Damaso Claims His Heir. Annie West

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      Or a princess deflecting impertinent questions?

      She had a lot to learn if she thought he’d be so easily dismissed.

      He lifted a hand and stroked long, golden strands from her cheek and back over her shoulder.

      Her hair was as soft as he’d imagined.

      She said nothing, didn’t even turn, but he watched with satisfaction as she swallowed.

      ‘The forest seems to go on for ever.’ Her voice had a husky quality that hadn’t been there before. Damaso smiled.

      She was out of danger now and she was here with him. Why probe what she clearly didn’t want to talk about?

      ‘It would take days to walk out, and that’s if you didn’t get lost along the way.’ He couldn’t resist reaching out to sweep a phantom lock of hair off her cheek. Her skin was hot, flushed with exertion, and so soft he wanted to slide his fingers over all of her, learning her body by touch before testing it with his other senses.

      A pulse throbbed at the base of her neck, like a butterfly trapped in a net.

      Heat drove down through Damaso’s belly as he imagined licking that spot.

      Her head jerked around and he was snared by her electric-blue gaze.

      ‘You know the forest well, Senhor Pires?’

      She sounded like a courtier at a garden party, her tone light with just the right amount of polite interest. But the cool, society veneer merely emphasised the hot, sexy woman beneath. The fact she was dishevelled, like a woman just risen from her lover’s arms, added a piquant spice.

      Damaso was burning up just looking at her.

      And she knew it. It was there in her eyes.

      Awareness sizzled between them.

      ‘No; I’m city bred, Your Highness. But I get out to the wilderness as often as I can.’ Damaso always allowed himself one break a year, though he took his vacation checking out one of his far-flung companies. This year it was an upmarket adventure-travel company.

      He had a feeling the adventure was just about to start.

      ‘Marisa, please. “Highness” sounds so inflated.’ A spark of humour gleamed in her bright eyes. It notched the heat in his belly even higher.

      ‘Marisa, then.’ He liked the sound of it on his tongue, feminine and intriguing. ‘And I’m Damaso.’

      ‘I don’t know South America well, Damaso.’ She paused on his name and a shiver of anticipation raced under his skin. Would she sound so cool and composed when he held her naked beneath him? He didn’t know which he’d prefer, that or the sound of her voice husky with pleasure. ‘I haven’t visited many of the cities.’ She reached out and picked a leaf off his open collar. The back of her fingers brushed his neck and his breath stalled.

      A tiny smile played at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes told him the lingering touch had been deliberate. Siren!

      ‘My birthplace isn’t on anyone’s must-see list.’ Now there was an understatement.

      ‘You surprise me. I hear you’re something of a legend in business circles. Surely they’ll be putting up a sign saying “Damaso Pires was born here”?’

      He plucked a twig from her hair and twirled it between his fingers. No need to tell her no one had any idea where exactly he’d been born, or whether there’d even been a roof for protection.

      ‘Ah, but I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth.’

      She blinked, her mouth thinning for an infinitesimal moment, so that he wondered if he’d blundered in some way. Then she shrugged and smiled and he lost his train of thought when she took the twig from his fingers, her hand deliberately caressing his. That light touch drew his skin tight across his bones as lust flared.

      ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she smiled from under veiled eyes as if sharing a salacious secret. ‘But silver spoons aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.’

      With a quick twist of the wrist he captured her hand in his. Silence throbbed between them, a silence heavy with unspoken promise. Something kindled in her eyes. She returned his hungry look, not resorting to coyness.

      ‘I like the way you face challenges head-on,’ he found himself admitting, then frowned. Usually he measured his words carefully. They didn’t just shoot out.

      ‘I like the fact you don’t care about my social status.’

      Her hand shifted in his hold, her thumb stroking his. It pleased him that she didn’t pretend disinterest, or lunge at him desperately. The sense of a delicate balance between them added a delicious tension to the moment.

      ‘It’s not your title I’m interested in, Marisa.’ Her name tasted even better the second time. Damaso leaned forward, eager for the taste of her on his tongue, then stopped himself. This wasn’t the place.

      ‘You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.’ She planted her palm on his shirt and his heart leapt into overdrive. It felt as if she’d branded him.

      Tension screwed his body tight. He wanted her now and, given the way her fingers splayed possessively on him, her lips parting with her quickened breathing, she felt the same.

      He wanted to take her here, hard and fast and triumphantly. Except instinct told him he’d need more than one quick taste to satisfy this craving.

      How had he resisted her for a whole week?

      ‘Perhaps you could tell me on the way back down exactly what you are interested in, Damaso.’

      He snagged her hand in his again and turned her towards the rough track leading away from the cliff. Her fingers linked with his, shooting erotic pleasure through him that felt in some strange way almost innocent. How long since he’d simply held a woman’s hand?

      * * *

      Marisa towel-dried her hair while looking out at her private courtyard in the luxurious eco-resort. A bevy of butterflies danced through the lush leaves.

      She tried to focus on how she’d capture them on film but all she could think about was Damaso Pires. The feel of his hand enclosing hers as they’d clambered down the track. The wrench of loss when he’d let her go as they’d approached the others. The way his burning gaze had stripped her bare.

      No wonder she’d avoided him.

      But now she craved him. She, who’d learned to distrust desire!

      Yet this was something new. With Damaso Pires she sensed a link, a feeling almost of recognition, that she’d never experienced. It reminded her a little of the very different bond she’d shared with Stefan.

      Marisa shook her head. Was grief clouding her thoughts?

      Physical exertion, even danger, didn’t ease her pain. Since Stefan’s death she’d been shrouded in grey nothingness, till СКАЧАТЬ