The Secret Mistress. Emma Darcy
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finished taking off his footwear and when he straightened up, his dark eyes gloated over her with unmistakably sexual intent...such burning intent Shontelle squirmed inside.
“I see,” he drawled. “Our romantic idyll on the Amazon was over. I had work to do in Buenos Aires so you did not get my full attention there. Rest assured you have it tonight, Shontelle.”
He proceeded to unfasten his trousers.
“Why?” she shot at him, frustrated at being relegated to a sexual object. Though that might be all he’d ever thought of her. The urge to sting him as she was stung slid straight off her tongue. “Your other women not delivering any spice, Luis? You need a taste of me to supplement your diet?”
It stung him all right. His mouth thinned for a moment and there was a flare of anger in his eyes, giving her a glimpse of a banked inner rage that promised no quarter given tonight.
“You think you’re special, Shontelle?” He left the lilt of mockery hanging while he finished undressing. Then stark naked, powerfully naked, aggressively naked, he gave her a smile that curled with vengeful satisfaction. “Well, yes you are,” he drawled. “A rich, erotic indulgence...so special I think I should make a banquet of you.”
And spit me out in the morning.
Shontelle’s stomach was suddenly a hollow pit. All the cards looked black in this game—clubs and spades—no hearts, no diamonds. Even so, she could not give up all hope. Not yet.
“Taking a risk, aren’t you?” she slung back at him. “People get addicted to rich, erotic indulgences.”
He laughed, and despite its being dark amusement, his face was suddenly transformed into the lighter, more lovable Luis she had known, and Shontelle’s heart tripped over itself. Her body wantonly buzzed with anticipation as he prowled onto the bed, looming over her, sweeping her hair away from her breasts, raking it into a fan around her head, his eyes simmering with lustful heat.
“A substance has to be readily available for one to become addicted,” he murmured, sipping seductively at her lips. “I’ll just take all I can get of it tonight.”
Readily available... the phrase echoed in Shontelle’s ears as Luis fully engaged her mouth with his in a long, devouring kiss, stirring her hunger for him, a hunger that had been starved for two miserable, empty years. If she’d stayed, maybe he would have defied his heritage to keep her. Foolish pride... walking out on him without confronting him with what she’d been told, what he’d withheld. An open choice would have been better, cleaner.
Maybe with this second chance...
She raked her fingers through his hair, revelling in the feel of it, a huge surge of possessiveness welling through her. This man was hers, had to be. There was no other like him. And he had to feel the same about her. It had to be mutual, this passionate craving.
Then suddenly her hands were snatched away, slammed onto the bed and pinned above her head as he levered himself up. “It’s my night, Shontelle.”
She looked into eyes seething with dark turbulence.
“And the playing will be all mine.”
He bent and licked her lips as though collecting the lingering evidence of her response to his kiss, then trailed his mouth slowly down to the pulse at the base of her throat, pausing there to apply a heated pressure that kicked her heart into wilder pumping.
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