The Spaniard's Blackmailed Bride. Trish Morey

under his searing touch on her bare skin. She gasped in air, his face so close that the taste of him filled her senses, and memories of those lips and a stolen kiss resurfaced into a solid, shocking need for a replay.

      ‘You’re trembling,’ he said.

      ‘I…I’m cold,’ she lied.

      He drew her closer, pressing his lips first to one cheek and then the other before drawing back.

      ‘I think,’ he whispered, ‘it could be fun warming you up, convincing you that making love would not be such a bad thing between us.’

      She pressed her eyes shut, but behind closed lids she could still see him, larger than life, supremely confident, could still feel the sensual dance of his fingers against the bare flesh of her back.

      ‘And if you’re not enough for me?’ she gasped breathlessly, looking up in challenge, desperate for any kind of defence against this slow, sensual onslaught. He answered by gathering her full length against him and shock rendered her speechless. Through their clothes, she could feel his power pulsing, straining, waiting to be unleashed.

      Unleashed inside her!

      It wasn’t just shock that kept her from protesting. It was fascination she felt, a desire to explore more of these new sensations, a yearning for something forbidden, something carnal that this man promised, that held her mute.

      ‘Oh,’ he murmured, tugging on one diamond stud in her ear with his teeth, ‘I will be more than enough.’

      And then he let her go so swiftly she almost collapsed to the ground. She spun away, panting and dizzy, not doubting him, the throb of her pulse echoing in newly awakened flesh, already aching and ready and lush.

      ‘So,’ he said so calmly that it was as if the last few minutes had never happened. ‘Now that we’ve settled that, if you have no further suggestions for inclusions into our pre-nuptial agreement…?’ He hesitated a moment or two. ‘No? Then I’ll see you at the wedding.’

      She was still catching her breath, her heart still thudding, as he turned and swept from the room, his long coat swinging in his wake like a cape. Her skin still tingled from his touch, her senses still humming.

      So much for her resolve to keep separate lives. How long would it take him to ‘convince’ her that her place was in his bed? She clutched her arms about her as she remembered the feel of his lean body pressed against hers and the way her own body had responded. Probably no more than five minutes based on what had just transpired.

      Damn the man! But it didn’t have to be the end. So it wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped—she’d just have to change her plans accordingly.

      He might think he’d won that round, but there was still one hell of a battle to come.

      It wasn’t over yet!