Fierce Passion (20 page)

He filled the teakettle with water, put it on the stove and leaned back against the counter. “Would you care to name them?”

She looked down at her ballet flats. “No, I’d rather not, but you needn’t fear I’ll sell any photos of you.”

“You look so damn apologetic, it must not have turned out well.”

After a poignant shrug, she answered honestly. “You could say that, but it’s all over and done.”

He pulled her into his arms. “You’re the most remarkable creature. Do you have an endless number of things to confess?”

She might have deserved that but wouldn’t admit it, ever. “I wouldn’t call them confessions.”

“Fine. Unlimited fascinating facets. How’s that?”

His warm embrace soothed her temper. “I’m trying to tell the truth. You shouldn’t make fun of me.”

He reached over to turn off the kettle. “Dessert can wait. I love the way your skirt flows around your ankles when you walk.” He took her hand and pulled her out into the main room. He raised his arm and twirled her a couple of times. “I have to take dance lessons.”

She moved close and rested her hand on his chest. “You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes, I am. I promised to show you the loft, but I don’t want you to trip on your skirt when you climb the ladder.”

“How considerate of you. Suppose I did. Do you know any first-aid techniques?”

“Apply pressure to slow the flow of blood from a wound.”

“That’s a good one.” She unfastened the hooks at her waist, stepped out of her skirt and laid it over the back of her chair. She slipped off her gold ballet flats. “There probably isn’t much room to undress up there, is there?”

“Not really.” He unbuttoned his shirt.

She pulled off her top. Her lingerie was bright red. She crossed to the ladder and started up. “Is there a trick to this?”

“I should go first and pull you over the top.”

“Too late.” She climbed to the top of the ladder, a little more than seven feet from the floor, and gazed into the loft. There was room for a big bed and a closet at the end. She could have used something to hold on to but got over the end of the ladder not too ungracefully and stepped into the loft. The studio had such a high ceiling, she could walk around the bed without bumping her head. “This is like a tree house.”

He followed her wearing only his black briefs. “I should put tree houses in all my little cities. How could I have forgotten them?”

Wanting to think only of him, she lay back on the bed. “Make a note of it later.”

He crawled over the side of the bed to catch her. “You’ll remind me if I forget?”

She giggled against his chest. “I may have no memory of the night.”

“Is that a challenge?”

She answered with a deep, luscious kiss to block all thought save those of him. His sleek body fit so well against hers. She slid her hand over his chest, tugged at the hair hiding his nipples and then found them with her tongue. He uttered a welcoming moan, and encouraged, she licked the leathery buds. He smelled like soap, but something exotic with a sandalwood base. She eased over him to nibble an earlobe.

“You smell awfully good. You always have, but tonight, your scent is something darker, more mysterious.”

“I’m not giving away my secrets.” He pulled her down into his arms. “I’m going to find a huge oak tree where I can build a tree house and make love to you there all night.”

“Not in a public park, please.”

He smothered his deep laugh in her soft curls. “No, somewhere deep in a forest where no one will hear us laugh and wonder what we’re doing cradled in the branches.”

She wound her hair in a coil to sweep it out of his way. “Mallorca has La Serra de Tramuntana.”

“It does, but a tree house on the coast might be chilly at night.”

She slid her hand down his flat belly. “I don’t suppose we could light a fire to keep warm.”

“Definitely not.” He pulled her close. “I’ll find somewhere not so far away. For now, we can imagine whatever we choose.”

Nuzzling against him, she nearly purred, “I don’t need to imagine anything better than being here with you.” She licked his shoulder. “Now I wish we’d bought the frosting. I’d put just a tiny bit here.” She touched the base of his throat. “A dab here. All the spots you wouldn’t expect and make you delicious all over.”

“We could probably make frosting. What does it take? Sugar, butter, what else?”

She ran her fingertips up his inner thigh to make him shiver. “It must need some flavoring. Do you have a bottle of vanilla?”

“No, but I’ll buy a gallon tomorrow. Could we use a liqueur?”

She kissed the inside of his elbow, and he wove his fingers in her hair. “Probably, but I’m not in the mood to cook. Are you?”

“You are enough,” he whispered.

The lights he’d left on down below veiled the loft in pale shadows, but his sexy grin still showed, and his silvery eyes glowed with a teasing light. He was enough, more than enough for her. She unfastened her bra and tossed it away before crawling over him. She loved kissing him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled over to hold her. He nuzzled her throat, and she rubbed against him.

He covered her breasts with kisses and sucked gently at her nipples. Feeling adored, she pressed close and combed her fingers through his hair. Making love was a game that never grew old, and she welcomed his every lick and caress. She held her breath as he tongued his way to her navel and raised her arms above her head to stretch and lengthen the path. His tender kisses tickled her inner thighs, and his warm breath promised so much more.

He slid her thong down her legs, dropped it to the floor and kissed her instep and ankles. He trailed tender kisses to the tops of her thighs, spread her open with his fingertips and didn’t make her wait for the delicious thrill. He smoothed his tongue over her, circled her clit with the tip and lapped gently.

“You’re so good at that,” she murmured.

He slid a finger into her and then two. “This makes it better, doesn’t it?”

She gave an appreciative squirm. “Hmm, it does.”

He made her feel warm all over, and heat pooled low in her belly. He licked her, paused to blow across her damp slit, and then sucked until she reached for him. “Come here. I want you this way.”

He pressed the heel of his hand against her mound. “Don’t you want me to finish?”

“Inside me this time.”

There were condoms in the nightstand, and he quickly donned one. “I can’t even think when I’m tasting you.”

