The Spaniard's Woman. Diana Hamilton
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Название: The Spaniard's Woman
Автор: Diana Hamilton
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon Modern
isbn: 9781408939932
isbn:
‘You’d be doing me a favour, Rosie. The last twenty-four hours have been hectic. I want to unwind over a glass of wine and I don’t care to drink alone.’
That had got her, he thought on a surge of satisfaction as he saw her brilliant eyes widen with sympathy, her delicate brows peak. Find the weak spot and go for it was a rule that worked well both in business and personal relationships. He knew little about Rosie Lambert, but his gut instincts told him she had a soft, sympathetic nature and would always answer a cry for help.
He pressed home his advantage. ‘Please?’
That dark drawl, the honeyed Spanish accent, sent quivers of something fiery racing down her spine, making her gasp. She met the smoky sultriness of those black-fringed eyes and her mouth ran dry. At least his invitation hadn’t sprung from pity, he was asking a favour, and that gave her the confidence to push out croakily, ‘OK, if that’s what you want.’
‘Gracias.’
His smile made her head spin, and when he put a casual arm around her shoulders and led her from the room it was all she could do to stay upright. The touch of his hand through the thin fabric of her T-shirt scorched her skin right through to the bone and the heat of her body’s instinctive and immediate response curled and tightened low down in her pelvis.
Get a grip! she snarled silently at herself as she sternly resisted the pressing temptation to sag against him, lay her head against that wide chest, slip a hand beneath that beautifully tailored jacket and feel the warmth of his body beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt.
So, OK, Sebastian Garcia was lethally attractive, and without even trying he could make things happen to her body that had never happened before, but he wouldn’t look twice at the likes of her, she reasoned as he disappeared to fetch the promised wine after guiding her to one of the squashy sofas in front of the glowing hall fire.
She sat gingerly in one corner and tucked the book under a cushion out of sight. She’d have to replace it in the morning. Bedtime reading—as if! He must think she was pretty strange!
Dismissing it from her mind, she tried to relax. She’d drink one small glass of wine, toss a few aimless remarks in his direction and keep her eyes firmly fixed on anything other than him. Looking at all that masculine perfection would be her downfall. She would never survive the humiliation if he guessed she was hopelessly attracted to him.
He was taking much longer than she’d expected and with every minute Rosie got more uptight. Had he got sidetracked, forgotten all about her? Unlike him, she was easy to forget, she thought on a sickening surge of shame. She felt a real fool, sitting here like a lemon, and was about to slink off to bed when he re-entered the hall.
Her heart jumped and she forgot to breathe as he put two glasses and an opened wine bottle on a side table, then turned to her. In the dim light his smoky eyes mesmerised her. She could drown in those silvery depths, she thought helplessly, forgetting her earlier clear-headed decision not to look at him if at all possible.
Trouble was, her head was a total muddle when he was around.
He took something from the tray and walked towards her with the indolent grace that made her toes curl in her scuffed old plimsolls.
‘For you.’ Bending slightly from the waist, one of his hands uncurled her bunched together fist while the other deposited a single, perfect white camellia, slightly tinged with pale lemon colour at the ruffled centre, in the palm of her small hand.
A corner of his mouth curled wryly. ‘I stole it from Marcus’s greenhouse—though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Not much of a birthday gift, ciertamente, but perhaps it will make you smile?’
Sebastian straightened abruptly. Madre di Dio! She would think he was shooting a line! The impulse that had sent him to cut that bloom now seemed ridiculous.
Until he had what he’d unconsciously known he’d been missing. That smile. And then he knew that the impulse hadn’t been ridiculous at all.
Her eyes were on the blossom she held cupped in the curve of her hands, thick sweeping lashes hiding her expression, her silky blonde hair falling forward, a stray tendril kissing the petal-soft skin of her cheek. And then it began. A slight trembling of those luscious lips, an upward curve and then that radiant, brilliant smile her fathomless eyes winging towards his, deepest purest blue sparkling with dancing lights.
‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed, and then, propelled by something far stronger than his formidable will, he bent towards her again, dipped his dark head, and kissed her.
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