said. “It’s one of the most profitable film weekends of the year in the US.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s also a time to be with friends. Family. Turkey and mashed potatoes. Football on TV? Does that ring any bells?”
“I know Thanksgiving,” he said, annoyed. “My mother was American.”
Her eyes lit up. “So you know how important it is to spend the day with the people you love.”
“It’s not that big a deal. My parents usually were away that day. With...friends.” His mother typically went jet-setting with her current lover, while his father either lost himself in work or pursued her in a rage, depending on his mood. Pushing the memory aside, he said, “But my mother always told our cook to bake me something like turkey. Often it was Spanish chicken with saffron rice.”
“You’re kidding.” Shock flashed through Lola’s eyes. “Your parents left you alone on Thanksgiving?”
“Somehow I survived,” he said dryly.
She shook her head decisively. “You deserve a real holiday.”
“So you’re offering to visit your friends in New York for my sake? Noble.”
“All right, you got me. I want to see them. Selfishly.” Lola put her hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t invite them to our wedding. I wanted so badly for them to be there. But now Tess and Stefano are hosting Thanksgiving at their new home. I want to spend the day in New York. Either with you—” she lifted her chin “—or without you.”
For a moment, Rodrigo was distracted by her soft touch against his arm, and the full view of her breasts as she looked up at him with defiant hazel eyes. His blood quickened. “You’re not taking my son away from me on Thanksgiving.”
Her lips quirked. “So now it’s suddenly a super-important family holiday?”
Staring at her full, wet lips, he murmured, “It’s growing on me.” Then he looked up. “Tess and Stefano? You don’t mean Prince Stefano Zacco, the fashion billionaire?”
“That’s him.”
“You’re best friends with Zacco’s wife?” His eyes narrowed. “And what about the other one... Hallie? Do I know her?”
Lola gave him a cheeky grin. “You often stay at her husband’s hotels.”
His eyes widened. “She’s married to Cristiano Moretti? Your best friends are both married to billionaires?”
“So?”
“Were they the ones who were going to help you fight for custody?”
She nodded. “We look out for each other.”
So she’d never been plotting with Sergei Morozov behind his back. All his irrational fears had been just that—irrational. As she set down her phone, he said quietly, “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Yeah. You should stop it.” Putting a hand on her hip, she gave him a tilted glance beneath her dark lashes. “Get this through your head. I’ll never betray you, Rodrigo. Ever.”
Hearing Lola speak those words caused a strange rush through his heart. His gaze fell to her full, lush breasts in the bra, traveling down her nearly naked body, to her tiny bare waist, expanding to the curve of her hips, with the little flimsy black lace panties. Behind her in the mirror, he could see most of her backside, with only the tiny strip between.
“Show me,” he whispered.
Pulling her into his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers. Pushing her against the wall of the changing room, he gloried in the feel of the soft curves of her body pressed against his own. He felt the tremble of her lips. Felt her hesitate.
He lured her, tempted her. He gripped her wrists to the wall, ruthlessly kissing her until her lips began to move against his, slowly at first, then hungrily, as her fire matched his own.
Pulling her wrists from his grip, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him down harder against her.
Outside their small changing room, in the exclusive, private waiting area, their baby was still noisily snoring in the stroller, parked beside the white leather sofa and three-way mirror. For now, they were alone, but at any moment, Rodrigo knew they could be interrupted. Perhaps the boutique’s salesgirls would come in to offer him more champagne, or bring more ball gowns for his wife to try on. He glanced back at the waiting area. For all he knew, there were security cameras.
He should take her back to his apartment, he knew, where they could be assured of privacy. But it would take too long. It would be twenty minutes. Thirty.
He needed her now.
Jerking the velvet curtain closed over the changing room doorway, Rodrigo kissed her passionately, cradling her face in his hands.
She was so sweet. So indescribably sweet. His earlier suspicions had melted away, and his heart was full of an emotion he didn’t want to identify.
I’ll never betray you, Rodrigo. Ever.
Lola belonged to him, him alone, now and forever.
Her long blond hair tumbled down her back as he slowly kissed down her throat. Her skin smelled of vanilla and summer, soft, warm and sweet. He felt her tremble as he caressed her bare arms, to her naked waist, his hands running over the hot skin of her back. He unhooked her bra, letting it drop to the parquet floor.
He cupped her full, magnificent breasts, and heard her intake of breath. Lowering his head, he kissed her creamy skin, all the while running his hands over her hips, her back, her delectable backside.
He was hard. Aching. It felt like he’d been hard for days, wanting her. It was some kind of strange magic: no matter how many times he possessed her, he hungered for more.
Her initial hesitation had disappeared, replaced by fierce, undisguised desire. It was something he’d always loved about Lola. She never tried to hide her desire for him, which only made him want her more, making the fire inside him burn hotter still. Holding her in his arms, in this small enclosed space, he felt a sense of urgency, knowing they could be discovered at any moment.
He stroked the edge of her black lace panties, letting his fingertips trail over her skin, from her hip around the curve of her leg to her thighs. He lightly grazed his hand over the lace, then moved the fabric aside to slowly stroke her beneath it.
She was wet. Hot and wet. He felt her tremble, heard her sharp intake of breath, and he wanted more. He wanted to hear her gasp and feel her shake as she shattered beneath his touch.
Kneeling, he peeled off the panties. Lifting her leg over his shoulder, he paused between her legs. For a moment, he inhaled the scent of her, letting her feel the warmth of his breath, teasing her. And when he felt her shiver, he pressed his mouth against her skin and tasted her.
She gasped, one of her hands pressing against the wall, the other gripping his shoulder with increasing intensity as he worked her with his tongue, one moment swirling the taut wet nub, then lapping her with the full width of his tongue.
She gave a sudden muffled cry, biting her lip to choke back the noise. But he felt the full force of her explosion by her fingernails gripping into his skin, deep enough to draw blood.
He’d given her pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to give her more. Much more.
His wife was naked, but he was still fully clothed.
Rising unsteadily to his feet, he unzipped his fly. Lifting her against the wall, he wrapped her naked legs around his hips. In a single thrust, he buried his shaft, thick and hard, deep inside her.
So sweet. So hot. So tight. Holding her backside with the width of his hands, he felt a wave of pleasure as he filled her. He groaned in ecstasy.
She gasped, her hips moving against him, her legs tightening around him as he pushed inside her,