ALEJANDRO SWORE, forcing himself up immediately, his hands at either side of her head as he tried not to crush all the air out of her lungs.
‘Meu Deus! Perdao! I’m sorry.’ He pushed himself back, straddling her body, his knees hard against the bones of her hips. ‘Que idiota! What an idiot!’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Isobel spoke a little breathlessly, but a smile was tugging at the corners of her lips. ‘Honestly, Alejandro, it was an accident, that’s all. I shouldn’t have interfered.’
‘You were trying to help,’ Alejandro contradicted her grimly, struggling to get his own breath back. Faint colour stained his cheeks at the ignominy of his position. ‘Deus, what must you think of me? Not only disfigured, but—what do you say?—decrepit as well.’
‘You’re not decrepit!’
Isobel gazed up at him impatiently. She wanted to reassure him, to tell him that she didn’t think any the worse of him for proving he was human after all. And as for being disfigured…
Her hand moved almost of its own volition. Without hesitation, it reached up and stroked the ridge of scar tissue that crossed his cheek. He jerked back at once, but she persisted in her exploration, the skin at either side of the scar feeling as smooth as it ever had.
‘Nao,’ he said harshly, capturing her hand within his much larger one. ‘Do not do that.’
‘Why not?’
She spoke defiantly, and although she expected him to let her go now he brought her hand to his mouth. His lips sought her palm, his tongue savouring the salty moisture he found there. Then his eyes focussed on hers and she was suddenly breathless again.
‘Isobella.’ He said her name huskily, the sound both a protest and a caress. ‘This was not meant to happen.’
‘I know that.’ Isobel shivered. And then, in an attempt to lighten the situation, ‘I doubt if you intended to tackle me onto the sofa.’
Alejandro sighed. ‘That is not what I meant and you know it,’ he told her roughly.
His eyes drifted down over her supine body, lingering sensually on the wedge of pale skin exposed below the hem of her vest. When tumbling her onto the sofa, he must have inadvertently dragged the waistband of her shorts lower, because now he could see the hollow of her navel.
He caught his breath. He knew that if he touched her he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. He was already aroused, and ironically the pain in his leg was eased when he looked at her. Right now, he was fighting the need to spread his hands on her soft skin, to feel her warmth relieving the tension between them.
The curve of her midriff was such a temptation. If he kissed her there, where the indentation of her waist provided a perfect hollow for his lips, would she taste as sweet as he remembered?
He recalled everything about her, that afternoon and evening in her bed at her apartment, before the phone call from his father had destroyed their relationship: her responsiveness, her passion, her fire. How he’d buried his face against her sex and inhaled the musky fragrance that their love-making had created…
Deus!
He tried to sever his thoughts as completely as his father’s phone-call had done, but it was useless. With the proof of her arousal there in the button-hard peaks of her breasts, in the scent of her body rising unmistakeably to his nostrils, she was impossible to resist.
His fists clenched around her forearms as he tried to hold back, but the softness of her skin bruised so easily. Softening his touch, he allowed his fingers to slide from her wrists to the top of her arms. He felt the nerves in her shoulders jump as he caressed her. With every quiver in her muscles, she responded to his touch.
‘Tao doce,’ he muttered. And then, through his teeth in a final burst of conscience, ‘This should not happen.’
‘Nothing has happened,’ protested Isobel unevenly, but he could tell she didn’t believe it.
‘It will,’ he responded, his voice thickening with emotion. ‘Or do you expect me to ignore the evidence your body cannot hide?’
‘I—Alejandro…’
But it was too late. He’d already bent his head towards her, capturing one provocative nipple through the thin cotton of her vest.
He sucked on it urgently and Isobel’s limbs went weak. Then, between her legs, she felt the unfamiliar gush of wetness. She was on the verge of an orgasm, and he’d hardly touched her!
‘Querida,’ he said huskily, transferring his attention to her other nipple. ‘You are wearing too many clothes.’
Once again, he sucked on her, his tongue seeking a satisfaction only she could give him. Then, with an oath, he forced the offending vest up above her breasts.
‘Melhor,’ he whispered. ‘Better. Muito melhor. Much better.’ He lowered his mouth again, and this time she felt as if his hungry tongue was draining all the strength from her body.
His mouth sought hers now, his teeth capturing the flesh on the inner side of her lower lip. He bit her, not painfully but intimately, before allowing his tongue to make an erotic exploration of its own.
Isobel moaned. She couldn’t help it. She was drowning in a sea of sexuality, and when his hands slid beneath her hips to cup her buttocks she arched eagerly towards him.
At first his fingers slid beneath her shorts, tightening the cuffs around her. But then, impatient with the constriction, he pushed the shorts down her legs. He was pleased to discover she was as naked underneath as he’d anticipated, and, after he tugged the vest over her head, she was soon totally exposed.
‘Bela,’he said hoarsely. ‘Beautiful.’ He stroked a searching finger from her navel down over the slight swell of her belly and into the moist heart of her womanhood. ‘Muita bela.’
Isobel jerked against his invasion, and in a strangled voice she said, ‘Please—please don’t.’
