Back in the Spaniard's Bed. Trish Morey

cheeks bloomed as if someone had flicked a switch, her hand automatically returning to her hair. His smile was enough to do that, Leah knew, but coupled with an accent that seemed to vibrate its way right into your bones, the woman had no defence. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the customer had melted into a puddle right then and there.

      The woman only took her eyes off Alejandro for the barest second, to exchange a high-denomination note for the parcel Leah pressed into her hands.

      ‘Allow me,’ Alejandro said as the older woman headed for the door, and Leah could have sworn she heard the customer giggle.

      ‘Mrs Turner,’ she called out from the cash register. The woman turned her head slowly, as if reluctant to drag her eyes away from him, even for one brief moment. Leah held out her hand. ‘Your change.’

      The customer’s eyes shot open wide and she giggled again, her cheeks flushed, hugging the parcel to her chest. She hurried back and collected the money before lingering where Alejandro stood ready to hold open the door. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered breathlessly, before launching herself into the street.

      He pressed the door home behind her. ‘You see,’ he said, turning back to Leah, ‘not everyone seems to find my company so intolerable.’

      ‘Don’t I know it! That’s why I can’t believe you’re here. When I was with you there was a line of women who would have gladly scratched out my eyes if it meant they could replace me. Surely you couldn’t have got through them all that quickly?’

      He shrugged in his couldn’t-care-less way as he checked the lock. ‘Where is the key for this door, Leah? We cannot talk if we’re going to be constantly interrupted.’

      ‘I can’t lock the door. I’m trying to run a business here.’

      ‘This is no place for you.’

      ‘I like my job.’

      ‘Working as a seamstress? Taking up other peoples’ hems?’

      ‘It’s an honest job. Maybe not up to the dizzy heights you’re used to, but not all of us are power-hungry megalomaniacs.’

      His midnight eyes glinted dangerously as he came closer, moving around the counter as silkily and purposefully as a shark moving through the depths, all power and dangerous beauty. Her back stiffened as he drew alongside her, trapping her against the counter with his arms, his height forcing her to look up at him to meet his gaze—a gaze that turned her body’s thermostat to a slow sizzle. His dark eyes were suddenly so searching she’d swear he could see right into her soul.

      ‘I have hunger, I agree, but right now it’s not for power. I want to make love to you, Leah. Right here. Right now.’

      Shock transfixed her to the spot. That and the primitive thrill that zipped along her spine and bloomed through her flesh in a rush of heat. Trust Alejandro not to play fair. She clamped down on her body’s reaction, doing her best to ignore the masculine scent that seemed to curl around her and tighten like a noose. ‘We can’t always have what we want.’

      ‘Oh, but I can.’ He lifted one hand and touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek, running them down the side of her face, and it was all she could do not to lean into his strong hand.

      She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Alejandro …’

      ‘Ah, so now, you see, you remember my name. Likewise you must remember how good we can be together. Would you like to make love to me now, as I would like to make love to you?’

      Beneath her bra and fitted shirt her nipples peaked and strained for release. Beneath her denim skirt the heat was already pooling, heavy and insistent. She swallowed and battled a body determined, it seemed, to betray her. ‘Look … this is crazy. It’s not even five o’clock in the afternoon—’

      ‘And when has the clock ever stopped you before? Don’t you remember how you used to inflame me, no matter what time of the day it was or where we were, and the more risk of being discovered, the more risk someone would happen upon us, the better? Do you remember how much you enjoyed it?’

      Did he really think she could forget? Her face grew hotter as the memories of their sensual adventures, only shallow-buried in the recesses of her mind, were laid bare, all the more sharp-edged and powerful for their exposure. In their time together Alejandro had flicked some kind of switch inside her and turned someone who had never been taken with the sex act into a tigress. She’d matched his unrivalled appetite, sometimes even taking him by surprise by her own hunger.

      But still she couldn’t answer him. Dared not. Lest he see how much she was moved, how much she was tempted.

      ‘Or was that the real reason?’

      She swung her head up, something in his tone alerting her, making her suddenly suspicious. ‘The real reason for what?’

      ‘For not locking the door.’ An avaricious smile lit his features. ‘So we could make love here, now, with the door open, the windows uncovered. We could make love right here in this room, separated from the city of Sydney by just one glass door. Would you like that, my perfect Leah? Is that what you had planned all along?’

      Arousal coursed like liquid fire through her veins. Arousal that welled up and threatened to consume her. Arousal that promised to bring her undone. ‘Alejandro,’ she said, battling to stay sane, battling to shore up a resolve that was fading fast. ‘What we had … it’s over.’

      And he smiled again. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, querida. You and I, we are only just beginning.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      SHE knew he was going to kiss her. Knew it before he’d dipped his head and angled his face in her direction. Knew it before his hand curled had around her neck, drawing her closer to him.

      Knew it and didn’t move a muscle to get away.

      ‘Alejandro …’

      ‘You already said that,’ he whispered, so quietly against her lips that she wasn’t sure if she’d heard the words or merely read them on his breath.

      And then his mouth found hers and she didn’t care, for his taste was no longer just a distant memory, his touch was no longer just a dream. He was here and real and he was kissing her, his mouth moving over hers gently, his fingers stroking her neck in a massage so sensually inviting that it was impossible not to kiss him back.

      And his lips were smooth and warm, inviting her participation, smoothing her objections. If Alejandro were a fabric, she decided as she melted into him, he would be silk, the finest quality Italian silk, black and rich and lustrous, moving like shadows in the light.

      Her fingers bunched in his shirt, once more itching to be let loose on the firm-packed skin that lay so close beneath. He took advantage of her complicity to pull her deeper into the kiss, and she went with him into a kiss that was utterly magic and so infinitely sweet that her heart squeezed tight on the question—why couldn’t it have always been this way?—before two fat tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks.

      Damn him! Two tears were more than enough to bring her to her senses. It was bad enough that she cared, but letting him see her tears—letting him know that she cared—would be suicidal.

      ‘I don’t want this,’ she said, finding untapped reserves of strength, taking him by surprise as she pushed at his rock-solid chest. She spun away, her hands swiping at her cheeks, obliterating any trace of tears before she was game enough to face him again. ‘I told you. I don’t want you back.’

      As if a mask had dropped, his features were suddenly harsher, all unforgiving angles and damning planes, every trace of her silken seducer banished. From across the room he regarded her coolly, his eyes like polished stones, hard and unrelenting. ‘I don’t believe you.’

      She crossed her arms over her chest, keeping herself together—centred—in a world that was in danger of lurching out of