The Arrangement .(20)

The thought that he’d been watching her even during the periods when they were separated generated tiny little shivers across Alexa’s skin. Her fingers tightened around the clutch in her left hand. “I’m not hungry.”

The knowing smile widened. “You should eat something,” he said. His dark gaze lingered in appreciation on the split in her dress. “You’re going to need your energy.”





Chapter Six


Alexa’s heart surged, slamming against her breastbone. There was no way her willpower could withstand the thump levied by his innuendo.

“So it’s tonight, then?” she asked unnecessarily.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Leonardo countered. His predatory smile left no room for ambiguity regarding his intentions.

“No. Not where you’re concerned.”

He lifted his hand and let his forefinger trace down the length of her narrow face. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asked, his voice low and filled with warmth.

Alexa shook her head, emotion piled high in her throat so that she couldn’t speak. It was difficult to resist him when he was so charming. It was one of the things that had made her fall so fast and hard in love with him. He could turn it on whenever he chose, and his charm was lethal, able to slice through her inadequate objections.

“You are very beautiful tonight, querida.”

He leaned forward. There was only the slightest brush of his lips across hers, yet the featherlight touch evoked an explosive response. Alexa felt her stomach muscles contract painfully, and her breath caught in her throat. She wanted him, and when he pulled back, there was no doubt he could see the truth in her eyes.

“We should leave now,” Leonardo stated.

“We’ve barely been here an hour. What will people think?”

“When have you ever known me to care what people think?”

It was true. Leonardo da Silva didn’t concern himself with social norms.

He wasn’t one to inconvenience himself at the expense of others. If someone else had a problem with something he did, it was their problem, not his. For him it was enough that he had come out in support of his friends’

celebration. He was ready to leave, so he would.

He took Alexa’s arm just below the elbow and started moving toward the door.

Like a hot-blooded robot, she remained in step with him. Her body was responding to the proximity of his, his masculine scent, and the warmth of the long, firm fingers lightly pressed against the tender flesh of her arm.

It wasn’t hard to understand why she still wanted him so much, but she didn’t want to be so easy. She wanted to be tough and make it difficult for him to seduce her back between the sheets. Instead, it was glaringly clear he would not find seduction was necessary at all, because she was ready and willing to succumb to any of his demands.

On the way to the door, they said their good-byes to the hosts. The Simpsons expressed their disappointment that they were leaving so soon, but also their pleasure that the two had found their way back together. After a bit more small talk, they departed.

The Porsche ate up the miles of Highway 85, a main thoroughfare that ran through the heart of Atlanta and its surrounding counties. At first, neither one of them broke the silence in the car as they barreled toward home. The chemistry was still just as strong between them, and the pulsing ache in Alexa’s body increased the longer they were in the car.

In the four months since they’d separated, she hadn’t thought of anyone else, hadn’t even considered becoming intimate with another man. There was no point in pretending any other man could make her feel this way, because it had always only been Leonardo. The maleness of him, the temptation to feel him hard, pressed between her thighs, was unbearable. She needed to quiet her heated thoughts, which included the very dangerous idea of climbing onto his lap to straddle him while he drove.

“Leo?”

What was it she wanted to say? Could she adequately express what she was feeling? She was afraid of the force of her emotions, and she was concerned their short reconciliation would leave her even more scarred, more broken than after their separation.

“What is it, Alexa?” he asked when she didn’t continue.

Could she tell him? Could she admit what she’d only just come to terms with herself—that she loved her husband, had never stopped loving him, and wished they were back together permanently?

“Do you hate me for what I did?” she asked quietly. “For leaving you?”

He glanced over at her before his eyes resumed looking through the windshield. The lights from an oncoming vehicle swept across his taut features, the well-defined square jaw, the high cheekbones.