The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

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      He had said he had tasted every inch of her. He couldn’t mean…

      ‘You have finished?’

      His query startled her, and she met his unfathomable gaze with widened eyes. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’ll be fine now,’ she added quickly in dismissal, and saw his eyes narrow slightly as he removed the tray.

      He regarded her steadily, his expression revealing, and there was latent steel beneath the velvet tone of his voice. ‘The bed is sufficiently large to accommodate both of us.’

      The thought of sharing the bed with him made her stomach knot with unenviable nerves. ‘I’d prefer a room of my own.’

      ‘No.’

      It was a categorical refusal. One that made her uncommonly resentful. ‘I think——’

      ‘Don’t think,’ Alejandro advised with dangerous softness, and her eyes acquired an angry sparkle.

      ‘How can I not?’ she declared, with a degree of asperity. ‘I have no knowledge of you in any sexual sense. I know I’m not ready to resume intimacy. Dammit,’ she flung heatedly, ‘I can’t even remember if we’re——’

      ‘Sexually compatible?’ he drawled in silky query. ‘I assure you we are, mi mujer. Passionately, primitively so.’

      The retort she wanted to fling at him died in her throat as he began unbuttoning his shirt. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t prevent her gaze from focusing on him, watching beneath lowered lashes as deft fingers competently dealt with remaining shirt-buttons before moving to free the belt at his waist. Seconds later the shirt was tossed over a nearby chair, closely followed by his trousers.

      It was impossible not to be aware of his impressively muscled frame: broad shoulders, chest tapering down to a trim waist, slim hips and long, powerful thighs.

      Something deep inside her stirred, then slowly unfurled at the sight of his chest, liberally covered with whorls of dark hair which arrowed down over a taut waist to disappear beneath black silk briefs.

      ‘Are you going to join me in the shower?’

      He had to be joking!

      Elise’s eyes widened measurably, then grew dark as her gaze shifted to a point somewhere beyond his right shoulder, and she was powerless to stop the faint flood of colour covering her cheeks as her imagination ran riot.

      ‘I can cope on my own,’ she managed in strangled tones, hating him as he calmly scooped her to her feet.

      She wanted to hit him, or at the very least hurl abuse at his merciless head. Sparks of topaz accentuated the green of her eyes, and her chin tilted in open defiance. ‘I hate having you play nursemaid,’ she said with a degree of anguish as he carefully undressed her.

      ‘I refuse to stand by and have you inflict further damage on your shoulder out of a foolish need for modesty.’

      The tone of his voice should have warned her, but she was too angry to take any notice. ‘And I dislike the thought of a husband who practises voyeurism.’

      He stiffened, his large frame an awesome sight as he held himself severely in check. Anger emanated from every pore, and his eyes were so dark that they resembled polished onyx. ‘Perhaps you should give thanks to the good Dios,’ he intoned in a hard voice. ‘If it were not for your injuries, I would teach you a lesson you would not easily forget.’

      As he had in the past? Dear God, was he an abusive man? she agonised in shocked silence. Her features paled at the thought, and she heard him utter a string of viciously soft incomprehensible words.

      ‘Go and have your shower, Elise,’ he commanded with dangerous silkiness.

      She needed no second bidding, and her mouth set in mutinous lines as he followed her into the bathroom and switched on the water, tested its temperature, then stood aside as she stepped into the large stall.

      Despite the rising cloud of steam she was aware of his presence a few feet distant on the other side of the glass screen, and she gritted her teeth against rising anger, feeling no remorse for taking longer than necessary before closing the taps.

      He was waiting as she slid open the glass door, and her eyes waged a silent battle with his as he stepped forward and removed the waterproof covering from her bandaged hand, then collected a towel and began blotting the dampness from her body.

      ‘I’m quite capable of completing the task,’ Elise said tightly, and almost swayed beneath his long, intent gaze.

      Did he have any idea of how vulnerable she felt? How damnable it was to have to stand naked before him and suffer his ministrations?

      ‘Of course,’ he drawled with hateful amusement as he discarded his briefs and stepped into the shower.

      There was an enviable selection of toiletries to choose from atop the long marble vanity unit, and after making use of a few Elise collected a large towel and was about to secure it sarong-wise around her body when the water stopped.

      Seconds later the door slid open and Alejandro emerged from the stall.

      Elise hastily averted her eyes from the electrifying image of his superbly muscled frame, with its generous mat of curling chest-hair arrowing down in a fine line past his navel to join the hair couching his manhood.

      There was something incredibly erotic about glistening water droplets caught in male body-hair, the fluid grace of strongly honed muscle-fibre moving beneath satiny, lightly bronzed skin.

      The degree of restrained power in repose was an intensely disturbing entity, and her fingers shook as she caught up a brush and stroked it vigorously through the length of her hair, increasingly aware of his every action as he towelled himself dry.

      As he reached for a black silk robe she stepped quickly into the bedroom, almost succeeding in donning her nightgown before firm fingers eased the straps over her injured hand, and she stood helplessly still as the silk hem whispered down past her hips.

      Impotent resentment darkened her eyes, and Alejandro cast her a long, thoughtful look which she found increasingly difficult to hold as the seconds ticked slowly by.

      He lifted a hand and slid firm fingers beneath the hair at her nape, then in seeming slow motion his mouth claimed hers with an element of possession she instinctively knew would harden should she attempt to pull free of him, and she swallowed convulsively as pleasure overtook warmth, touching each nerve-end as it coursed through her body.

      She felt strangely afraid—not of him, but of herself, and the wild sweetness that swirled within, encouraging a response she was hesitant to give.

      His tongue sought out every secret recess, every ridge, before lightly stroking her own tongue in an erotic dance that reached deep into her feminine core, unleashing emotions almost beyond her control.

      She was slowly melting, awash in a sea of delicious sensation, totally unaware of voicing a faint murmur of regret as he slowly lifted his mouth from her own.

      ‘Into bed, querida,’ Alejandro bade firmly.

      Within minutes СКАЧАТЬ