were hidden in an alcove behind the guesthouse and it was doubtful that they could be seen, but there was always a risk. A bigger risk for him than for her, she knew.
“Okay.” She didn’t hesitate because she wanted more time with him, craved more time. She wanted to have him hold her hand. To kiss her. To tell her he loved her as she loved him. “Meet me here, at the guesthouse. I can get a key.”
She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to decide what to wear, changing her clothes a hundred times. It felt like a first date. She was. Sort of. She’d never been on a date, had never kissed anyone. At her age, she felt like an oddity. Most of her friends at school had done a lot more than that.
But her father kept her on a tight leash, and boys were not something that was supposed to concern her at this stage of her life. Too bad for her father, since he couldn’t control her thoughts, and boys had been among her biggest concerns for the past four years.
None of her crushes or interests mattered though, not really. There was a boy, a man really, six years her senior, that her father had his eye on for her—Craig Freeman. His family had all the right connections, the proper bloodline. And the thought of being married off to him someday made her feel like one of her father’s broodmares.
She pushed the thought to one side. Craig was far in the future. He was on the West Coast building his name, and as far as she was concerned, having the entire expanse of the country between them was perfect.
And tonight, maybe she would just pretend he didn’t exist. Maybe … maybe after tonight she would find the courage to tell her father that she didn’t want Craig. At all. Ever.
She looked at the clock and then back at the full-length mirror. Her skirt was too short and her shirt was too tight. That’s what her father would say. But she wasn’t dressing for her father’s approval.
Tonight, only Lazaro’s approval mattered.
She left her bedroom light on and closed the door. Her father was at his country club and the odds of him coming home before midnight were slim. Still, she wasn’t taking chances.
She slipped quietly through the house and out the door, across the lawn.
When she got down to the guesthouse, Lazaro was there, waiting for her. Relief and happiness flooded through her. “You came.”
He smiled that wonderful, knee-weakening smile. “Of course.”
She unlocked the door and led him inside. “We can’t turn on any lights,” she whispered. “Someone might see.”
“That’s fine.” Lazaro took her hand, the shock of his skin against hers making her body jolt. “We don’t need lights.”
He tugged her gently to him and wrapped his arm around her waist, placed his other hand on the back of her head and tangled his fingers in her hair. She was glad she’d left it down.
He leaned in, his lips feather-light on hers. Everything around her stopped for a moment, time, her heart, everything, as he increased the pressure of his mouth on hers. She closed her eyes, just standing there, letting the sensation of being kissed by Lazaro wash over her.
When the tip of his tongue slid over her lower lip, her mouth parted in shock and he took advantage, stroking his tongue over hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, boldness surging through her, a desire to make him feel the way she did, hold him captive to sensation, just as she was.
It was nothing like her friends had said. They said it was awkward. Bumping noses and teeth. She’d always heard that a lot of guys were sloppy kissers. But Lazaro was perfect. And there was nothing awkward about it.
And she was so glad she wasn’t experiencing this moment with insipid, pale Craig Freeman. He looked as though he would probably be a sloppy kisser. She shoved the thought to one side, firmly planting her mind in the moment.
Lazaro took her hand in his, tugged it lightly as he took a step toward the hallway.
“What?” she asked, feeling dizzy, dazed, her body and soul focused on when he would kiss her again, caress her again.
“Looking for some place more comfortable.”
She nodded and followed, her heart pounding in her throat; the only rooms back here were bedrooms, and she really didn’t think she was ready for anything that might happen in a bedroom. But Lazaro was … He was different from anyone she’d ever known. She trusted him to go slow. To be what she needed.
He opened a door and looked inside, pushed it open and laced his fingers through hers again, drawing her in with him. She paused in the doorway, looking at the big bed. Her heart thundered hard—nerves, emotion, hormones threatening to wash her away in a powerful tide. He couldn’t want to … they’d barely kissed.
He pulled her to him, his hand caressing her cheek. “Just kiss me,” he whispered.
Yes. When she kissed him, everything else faded away. Just kissing.
He led her to the bed, his dark eyes serious on hers. She leaned in and kissed him again. He smelled clean. Not fussy and coated in cologne like the guys that went to the country club, but like soap and skin. Like Lazaro.
She’d never wanted anything, anyone, more in her life. She just wanted to stay with him forever, in the guesthouse, away from rules and propriety and all the things she was supposed to want. None of them mattered now. Only Lazaro mattered.
He sat on the bed and she sat with him, accepting a hungry kiss, his hands sliding over her back, down her waist, gripping her hips as he kissed her. Deeply. Passionately. Every thought fled her mind. Everything but how good it felt to have him touch her, kiss her, almost devour her as though she was the most decadent dessert he’d ever had.
She didn’t even realize she was falling until she felt the soft mattress beneath her back, and Lazaro’s hard frame over her. She tangled her fingers in his thick dark hair, her thighs parting slightly to make room for him.
Her heart felt as though it was overflowing with emotion, with love. She had to tell him. Had to tell him how much she loved him. How she wanted him forever. No matter what her father thought, or what anyone said. The words hovered on her lips, but she couldn’t find the courage to say them.
He knew though. He had to know. She wouldn’t be here with him if she didn’t love him.
He pushed her shirt up just enough to expose her stomach, the calloused skin of his fingertips pleasantly rough against her tender flesh. She arched into his touch and he took advantage, kissing her exposed neck.
The longing that overtook her was so big, beyond the physical, a deep emotional well that opened up inside her, desperate to be filled, so desperate for all of the attention that was being directed at her.
She was always lonely. Since Thomas had died the void in her life had been vast, her isolation in her own home devastating.
At least it had been until Lazaro. He brought the light back. He held the possibility of a future that wasn’t filled with Pickett Industries.
When his hands moved higher, cupping her, she simply enjoyed his touch, tried to push all of the worries out of her mind and simply live in the moment.
He
