November Harlequin Presents 2(90)

She should tell him now, instead of allowing him to believe that they were about to spend a night of passion. But it was difficult to think straight when the slide of his tongue was probing the firm line of her mouth with erotic intent, demanding access.

He had kissed her in the chapel when the priest had announced them man and wife, but then his lips had been gentle, almost tender, and so sweetly beguiling that he had coaxed a response from her. Now his mouth ground down on hers with a punishing force that should have appalled her, but instead his blatant hunger sent liquid heat surging through her veins.

With a low murmur she leaned into him and parted her lips, a quiver running through her at his husky growl of approval. He slid his tongue into her mouth and explored her with a thoroughness that left her trembling. She’d never felt like this before, never experienced such a wild, all-consuming need that made her breasts ache and caused a peculiar squirmy sensation in the pit of her stomach, and without conscious thought she flattened her hand against his chest.

Javier finally broke the kiss and stared down at her, a fierce glitter in his eyes as he noted the confusion in hers. His English rose might not like him, but she was trapped by the primitive sexual chemistry that also enslaved him, he noted with a surge of satisfaction.

‘I’ll tell Torres to call the final toast to the bride and groom. It’s time our guests went home,’ he said, his mouth curving into a faintly cruel smile at her shocked expression.

‘You can’t just throw them out. What will they think?’

‘I don’t give a damn,’ he told her with supreme arrogance. ‘I’m so hungry for you, querida, that I’m close to taking you here and now on the dining table, and to hell with social niceties.’

‘Javier…’ Grace took a deep breath. ‘I…don’t want to sleep with you.’

He lifted his flute of champagne and drained it before glancing at her, his eyes hooded and heavy with sensual promise. ‘I don’t want to sleep with you either; I intend to indulge in other far more pleasurable activities during the long hours of the night.’ His eyes skimmed over her in such a frank appraisal that Grace blushed and then ground her teeth in impotent fury when he chuckled. ‘Your act of virginal innocence is such a turn-on, querida, as I’m sure you realise,’ he drawled hatefully. ‘But you don’t have pretend any longer. I prefer a woman who is confident of her sensuality, and I have every expectation that you’re a tigress between the sheets.’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Grace retorted darkly, and was then forced to drop the conversation when a young woman approached the table, her eyes firmly focused on Javier.

‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ the woman said a shade petulantly. ‘You promised you’d dance with me.’

‘So I did, but as you can see I am talking to my wife,’ Javier answered equably. ‘Why don’t you ask one of your many young admirers to dance with you?’

‘I only want to dance with you,’ came the fierce reply.

The words ‘my wife’ caused a peculiar fluttery sensation in Grace’s stomach and she could not bring herself to meet Javier’s gaze. Instead she studied the young woman who was staring up at him with open adoration in her eyes. Her puppy-like devotion was almost embarrassing, and Grace felt herself tense as she waited for Javier to destroy the girl with one of his cruelly sarcastic comments. Instead he smiled at her, a smile of genuine warmth that lit up his eyes and softened his harsh features.

‘I’m sorry, save me a dance for another time. Look, I think your father’s ready to leave.’

‘It’s not even midnight yet. Papa’s such a bore.’ The girl pouted prettily and shook her jet black curls out of her eyes in a deliberately provocative gesture, while totally ignoring Grace. ‘Until next time, then, Javier,’ she murmured, blowing him a kiss before she spun round and sauntered across the room.

‘Miguel’s going to have trouble with that girl,’ Javier remarked. Grace followed his gaze to the girl’s curvaceous derrière and was consumed with an emotion that felt suspiciously like jealousy.

‘She’s very young. Who is she?’ she asked sharply.

‘Lucita Vasquez—her father Miguel was my grandfather’s closest friend. Miguel was nearly sixty when she was born, and I fear he has spoiled her beyond redemption,’ Javier said, his voice laced with amused affection. ‘Carlos hoped I would marry her and merge our two banking families.’

‘So why didn’t you?’ Grace snapped. ‘Anyone can see that she’s hopelessly in love with you.’