the way you are?’
‘Did Derek Mahoney turn you into the intrusive woman you are today?’ he fired back, his tone rougher than sandpaper. ‘Because I’d like to find him and throttle the life out of him.’
Sasha knew she should let it go. But somehow she couldn’t.
‘Yes. No.’ She sighed and looked out of the window at Kensington’s nightlife. ‘Damn, I wish I smoked.’
An astounded breath whistled from his lips. ‘Why would you wish that?’
‘Because trying to have a conversation with you is exhausting enough to drive anyone to drink. But since I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and I’ve reached my one-glass drink limit, smoking would be the other choice—if I smoked.’ Abandoning the view, she turned back to him. ‘Where was I?’
A mirthless smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘You were dissecting my life and finding it severely deficient.’
‘Mockery? Is that your default setting?’
He lowered his gaze to her lips and her insides clenched so hard she feared she’d break in half. The limo turned a sharp corner. She grabbed the armrest to steady herself. Too late she realised the action had thrust her breasts out. Marco’s gaze dropped lower. Heat pooled in her belly. Her breasts ached, feeling fuller than they’d ever felt.
He leaned closer. Her heart thundered.
‘No, Sasha,’ he said hoarsely. ‘This is my default setting.’
Strong hands cupped her cheeks, held her steady. Heat-filled eyes stared into hers, their shocking intensity igniting a fire deep inside her.
Sasha held her breath, almost afraid to move in case … in case …
He fastened his mouth to hers, tumbling her into a none-too-gentle kiss that sent the blood racing through her veins. He tasted of heat and wine, of tensile strength and fiery Latin willpower. Of red-blooded passion and intoxicating pleasure. And he went straight to her head.
Sasha felt a groan rise in her throat and abruptly shut it off. She wasn’t that easy. Although right now, with Marco’s mouth wreaking insane havoc on her blood pressure, easy was deliciously tempting.
His tongue caressed hers and the groan slipped through, echoing in the dim cavern of the moving car. One hand slipped to her nape, angling her head. Although he didn’t need to. She was willingly tilting her head, all the better to deepen the pressure and pleasure of his kiss. Her mouth opened, boldly inviting him in.
His moan made her triumphant and weak at the same time. Then she lost all thought but of the bliss of the kiss.
Lost all sense of time.
Until she heard the thud of a door.
Their lips parted with a loud, sucking noise that arrowed straight to the furnace-hot apex of her thighs.
Marco stared down at her, his breath shaking out of his chest. ‘Dios,’ he muttered after several tense, disbelieving seconds.
You can say that again. Thankfully, the words didn’t materialise on her lips. Her eyes fell to his mouth, still wet from their kiss, and the heat between her legs increased a thousandfold.
Get a grip, Sasha. She reined herself in and pulled away as reality sank in. She’d kissed Marco de Cervantes—fallen into him like a drowning swimmer fell on a life raft.
‘We’re here,’ he rasped, setting her free abruptly to spear a hand through his hair.
‘Y-yes,’ she mumbled, cringing when her voice emerged low and desire-soaked.
With one last look at her, he thrust his door open and helped her out.
They entered the exclusive apartment complex in silence, travelled up to the penthouse suite in silence. Sasha made sure she placed herself as far from him as possible.
After shutting the apartment door he turned to her. Sasha held her breath, guilt rising to mix with the desire that still churned so frantically through her.
‘I have an early start—’
‘Sasha—’
Marco gestured for her to go first.
Sasha cleared her throat, keeping her gaze on his chest so he wouldn’t see the conflicting emotions in her eyes. ‘I have an early start tomorrow. So … um … goodnight.’
After a long, heavy pause, he nodded. ‘I think that’s a good idea. Buenos noches.’
All the way down the plushly carpeted hallway she felt his gaze on her. Even after she shut the door behind her his presence lingered.
Dropping her clutch bag, she traced her fingers over her lips. They still tingled, along with every inch of her body. Resting her head against the door, she sucked in a desperate breath.
One hand drifted over her midriff to her pelvis, where desire gripped her in an unbearable vice of need. A need she had every intention of denying, no matter how strong.
Wanting Marco de Cervantes was a mistake. Even if there was the remotest possibility of a relationship between them it would be over in a matter of weeks. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would also spell the end of her career.
And her experience with Derek had taught that no man—no matter how intensely charismatic, no matter how great a kisser—was worth the price of her dreams.
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