‘I don’t give two hoots about your flippin’ sex life!’ Sophie flung in affronted denial, her cheeks burning.
‘I think you do…’ Antonio breathed soft and low, the dark timbre of his deep, rich drawl feathering down her slender spine like a hurricane warning. ‘I think that nearly three years ago I was too much of a gentleman for your tastes—’
‘Gentleman is not a word I would label you with,’ Sophie cut in unevenly, a hunger she could not suppress licking up in her pelvis and freezing her where she stood bare inches from him. Every inch of her was taut and screaming with so powerful an awareness of her own body that she felt light-headed. All she needed from him was one kiss, she was telling herself. One kiss just to see what all the fuss was about and she was convinced that he would be as much of a disappointment as every other guy she had kissed. But in Antonio’s case, it would be a glorious, wonderful disappointment that would for ever banish her unease around him.
‘But, whatever the label, you’re still hot for me, mi cielo,’ Antonio murmured huskily.
Sophie trembled. ‘Curious…’ she admitted in a breath of sound, her throat dry and tight.
Antonio never kissed women in public. He gazed down at her, his attention welded to the darkened emerald of her expectant eyes and the ruby allure of her luscious, parted lips. He lifted a hand to close his fingers into her curls, learning that her hair felt soft as silk and picturing the rebellious golden-toffee waves spread across his pillows. Thought had nothing to do with what happened next.
His mouth touched hers; she stopped breathing. He brushed her lips light as a butterfly and then slowly deepened the pressure. She was torn by delight and impatience and a mortifying desire to grab him with both hands. Tantalised beyond bearing, she leant towards him, wildly conscious of the aching heaviness of her breasts below her T-shirt, the swelling sensitivity of the rosy crowns abraded by the rough cotton. She knew she wanted his mouth there too and the very thought shocked her rigid, but she could no more pull back from him and temptation than she could have stemmed the tide.
‘Antonio…’ she whispered.
‘I don’t want this…’ Antonio growled, but he went back for more of it all the same.
Passion banished restraint as he used his tongue to delve deep into the moist interior of her mouth. That invasive tactic had the most extraordinary effect on Sophie. The taste and feel of him drove her wild. An excitement close to the edge of pain shot like flame through her slender length. She shivered violently and locked her arms round his neck, kissing him back with unconditional fervour. The heat and strength of his lean, powerful body hard against her softer curves left her breathless and gasping.
In an abrupt movement, Antonio wrenched himself back from her. Stunning eyes a scorching gold, he was breathing heavily. For a split second, Sophie was lost in a time slip, still craving that intoxicating tide of sensation. Then self-preservation kicked in and she spun away, digging shaking hands into the pockets of her jeans and dragging in oxygen in a greedy gulp. He was dynamite. She hadn’t wanted to find that out. But equally quickly it dawned on her that the attraction was not one-sided, as she had once naïvely believed.
Her body felt electrified and deprived, but her mind was racing. A wicked sense of triumph put her embarrassment to flight. Antonio Rocha, Marqués de Salazar might think that he was vastly superior to her in every way, but he still fancied her. Whoopee! Yay! She was tempted to dance round the beach and sing. In one fell swoop, in the space of one revealing kiss, almost three years of believing that she had made an outsize fool of herself in Spain had been wiped out. Antonio was more into tattoos than he was ever likely to admit.
The silence stretched like an endless cavern where light never shone.
Feeling indecently smug and ashamed of herself, Sophie veiled her sparkling eyes and reflected dizzily that she had never imagined a kiss could be that volatile.
‘We were talking about you taking up residence in Spain,’ Antonio reminded her drily.
He sounded so cool and calm that her buoyant mood deflated as if he had stuck a pin in her. All right, maybe he was only a teensy weensy bit attracted to her. It took enormous effort for her to recapture her ability to concentrate. ‘Spain…that idea’s not on,’ she countered in a flat undertone. ‘We’d be in your country and Lydia would be in your home and I wouldn’t have any rights. You would be making all the decisions about her. You could easily change your mind about allowing me to see her—’
‘You would have to trust me.’
‘I don’t,’ Sophie confided without hesitation. ‘I’d have too much to lose. And I just know you’ll get married and that would change everything—’
‘I am not about to get married. What is this obsession?’
Sophie was unimpressed. She shot him a sidelong glance. Her heartbeat speeded up. He really was breathtakingly handsome. ‘Now or five years from now, what difference would it make to me? I’d still be powerless and no wife of yours is likely to allow me to stick my oar in where Lydia’s concerned. Your wife would have far more say in her upbringing than I would ever have—’
‘Por favor Dios… I enjoy my freedom. I won’t take a wife for at least ten years!’
‘I just want to be with Lydia. That’s all that I want,’ Sophie stressed with pained dignity. ‘I love her…you don’t. I mean…maybe you’re always going to look at her and remember your brother. Don’t tell me that he was your favourite person!’
His strong jaw line squared at that inflammatory statement. But he was no hypocrite. As she spun away to hide the tears burning her eyes he tugged her back round to face him, his every move redolent of the confidence that powered him. ‘Come back to my hotel with me for lunch…’
Suddenly shy of him again, terrifyingly sensitive to the intimate tone of his accented voice, Sophie coloured. ‘You’re not thinking of food.’
Antonio gave her a hard, devastating smile that was quite unrepentant. ‘You’re so direct—’
His lack of self-consciousness infuriated her and her whole face stiffened. ‘I imagine I’d disappoint you.’
‘I don’t think so.’ His stunning dark, deep-set eyes flared reflective gold.
‘Purely as a point of speculation, how much would you give up to be with Lydia all the time?’
Her smooth brow pleated. ‘I’d do anything for that.’
The silence eddied around her like a dangerous current.
Antonio surveyed her without expression. ‘If you had constant access to Lydia and security, would you be prepared to do everything I asked in return for that privilege?’
‘Short of crime, yes,’ she agreed urgently, but her bewilderment was growing. ‘Why are you asking me that?’
‘If Lydia needs a mother twenty-four seven, then I should marry. But I like my life as it is. That’s the problem,’ Antonio admitted with a candour he had never employed with a woman before.
‘That you don’t want a wife?’
‘If I opted for a marriage of convenience instead the problem would vanish. That kind of marriage might last between five and ten years max before ending in an amicable divorce.’
Sophie was hanging on his every word but she was totally confused. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I think there’s a possibility that we could reach a mutually beneficial agreement,’ Antonio murmured thoughtfully. ‘The wife I choose would have to know the score. I would expect to retain my freedom to come and go as and when I liked and with whom I pleased.’
‘You’re talking about a fake marriage?’ Sophie pressed uncertainly. ‘Are you suggesting that you and me—?’
‘You would gain Lydia and financial security