Carrying The Spaniard's Child. Jennie LucasЧитать онлайн книгу.
with you?”
“Yes.”
She gave an incredulous snort. “You have no problems with your ego, do you?”
His dark gaze seared her. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.” She gave a careless shrug. “I do want love, it’s true. If I met a man I could respect and admire, I might easily fall in love. But that’s not you, Santiago.” She looked at him evenly. “No matter how rich or sexy you might be. So if you want me, too bad. I don’t want you.”
His expression changed. His eyes glittered in the moonlight.
“You don’t?” Reaching out, he ran his thumb lightly against her trembling bottom lip and whispered, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she breathed, unable to pull away, or to look from his dark gaze.
He ran his hand down her arm, looking down at her as if she were the most beautiful, desirable creature on earth. “And if I took you to my bed, you wouldn’t fall in love?”
“Not even remotely. I think you’re a total bastard.”
But even as she spoke, Belle couldn’t stop herself from shivering. She knew he felt it. The corners of his lips twisted upward in grim masculine satisfaction.
Softly, he ran his hand down through her hair. Her body’s shivering intensified. As she breathed in his scent of sandalwood and firelight, she felt the strength and power of his body against hers, beneath his long black coat.
“Then there’s no reason to hold back. Forget love.” He gently lifted her chin. “Forget regret, forget pain, forget everything fate has denied you. For one night, take pleasure in what you can have, right here and now.”
“You mean, take pleasure in you?”
She’d tried to say the words sarcastically, but the way her heart was hammering in her chest, her tone came out wrong. Instead of sarcastic, she sounded breathless. Yearning.
“For one night, let me give you joy. Without strings. Without consequences. Stop thinking so much about the future,” he said in a low voice, his hand cupping her cheek. “For one night, you can know what it feels like to be truly, recklessly alive.”
His black eyes seared hers, and the cold January night sizzled like west Texas in July as an arc of electricity passed between them.
Give herself to him for one night, without consequences? Without strings?
Belle stared up at him, shocked.
She’d never slept with anyone. She’d never even gotten close. She was, in fact, a twenty-eight-year-old virgin, an old maid who’d spent her whole life taking care of others, while failing to achieve a single dream for herself.
No. Her answer was no. Of course it was.
Wasn’t it?
He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek, his lips lingering against her skin, moving slowly. Sensuously. She held her breath, and as he drew back, she stared at him with big eyes, her whole body clamoring and clanging like an orchestra.
“All right,” she heard herself say, then gasped at her own recklessness. She opened her mouth to take it back. Then stopped.
For one night, you can know what it feels like to be truly, recklessly alive.
When was the last time she’d felt that way?
Had she ever?
Or had she always been a good girl, trying so hard to please others, to follow the rules, to plan out her life?
What had being good ever done for her—except leave her heartsick and alone?
Santiago’s dark eyes gleamed as he saw her hesitate. He didn’t wait. Wrapping his large hands on her jawline and then sliding them to tangle in her hair, he slowly drew his mouth to hers. She felt the warmth of his breath, sweet like Scotch, against the tender flesh of her skin.
His sensual mouth lowered on hers, hot and demanding, pushing her lips apart. She felt the delicious sweep of his tongue, and the cold winter air between them heated to a thousand degrees.
She’d never been kissed like this before. Never. The tepid caresses she’d endured seven years ago were nothing compared to this ruthlessly demanding embrace, this—dark fire.
She was lost in his arms, in the hot demand of his mouth, of his hands everywhere. Desire swept through her, a tidal wave of need that drowned all thought and reason. She forgot to think, forgot her own name.
She’d never known it could be like this...
She responded uncertainly at first, then soon gripped his shoulders, clutching him to her.
All her hatred for Santiago, all her earlier misery, transformed to heat as he kissed her in the dark winter night on the edge of the sea, invisible waves crashing noisily against the shore.
She didn’t know how long they clung to each other in the cold night, seconds or hours, but when he finally drew away, she knew she’d never be the same. Their breath mingled in the dappled moonlight.
They stared at each other for a split second as scattered snowflakes started to fall.
Wordlessly, he took her hand and pulled her toward the house. She heard the crunch of frozen snow beneath her scuffed black flats, felt the warmth of his hand over hers.
They entered the nineteenth-century mansion, with its dark oak paneling and antique furniture. Inside, it was dark and quiet; it seemed everyone, including the household staff, had gone to bed. Santiago closed the tall, heavy door behind them and punched a code into the security system.
They rushed up the back stairs, hardly able to stop kissing long enough to stumble to the second floor.
Belle shivered. She couldn’t be doing this. Impulsively offering her virginity to a man she didn’t even like, let alone love?
But as he pulled her into a guest bedroom at the far end of the hall, she couldn’t even catch her breath. His long black coat fell to the floor, and he pulled her into his arms. Cupping her face in his hands, he ran his thumbs along her swollen lower lip.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands through her long brown hair tangled with ice and snowflakes. “Beautiful, and mine...”
Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her hungrily. Heat flooded through Belle, making her breasts heavy, swirling low and deep in her core. His hands stroked her deliciously, mesmerizing her with sensation, and by the time she realized he was unzipping her black dress, it was already falling to the floor.
An hour ago, she’d hated him; now she was half-naked in his bedroom.
Setting her back onto his bed, he pulled off his suit jacket, vest and tie. He never took his eyes off her as he unbuttoned his black shirt. His bare chest was chiseled and muscular, curving in the light and shadow. Falling beside her on the bed, he pulled her against him with a growl, kissing her with a hot embrace. He nibbled down her throat, and she tilted her head against the pillow, closing her eyes. He cupped each breast over her white cotton bra and reached beneath the fabric to stroke and thrum the aching nipples beneath.
Unhooking her bra, he tossed it to the floor and lowered his head to suckle one breast, then the other. The sensation was so sharp and wild and new that she gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly.
Moving up, he covered her gasping lips with his own, plundering her mouth before he slowly kissed down her body to her flat, naked belly. His tongue flicked her belly button. Then he kept going down further still.
His hands gripped her hips. He nuzzled between her legs, and she felt the warmth of his breath between her thighs. He held her firmly, gently pressing her legs apart, kissing each of her thighs before he pulled her panties off. Pushing her thighs apart, he teased her with his warm breath, then, with agonizing slowness, he