‘Nao?’
‘No.’ Isobel trembled. ‘Not—not yet.’
Alejandro bent to allow his tongue to follow his fingers, and she convulsed violently. ‘You do not mean that,’ he said confidently, and Isobel’s hands sought the buckle of his jeans.
‘You—’ she said unsteadily. ‘You’re wearing too many clothes.’
Alejandro stilled. ‘Believe me, you do not mean that,’ he said tightly. ‘But if you turn off the lights…’
‘No.’ Isobel levered herself up onto one hand and gripped his wrist with the other. ‘Do you think I care what you look like?’
‘I care,’ he said flatly, but she scrambled out from under him. On her knees in front of him, she began unbuttoning his shirt with studied determination.
‘Nao!’
His hands stopped her, but she met his dark gaze without flinching.
‘Yes,’ she said firmly, freeing her fingers and cupping his face between them. Then, setting her mouth against the dry ridge of his scar, she breathed, ‘Trust me, Alejandro. I won’t let you down.’
But she would; Alejandro knew it. Knew he’d be a fool to trust any woman. Hadn’t she and Miranda proved that? But, with her bare breasts invading that part of his shirt that she’d managed to unfasten, rubbing sensually against the hair on his chest, he found himself stifling his protest, telling himself it was too late to resist her now.
Bearing her back against the cushions of the sofa, he silenced the voices in his head that warned him he was going to regret this. With the hungry pressure of his mouth against hers, he gave himself up to his body’s demands.
His shirt came free of his trousers and he felt her pushing it off his shoulders. If she winced at the sight of the scars that were like spiderwebs across his shoulder, he didn’t hear her, and when her fingers returned to the buckle of his belt he didn’t stop her.
He let her pull the belt free, let her unfasten the button at his waist, her fingers unbearably sensual against his taut flesh. Then his zip slid down and she pushed both his jeans and his silk underwear away and allowed his bulging erection to spill, unfettered, into her hands.
And—Deus!—it was good, so good, to feel her holding him. She caressed him, causing him to suck in a breath of protest as she bent and took him into her mouth.
Cristo, he could hardly breathe; hardly dared to breathe, he acknowledged helplessly, aware that he was in danger of totally losing himself.
The driving need he’d been fighting ever since he’d come here was burning like liquid fire in his veins and he knew it. There was no way he either could or would back off now. The feeling of her body next to his, the erotic slide of her tongue, were like exotic signposts to his own personal nirvana. He wanted her; that was a given. And, whatever happened afterwards, he had to have her.
Sliding his fingers into her hair, he forced her head up, feeling the coolness of the air where moments earlier her tongue had been hot against his shaft. He knew he wanted to be inside her, where her heat and her fire would carry all his resistance away.
‘Alejandro,’ she breathed huskily, arching back on one elbow so that he was given an uninterrupted view of her slender body. Her breasts were rosy-tipped and swollen where he had been sucking them, and the honey-blonde curls between her legs were already moist from the invasion of his tongue.
Without giving another thought to the torn ligaments that disfigured his leg, or the care with which he usually removed his clothes, he thrust his jeans down to his ankles. He shoved off his boots as he did so, allowing him to kick his legs free.
He saw Isobel looking at him, but there was no point in trying to hide his scars. Still, he managed not to grit his teeth too obviously when a pain shot hotly up his thigh.
Besides, Isobel’s attention was riveted on his rampant shaft, that rose thick and powerfully male from its nest of dark hair. And he didn’t have to be ashamed of that.
‘Say it,’ he said, capturing her hands in his when she would have touched him again. ‘Say you want me. Tell me, Isobella. I want you to have no doubts this time.’
Isobel gazed up into his dark, tormented face, her eyes wide and unknowingly provocative. ‘I had no doubts last time,’ she murmured, barely audibly, and guessed he didn’t hear her. Which was probably just as well. ‘I do want you, Alejandro,’ she assured him huskily. ‘Is that what you needed to hear?’
‘Yes,’ he said roughly, lowering his head to the cluster of curls between her legs and parting her folds with his tongue again. ‘It is what I needed to hear,’ he agreed, the faint stubble on his jawline absurdly sensual against her sensitive flesh. ‘Ah, cara, you are so ready for me.’ He glanced up at her, a trace of humour curling his mouth. ‘I wonder—shall I make you wait?’
Isobel’s breathing felt as if it was suspended, but she managed to say softly, ‘Can you?’ and he rose over her before covering her mouth with his.
As he did so, the throbbing head of his erection probed her moist core. Isobel spread her legs encouragingly. It was a provocative invitation, and Alejandro was not immune to her appeal. ‘You know I cannot,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Help me, cara.’ He caught his breath. ‘Deus; that feels so good.’
With her soft hands guiding him, he pressed into her. She was tight, so tight, but her muscles expanded around him, making it seem as if she had been made for just this purpose.
When he had achieved total penetration, he remained still for a moment, enjoying the sensation of her heat surrounding him. He remembered that other occasion when he’d made love to her, and acknowledged with a pang that no matter how many women he’d known, either before or since, he’d never experienced the same satisfaction with anyone else.
