he said in his own voice.
“I guess not,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. And you bought new clothes, too.” She felt emotions rise in her—tenderness and gratitude and lust. Lots of lust.
“I’m doing this for both of us, señorita,” he said, resuming his role as a Latin lover. “What may I call you?”
“Kar—no, Katherine,” she said, choosing the first elegant name she could come up with. “Take me to your room, please.”
“My pleasure,” Ross-Miguel said, and tucked her snugly against his waist and walked her out of the bar to the glass elevator that led to the guest rooms.
She couldn’t believe she was about to make love with the same man who drank milk out of the carton in the S&S kitchen, wandered around the office barefoot, and collected Superman comic books. Now, he was an urbane cosmopolite looking down at her in a way that told her he knew exactly how to drive her mad with lust and planned on doing so.
He held the elevator door for her, the gold bracelet emphasizing his strong hands. The elevator soared, sending her already-jumpy stomach to her knees. At the seventeenth floor, Miguel held the elevator door for her, then walked her down the hall, holding her so tightly she felt each talented finger dig into her muscles.
Outside his room, he turned her against the door. “I can’t wait another momento para tus…para tus…¿Cómo se dice…?” He frowned, looking for the word for lips, she was certain.
“Labios,” she provided.
“Exactamundo,” he said, butchering the Spanish, but she didn’t care because then he kissed her. Actually it was un gran beso—full of romance and desire and it made her weak with wanting.
Behind her back, he opened the door and they stepped into a room so sumptuous Kara was seized with worry that Ross couldn’t afford it. “I’ll pay half,” she blurted before she realized the effect that might have on the magic of the moment.
“But, Señorita Katherine, I am a wealthy man. My only joy is to spend my money on the people I care about.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “Sure. But think about it.”
In answer, he pulled her into his arms and stroked her body through the silk, lifting her dress tantalizingly high on her thighs. “This is beautiful,” he said. “So thin I can feel the texture of your skin.” He cupped her bottom.
“No granny panties,” she murmured.
“I’ll say,” he said, stroking her again, then moving up to the top of her zipper. He was going to strip her and she couldn’t wait.
“And if I’d known I would meet you tonight, I wouldn’t have worn any.”
“Mmm,” he said, slowly lowering her zipper to her waist, his eyes on her the entire time. Cool air teased her back where her dress had opened. Then he pulled the front of her dress down far enough to reveal the black lace teddy she wore underneath. His eyes gleamed with approval.
She hadn’t known whether she’d actually meet a man tonight, let alone sleep with one, but she’d dressed sexy in order to feel sexy. Miguel’s expression told her she’d succeeded.
Miguel pushed her dress the rest of the way down and it whispered into a silky puddle at her spike-heeled feet.
She felt surprisingly calm—not nervous like she’d normally be at a moment like this—or fearful that she looked hippy or she’d be clumsy.
“You are so beautiful, Kara…. I mean Katherine. Do you know how bellísima you are?”
She blushed and smiled.
“Look.” He gently turned her to face the ornate full-length mirror beside a marble end table and stood behind her. “Do you see?”
Embarrassed at first, she glanced at herself in the mirror, caught a flash of black lace, then looked down.
That wasn’t enough for Miguel, who lifted her chin. “Look,” he murmured. “You are lovely.”
So Kara looked Katherine right in the eye. And liked what she saw. The sexy lingerie was perfect on her pale skin. Her blond hair had a sexy tousled look, her cheeks were pink with excitement, and her eyes gleamed wickedly.
She reached up to cup Miguel’s jaw, loving the picture they made. Miguel’s body framed hers, his olive skin, dark brown suit and dark hair a delicious contrast to her fairness.
He reached under her arms to cup her breasts through the black lace, holding them completely, as if to own them. The sight was pure sex. Heat shot from her breasts to her core. She pushed her backside against him, sliding against his erection, glorying in it, feeling wicked and wanton.
Then Miguel slowly teased the teddy straps from her shoulders, his fingertips tickling her skin—an exquisite and shivery sensation. He tugged the flimsy fabric down to her waist, baring her breasts to them both in the mirror. She watched her nipples knot with arousal, feeling the sweet, tight pain of it at the same time.
Ross lifted her breasts lovingly, as if they were fragile as eggshells. His breath hissed and his eyes closed with the pleasure of touching her.
Then she had to touch his skin, to see him naked in the mirror, too. She turned and pushed his jacket from his shoulders and he shook it to the floor. She began to unbutton his shirt, but her fingers trembled and the second buttonhole was tight. The moment stretched.
“Allow me,” Ross said, working on the button himself, smiling confidently at her as he tried to loosen it. Except he couldn’t get it either. “Forget it,” he muttered in Ross’s voice. He crossed his arms, grabbed the shirt hem and yanked it up and over his head.
She ran her fingers across his taut pectorals, then his flat stomach. He groaned and closed his eyes.
“You must get lots of exercise in Argentina on your hacienda,” she murmured.
“Enough, I guess,” he said, sounding shaky with lust. He pushed her teddy down her body until it fell to the floor.
Once she was naked before him, he paused, awe in his expression. “You’re beautiful,” he said, sounding very Ross. He caught himself and resumed in his accent, “You are like art, Señorita Katherine. Perfección.” He ran his hands along the curves of her hips.
She felt so wonderful, so aroused, she didn’t have her usual urge to slip under the covers and keep her partner too busy to look at her very closely. Instead, she reveled in her nakedness and wanted to enjoy his.
“Now you,” she said, and unhooked his buckle and zipper, not surprised to find no underwear behind them. Miguel, like Ross seemed to be a man who would forgo any unnecessary barrier to sensation.
Ross stopped her from pushing his pants to the floor so he could take something out of his pocket—a short strip of condoms. Bless him for his thoughtfulness.
“I’m on the Pill,” she said. “And healthy.”
“I’m good,” he said, returning the condoms to his pocket before he let his pants fall.
“I’m
