A Touch of Temptation. Tara Pammi

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СКАЧАТЬ Except through the nauseating terror that day she had known that at some point the fall would end. So she had forced herself to sit rigid, her teeth digging painfully into the inside of her mouth, while Liv had screamed with terror and laughter.

      No such assurance today. Because every time Diego stormed into her life she forgot the lesson she had learned long ago.

      Her hands instinctively moved to her stomach and his gaze zeroed in on her amidst the crowd. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look into those golden eyes that had set her up to fall. Couldn’t look at that cruel face that had purposely played with her life.

      She forced herself to keep her gaze straight, focused on all the other curious faces waiting to speak to her. It was the most excruciating half hour of her entire life. She could feel Diego’s gaze on her back, drilling into her, looking for a weak spot—anything that he could use to cause more destruction.

      At least he’d made it easy for her to avoid him, sitting in one of the chairs in the back row with his gaze focused on her.

      She slipped, the heel of one of her three-inch pumps snagging on the carpet as she moved past him. Just the dark scent of him was tripping her nerves.

      Why was he here? And what cruel twist of fate had brought him here the very same day she had discovered that she was pregnant?

      * * *

      Diego Pereira watched unmoving as Kim closed the door to the conference hall behind her, her slender body stiff with tension. She was nervous and, devil that he was, he liked it.

      He flicked through the business proposal. Every little detail of her presentation was blazing in his mind, and he was impressed despite his black mood. Although he shouldn’t really be surprised.

      Her pitch for investment today had been specific, innovative, nothing short of exceptional. Like her company. In three years she had taken the very simple idea of an advice column into an exclusive, information-filled web portal with more than a million members and a million more waiting on shortlists for membership.

      He closed his eyes and immediately the image of her assaulted him.

      Dressed formally, in black trousers that showed off her long legs and a white top that hugged her upper body, she was professionalism come to life—as far as possible from the woman who had cried her pleasure in his arms just a month ago.

      He had even forgotten the reason he had come to New York while he had followed her crisp, confident presentation. But the moment she had realized he was present in the audience had been his prize.

      She had faltered, searched the audience. That seconds-long flicker in her focus was like a nervous scream for an average woman.

      But then there was nothing average about the woman he had married. She was beautiful, brilliant, sophisticated. She was perfection personified—and she had as much feeling as a lump of rock.

      A rock he was finally through with—ready to kick out of his life. It was time to move on, and her little nervous sputter at the sight of him had gone a long way toward pacifying his bitter resentment.

      He walked to an elevator and pressed the number for the tenth floor. When he reached her suite he pulled the gold-plated keycard he had bribed from the bellboy from his coat packet.

      He entered the suite and closed the door behind him.

      The subtle scent of lily of the valley assailed him instantly. It rocked him where he stood, dispensing a swift punch to his gut more lethal than the ones he had taken for half his life.

      His lungs expanded, drawing the scent of her deep into him until it sank once again into his blood.

      His body pulsed with remembered pleasure. Like a junkie getting his high.

      He studied the suite, with its luxurious sitting area and mahogany desk. Her files were neatly stacked on it, her sleek state-of-the-art laptop on top of them. Her handbag—a practical but designer black leather affair—lay near the couch in the sitting area.

      The suite was everything its owner was—high-class, flawless and without an ounce of warmth.

      He turned at the sound of a door on his right.

      Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it. A sheen of sweat danced on her forehead.

      He frowned, his curiosity spiking.

      Her glistening mouth trembled as she spotted him, her hands moving to her midriff.

      There was a distinct lack of color to her skin. Her slender shoulders quivered as she ran the back of her hand over her forehead.

      He looked at her with increasing curiosity. Her jacket was gone. A V-necked sleeveless white silk blouse showed off her toned arms. The big steel dial of her designer watch highlighted her delicate wrist. A thin gold chain dangled at her throat.

      The shadow of her breasts beneath the thin silk drew his gaze.

      He swallowed and pulled his eyes up. The memory of her breasts in his hands was cutting off his breath more effectively than a hand choking his windpipe. The feel of her trembling with pleasure in his hands, the erotic scent of her skin and sex—images and sensations flooded through him.

      He could no more fight the assault than he could stop breathing.

      Her eyes flared wide, the same heat dancing in those chocolate depths.

      She was the very embodiment of perfection—always impeccably dressed, exuding the sophistication that was like a second skin to her. Yet now she looked off-balance.

      He reached her, the slight sway of her lithe figure propelling him toward her. “Are you okay, gatinha?”

      She ran her palm over her face, leaving pink fingerprints over her colorless skin. Stepping away from him, she straightened the already immaculate desk. Her fingers trembled as she picked up a pen and moved it to the side.

      She was more than nervous.

      “No, I’m not,” she said, shrugging those elegant shoulders. The frank admission was unusual. “But that’s not a surprise as I just saw you, is it?”

      He raised a brow and sliced the distance between them. “The sight of me makes you sick?”

      Her fingers clutched the edge of the desk, her knuckles white. “The sight of you reminds me of reckless stupid behavior that I’d rather not remember.”

      He smiled. “Not even the good parts, where you screamed?”

      Pink scoured her cheeks. The slender set of her shoulders straightened in defense. She moved to the sitting area and settled into a leather chair. “Why are you here, Diego?”

      He watched with a weird fascination as she crossed her legs and looked up at him.

      The nervousness he had spied just moments ago had disappeared. She sounded steady, without a hint of anger or upset. Even though the last time they had laid eyes on each other she had been half-naked in his bed, her face bereft of color as he had dressed and informed her that he was done with her.

      There was no reproach in her tone СКАЧАТЬ