His tongue mated with hers, velvet-soft and undeniably sexual. Cleo felt as if she was drowning in sensation, the will to keep a hold on her senses as fleeting as the clouds that briefly veiled the sun.
Dominic deepened the kiss, his hands slipping the narrow straps of her dress off her shoulders. He seemed to delight in the silky smoothness of her olive-toned skin.
As the thin fabric dropped away, Cleo made a futile attempt to stop it. Drawing back from his kiss, she gazed at him wildly, her breathing as uneven as her pounding heartbeat.
‘Let me,’ Dominic insisted, removing her fingers. And, as the dress fell to her waist, he cupped her breasts in his eager hands.
His thumbs rubbed abrasively over the tender dusky nipples. They were already tight, he saw, and swollen with need. Then, dropping onto his knees in front of her, he let the dress fall about her ankles. He apparently didn’t care that it was now as wet as he was. Instead, he buried his face against her quivering mound.
Cleo’s legs shook. Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to think coherently, let alone push him away. She was naked, but for the lacy thong that Norah had assured her was all she needed under the flimsy chiffon. And when Dominic licked her navel, she let out a trembling cry.
Dominic’s body felt as if it was on fire. As he pressed his face against her softness, his lungs quickly filled with her exotic scent. She was satin and silk, the rarest of spices, and oh, so responsive. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs. He wanted to rip the scrap of lace away.
It barely did the job anyway, he acknowledged. Dark curls spilled out at either side, and he wondered if those hidden lips were moist. He guessed they were, slick with the arousal rising to his nostrils. His hands moved to cup her rounded bottom. Just touching her like this was both a heaven and a hell.
He wanted to touch her everywhere, he wanted to touch her and taste her, and spread those gorgeous legs so he could—
Sanity struck him like a peen hammer. They were here—on a private beach, it was true—but one of his grandfather’s groundsmen raked the sand every morning. How would Cleo feel if someone saw them? While he might not have any inhibitions, Dominic was fairly sure Cleo would.
Abandoning the erotic image of laying her down on the warm sand and relieving the hard-on he’d had since he’d first seen her on the beach, Dominic got reluctantly to his feet.
Dammit, he thought, he’d been semi-aroused since their confrontation the night before. If you could call what had happened between them a confrontation. Whatever, he’d wanted her then and he wanted her now.
God help him!
Even so, he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of lifting one of her pouting breasts to his mouth and suckling briefly on its puckered tip. She tasted so good; so irresistible. How could he let her go?
Desire sparked anew, and he opened his lips wide and allowed her nipple to brush the roof of his mouth. It was all unbearably sensual, this carnal need he had to make her want him as much as he wanted her. His hands followed the sensitive hollow of her spine, arching her against him, letting her feel what she was doing to him.
The unmistakable roar of the tractor arrested him before he could drag his sodden vest over his head and gather her against him. He’d wanted to feel those button-hard nipples against his bare chest, but it was too late.
‘For pity’s sake, let me go!’
Dominic didn’t know whether Cleo’s frantic words sourced a belated resistance on her part or a sudden awareness of the tractor’s approach. But they were a shocking reminder of what he was doing; or what he’d done.
With a feeling of remorse, he stumbled back from her. But when he would have bent to pick up her dress, she beat him to it, wrenching it away from his grasp.
Giving it only the most perfunctory of shakes, she stepped into it, hauling the straps up over her shoulders and recoiling from the damp clamminess of the skirt.
Cleo had heard the engine, but she was wondering who could be driving along the sand at this hour of the morning. Whoever it was, she should be grateful, she thought, avoiding Dominic’s eyes with an urgency that bordered on paranoia.
Dear heaven, what had she been thinking of? How had she allowed such a thing to happen? After everything she’d said. How could she have been so stupid?
The dress was gritty as well as wet, its abrasive folds like sandpaper against her sensitive skin. How on earth was she going to get into the house unnoticed? She could imagine how she would feel if anyone—her mind switched instinctively to Lily—saw her.
‘Cleo, dammit—’
Dominic put out a hand as she snatched up her sandals and started away from him. But she easily evaded his touch.
‘Go home, Dominic,’ she said, her voice as unsteady as her legs. But she couldn’t blame him entirely. ‘This—this never happened.’
‘We both know it did,’ said Dominic harshly as the tractor rolled into view. He swore then. ‘Look, why don’t you let me take you back to my house? We can dry your dress—’
‘Yeah, right.’ Cleo regarded him incredulously. ‘Do you honestly think I’d go anywhere with you?’
Then, her eyes widening at the sight of the heavy vehicle, she backed away from him. Stumbling a little, she turned and hurried away towards the house.
Dominic swore again. Raking frustrated hands through his hair, he watched her disappear through the trellis gate that led into his grandfather’s garden.
He hoped to God that she didn’t encounter his mother. Lily Montoya was already suspicious of the girl and she wouldn’t mince her words. If she discovered Cleo in that state and then learned that Dominic had been on the beach with her, she’d certainly demand an explanation.
One that he didn’t have to give, admitted Dominic grimly. He had the feeling that his whole day was only going to go from bad to freaking worse.
‘WHAT the hell did you think you were doing with my granddaughter?’
It was later that morning.
Dominic didn’t know if Cleo had made it into the house without encountering either Serena or his mother. But, evidently, nothing escaped the eagle eye of his grandfather.
Dominic himself was hardly in the mood for an argument. He’d returned to his own house to shower and change before heading for the Montoya Corporation’s head quarters in San Clemente.
Then, striding into his own suite of offices, he’d informed his staff that he wasn’t to be disturbed.
Not that that counted for anything when Jacob Montoya demanded to see him. He’d heard the old man giving his assistant hell even through the door of the outer office. By the time Jacob appeared, Dominic was on his feet and ready to defend himself. He thought it was typical that the old man should have chosen today to make one of his infrequent forays into town.
Dominic’s PA, Hannah Gerard, a pleasant-faced woman of middle years, hovered anxiously behind the visitor.
‘May I get you some coffee, Mr Montoya?’ she asked, including both men in her enquiry.
However, it was Jacob who waved his stick somewhat irritably and said, ‘Not now, woman. I want to talk to my grandson. We’ll let you know if we want anything. Now, scoot!’
Hannah’s face flushed with embarrassment and Dominic moved swiftly round the desk to take the woman’s arm. ‘That’s OK, Hannah,’ he said gently, urging her