The Gold Collection: Bedded By A Billionaire: Santiago's Command / The Thorn in His Side / Stranded, Seduced...Pregnant. KIM LAWRENCE
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Nostrils flared, he breathed in the scent of her hair. ‘I want to wrap myself in this,’ he said, letting the pale strands slip through his fingers. ‘I want to be inside you.’
The throaty admission sent a jolt of sexual longing through her body and the need inside her rose until she could barely breathe, think … ‘Take me to bed, Santiago?’ she whispered, simultaneously shocked and excited by her own boldness. ‘Please.’
The febrile glitter of passion in his dark eyes made her tremble while for several heart-stopping moments he searched her face, then nodded. Taking her hand, he walked towards the bookcase, then, pressing a hand to a panel, stood to one side as a large section swung open.
‘A secret door!’ she gasped.
‘Hardly a secret, but it is useful.’
Lucy entered the secret space and found herself, not in a traditional dark and gloomy room but surrounded by limestone walls that gleamed in the electric light that shone from sconces. All the way up the spiral stone staircase a heavy red rope strung to the wall provided handholds.
How many women had he taken up these stairs? Lucy wondered as she began to climb the stone spiral staircase concealed inside the wall, the growing sense of anticipation making her heart beat hard.
She shook her head and pushed the thought away. Forget the others—this was her night. At the top Santiago reached over her shoulder and pressed a panel, the door this end opened into a massive panelled room.
‘My bedroom,’ he said, watching her face. ‘And my bed,’ he added.
His dark intense gaze didn’t leave her face for one second as he led her across to the carved oak bed that took pride of place. He peeled back the plain white bedlinen and deposited Lucy on the bed.
Not sure she’d ever get used to being picked up as though she were small and fragile, Lucy pulled herself up on her knees, swaying as the mattress beneath her moved.
She pushed her hair from her eyes and looked at him. ‘Santiago …?’
He responded with a grunt of acknowledgement and continued to strip off his clothes.
‘I need to say something.’ Need, not want. Nobody on the brink of having sex with—’Oh, God!’ she gasped as he fought his way successfully out of his shirt, having sent the buttons scattering noisily across the floor.
There was not an ounce of surplus flesh on his hard body to hide the perfect muscle definition. Every individual muscle in his torso was perfectly delineated beneath his satiny gold skin.
Moist heat flashed between her thighs, but she felt a tremor of fear. He was magnificent. Certainly not the sort of person to whom you wanted to admit: ‘I’m not great in bed but I’ll do my best.’
‘Look, I’m not … there’s something you should know about me—’
This time the distraction was even more severe. Having kicked away his trousers, he was walking to the bed wearing just a pair of boxers that were totally inadequate to disguise the level of his arousal.
A pulse of sexual longing slammed through her body.
‘We have all done things we are not proud of.’
Oh, God, he obviously thought the thing she wanted to get off her chest was more along the lines of ‘my night of passion with a football team’, not ‘I’m actually a clueless virgin’.
He arranged himself beside her, long, sleek and incredible, and slid his hand inside her shirt. ‘No, really—’ The rest of her protest was lost in his mouth, then a second later gone … as his tongue stabbed deep into her mouth and she thought, I can do this!
It felt natural … easy and wildly exciting to kiss him back, touch his skin, taste … ‘Oh, God, I want to taste you.’ Fascinated by the fluid-looking ripple of muscle under his satiny skin, she reached out, spreading her fingers across the ridges of his flat belly, and felt him gasp.
‘Dios Mio!’ he groaned, tipping her onto her back and almost simultaneously slipping the buttons on her blouse with dexterity that suggested a lot of practice.
Just as well one of us has, said the practical voice in her head.
‘You will,’ he promised throatily. He buried his face between the soft swell of her warm breasts, pressing them together as he slid the straps down her shoulders, peeling back the lace cups to expose the rosy peaks of her breasts.
When he applied his tongue to first one rigid nipple and then the next, Lucy pushed her head deep into the pillows, exposing the long line of her white neck as she let out a low keening cry.
Her reaction drew a deep masculine growl of appreciation from his throat. Madre di Dios, she was so exquisitely sensitive!
One hand resting on her rapidly rising ribcage, he removed her bra completely, freeing up her magnificent breasts. The visual impact brought flashes of colour to the high contours of his cheekbones.
His hands were shaking as he removed her skirt and finally the little lace pants underneath. While he did so he was conscious of her passion-darkened eyes watching him from under her half-closed eyelids; the sexual tension crackling in the air around them was explosive.
A muscle in his lean cheek clenched as his hot glance slid over her silky pale curves. She was the epitome of all things feminine, there was not a sharp angle in her lovely body.
‘You are a goddess,’ he breathed.
Lucy shook her head. She did not want to be a goddess—they got put on pedestals. She wanted to be held and touched.
‘No, I’m a woman.’ Your woman, she said silently in her head.
The first skin-to-skin contact was overwhelming, a total sensory overload. Her hand slid to the tight curve of his buttock, hard under the boxer shorts he still wore.
Taking her hands captive, he rolled her onto her back and, pinioning them lightly, he knelt over her.
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