‘Alejandro,’ she whispered now, winding her arms about his neck and pulling his face down to hers. ‘Love me, Alejandro.’
He watched her then, watched as he withdrew almost to the point of separation, before thrusting into her again. She moaned in enjoyment, winding one leg around his hip and allowing the sole of her foot to slide sensuously against his calf.
It was an erotic caress, and Alejandro found himself unable to control his movements. Almost without his volition, his body quickened its pace, stroking in and out with an urgency that only enhanced his pleasure as well as her own.
When he felt the first faint stirrings of her orgasm rippling around him, he groaned his approval. Her body spasmed, tightened, dragging him to the brink. Then, with the liquid heat of her essence spilling around him, he could hold back no longer.
With one final thrust, and a sense of fulfilment that was more than mere pleasure, he reached his climax. Drained, satiated, totally content for the first time in a little over three years…
Awareness of his surroundings came slowly.
He didn’t usually sleep with lamps still burning, he acknowledged, yet the light in the room wasn’t daylight, and his aching body told him that he had had no rest.
Yet, for all that, some of the frustration he often felt upon waking had been eased. And the ache in his thighs wasn’t from riding a horse, but a whole different exhaustion entirely.
He shifted awkwardly, rolling onto his side and gazing somewhat confusedly around the room. Where was she? And how had she got out from under him without waking him? He normally slept so fitfully. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t known that she’d gone.
But, of course, he hadn’t. Wincing slightly, he swung his legs over the side of the sofa and ran frustrated hands through his hair.
Then, looking down at his naked body, he thought he knew why she hadn’t waited to share those post-intimacy moments. Deus, dismissing his appearance in the heat of the moment was one thing—coping with his scars in cold blood was something else.
Dragging his hands down his face, he got heavily to his feet. Then, rescuing his jeans from the floor, he hauled them on without ceremony. He was desperate to conceal his injuries before he saw Isobel again, and he stuffed his silk boxers into his back pocket, unwilling to risk being caught without his trousers.
His shirt came next, and he was buttoning it up when he heard a sound behind him. Isobel was standing in the bedroom doorway, a towelling bathrobe bulking around her.
He was relieved to see that the blinds at the windows were drawn. At least he didn’t have to worry about having an audience, though he had to admit that until now he hadn’t even thought of it.
‘Hi,’ she said, her voice a little shaky. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Why would I not be?'Alejandro countered, his frustration colouring his tone. His lips twisted. ‘What does one say in situations like this—I seem to have overstayed my welcome?’
Isobel’s pale face lost all colour. ‘You were asleep,’ she said defensively. ‘I didn’t like to disturb you.’
‘Nao?’ Alejandro was sardonic. He glanced blindly at his watch. ‘Did I sleep long?’
Isobel’s tongue circled her upper lip. ‘A little while,’ she replied offhandedly, and Alejandro sucked in a breath.
His eyes sought his watch again, and this time he focussed on the dial. It was after two o’clock. He must have slept for a good two hours.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, aghast. He had obviously been dead to the world. He glanced impatiently about him. ‘I must go.’
Isobel didn’t say anything. She just stood there, looking at him, and he felt the unwilling pull of her attraction all over again.
However this time he had more sense than to act on it. What they’d shared had been amazing, incredible—but, like that interlude in London, it had been an experience out of time, unlikely to be repeated.
And yet…
He walked haltingly towards the door, steeling himself against the urge to drag his aching leg. He was intensely conscious of her eyes upon him, and he had some pride left.
Then, before opening the door, he turned and said a little stiffly, ‘I should have asked you: how is the interview going?’
Isobel’s eyes went wide. She couldn’t believe he would ask her such a thing, not now, not at this moment. Was he completely insensitive? Well, she thought, she had the answer to that.
Biting back the bitter retort that sprang to her lips, she said tightly, ‘Well. It’s going well.’
Alejandro’s eyes were suddenly intent on hers. ‘And when do you expect to leave?’ he asked, aware that he was gripping the handle of the door so hard it was digging into his palm.
‘Oh.’ Isobel swallowed. ‘I—I don’t know.’
‘But not yet,’ he persisted, and she wondered why it mattered to him.
Then she thought of Emma, and once again she was sure she understood.
Understood, too, that for the past few hours she had barely thought of her daughter. And that was unforgiveable.
‘Perhaps you ought to ask Senhora Silveira,’ she responded, holding the lapels of her robe close about her throat.
Then, because she didn’t see why he should have it all his own way, ‘Are you going?’
‘Oh. Que? E claro. What? Of course.’ He was startled into speech, automatically using his own language as he struggled to face the fact that she was as eager to end this awkward exchange as he was. ‘We will speak again tomorrow, sim?’
Isobel held up her head. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is what I want,’ he said heavily, and this time he did open the door. ‘Boa noite, Isobella.’ He paused. ‘Try not to hate me too much, hmm?’
Isobel gasped. ‘I don’t hate you,’ she protested, wondering where that had come from. But Alejandro merely gave her a rather cynical smile before closing the door behind him.