The Secret Mistress. Emma DarcyЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I didn’t get what I wanted then,” she protested, her voice thin and shaky under the appalling weight of devastated hopes.
A savage fury flared into his eyes. “Was I not all you wanted of a Latin lover?” His mouth curled with cruel intent. “Well, let me try not to disappoint you tonight. We have many hours ahead of us. I promise you a feast of hot-blooded sensuality.”
Hot and hard and ruthless.
The awful part was, Shontelle could not stop her body from pulsing with excitement at what he offered. Only with him had she ever known intense physical ecstasy. She hadn’t even felt a twinge of attraction towards anyone else in the past two years. Just the thought of touching Luis again, feeling him...quivers of anticipation shot through her.
But he was treating her like a whore, laying it out that she could only get the bus in return for sex.
Sex...not remotely connected to love. Not even the slightest semblance of love. It was wrong, wrong, wrong! Her heart twisted in torment as he twisted her hair more firmly around his hand and tugged her closer to him. Then his other hand slid over her breasts, his palm rotating caressingly, his eyes glittering their triumphant knowledge of what had pleasured her in the past, and to prove him right, her nipples instantly stiffened into begging prominence.
“Stop it!” she hissed, hating his power to arouse her even as she revelled in the sharp sensation that stimulated a host of nerves, arcing from her breasts to the innermost core of her sexuality.
One black eyebrow arched mockingly. “You no longer like this?”
He was the devil incarnate, tempting her. The truth was, she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want him to ever stop. But he would. This was only to be one more taste. Unless...
Something deeply primitive stirred in Shontelle.
He wasn’t married, so he said.
And he still wanted her.
He also wanted a payback for his wounded pride.
Well, so did she. So did she!
“I don’t normally go for one night stands,” she said.
“But these are special circumstances,” he returned silkily.
“Just let me understand you clearly, Luis...”
With her heart thumping to a wild beat, Shontelle flicked open the shirt button over his chest curls and slid her hand inside, seeking and deliberately tweaking one of his nipples. His sharply indrawn breath was music to her ears. She had power over him, too. It wasn’t a one-way street.
Her eyes flirted challengingly with his as she spoke through the provocative, physical teasing. “...If I stay with you the night and let you have your...” She lowered her gaze to his mouth, regarding it assessingly. “...taste of me...” She let the words linger for a moment, then flicked her gaze up, raising her eyebrows in pointed questioning. “...I get the bus? Is that the deal?”
“Yes,” he hissed at her.
“Then make your calls now, Luis. Let me hear you arrange the delivery of an appropriate bus to The Europa Hotel as soon as the curfew is lifted tomorrow. When you’ve done that, I’ll call Alan to assure him everything’s all right and I’ll be staying with you until morning.”
His jawline tightened. His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like her calling the shots, but he’d dealt her the cards, made the rules of the game, and Shontelle figured he couldn’t fault her over playing them. A sense of triumph poured a burst of adrenalin through her veins. No one was a victim unless they allowed themselves to be.
She pursed her lips into a considering little smile. “A feast of hot-blooded sensuality sounds good. I do hope you’re up to it, Luis.”
The moment the words were out, she felt a swell of danger—a dark and fierce emanation from him swirling around her, sending shivers down her spine. He smiled right back at her as he released her hair—a smile that promised himself a deep well of satisfaction. He plucked her hand from inside his shirt and drew it slowly down, palm against him, fingers splayed.
“Feel for yourself how up to it I am, Shontelle,” he drawled, his other hand gliding up her throat to cup her chin.
He was fully erect, his arousal straining against the barrier of clothes. He guided her into stroking him as he tilted her head and bent his own. “Just to make sure I do want the taste,” he murmured, then covered her mouth with his, not giving her any chance of reply.
Shontelle didn’t even think of trying to deny him. The urge to taste him, too, was far too strong for any denial. And his mouth was soft, sweetly seductive, at first, his tongue merely flicking over the soft inner tissues of her lips, sensitising them with delicious tingles.
She responded, wanting to know if the passion they had once shared could be triggered again, beyond pride, beyond all the differences between them. Her free arm instinctively curled around his neck to hold him to her and the kiss deepened, pursuing a more erotic, more exciting intimacy.
Her body started clenching with a need it had all but forgotten. She grasped the hard proof of his desire, fingers digging around it, revelling in the feel of him. She was so caught up in her own strong responses, it came as a shock when he abruptly ended their kiss, removed her hand from him and broke out of her embrace.
“You must be hungry for a man, Shontelle,” he mocked, lifting the fingers that had been squeezing him to his mouth. He lightly nipped them. “Definitely an appetising taste. Please excuse me while I execute my half of the deal. I look forward to the rest of the night.”
He walked away from her, seemingly completely in control of himself. Shontelle was left feeling shattered, her legs trembling, drained of strength, her stomach churning so much she wanted to be sick, her heart aching, her mind zigzagging helplessly through a maze of fierce contradictions.
She loved him... and hated him.
She craved more of him...yet wanted to cut out his callous heart.
Was it to be a night of intense life... or a night of heart-killing desolation?
She didn’t know...couldn’t decide...couldn’t tear herself away from whatever might pass between them.
He picked up a telephone, pressed a sequence of numbers, spoke with the arrogant authority of his name, his position, the power that came automatically with great wealth...Luis Angel Martinez...the only man who’d ever moved her like this...and maybe the only man who ever would.
Was there anything to win by staying?
The bus, her mind answered.
But the bus had no relevance to the question.
She wanted...needed...to win something for herself. So she had to stay and see this night through, even if she lost everything.
One night...one night...unless she could turn it into something more.
CHAPTER FOUR
LUIS was rock-hard and in pain but the shattered look he’d left on Shontelle’s face was worth every second of the discomfort. No way was she going to turn the tables on him! He hoped the witch was burning with frustration.
He deliberately kept his back turned to her while he talked on the phone to Ramon Flores who could organize any form of road transport in La Paz. It was local courtesy to speak Quechua, the old Inca language, and Luis did so with perverse pleasure, knowing Shontelle would not be able to follow it. Her grasp of Spanish was good, but she only had a sketchy knowledge of the native dialects.
Let her stew in uncertainty, he thought. She was too damned sure of her power to get what she wanted. Before this night was out she’d learn who was master of the situation, and he’d kiss her goodbye with the same brutal finality she’d shown him two years ago.
“The bus is not a problem, Luis,” Ramon said predictably.