In the Argentine's Bed / Secret Baby, Public Affair: In the Argentine's Bed. Yvonne LindsayЧитать онлайн книгу.
demanding one.” She tried not to pay attention to the way he cradled her foot in his hands. “He expects the best from all his employees.”
“Surely he can’t fire you for something I’ve done, or rather, refused to do?”
“Sure he can. He’d see it as firing me for my failure to execute.”
Amado looked thoughtful. Then he bent his head and resumed his precise massage. Susannah tried not to wriggle on the sofa as he nailed one pressure point after another, creating sensations of deep relaxation and startling pleasure.
She allowed herself to sink back into the cushions. To let go.
A night in Amado’s bed in exchange for the DNA sample.
Her skin tingled at the prospect of those magic hands roaming…all over it. She suppressed a shiver of anticipation.
She was sure he’d keep the bargain. There was something old-world about him. He positively reeked of honor and integrity.
And sensuality. Their eyes met. Desire darkened his eyes and a spark of…something leaped between them.
Amado settled her feet gently on the ground. He rose and crossed the room.
She exhaled with relief as his intense and dangerously handsome presence receded into the shadows.
Spend the night in my bed.
His words from earlier—spoken half in jest, no doubt—seemed to hover in the air, thickening it. The crackling fire echoed the heat building and snapping inside her.
She hadn’t made love in a long time.
Actually—not to put too fine a point on it—she hadn’t made love ever. She’d had sex, but not for, oh…well, it was just plain embarrassing to think about how long it had been.
She was busy.
Always on the move.
Was there something wrong with having a sensual fling with an interested male? People did it all the time.
Her coworkers regaled their lurid exploits around the cappuccino machine in the office every Monday. Some of their stories made her jaw drop. They weren’t saving themselves for Mr. Right any more than they had been in college. They lived for the moment.
They had fun.
Why couldn’t she have some fun too, for a change?
Her ears pricked up at an exchange between Amado and Rosa. A minute later she heard Rosa leave, closing the door behind her.
She tensed in anticipation at the sound of Amado’s decisive footsteps on the polished floor. He reappeared with two steaming white mugs.
And she’d get the DNA. Tarrant would be happy. She’d keep her job.
If Amado wasn’t his son, which she suspected, there’d be no harm done.
If he was, Amado would no doubt inherit some of Tarrant’s billions.
The retail tycoon was terminally ill and might have only weeks to live. He was trying desperately to find and embrace his long-neglected, illegitimate offspring before he died.
Either way, she’d be doing a good deed.
Right?
Amado handed her a mug. His dark eyes narrowed. “You have a strange expression on your face.”
“Me?” She let out a high, false laugh. “I’m just getting mesmerized by the fire, or something.”
Emphasis on the or something.
She sniffed the contents of the cup. “Coffee at this time of night? Won’t it keep us awake?”
Amado’s mouth hitched slightly on one side. Something resembling a smile—or rather a wicked grin—crept across his face so slowly she wondered if she was imagining it. “Sometimes it’s good to be awake at night.”
He settled into the sofa beside her. Close. His muscled thigh brushed against her skirt.
Her pulse quickened.
The heat of his body mingled with the warmth of the fire and her own elevated body temperature.
What if Tarrant found out she’d slept with the man he thought was his son?
She swallowed hard. He wouldn’t.
Amado would never tell. The old-world-honor thing. She sensed that he kept his emotions close to his chest. They’d spent hours together and while he’d talked about each of his wines like a beloved mistress, there’d been no mention whatsoever of his personal life.
She also suspected that—like his charming vineyard tour and his expert foot massage—he did this quite often.
Which, rather than alarming her, actually took the pressure off.
She sensed his steady dark gaze on her as she sipped her drink. Mmm. Sticky, rich, dulce de leche sweetened the coffee.
“Where does your family live now?”
His question jarred her out of the sensual fog she’d drifted into. “You mean my parents?”
He frowned. “Yes, and your brothers and sisters.”
“I don’t have any brothers and sisters. There’s just me. My parents are back in the Philippines. They’re running a program there for at-risk teens.”
“They sound like good people.”
“They are. I wish I was more like them. Or at least I feel I should wish that. But someone’s got to devote their life to finding the best wines in the world, don’t you think?”
Her words rang in the still air. Heat crept up her neck, embarrassment that she’d laid bare her insecurities.
Amado didn’t blink. “Each of us has his or her own path. By trying to follow the wrong one, you do a disservice to yourself and to others.” He laid a big, reassuring hand on her arm. “And I can’t think of a more worthy pursuit than the quest for excellent wine.” He tilted his head and his eyes glittered. “But then, I’m biased.”
Her arm heated under his palm. He was close enough that she could smell his scent. She distracted herself by trying to analyze it.
Complex aroma, rich and appealing. A risky but invigorating blend of coffee, fermented grapes, burnt wood and hardworking male.
Full and robust bouquet. The finish might well be bittersweet…but worth it.
His palm moved over her forearm. Not really going anywhere, just moving back and forth. Stroking her.
She glanced at his face, but he didn’t look up. He seemed intent on the simple motion. Was this some kind of weird Argentine seduction trick?
If it was, it appeared to be working. Strange sensations bubbled inside her. When his hand slid to her thigh, resting lightly on it through the thin fabric of her skirt, it felt as natural and unthreatening as a handshake.
Or a kiss on the cheek.
Amado’s lips brushed her cheekbone so lightly she wondered for a moment if she’d imagined it or simply wished it.
The second time his mouth rested for a moment right beside hers, until her lips stung with anticipation. His breath heated her skin.
His hand slid up her thigh, bringing her dress with it, until the hem climbed over her knee.
She realized she was leaning toward him. Since it felt so natural, she leaned closer, her nipples tight and tingling under her blousy top.
She slid one arm around him, aware of his muscled back through the soft fabric of his shirt.
Amado’s bare palm on her thigh made her gasp. He’d hiked her skirt up almost to her underwear and warmth from