She bucked as he slid into her, surprising him, catching him, drawing him in deep. She flexed her muscles to pump him, and he withdrew to plunge into her again, and again. Already close, she clutched his shoulders and felt every inch of him sliding in, filling her, stretching her to fit, and arched her back in a demanding surrender. Her breath caught in her throat, and the joy he always gave rushed through her in trembling waves. He chased his own climax with a final surge, and she clung to him, never wanting to let him go. When he could stir, he moved beside her, pressed her head against his chest and wished her beautiful dreams.

In a playful mood before dawn, she spread teasing kisses up his spine to wake him. “Do you like this? You have such a handsome back, and backs are so often neglected.” She ruffled his hair and kissed his shoulders.

“You’re right. You’re the only one who’s ever kissed my shoulder blades. Keep going.”

She moved down to place wet, sloppy kisses in the dimples on his butt before refocusing her attentions on his spine. “What about your ribs? Does this feel good?” She whisked the ends of her hair across his skin to accent her kisses.

“Everything you do feels better than good,” he murmured softly.

Moving astride his hips, she rubbed his shoulders. “Sorry, I can’t resist you.”

Completely relaxed, he cradled his cheek on crossed arms. “I like that in a woman.”

She leaned down to kiss his cheek. “I’m spoiling you.”

He rolled over to catch her in his arms. “Yes, you are, and now it’s my turn.”

“Just for variety, why don’t you start on my front and work around to my back.”

He gave her a long, slow kiss and touched her breast. “If I start here, I’ll never get to your back.”

“What a shame. Another time, then.” She wound her arms around his neck and welcomed every bit of loving he could give.

Fatima was vacuuming the living room when Ana came home. She went into the kitchen for a piece of fruit and found Romeo sitting on the kitchen counter. She flicked water on him from the sink, and he jumped down as though he’d been scalded. “I have a lunch date, so you needn’t make me anything.”

Fatima shut off the sweeper. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m having lunch today with Paul and the shoe man. He called me early this morning, so it’s not on the calendar. I’ll add it.” She did and bit into an apple. When she entered the living room, Fatima eyed her with an expression she knew all too well.

“I’m not getting out of bed with one man to get into bed with another,” she exclaimed.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You had that look, though,” Ana insisted. “I’ve never had multiple lovers. You know that.”

The housekeeper gave an innocent shrug. “I’m just taking care of the house today, that’s all I’m doing. You’re free to live your life as you choose.”

Apprehensive, Ana took a step toward her. “Is there some reason you don’t approve of Alejandro?”

Fatima kicked the vacuum cord out of her way. “He’s good-looking and rich. What more could you want?”

“There’s lots more, but maybe he’ll decide I’m not the girl for him. So far, we’re doing fine, and I’m not going to worry about what tomorrow might bring. I’ll do my best to get you some free shoes from Lamoreaux. Will that make you happy?”

“Free shoes would be nice. I wouldn’t refuse them, but you don’t want to give him the wrong impression.”

“Believe me, I won’t give him any ideas.” She threw the apple core in the kitchen trashcan and went into her bedroom to shower and dress. She loved wearing Alejandro’s scent and hated to wash it away, but she wanted nothing on her mind other than business that afternoon.

Ana met Paul at his office, and they drove to the five-star restaurant Lamoreaux had selected. The shoe designer gave the contract Paul had prepared only a careless glance before signing. He ordered an expensive bottle of wine for them to share, but Ana took only a sip. Lucien made conversation easily but directed all his comments to her. Such unbridled admiration made her uncomfortable.

“Tell us about yourself,” she encouraged. “Do you have a wife and children?”

For the first time that afternoon, he looked away. “I’m a widower. My two sons are grown—a doctor and an attorney.”

She had meant to remind him of his wife if he had one, not depress him. “I’m so sorry for your loss. You must be very proud of your sons.”

“Of course, but I would have loved to have daughters as well.”

His sly glance promised he was open to remarrying and having a second family, but she wouldn’t encourage his interest. Something about him set her on edge, and she was relieved when Paul steered the conversation toward business.

“Our single Lamoreaux store here in Barcelona is doing exceptionally well, and I hope to expand to other locations soon. A photographer with the French advertising firm that usually does our ads will be coming to Barcelona for the shoot.”

“I always enjoy working with someone new,” Ana offered. It would also be an opportunity to learn from another photographer. Alejandro was right, though. She really did need to assemble a portfolio of her photographs for tangible proof she intended to change careers.

“The women in Paris walk everywhere,” Lucien observed, “and continually need new shoes. It’s a commodity that’s always popular. The women in Barcelona also appear to enjoy walking.”

“It’s excellent exercise,” Ana added. She could have mentioned how much her housekeeper admired the black heels he’d sent her, but the words stuck in her throat. The salad she’d ordered was very good, but she had little appetite and merely rearranged the chilled vegetables on her plate.

“You’re not hungry?” Lamoreaux asked. He refilled her wineglass. “Let’s order something else for you.”

“No, this is fine.” She scooped up another forkful. “I love the way they’ve sliced the carrots and beets.”

“It’s a colorful salad,” he agreed. “But something’s wrong. Don’t you want to work for me?”

Ana flashed her most charming smile. “I love your shoes, and I’m looking forward to doing the ads. Forgive me if my mind wandered.”

Lucien nodded. “I’ve seen the tabloids. I’m sure you’re not involved in Jaime Campos’s murder, but it must weigh heavily on you. Let’s order something for dessert with piles of whipped cream. It should make you feel better.”

Whipped cream would work as well as frosting, and this time, her smile was genuine. She thought of Alejandro with every bite and not once of gorgeous French shoes.