The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child. Anne Mather
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Название: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child
Автор: Anne Mather
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9781408912768
isbn:
She had to find out and, snatching up the shirt she’d discarded when she’d gone for her shower, she pulled it on and wrapped the folds around her. It only skimmed her thighs, but at least it was a little less revealing than her underwear.
Alejandro was in the living room. Because her apartment was on the sixth floor, she hadn’t drawn the curtains, and he was standing at the window staring out at the lights of the city.
He’d put on the jacket he’d been wearing when he’d arrived at the apartment, and she could see how wet and creased it was. Even so, that didn’t explain why he was still here, and with a tentative clearing of her throat she said, ‘Is something wrong?’
Alejandro swung round, his hands at his throat, and she realised he’d been fastening his collar and tie. She’d been too premature, she realised. She should have given him more time. As it was, she felt a fool for intruding.
‘You have an interesting view,’ he said, his hands dropping to his sides. ‘My apologies. I realise I am overstaying my welcome.’
Isobel’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. ‘Your—your coat’s soaking,’ she said at last, unable to think of anything else, and Alejandro’s lips twisted.
‘Esta chovendo,’ he said, and then, collecting himself, ‘It is raining, cara.’ He spread his arms. ‘When it rains, I get wet.’
Isobel pressed her lips together. ‘You could—you could wear your other jacket,’ she pointed out, and Alejandro’s lips tilted.
‘So I could,’ he agreed ruefully, slipping the mohair jacket off his shoulders again. ‘As always, you are—como se diz?—the soul of practicality, nao?’
Isobel didn’t feel very practical, particularly when she was halfway across the living room before she remembered her state of undress. But by then it was too late to indulge in any false modesty, and, stepping into the hall, she lifted down the leather jacket she’d hung there and brought it back to him.
‘Many thanks,’ he said, coming to take the jacket from her, and as he did so she was made intensely aware of the damp, masculine scent of his skin.
‘I—no problem,’ she murmured. And then, before she could prevent the words, ‘Your shirt’s wet too.’
Alejandro lifted a hand and smoothed it down over his chest. The silk clung to his skin, and he made a slight gesture of acknowledgement. ‘So it is,’ he conceded with a rueful smile. ‘Unfortunately, I do not have another shirt to wear.’
‘I—I could dry it,’ offered Isobel recklessly, and he gave her a conservative look.
‘I think not, cara.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know the answer to that as well as I do,’ murmured Alejandro, his voice thickening as his eyes lowered to the sensual beauty of her mouth. ‘Or are you so immune to this attraction I feel between us that you do not care what I do?’
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