she loved him, she hated him. Her heart ached and ached and ached until she thought she might die from it. What was this feeling really? Why couldn’t she work it out?

  “Sí, mi amor?” He kissed her palm, her wrist, the tip of each finger.

  She’d said his name because of the maelstrom inside her, but he responded as if he expected a question.

  She could think of only one. “Did—?” She swallowed the knot clogging her throat. She had to ask, had to know. “Did you love her?”

  Until that moment when she’d learned he was engaged, or supposedly engaged, her life had seemed so right with him. She wanted to understand how it had gone wrong. Why.

  He lowered her hand to his chest, pressed it to the hot skin he’d exposed when he tore his shirt open. She could feel his heart, fast and strong, and her fingers trembled.

  His eyes, hot as they were, somehow managed to be flat when he answered. “I have never loved any woman. I never will.”

  She didn’t feel any relief to know he hadn’t loved his wife. And though she’d known he hadn’t loved her, it still hurt to hear it so starkly stated. “Poor Alejandro,” she said softly. “You must get so lonely.”

  The shock on his face might have been comical if she hadn’t known what he’d suffered. He would never admit it, but there had to be times when he would be relieved to share the burden of so much sorrow. To have someone understand. To love him.

  “No more talking, Rebecca,” he said. “No more questions.” He pushed the shirt from his shoulders, stripped off his trousers and kicked them free, then stretched out over her. “Just feel—feel what you do to me, what we do to each other. This is what’s real.”

  His mouth captured hers, and this time she opened to him, tangling her tongue with his as he stoked the fires in her body once more. Part of her was terrified of what was happening, and part of her wanted it more than her next breath. She knew she should go—should shove him away and leave this bed before she lost more than her pride.

  But she couldn’t do it. Her body sang beneath his, wanted his, seemed made especially for his. She wrapped her legs around him, opened herself to him. He rose above her on his palms, gazed down at her with a look she couldn’t decipher.

  She felt him pushing at her entrance, sliding forward just enough to make her pant, then withdrawing again.

  “Alejandro, please. Please, I need you.”

  He growled low in his throat, then surged forward in one long, gliding stroke. She cried out with pleasure and shock as he filled her. He was bigger than she remembered, and his possession was intense.

  He didn’t move, though she could feel the pulse beat of him deep inside her.

  He looked uncertain. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no—it’s okay. It’s been a long time.”

  His eyes glazed as she moved her hips, learned how to accommodate him again.

  Finally he spoke, seemed to drag his thoughts from somewhere. “A long time? You have not—?”

  She rolled her head back and forth on the pillow.

  He looked surprised. Fierce and possessive. “You should have told me. I would have been gentler.”

  “Ohhh,” she gasped, as he pulled out and glided back in. “Noooo, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

  “Rebecca,” he groaned, dropping his head. She didn’t know if he meant to say more, if it was agreement or denial, but he flexed his hips and she no longer cared.

  He moved slowly at first, each thrust measured and sure. Trying not to hurt her. But he was so careful she wanted to scream. She ran her hands feverishly down his body, over his biceps, the scar on his side.

  “Alejandro, I won’t break. Make love to me. Please.”

  His mouth crushed down on hers, their tongues mating while their bodies merged harder and faster. He lost whatever control he might have had, his movements quickening until he was pounding into her with all the passion of a man long denied. She kept a tight control on herself, thought she might hold out forever, but he slipped his hand between them, stroked her where their bodies joined.

  Her orgasm didn’t just slam into her; it stole her breath and brought her up off the bed as she arched into him, sobbing her pleasure. A second later Alejandro lost the hold he’d had on himself, his hips pumping into her harder as he groaned her name brokenly.

  He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. She ran her palms down his back, over his buttocks, sighed heavily. It was a glorious, earth-shattering mistake to make love with this man. She knew it, but she tried to hold the regret and pain at bay as long as poss
ible.

  He’d won, hadn’t he? He’d stolen her company, dragged her halfway around the world and stripped her bare—both literally and figuratively. She had nothing left, not even her dignity. Soon he would get up from the bed, look at her with disdain and order her out of his sight.

  When he lifted himself on his elbows he was still breathing hard. The look in his eyes was not what she’d expected, and it ripped her heart in two. Confusion, anger and passion collided in that one smoldering gaze.

