Don Joaquin's Pride. Lynne Graham
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Название: Don Joaquin's Pride
Автор: Lynne Graham
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon
isbn: 9781408996294
isbn:
‘The face of a sweet Botticelli angel, the brain of a calculator and the sexual appetite of a natural whore,’ Joaquin spelt out silkily, lifting his head and holding her back from him. ‘It would please me to throw you down and take you here…to use you as you once used poor Mario. But I believe I can withstand the temptation.’
Lucy was shell-shocked, gasping for air. Her every nerve jangled with a sense of deprivation so strong she almost cried out in protest and grabbed him back to her again. Stunned by a complete inability to work out how she had turned into a wanton stranger in Joaquin Del Castillo’s arms, and finally forced to support her own weight again, Lucy reeled dizzily. The sick pounding behind her temples made her weary mouth curl in a little moue of pain.
‘Looking pathetic doesn’t work with me either,’ Joaquin slung down at her with grim emphasis.
Lucy focused on him hazily and noticed, really could not have helped noticing when he wore such close-fitting pants, that he was in a very masculine state of arousal. And so shaken was she by the sight of a male in that condition she stared and abstractedly recalled that he had begun the assault on her senses by doing wildly indecent things to her finger. Suddenly she was undyingly grateful that matters hadn’t proceeded any further than that one breathtaking kiss, for she had no idea, absolutely no idea, just how… Her mother had warned her that what a woman often thought she wanted wasn’t much fun once she actually got it. She was now more than ready to be convinced.
‘I feel ill…’ Lucy confided helplessly, swaying without even realising it and wondering why her skin still felt as if it was on fire when he was no longer touching her.
‘You cannot fool me into removing you from here,’ Joaquin drawled with derisive cool, his lean dark face unimpressed. ‘I fully intend that you should endure the privations of what you would sentence Fidelio to endure when he is no longer fit to work.’
She wasn’t well; that was what the matter was with her. In fact, she felt just as she had felt when she had had the flu a month back, only worse, she conceded absently. Had she imagined Joaquin Del Castillo kissing her? Why would he have kissed her? What sense did that make?
‘Men don’t make sense…men are animals,’ Lucy announced with semi-delirious conviction, without even realising that she was talking out loud. ‘You are the prime example…you are the definitive proof. I should never have argued with Mum—’
‘Madre de Dios…’ He interrupted her rambling spiel with incredulity. ‘What—?’
Lucy groaned, pushing a shaking hand over her wet brow, no longer able to focus properly, just as her knees began to shake and crumple beneath her. ‘Awful…feel awful—’
Joaquin Del Castillo’s dusty black riding boots appeared in her vision. ‘I will not be taken in by this outrageous theatrical display, señora.’
Lucy slumped down on one elbow. And then with a faint moan, as the world swung tipsily and blackness folded in entirely, she passed out altogether.
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