The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘Love isn’t a prerequisite for satisfactory sex.’ She felt as if she were breaking up inside, her body slowly shattering with each successive word he uttered.

      He was silent for what seemed an age, and his voice when he spoke sounded like silk being sliced by the finest tempered steel. ‘You can describe what we share as merely clinical satisfaction?’

      She looked at him carefully, seeing the strength apparent, the hint of passion in the depths of those dark eyes. ‘No,’ she owned at last.

      His thumb trailed to her cheekbone, explored the faint hollow beneath, then slid to rest at the corner of her mouth. ‘Por Dios,’ he declared huskily. ‘An admission.’

      Time stood still, and she was willing to swear that her heart stopped beating for several seconds before kicking in at a quickened pace as the pad of his thumb slid halfway along her lower lip to rest there momentarily before gently compressing its fullness.

      ‘And this,’ he drawled with emphasis, as his hand shaped one sensitised breast, deliberately tracing a provocative pattern back and forth across its aching peak, ‘is your body’s reaction to the caress of any man?’

      Dear God, no. You, she vowed silently. Only you.

      His eyes were dark, almost black, gleaming like polished onyx as he reached into her mind and so easily read what was there.

      ‘Impossible, of course, for you to comprehend you are the love of my life?’

      The silence was so total that she forgot to breathe, then her chest lurched as she drew in the first of several deep ragged gasps of air.

      ‘They’re only words, Alejandro,’ she managed shakily, wanting desperately to believe them.

      ‘They are all I have left.’ His eyes were dark, unguarded, and filled with a depth of passion that made her senses reel.

      ‘Your amnesia provided me with a heaven-sent opportunity to begin afresh. Without the barrier of your animosity, it became possible for you to believe you were the very much loved wife of a man who clearly adored you.’ He paused, and his touch was so gentle that it made her want to cry. ‘I prayed your memory loss would last long enough for those weeks we had together to make a difference.’

      ‘The baby——’

      His finger pressed closed her lips, and his eyes were incredibly dark. ‘Make no mistake, querida. The child you carry is a wonderful bonus. But it is you I care for. You.’

      She shivered at the soft invasive pull on her emotions as his fingers slid to her nape and angled her head towards his.

      ‘Please—don’t,’ she whispered in anguish.

      His head lowered to hers, and his breath was warm against her lips. ‘Why not, querida?’

      Her stomach lurched, then curled into a painful knot as his mouth brushed hers. She couldn’t have moved, even if her limbs had been willing. ‘Because I can’t think when you do that.’

      She sensed rather than glimpsed his smile. ‘Is it so important that you think?’

      The tip of his tongue touched the corner of her mouth, savoured the indentation, then lightly traced the full curve to the centre. Liquid fire coursed through her veins, igniting each separate nerve-end until her body seemed one vibrant entity.

      ‘If I don’t,’ she managed in strangled tones, ‘you’ll simply sweep me into oblivion.’

      She sensed his smile, and heard the faint husky growl emerge from his throat. ‘Would that be so bad?’

      His mouth was creating the sweetest magic with her own, a slow, tantalising prelude to what must surely follow, and her body began to heat, every nerve-end flaring into vibrant life as her soul reached out to his.

      ‘Alejandro…’ His name escaped her lips in a shaken gasp as he drew her close in against the swollen evidence of his desire.

      It was almost as if he needed to absorb her—flesh, bones, the very essence that made her unique—and she could feel herself slowly melting, slipping inevitably down into a glorious pool of swirling warmth where there was only an acute perception of the senses, the sweet promise of two souls perfectly in accord merging and becoming one.

      With a sense of desperation she dragged her mouth away from his, aware in a moment of complete lucidity that it was because he allowed it.

      Her lips felt soft and swollen, tender, and they trembled slightly beneath the moistness of her tongue as she unconsciously ran its tip along the lower edge.

      His eyes flared, watching the movement with mesmerised fascination.

      Almost as if he could not restrain himself, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her temple, then pressed each eyelid closed before trailing down to the edge of her lips. His touch was as light as a butterfly’s wing, caressing, loving, and she wanted to cry out against his flagrant seduction.

      ‘I expressed my adoration with the touch of my hands, my mouth…my body,’ Alejandro declared. He lapsed into Spanish, then repeated the words softly in a language she understood. Erotic, explicit, undeniably earthy. Yet heartfelt and without any pretence.

      Soft colour flooded her cheeks, and her lips trembled as a low husky chuckle emerged from his throat.

      ‘Have I shocked you?’ he mocked gently.

      A wicked smile curved her generous mouth. ‘Did you intend to?’ she queried, offering deliberate temptation as she lifted her arms and linked them carefully at his nape, only to gasp as his mouth closed over hers with deep, drugging possession.

      He gave no quarter, and she expected none as she met and matched his ardour, exulting in the feel and taste of him, the heavy thudding beat of his heart as it pounded against her own in unison, the sheer sensation of knowing he was hers. It was a heady power, one she knew she would never choose to abuse.

      Minutes later she cried out as his mouth left hers to trail down her throat, and she arched her neck to allow him access to the sensitive hollows, gasping as he teasingly nipped delicate skin, then slid to begin an open-mouthed suckling at one silk-covered breast that caught her slender frame in a paroxysm of sensation.

      ‘You are wearing too many clothes, mi mujer,’ he chastised huskily minutes later as his fingers began to deal with the buttons on her blouse.

      ‘Hmm,’ she agreed with a delicious smile. ‘So are you.’ Her eyes danced with wicked amusement. ‘There’s a problem,’ she announced with seeming regret, and felt his fingers still as he looked at her in silent enquiry.

      ‘Ana is serving dinner at seven.’

      His eyes darkened with ill-concealed humour. ‘Next,’ he murmured huskily, ‘you’ll tell me you’re hungry.’

      She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘We could eat first, then retire early.’

      ‘Flattering, to be relegated second to food.’

      ‘I promise I’ll make it up to you,’ Elise declared, and he smiled, the creases deepening as they slashed СКАЧАТЬ