  He kissed her softly, almost sweetly. Her heart, she feared, was lost forever.

  Moonlight drifted through the windows and arced across the bed, waking him. Alejandro lifted his head, momentarily disoriented. Why hadn’t he closed the blinds before lying down?

  It came back to him quickly, crashing into his mind in a series of images and sensations.

  Dios. He turned his head slightly, gazed at the woman sleeping beside him. She’d curled up in a ball at the edge of the bed, as far away from him as she could get. Perversely, it angered him. She’d tried to get away from him when they were awake and had not succeeded. In sleep she won the battle.

  He slipped the covers off and padded to the window naked. His body was satiated in a way it had not been in months. In spite of his feelings for his self-absorbed ex-wife, he’d stayed faithful to their marriage vows until the day the divorce had become final. In the months since, he’d slaked his thirst with many women. Anonymous, uncaring sex had been a balm to his ravaged soul.

  Or so he’d thought.

  Until tonight, when he’d lost himself in the gorgeous and willing body of the woman he hated most in this world. For those few hours he’d forgotten.

  But he did hate her. He pressed a knuckle to his temple.

  It was all according to plan. Bed her, make her care, ruin her. He owed it to Anya. He would do this for Anya. Anya, who should have lived. Who should have been his and Rebecca’s child.

  He clenched his fist, pressed it to the glass. He had done nothing wrong. He had not miscalculated. Never mind that she’d been untouched for so long, or that she’d seemed to see into his soul in the limo tonight. She was shallow, calculating. She slept with him now to try and gain an advantage. And how did he know he was really her first lover in a long time? She could be lying, faking. But if it were a ruse wouldn’t she have told him earlier, tried to elicit his sympathy?

  He took a deep breath, let it out. Sometimes his mind raced between so many possibilities that he couldn’t keep up.

  “Alejandro?”

  He turned and went to the bed. Moonlight limned her features, her very messy golden-blonde hair, her kiss-swollen lips. Desire lifted its slumberous head inside him.

  “I am here,” he replied.

  She clutched the sheet to her. The scent of sex clung to her. To him.

  A new thought prickled at the back of his mind. Something he should have thought of long before now. Sweet God in heaven, he’d forgotten to use protection.

  “I should return to my room,” she said, unaware of the stark fear snaking down his spine.

  “No,” he said coldly.

  She seemed to shrink in on herself.

  “Are you protected?” he demanded.

  Her head quirked to one side. “Wha—? Oh, yes. Yes,” she said more firmly. “I’m on the pill. I thought you knew that.”

  “How would I know this?” he asked, stupefied that she would think so.

  Her chin lifted. “I thought your private investigators would have told you.”

  “It was not that kind of investigation,” he defended. Still, relief threatened to liquefy his knees. Madre de Dios, gracias. This was the first time he’d ever forgotten to take precautions. It was not at all like him, but he chalked it up to the mental exhaustion of dealing with so much angst and drama tonight.

  On the heels of relief came a surge of lust so strong he felt it from his scalp to his toes. A second later he peeled the sheet from her grasp and laid her back on the mattress, his hands skimming up the insides of her thighs, pushing them apart.

  “I’ve been dying to taste you,” he said.

  He loved her soft cries and moans, the slick sweet taste of her, the way she arched off the bed and screamed his name when she came. He didn’t let her stop at one climax; he spread her wide and laved her with his tongue until she was panting and moaning again, until a fine sheen of moisture glistened on her skin, until his name was a hoarse cry on her lips.

  And then he was inside her, losing himself as he thrust hard, again and again, unable this time to be gentle. He had no control, no finesse with this woman. He came in a hot hard rush, groaning and gasping like he’d run a marathon, then rolled to the side and gathered her against him.

  They lay on top of the sheets. Her body twitched every now and then—aftereffects of the powerful orgasms he’d given her. It made him feel possessive, proprietary. His fingers trailed up and down her arm almost absently.

  “Who had you watched, Rebecca?”

  She jerked in his arms. She must have been nearly asleep, but now she grew rigid, her body vibrating with a different kind of tension.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I want to know.”

  She pushed away from him, rose up on one elbow beside him. Her nipple brushed his arm and he felt the jolt to his groin.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. You don’t really care. All you’ll do is be smug.” She traced a finger around one of his nipples, followed with her tongue. A ploy to distract him.

