The seasoned seducer, who probably charms the panties off of every woman he meets. Diego is handsome. Arrogant. Dangerous. Far more dangerous than anyone I’ve ever met. And with one look from across a crowded room he has me; hook line and sinker, I’m his for the night.
Diego is not a man to mess with, I know that. I just can’t seem to resist his kiss, his touch. But can I trust him with my heart, with my body?
I’m being hunted for something I may or may not have seen, and Diego is my only way out of a world of death and destruction.
If only I can believe his dark promises.
SET UP: Aubrey has returned to her private bungalow, a bit tipsy and feeling slightly off-center after the party she’d been at has abruptly ended because someone fell off the ope- concept infinity dance floor. She’s noticed Diego…twice before.
I stretch my arms forward for balance and zombie-walk in the darkness toward my bed, which is furthest from the door.
Light of head, light in spirit.
What I should be doing instead of the zombie walk is the walk of shame. Where did the handsome hunk with Superman’s buns disappear to? Maybe he’s in a bungalow close by? Do I want him to be in the bungalow close by . . . within proximity to me and my lustful thoughts?
Do I dare seek him out?
My heart races at the naughty idea. Tomorrow. When your head is clearer you can restrategize the perfect introduction.
I inhale deeply and move over to the side of my bed. A wonderfully tantalizing hint of citrus fills in the air. The maids must have sprayed some kind of orange-infused air freshener layered with a hint of spice. Bringing the outdoors inside. And I plan to do the same because since I can’t gaze at the stars, I’ve decided to dream about them.
Stars and oranges and sexy bad boys.
The bedside light abruptly turns on.
I squeal and jump, my mouth falling open with disbelief. Temptation is here . . . tonight . . . in my bed.
“Oh,” I hear myself gasp.
Seconds pass as his eyes rake over me, down to my toes and back up to my face.
All I can do is stare at him, falling into stunned silence.
“You’ve got a beautiful body, chavita.”
Naked. I’m naked. I immediately fold an arm across my chest and hang a hand in front of my crotch. “What are you doing in here?” I murmur. Up close, he’s even more gorgeous. Breathtakingly so, with lips plump for kissing and eyes the color of caramel.
Except they’re the opposite of sweet.
Naughty, come-play-with-me eyes.
Do I want to play? Be daring, be bold? I did a few seconds ago . . .
“Did you have too much to drink? Wander into the wrong bungalow?” I mean, pinch me, please. Things like this don’t happen to me. My life is rather predictable. Boring, perhaps.
“I’m waiting for you.”
He pulls back the crisp white bedsheet.
Lord have mercy but do I need another shot. Liquid courage. Drunken bravado.
Whatever. The sheet settles around his waist and I’m treated to a mouthwatering display of muscled chest. My gaze drops lower to the taut plains and valleys of his abs. And lower still . . . to the prominent bulge highlighted against the thin cotton material.
My lips part in surprise.
“That’s for you, chava.”
Oh my God. He knows exactly the effect he has on me, doesn’t he?
“I don’t remember inviting you in.”
“Don’t you? I could have pushed your lovely body up against that window, hiked up your skimpy red dress, and taken you right there, in front of all those dancers.
And guess what, you’d have begged me to do it.”
There’s confidence and there’s arrogance. Even if what he’s saying is true . . .
“You playing hard to get?” he murmurs. Yet his tone is firm, no-nonsense.
“Hard to get . . . no . . .”
“Then come here.”
I don’t move. Hell, I can’t. My head’s spinning as fast as my heart’s pounding. His bold proposition is tempting . . . so tempting . . .
No one will know. But you. And him.
He sighs, sitting up in bed and folding the sheet back. With slow, smoothly deliberate movements, he slides out of bed to stand before me.
But he looks past me to the painting on the wall. “I’m not fucking you with un campo lleno de vacas watching us.” Moving around me, he scoops up my red dress and tosses it at the picture. It snags on the wooden frame, completely covering the pastoral scene.
“Much better,” he informs me, the tone of his voice less of a rumble and more at a normal pitch.
“You’re awfully presumptuous.”
“Tell me to leave and I will.”
I bite my lip. Isn’t it so much easier with him going all alpha on me?
I pause in indecision. A feeling as foreign to me as discovering a guy so hot, so far removed from my world, my realm of possibility, is in my bed, where I want him to stay.
He gives me a lopsided grin.
A killer grin, with a little dimple that causes butterflies to flutter about inside my stomach.
A seasoned seducer, who probably charms the panties off every woman he meets. I mean, just look at him. Of course he does.
Yet it’s the hunger in his eyes as he rakes his gaze over me that does me in. “You want me?” he asks as our eyes collide.
What is life truly without a few regrets? The rational part of me understands this, that if I fuck this gorgeous man, that’s what he’ll be. A regret. Yet the wild, recently liberated side of me, whispers, Do it. Make him the best regret ever.
“Yes,” I say, a little breathlessly. Okay, a whole lotta breathlessly.
He really does smile this time, the kind that causes tiny creases to form around his eyes. “Good. Now touch me.”
Michele lives in Pennsylvania but likes traveling to exotic places, including the NJ shore. She’s fond of Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Lattes, quick-witted, Irish-accented men, a good story, and lots and lots of laughter.
For more information about Michele, please visit her website: http://www.michelemannon.com