‘Yes, querida—already you are soaked … We must make our way back to the house.’
Querida, she registered. He had used that word before but on a blackly ironical note. Now suddenly his tone seemed to have softened, almost as if he meant it, as if he was concerned by her reaction. As if he truly was calling her darling … Her head was spinning with the delight of it.
‘Then let’s go back.’ The thickness in her throat made the words as huskily provocative as she planned them to be. ‘And get warm.’
Was her heart really thundering as heavily as it seemed? Or was that just the sound of the wind sending heavy branches thudding to the ground or the rain pounding on the cottage roof? She didn’t know or care. Her only thought was to get back into the cottage, to close the door on the world and shut herself in with Santos so that they could be alone together.
She was not even sure if she was walking, if her feet were actually touching the ground as they hurried towards the tiny house. Santos had her held so close to his side, his grip around her waist so tight that she was sure he was carrying her part of the way rather than letting her manage it herself. And in the moment that they stumbled through the front door he caught her to him and crushed her mouth with his before he swung her up into his arms as he had done on the night of the wedding and carried her into the hall, kicking the door to behind him as he headed for the stairs.
‘First on the left …’ Alexa managed against his neck, the slightly salty taste of his skin making her heart skip a couple of ragged beats as she savoured it against her tongue.
‘Si …’
Her room was dark and shadowy but the curtains were still open at the window and the moon gave enough light for Santos to see his way to the bed, taking her with him and tumbling her gently down onto the covers. But when she reached for him to pull him down with her he pulled away from her and turned away.
‘Santos!’
It was a cry of protest and distress, the loss of the heat and strength of his body too much to bear.
‘What …?’
‘I was looking for a towel …’ The roughness of his voice told clearly of the struggle he too was having for control. ‘You need to dry your—’
‘I need no such thing!’
It was impossible to tell if she was breathless with laughter, with the cold or with the deep frustration of the need that was eating away at her.
‘Santos, all I need is you! You can warm me best!’
For a second she thought that she was going to have to get up and drag him onto the bed with her but before she could move he had swung round again, flinging off his coat and throwing it down onto the floor in the same moment as he came down beside her, gathering her up into his arms once more.
If she had ever been cold, then Alexa couldn’t remember it now. Her whole body was on fire, burning up with need and the heated arousal Santos’s touch woke in her. And that heat didn’t fade as he stripped her clothes from her, hungry fingers occasionally fumbling with uncharacteristic clumsiness as he dealt with buttons and zips, the clasp on her bra. The truth was that every touch of his hands, every brush of his fingertips against her skin made her pulse kick up another notch, sending more blood throbbing in her veins, molten and hungry, a yearning desire uncoiling low down in her body, making her damp and aching between her legs.
Her mouth clamped to his, Alexa’s own fingers were rough with need as she tugged at his shirt, sighing her satisfaction as he shrugged it off and tossed it aside. At last she could trail her fingers over the heated satin of his skin, tangle her fingers in the soft crispness of body hair, inhale the musky scent of his aroused body, a perfume so heady and intoxicating that it made her feel close to swooning in heavy, erotic pleasure.
‘I want you,’ she muttered against his chest, letting her tongue slide out and taste him, circling the small, dark nub of his nipple, feeling it harden underneath her kisses. ‘Oh, dear heaven, Santos, how I …’
The words broke off on a long, gasping moan of pleasure as he matched her caresses with his own. Taking each breast in one hand, he cupped and stroked them, squeezing softly, lifting first one and then the other to his mouth, slicking his tongue across the yearning, sensitive tip, then blowing softly on the moistened bud, sending stinging, tingling sensations arrowing along every nerve, tugging at the most sensitive spot at the juncture of her thighs.
Her jeans felt roughly constricting, far too tight, so that she moved restlessly on the plain white quilt, brushing her pelvis against the swollen, heated evidence of his desire until he groaned a hungry response.
‘You witch!’he muttered thickly. ‘Temptress—tormentor …’