But even as he spoke he was freeing her from the confinement of her clothes, smoothing his hands along the slender lines of her legs, over the softness of her inner thighs, slipping through the cluster of curls to caress her intimately.
‘Santos …’
His name was a sigh of surrender and need and she opened herself up to him, clutching her hands in his hair and arching her back so that her breasts were crushed against the hard wall of his chest, her legs tangling with his.
But still it wasn’t enough; she needed more. Needed all of him; all of his possession. But the buckle of his belt seemed agonisingly stiff, resisting her attempts to tug it loose, bruising her fingers in frustrating resistance. She was close to tears of exasperation when his hand came over hers, stilling her restless movements.
‘Let me …’ he muttered, his voice raw with a need that matched her own, his movements every bit as urgent and impatient as hers had been.
But from the moment that she felt the heat of his flesh against her she suddenly wanted to slow everything down. She still felt every bit as hungry as before, more so, if that was possible, but in the instant that she felt the warm velvet-over-steel sensation of his erection nudging at her thighs she was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that it would never be this way again. Not the first time they had come together, but …
The first time they had made love.
It hit her like a blow in the face, making her gasp out loud. And as soon as the thought entered her head she knew that she should have realised it in the moment when she had gone to pieces at the sight of Santos’s car at the side of the road, almost crushed under the brutal weight of the fallen tree. In that moment when she had been unable to bear the thought of his beautiful body, of Santos himself hurt or injured in any way. So much so that it had almost destroyed her even to imagine it.
And that was because she had fallen in love with him. She was in so deep that just imagining him hurt was worse than actually being injured herself.
She was in love and she was about to make love to the man who had had such an impact on her; the man to whom she’d given her heart, even if he didn’t know it. And it was because he didn’t know it—would probably never, ever know it—that she hesitated now.
He would never want to know how she felt. Why should he when he didn’t believe in love for himself or for anyone else in the world? He didn’t believe in love and so he would never want what she most wanted to give him and he could never give her the thing she most needed from him—his love in return.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew that she didn’t care.
He couldn’t give her that but he could give her this, the passion of his body. And that was all he would give her. So she wanted to take her time with this, savour it, enjoy every moment and store it away in her memory so that one day, when memories were all she had …
‘Alexa?’
Santos had notice her withdrawal, the way she had disappeared into her own thoughts, and he raised his dark head, silvery eyes searching her hazel ones, looking deep into her face, into her heart, she could almost believe, feeling that he could see what was buried there.
‘What is it? Are you having second thoughts?’
‘Oh, no …’
No, no, no! Never that. But she saw the frown that drew his black brows together and knew that she had to say something to explain her momentary hesitation.
‘It’s just … do you have anything—any protection?’
She’d managed to distract him and he nodded in agreement.
‘Desde luego—of course …’
Reaching over the side of the bed, he grabbed at his jacket, pulled a leather wallet from the pocket and extracted the necessary small foil packet that was tucked inside.
‘So sensible, belleza …’ he muttered, pressing a warm kiss on her forehead, then one onto each eyelid, pressing them closed. ‘So cautious.’
If only he knew that cautious was the last thing she wanted to be. That what she really wanted was to throw all caution to the wind as she had done once before, and give herself to him totally and unreservedly, without the need for any protection—without anything coming between her and the full knowledge of his lovemaking.
But of course for Santos it wasn’t lovemaking. For him it was just sex, purely physical passion and nothing more. He would always want to be careful, because he wouldn’t want any possible consequences from what, for him, was just a passing indulgence in sensual pleasure. The simple fact that he carried condoms with him, so readily available, was potent evidence of that.
As she heard the foil packet tear and knew that he was sheathing himself—to protect her as well as him, she told herself fiercely—she was grateful for the fact that he had closed her eyes with his mouth. In the concealing darkness she could hide for a moment, knowing that her disappointment wouldn’t be revealed to him when he looked into her face. Behind her closed lids she could swallow down the weak, revealing tears, draw a much needed breath and bring herself back to calm acceptance of what had to be.