One Night: Latin Heat. Эбби Грин

loose hair, down my back. I shivered beneath the soft, seductive touch. Lifting his hand, he stroked my cheek as he whispered, “Be with me. Be my wife.”

      My whole body trembled, leaning toward him.

      “And if you still think you can’t trust me...” His fingers gently stroked my cheeks, lifting my chin as he said softly, “Trust this.”

      Lowering his head, he pressed his lips against mine. I felt his warmth, his power, the strength of his body. I closed my eyes, lost, dizzy with desire. When he finally pulled away, I stared up at him, trembling.

      “Please,” I choked out. I lifted my gaze to his. Please don’t make me love you. “Please don’t make me want you....”

      He rubbed the pads of his thumbs along my swollen lower lip, and gave me a smile that was breathtaking in its masculine triumph. “Too late.”

      In the distance, I heard Maurine calling from the castle. I twisted my head, listening, and so did he.

      Alejandro suddenly cupped my face in his hands. His eyes were dark. Merciless. “Tonight,” he whispered. “You will be in my bed. Tonight...” He ran his fingertips down my shoulders, cupping my breasts. I gave a soft gasp, and he returned a sensual smile. “You will be my wife.”