  But her words pricked him. He didn’t care that she’d been hurt by someone, it was true, but he wanted to know anyway. It fed his need for control.

  “Was it a lover?” He spat the word.

  She lifted her head. “No.”

  “A rival?”

  She laughed bitterly. “Yes—you.”

  Who else would possibly want to investigate her? Not a lover or a rival. Unless she was lying. It had to be a business rival. Who else? Why else?

  A tendril of intuition niggled at him. Who could hurt her so badly by spying on her? “Family?”

  She stiffened, and he knew he had his answer.

  He twined his fingers in her hair, drew her down to him. Kissed her deeply. “You can tell me, querida. I want to know.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping before she fell back on the bed and put an arm over her face. “Fine,” she said. “What’s it matter anymore?”

  But she didn’t say anything for so long he thought she must have fallen asleep. He bent to kiss the soft skin of her breast. She let out a little sigh and he rolled her nipple between his lips, suckled it into a sharp peak.

  “I can’t think when you do that,” she said, on a soft susurration of breath.

  He propped himself beside her, fingers stroking little circles on her skin. “Was it your father?” Truly, he couldn’t see anyone but Jackson Layton hiring a private investigator to follow his own daughter around. And he didn’t entirely disagree with it. He could imagine doing the same thing if Anya had lived. Anything to keep her safe.

  “Yes.” One word, nothing more.

  “You will not tell me more?”

  She shook her head, her eyes tightly closed, and he felt the sting of disappointment. She’d told him nothing at all. Once she would have told him anything he asked.

  That time was gone forever. It was just as well. He did not need to feel pity for her.

  The next morning Alejandro’s business necessitated his return to Dubai. There was a break in the standoff over permits, but he needed to be there personally in order to ensure a smooth resolution to the problem.

  The last thing Rebecca had expected was to be ordered to accompany him. In truth, she hadn’t known what to expect after their night together.

  Alejandro knew. “You are my mistress,” he said, when she asked why he wanted her to go.

  She’d nearly choked on the word. “Mistress? Until a few days ago, I was the president of a major international hotel chain.
”

  His smile wasn’t at all friendly. “Sí, until a few days ago.” He tossed something into his briefcase, then speared her with a silver glare. “And not so major, no?”

  “Does this mean you’re considering selling me some of the stock?” she asked, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, yet angry enough to hurl at him what he’d said to her in the pool anyway.

  Her amazing lover of the night before was gone; in his place was the ruthless businessman who’d stolen her company. In the stark light of day she had to wonder how she’d managed to forget all the hurt and betrayal long enough to fall into bed with him.

  His expression was so cold she had to suppress a shiver. “It means you are my mistress. Nothing more.”

  When they landed in Dubai that afternoon, a black Mercedes limousine met them at the airport and ferried them to the resort Alejandro had recently bought on the Jumeirah coast. It wasn’t as grand as some of the other hotels, but his plans to expand it would make it one of the top destinations in Dubai. If the permit situation was resolved.

  A man in a tuxedo hurried forward to greet them when the car doors opened, snapping his fingers at a bellhop who leaped into action to collect their luggage from the trunk.

  “Señor Ramirez,” the man said as Alejandro stepped from the car. “We are so pleased you are back with us again. Your suite is prepared. Shall I make reservations for dinner, or will you be dining in?”

  “In the suite, I think, Ali.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The suite was truly a gorgeous place. Situated on the top floor, its view of the Persian Gulf was spectacular. Rebecca went onto the balcony, gazed out at the sparkling blue water, the ship traffic and the glorious sail-like structure of the Burj Al Arab hotel silhouetted against the hazy sky in the distance.

  Palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze near the beach. Directly below her was the pool. Guests dotted the chairs while waiters moved back and forth between them. Behind her, she could hear Alejandro on the phone. He didn’t sound happy.

  It was strange, almost exhilarating in some respects, to be here and not be the one working. Not that she wasn’t working. She had her phone and her laptop, and she was still—so far— in charge of day-to-day operations at Layton International. But not to be the person fielding frantic phone calls about permits and construction issues—it was bliss. She could see, off to the left, the area where construction cranes sat silent. No trucks moved, no workers—nothing happened in the fenced-off site. Every day was money. He could afford a lot, she was sure, but at a certain point he would need to cut his losses.