"You have good taste."
"Put them on for me."
Her eyebrow shot up. "Now? I'm in a towel and my hair is soaking wet." She had the mass of curls wrapped up turban-style, and she was suddenly self-conscious. "They look great with a dress I have, but I'm not so certain what effect they'll have in a towel."
"Right now." His voice was low, compelling, that hypnotic, sexy rasp that tightened her nipples and made her ache with need.
She put her hand on his shoulder and slipped one heel on her foot, all the while watching his face. He looked mesmerized. Hungry. She slid the other red heel onto her foot and stepped away from him with confidence.
The heels made her legs look great. How could they not? Towel or not, she had a good figure, and he was definitely appreciating it. He made her feel like the sexiest woman alive.
He stood up, an easy casual ripple of muscles, his walk catlike as he advanced on her, nearly stopping her heart. His hand cupped her face, thumb sliding over her cheekbone. "You are so beautiful. I have no idea what I did to deserve you, but you take my breath away."
He bent his head and kissed her. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, his breath warm and his mouth coaxing. He trailed kisses down the side of her face to her neck, nuzzling her, nipping with his teeth and teasing with his tongue. Her blood thundered in her ears as his hot, seductive mouth roamed down her throat to the curve of her breast. Liquid heat pulsed between her thighs.
Manolito tugged on the towel, and it dropped away from her body, leaving every inch of her bare to his hungry gaze. He stepped back to take in the sight of her, the expanse of satin skin and full, lush curves, achingly soft and inviting. His thumb brushed her sensitive nipple and she gasped in response. He drew a line from her chin to her navel. "I swear, MaryAnn, I have never seen a sight more beautiful in all my centuries of living." Lust roughened his voice, but honesty turned it to velvet. He stepped back, his hand sliding down her arm until his fingers tangled with hers. He tugged so that she would take a step toward him.
Chapter Eight
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Manolito slid his hand over the curve of her hip, the pads of his fingers lingering lightly on her skin. MaryAnn's stomach muscles tightened. Small flames of arousal flickered over her thighs, spread up to her belly and teased her breasts. His eyes had grown hot and possessive, his mouth sensual, the edge of hunger sharper. She could barely catch her breath, her body craving his. Everywhere his gaze touched her, she felt it like a brand.
Was she seducing him? Or was he seducing her? She couldn't tell and didn't care. All that mattered was that he couldn't take his eyes from her. His body was hard and tight, the bulge in the front of his jeans impressive. Heat rolled off him in waves. And his touch was sheer magic, the pads of his fingers teasing at some wild creature inside of her, one that demanded to be free-one that physically responded to everything about him.
"I waited several lifetimes for you," he confided, his gaze hot as he bent his head to her neck. His tongue teased her earlobe, swirled over her pulse. "I thought of you. What I would do with you. How many ways I would give you pleasure."
Manolito inhaled the ripe scent of her. All woman. His woman.
He ached for her, his erection so hard, so thick, he knew he would never find peace until he buried himself deep inside of her. It mattered little to him that dawn was approaching and he had been unable for some time to even tolerate the early morning sunlight. He would risk everything to stay with her, to be inside of her, to claim her for his own. Her breath quickened, drawing attention to the rise and fall of her full, firm breasts. His. He was going to take every second he had with her and live it to the fullest.
He forced himself to let his hand slide from her arm. Walking to the bed beside the fireplace he dropped onto
the thick mattress. "I want to look at you."
She stood for a moment, her hand on her hip, her hair streaming down her back, her beauty robbing him of breath. She took a single step in the sexy red heels, and desire hit him with a brutal blow, a fist of need that might have driven him to his knees had he been standing. He drew in his breath and let the intensity of lust take him. His body felt hot, too tight, bursting with the need to drive into her. Images ran through his head of her spread out before him like a feast.
With each step she took, the hunger increased, until his blood pounded in his body and every cell raged for her. The sheer pleasure of wanting her shook him to the very foundations of his existence. He had never wanted anything the way he wanted her. He had never needed anything, but suddenly her body was everything. The shape and texture. Her skin, gleaming with invitation. Every soft inch of it waiting to be explored, to be touched. Every secret hollow and shadow. His. All for him. When nothing in his long centuries of existence had ever been for him, the sight of her was almost too much to be believed. Looking wasn't good enough. He would have to touch her-possess her-or none of this would be real.