Seduced by the Heir(15)

"Do you want some company?"

"Do you want a knuckle sandwich?"

He popped his shirt collar. "Quit playing hard to get. You know you want me."

Paris cracked up, laughing so hard that tears began to slide down her cheeks.

* * *

Rafael found Paris standing in the lobby, clutching her sides and  laughing hysterically. He didn't like the way Luigi was ogling her,  found his sneer disrespectful and struggled to control his temper. Paris  looked smokin' hot in her silver gown and high heels but that didn't  give Luigi-a three-time loser with a string of ex-wives-the right to  harass her.

"What's up?" Rafael asked, unable to hide his disdain. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"You are. I'm talking to my girl, so kick rocks, Rafael."

Paris pursed her moist, red lips. Her expression was one of pure shock,  and her hands were balled into fists, like a boxer ready to fight. "Your  girl? Luigi, please. You've got to be kidding, because we both know I'm  way too much woman for you."

A grin curved Rafael's lips. I couldn't have said it better myself.

The elevator chimed, and several women with big hair, fake eyelashes and  short dresses sashayed out. The trio gave him the once-over, then oohed  like a game show studio audience. But Rafael pretended they weren't  there. He kept his eyes on Paris, admiring her elegant, glamorous look.  On the surface he appeared cool, like the smart, accomplished  businessman he was, but inside he was a ball of nerves. And he had a  hard-on the size of a two-by-four threatening to explode out of his  pants.

"Good night, fellas." Paris strode into the elevator and waved. "Happy New Year!"

As the doors started to close, Rafael slid inside the metal box, then  pressed the button for the twentieth floor. "Are you okay?" he asked,  gesturing to her leg. "It looks like you're favoring your left foot."

Paris wore a sheepish smile. "I am. I love my Louboutins, but they're killing me!"

"Then take them off."

"Good idea." She kicked off her shoes, sighed in relief and scooped them  up off the floor. "Are you going to the nightclub with the group?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. I'm just going upstairs to change."

"Julietta finally wore you down, huh?" Paris took her key card out of  her purse and shot him a coy smile. "Let me guess. She made you an offer  you just couldn't refuse."                       
       
           



       

"No, Angela and Jariah told me if I didn't come they'd create a profile for me online, and nothing scares me more than that!"

The elevator stopped on the sixth floor and the doors slid open. Rafael  didn't know what came over him, but he scooped Paris up in his arms and  held her close to his chest.

"Rafael, what are you doing? Put me down!"

He took a good, hard look at her, inhaling her sweet, floral scent. Her  hair was swept up in a chic bun, her eyes shimmered with bronze glitter  and diamond hoops dangled from her ears. Her beauty knocked the wind out  of him, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to devour her  lips and ravish her body. "I can't stand to see you limp."

"I'm fine, really. I can walk."

"Then humor me," he said with a shrug. "I get a kick out of sweeping  beautiful women off their feet, and you're a vision of loveliness  tonight."

"I'm heavier than I look. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Don't worry, I got you." Standing in the hallway, holding Paris in his  arms, Rafael realized he wasn't much better than Stefano's uncle. He'd  crossed the line, fell victim to his desires, but when it came to his  first love his body had a mind of its own. Her smile, her walk and the  poise and grace she embodied drew him to her. Rafael suspected that  would never change.

"I can't believe you're carrying me to my suite," Paris said, shaking  her head in disbelief. "This reminds me of the day I twisted my ankle  playing coed volleyball. You carried me all the way to the health clinic  and never once complained."

"That's what real men do. They take care of the women they love."

Her breathing sped up and her eyes brightened.

Rafael could feel the electricity crackling between them, but kept his  head and his body in check. He thought back on the fun they'd had  tonight, laughing and joking around like they used to but he didn't want  to push his luck or get smacked upside the head for trying to kiss her.

"Make a left and head straight down the hall," she said.

As Rafael carried her along the corridor, a fragrant scent filled the  air, one that made his mouth water and his stomach grumble. Though it  couldn't compare to the sweetness of the woman he was holding in his  arms.

"This is my suite," she called out. "Thanks for the lift."

Carefully, he set her down and stepped aside. "It was my pleasure."

Paris unlocked the door, then cast a glance over her shoulder. Amusement  shone in her eyes and her lips held a coy smirk. "Do you want to come  inside for a drink?"

"I better not."

Her smile fell away. "Why not? You used to love my dirty martinis."

"You've had a lot to drink tonight, and I don't want to take advantage of you."

"Who's to say I won't be the one taking advantage of you?"

His erection strained against his tuxedo pants, threatened to break free  of his zipper. All his life he'd been criticized by his friends and  brothers for being boring, for playing it safe, but tonight Rafael  wanted to break every rule in the book. He saw the twinkle in her eyes,  heard the thick huskiness of her voice and realized his first love had  the same thought in mind. He'd never wanted anyone more, but refrained  from quickly pulling her into his arms and crushing his mouth against  hers. There's nothing worse than a desperate man, so play it cool and  don't rush her.

"Join me for a nightcap." Meeting his gaze, Paris boldly stepped forward  and draped her arms around his neck. "I can't think of a better way to  ring in the New Year. Can you?"

* * *

Paris knew the kiss was coming and had been craving it since the moment  she'd first spotted Rafael three days earlier. But she was still blown  away by the intensity and ferocity of it. Her body hummed and throbbed,  vibrated and quivered at his touch. Kissing him was like coming home, as  natural as breathing. His mouth was sweet, flavored with champagne and  intoxicating. One kiss and she was hooked, hungry and desperate for  more.

"You taste even better than I remember," he said, in a guttural tone.

Lips locked, their bodies pressed flat against each other, they stumbled  inside the suite and collapsed against the door. His lips were made for  kissing, for licking and sucking, and Paris couldn't get enough of his  mouth. His hands ran through her hair, then caressed her neck and  shoulders. Salsa dancing, her new vicarious pleasure, helped her stay  fit, relieved stress and bolstered her confidence, but nothing made  Paris feel sexier than being in Rafael's arms.                       
       
           



       

Inhaling his scent, she relished the feel of his touch and the pleasure  of his kiss. His lips felt oh so good, and tasted even better.

The kiss took on a life of its own, growing more intense with each flick  of his tongue. Her desire for Rafael was insatiable, more powerful than  any drug. They pawed and fondled each other for what felt like hours.  It was the hottest foreplay she'd ever had, and they were still dressed.

Anxious to stroke and taste his physique, she shrugged his jacket down  his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She whipped off his shirt,  undid his tie and took off his pants in the blink of an eye. Baby-fine  hair sprinkled his upper chest, his stomach was as flat as a surfboard  and his skin was smooth to the touch. He was every woman's dream, and  Paris couldn't wait to feel him inside her.

Overcome with longing, she sprayed kisses along his collarbone and over  his pecs and biceps. Tasting and touching him intensified her need.  Paris felt lost, out of it, as if she were in another world. It was a  struggle to stay present, in the moment, when all she could think about  was throwing him to the floor, climbing onto his lap and riding him  until he said her name.

Cradling his head in her hands, she stroked his ears, his neck and his  shoulders. Pressing her hips against his, she slowly massaged his  erection with her pelvis. The champagne she'd had at the wedding  reception brought out her boldness. Paris reached between Rafael's legs  and seized his length. He was well-endowed, long and thick, and as she  worked her fingers up and down his shaft her nipples hardened under her  dress.

Rafael's cell phone rang, and Paris froze. She feared their intimate  party for two was about to end abruptly and imagined herself tossing his  clothes out the balcony window to prevent him from leaving.