One Night in... Rio: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child / Virgin Mistress, Scandalous Love-Child / The Surgeon's Runaway Bride. Anne Mather
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had to find out and, snatching up the shirt she’d discarded when she’d gone for her shower, she pulled it on and wrapped the folds around her. It only skimmed her thighs, but at least it was a little less revealing than her underwear.
Alejandro was in the living room. Because her apartment was on the sixth floor, she hadn’t drawn the curtains, and he was standing at the window staring out at the lights of the city.
He’d put on the jacket he’d been wearing when he’d arrived at the apartment, and she could see how wet and creased it was. Even so, that didn’t explain why he was still here, and with a tentative clearing of her throat she said, ‘Is something wrong?’
Alejandro swung round, his hands at his throat, and she realised he’d been fastening his collar and tie. She’d been too premature, she realised. She should have given him more time. As it was, she felt a fool for intruding.
‘You have an interesting view,’ he said, his hands dropping to his sides. ‘My apologies. I realise I am overstaying my welcome.’
Isobel’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. ‘Your—your coat’s soaking,’ she said at last, unable to think of anything else, and Alejandro’s lips twisted.
‘Esta chovendo,’he said, and then, collecting himself, ‘It is raining, cara.’ He spread his arms. ‘When it rains, I get wet.’
Isobel pressed her lips together. ‘You could—you could wear your other jacket,’ she pointed out, and Alejandro’s lips tilted.
‘So I could,’ he agreed ruefully, slipping the mohair jacket off his shoulders again. ‘As always, you are—como se diz?—the soul of practicality, nao?’
Isobel didn’t feel very practical, particularly when she was halfway across the living room before she remembered her state of undress. But by then it was too late to indulge in any false modesty, and, stepping into the hall, she lifted down the leather jacket she’d hung there and brought it back to him.
‘Many thanks,’ he said, coming to take the jacket from her, and as he did so she was made intensely aware of the damp, masculine scent of his skin.
‘I—no problem,’ she murmured. And then, before she could prevent the words, ‘Your shirt’s wet too.’
Alejandro lifted a hand and smoothed it down over his chest. The silk clung to his skin, and he made a slight gesture of acknowledgement. ‘So it is,’ he conceded with a rueful smile. ‘Unfortunately, I do not have another shirt to wear.’
‘I—I could dry it,’ offered Isobel recklessly, and he gave her a conservative look.
‘I think not, cara.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know the answer to that as well as I do,’ murmured Alejandro, his voice thickening as his eyes lowered to the sensual beauty of her mouth. ‘Or are you so immune to this attraction I feel between us that you do not care what I do?’
That was so patently untrue that Isobel could only stare at him in mute appeal. She’d never been more aware of any man, of his heat and his magnetism, and the indefinable aura of masculinity and strength that emanated from him.
‘I—I care,’ she got out at last, and she wasn’t sure what she was admitting to when he cast his jacket aside and trailed an unsteady finger down her cheek.
‘Merda,’ he muttered, a low groan vibrating in his chest. Then his hand curled about her neck, and he was pulling her forward so that he could cover her mouth with his.
CHAPTER FOUR
ISOBEL gave an involuntary little gasp as he kissed her. The initially gentle pressure of his lips was so inviting, so insistent, and she couldn’t help her hands from spreading weakly against his shirt.
Wet silk dampened her fingers as the satin-smooth heat of his tongue slid between her teeth and into the moist cavern of her mouth. The matching heat of his skin rose hotly through the fine fabric of his shirt, and her hands closed convulsively against the muscled pressure of his midriff.
He deepened his kiss, his hand sliding from her nape and into the tangled glory of her hair. His thumb explored her ear, finding the erratic pulse that beat so wildly beneath his touch, and he tilted back her head so that his mouth could seek the quivering column of her throat.
‘I—We—we shouldn’t,’ she managed to stammer when she felt her shirt sliding off her shoulders, felt his fingers peeling down the straps of her bra.
‘Porque nao? Why not?’ he asked, using the words she’d used earlier. ‘Do you not want me to show you what you do to me?’
‘I just—’ The erotic brush of his fingers across her breast caused her breath to hitch, and it was a struggle to remember what she had been going to say. ‘Alejandro …’
‘Do not tell me you do not want this just as much as I do,’ he insisted, his accent more pronounced now, soft and sensual, soothing her shattered nerves with the downy brush of velvet. ‘You do, do you not?’ he persisted, circling her breast with his tongue, and she felt as if her whole body was on fire.
She moaned as his teeth took the place of his tongue and he took one swollen nipple into his mouth. Any lingering resistance was being eroded by his mouth and the intimate touch of his hands, and she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t responded to it.
Yet still she struggled to remember the reasons why she shouldn’t let him do this. But, when his hand cupped the rounded swell of her buttocks and brought her close against him, the unmistakeable pressure of his arousal pulsing against her stomach caused her legs to turn to jelly.
‘Nao?’he murmured. It was as much a question as a denial and Isobel felt her senses swimming.
‘I—’
It was impossible to say the words she knew she ought to say, and, with a groan of triumph, Alejandro swung her up into his arms.
‘Quero—I want you,’ he said, burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder. ‘Let me prove it, nao?’
His mouth found hers again as he carried her across the hall and into her bedroom. Her shirt and bra had disappeared and, apart from the scrap of black lace, she was naked in his arms.
Alejandro laid her on the bed, tearing off his own shirt as he came down beside her. He kissed her again as she fumbled with the buckle of his belt, and she turned towards him and cupped his face with her hot little hands.
The delicious provocation of her breasts against his chest was almost his undoing. The urge to spread her legs and push his aching shaft inside her was almost irresistible, but he was determined she should enjoy this just as much as he intended to.
In Isobel’s case, some coherent corner of her mind was still insisting that this couldn’t be happening. She’d never been the kind of woman to sleep around and, apart from David, she was totally innocent of the ways of men.
Yet feeling him loosening his belt, unzipping his trousers, she couldn’t resist trying to confirm what her subconscious mind was telling her could not be true. But the throbbing heat that thrust against her palms was all too real, all too powerful. He’d pushed his trousers down his legs, and his male strength was hard and unmistakeably aroused.
As she touched him Alejandro caught his breath, sucking air into lungs that suddenly seemed deprived of oxygen. ‘Cara,’he protested thickly. ‘Cuidado! Have a care! I have only so much control.’
Isobel’s tongue circled her lips. ‘But you like me to touch you?’ she questioned, and he gave a strangled laugh.
‘Sim, I like you to touch me,’ he admitted huskily. But he captured both her hands in one of his and imprisoned them above her head even so. Then, his eyes darkening possessively, ‘But I want to touch you too. Everywhere.’
Isobel