Bound To A Billionaire. Michelle Smart

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      Do not think of her naked.

      An email pinged into his inbox and he seized on the distraction; a recce report by a team of his men in North Africa in preparation for a business trip by the head of an American petroleum company.

      He’d almost finished writing his reply when the bathroom door opened.

      He looked up before he could stop himself.

      Dios, Francesca had only a towel around herself.

      ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said demurely, brushing past him and leaving a cloud of fruity scent in her wake, ‘I’m just going to get changed.’

      Gritting his teeth to counteract his thickening blood, he looked again at the email he was replying to.

      She might as well have fired a bullet into his brain his concentration was so shot.

      He blinked to refocus but, even when she disappeared into her dressing room, all he could see were bare slender arms and long black hair that, when wet, fell all the way to the base of her spine, almost touching the curvaceous bottom the white towel hugged so beautifully.

      He knuckled his forehead and swore violently. She was taunting him. Tempting him. It was in her every look, her every movement.

      The vows he’d made to himself in recent days were tested to the limit when she emerged some time later.

      She’d changed into a Chinese-style red dress that was perfectly modest, not displaying any unnecessary flesh, falling to a decent length just above the knees, but...it clung to her every softly rounded curve...

      And then he noticed she’d put make-up on. Not a huge amount but enough to make her light brown eyes even more seductive than they already were and her lips even more kissable. She’d blow-dried her hair and it hung like a silk sheet. On her feet were high black strappy sandals.

      ‘Did you want to take a shower before we go?’ she asked, appraising him with one of the gleams that fired straight into his groin.

      He slammed the lid of his laptop down. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

      * * *

      Francesca swirled the white wine in her glass and watched Felipe study his menu.

      He’d looked at her only once since they’d sat down, a piercing glare when she’d ordered her wine. She’d given an unrepentant shrug in return.

      They were in one of the hotel’s outdoor restaurants on a patio area that encircled a large swimming pool aglow with soft lighting.

      Her intention had been to get Felipe out of the suite and get him talking. Whenever they’d had a proper conversation together they’d proved things could be harmonious between them. She wanted to find that harmony again.

      She knew he desired her but what good was that when he fought it every step of the way? She wanted him to desire her company as well, to see her as herself. Francesca. Not Pieta’s little sister. Not Daniele’s little sister. Not the foolish client who’d agreed to a bribe because she hadn’t been thinking straight and who needed saving from herself as well as the bad guys, whoever they were.

      She waited until their order had been taken before asking, ‘Where are you going when this job’s done with?’

      ‘Back to the Middle East.’

      ‘You’re not going home for a few days or anything?’

      ‘Why do you want to know?’

      ‘I’m making conversation. Annoying, I know, but one of us has to make the effort.’

      Felipe tore his gaze from the distance he’d fixed on to look at her.

      She tilted her head, her features softening. ‘Please, Felipe, can’t we just have a normal conversation like normal people?’

      He smothered a sigh. It was far easier for him to ignore the tightening of his loins that occurred just by being around her if he didn’t have to listen to the husky voice that stroked his skin like a caress and stare into the beguiling eyes that had the power to hypnotise him.

      Her request wasn’t unreasonable.

      He was the one being unreasonable.

      She couldn’t help it that every look made the yearning to touch her grow and his self-loathing ratchet up another notch.

      ‘Do you still live in Spain?’ she probed, taking his silence for assent.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Where do you live then?’

      ‘Nowhere.’

      ‘Nowhere?’

      ‘Nowhere,’ he confirmed. ‘I have no home. I am of no fixed abode.’

      ‘But...’ She smoothed a long strand of hair behind her ear. A teardrop diamond earring winked at him. ‘Where do you call home?’

      He shrugged. ‘Wherever I happen to be. I have a bedroom on my plane. Hotels are easy to come by. Everything I own is easily transported and as easily stored.’

      She rocked forward slowly, a crease in her forehead. ‘Where do your letters go? Bills? Bank statements? You have to have an address to have a bank account.’

      ‘Not all banks require it if you know where to ask. My business isn’t a typical one. My work is my life. It has been since I joined the army.’

      She pulled a face. ‘Yes, I get that. You’re a macho man who runs around the world protecting the weak and helpless.’

      A laugh crept up his throat. ‘The majority of the people I protect are far from weak. It’s generally business people, government officials and aid agencies. People who go to war zones and countries with high crime rates where they know they’re going to be a target. My job is to let them do their jobs in safety.’

      ‘Why does that stop you having a home of your own? Everyone needs a home.’

      He shook his head. This was why he would have preferred to stay in the suite. There, he would have been able to work on his laptop, catch up on reports from his staff around the world, issue orders and directives, and ignore Francesca while ensuring her absolute safety. Here, there was nothing to do but talk while they waited for their food to be cooked and as he’d learned the other night in the hotel’s main restaurant and their late-night conversation the night before, he enjoyed talking to Francesca far more than was good for him.

      When they talked she became more than the alluring woman who made his blood thicken to look at her. She became flesh and blood.

      The sooner this meal was finished the better.

      ‘What about family?’ she asked, oblivious to his wish—his need—for her silence. ‘Do you see much of them?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘But you do have family?’

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