Postcards From Buenos Aires. Bella Frances

she was heading to Punta, too?

      ‘They’ll be going to the Turlington Club party,’ he said, almost to himself. So was he. He never missed it.

      But if the world was heading to Punta, he would be heading in the opposite direction. With Frankie.

      ‘I’ll take you to Punta. Tomorrow.’

      Dice rolled. Decision made.

      She stopped right there on the pavement, a flare of anger replacing the passion that had flooded her body. ‘I told you my plans. There’s no way I’m changing them.’

      ‘No? You’ve already changed them. You’re here now. Are you really saying that you’d rather lie on a beach with your friend than climb into bed with me?’

      He trailed a thumb across her jaw as her mouth pursed, framed a retort, then slid into a sexy smirk.

      She dipped her eyes, then fired him a look. ‘I’ll give you a day of my time. After that I’m back on plan.’

      He couldn’t help but smile back. He didn’t normally deal well with independence—women were all about love, not combat. But for the few hours they were going to have together, it wasn’t going to be a deal-breaker. So far it had even added to her allure. So far …

      He kept his hand on her jaw.

      ‘I’ll take your kind offer of a day.’

      He stepped a little closer to her, gripped her chin a little more firmly and watched as she dragged a breath in through bared teeth.

      ‘And since that’s all you’re offering, we’re not going to waste a moment. I’ve got a place round the corner …’

      His eyes dropped to her mouth. Wet lips.

      ‘If you behave yourself I’ll take you to your friends so you’re …”back on plan”. Does that meet with your approval?’

      Her narrowed eyes signalled that she knew he was mocking her.

      ‘It does.’

      ‘Excellent. Our first compromise. We’ll head straight to my town house, then.’

      He held open the car door and waited. She fired him a look that told him he’d only won the first round. Then she slid inside. He scanned the street again and joined her.

      The moment he closed the door they slammed together across the leather.

      Seconds later and the flames roared around them. A pyre of passion.

      But she hauled herself back, splayed her hands on his thighs and looked up, straight into his eyes.

      ‘Just for the record, I wasn’t playing games. I went to the party because I didn’t want to let Esme down—not to flaunt myself in front of you. If it hadn’t been for her I’d still be tucked up in my bed. So consider yourself lucky.’

      Still in combat.

      He grabbed her bare arms, his fingers closing round them easily. He stifled a chuckle. Nodded seriously. ‘Oh, I do—I do.’

      But suddenly he was struck by just how close they’d come—how far they’d journeyed. How easily they could have lost this opportunity. How hard he needed to pursue her just to scratch this itch.

      He added quietly, ‘I think there’s more than luck at work here. It was always going to end this way with us.’

      The car moved slowly; the darkness loomed. Her heaving breaths answered him. Her skin looked silvery smooth, each slim arm still braced on his thighs. She was mesmerising.

      He grabbed a handful of silky hair and tugged her head back. He wanted to savour every second, to devour her, to linger over every moment like an eight-course, wine-matched gourmet meal—to swallow her whole.

      He met her mouth as she reached for his—succulent as watermelon, sweeter than syrup.

      He tasted. Lost himself. Scooped her like sauce onto his lap and let her soak against him.

      He sat back as she straddled him … as they went up in flames again.

      Seconds more and the car turned a corner, then stopped. They were here.

      He reached for the door handle, caught the flash of the driver’s eyes in the mirror, held her as he stepped out of the car and strode to the iron gates.

      Still dark, the straight path to the curved, domed entrance was softly illuminated with studs of light. His finest home. His proudest purchase. Every step proof of how far he had come from thieving street child to national hero. Normally he lingered, savoured. But not tonight. Tonight he marched with his treasure. Past the low sweet-scented bushes, the spiky-headed lavender and geometric box hedge. None of that mattered.

      He had waited for her. And now she was here. Right here in his city, in his house, in his arms.

      The heavy half-glazed door reflected them as they stepped up. She looked tiny, slight, and for a moment he remembered the girl she had been. So full of energy, so bold and uncompromising. She might have grown up, filled out slightly, but under her subtle make-up and silky hair and the well-cut dress, she was still that refreshingly natural, honest creature he’d first laid eyes on in that muddy lane.

      And finally he was going to take her in the way he had longed to take her. He could hardly bear any more heat at his groin right now. He was slightly out of control—he could feel it.

      His hand was steady as he pressed the keypad, but that was sheer force of will. The door swung open into the high domed entrance. Lamps glowed like sleepy sentries down the hallway. Palms bent their heads in welcome. Portraits calmly considered them. It was as if the whole house was waiting.

      He felt her step in beside him.

      ‘Mother of God, what a place …’ she breathed.

      She was turning three-sixty, gazing at the glass, the gilt, the marble, the grand sweep of carpeted stairs. But the normal flush of pride, the pause and then the proud history lesson, didn’t ease from his lips.

      ‘Upstairs,’ he said.

      He caught her as she turned back to him, hoisted her weightless body into his arms and strode to the stairs.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she said.

      She didn’t lie back—not Frankie. She grabbed his head, tried to kiss him.

      It was the sheer force of the habit of climbing those stairs that got him to the top without missing a step. She was insatiable. He could hardly contain her as she slid her legs round his waist, held on to his head and licked and tongued her way across his face.

      He had to stop—couldn’t take another step with this erotic creature writhing all over him. He had to take her now. Here in the hall.

      In a heartbeat he’d scooped his arm up her spine, bent her backwards and laid her straight down on the floor. Her eyes flew open with the speed of his move, but the wicked flash of joy told him she was even more fired up.

      ‘You don’t want to take this slowly, do you, querida? You haven’t got the patience.’

      ‘You can go slow with your blondes.’

      She blew in his ear, her hot breath sending him into a fury of desire for her.

      ‘But I haven’t got all day, so get a move on.’

      He braced himself just to look at her. No one spoke to him like this—no one. He would never tolerate any mention of previous partners, never entertain censorious comments. But she did it. And he was loving it.

      ‘You think …?’

      She lay still. Just for a moment. Her hair was a spill of the darkest rum, her eyes diamond black in the hollows of her satin-skinned face. Mesmerising. Absorbing. So beautiful.

      Something hovered between them in that second. Heavy, humid, portentous.