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No. Her answer was no. Of course it was.
Wasn’t it?
He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek, his lips lingering against her skin, moving slowly. Sensuously. She held her breath, and as he drew back, she stared at him with big eyes, her whole body clamoring and clanging like an orchestra.
“All right,” she heard herself say, then gasped at her own recklessness. She opened her mouth to take it back. Then stopped.
For one night, you can know what it feels like to be truly, recklessly alive.
When was the last time she’d felt that way?
Had she ever?
Or had she always been a good girl, trying so hard to please others, to follow the rules, to plan out her life?
What had being good ever done for her—except leave her heartsick and alone?
Santiago’s dark eyes gleamed as he saw her hesitate. He didn’t wait. Wrapping his large hands on her jawline and then sliding them to tangle in her hair, he slowly drew his mouth to hers. She felt the warmth of his breath, sweet like Scotch, against the tender flesh of her skin.
His sensual mouth lowered on hers, hot and demanding, pushing her lips apart. She felt the delicious sweep of his tongue, and the cold winter air between them heated to a thousand degrees.
She’d never been kissed like this before. Never. The tepid caresses she’d endured seven years ago were nothing compared to this ruthlessly demanding embrace, this—dark fire.
She was lost in his arms, in the hot demand of his mouth, of his hands everywhere. Desire swept through her, a tidal wave of need that drowned all thought and reason. She forgot to think, forgot her own name.
She’d never known it could be like this...
She responded uncertainly at first, then soon gripped his shoulders, clutching him to her.
All her hatred for Santiago, all her earlier misery, transformed to heat as he kissed her in the dark winter night on the edge of the sea, invisible waves crashing noisily against the shore.
She didn’t know how long they clung to each other in the cold night, seconds or hours, but when he finally drew away, she knew she’d never be the same. Their breath mingled in the dappled moonlight.
They stared at each other for a split second as scattered snowflakes started to fall.
Wordlessly, he took her hand and pulled her toward the house. She heard the crunch of frozen snow beneath her scuffed black flats, felt the warmth of his hand over hers.
They entered the nineteenth-century mansion, with its dark oak paneling and antique furniture. Inside, it was dark and quiet; it seemed everyone, including the household staff, had gone to bed. Santiago closed the tall, heavy door behind them and punched a code into the security system.
They rushed up the back stairs, hardly able to stop kissing long enough to stumble to the second floor.
Belle shivered. She couldn’t be doing this. Impulsively offering her virginity to a man she didn’t even like, let alone love?
But as he pulled her into a guest bedroom at the far end of the hall, she couldn’t even catch her breath. His long black coat fell to the floor, and he pulled her into his arms. Cupping her face in his hands, he ran his thumbs along her swollen lower lip.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands through her long brown hair tangled with ice and snowflakes. “Beautiful, and mine...”
Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her hungrily. Heat flooded through Belle, making her breasts heavy, swirling low and deep in her core. His hands stroked her deliciously, mesmerizing her with sensation, and by the time she realized he was unzipping her black dress, it was already falling to the floor.
An hour ago, she’d hated him; now she was half-naked in his bedroom.
Setting her back onto his bed, he pulled off his suit jacket, vest and tie. He never took his eyes off her as he unbuttoned his black shirt. His bare chest was chiseled and muscular, curving in the light and shadow. Falling beside her on the bed, he pulled her against him with a growl, kissing her with a hot embrace. He nibbled down her throat, and she tilted her head against the pillow, closing her eyes. He cupped each breast over her white cotton bra and reached beneath the fabric to stroke and thrum the aching nipples beneath.
Unhooking her bra, he tossed it to the floor and lowered his head to suckle one breast, then the other. The sensation was so sharp and wild and new that she gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly.
Moving up, he covered her gasping lips with his own, plundering her mouth before he slowly kissed down her body to her flat, naked belly. His tongue flicked her belly button. Then he kept going down further still.
His hands gripped her hips. He nuzzled between her legs, and she felt the warmth of his breath between her thighs. He held her firmly, gently pressing her legs apart, kissing each of her thighs before he pulled her panties off. Pushing her thighs apart, he teased her with his warm breath, then, with agonizing slowness, he lowered his mouth and tasted her.
The pleasure was so unexpected and explosive that her fingernails dug into his shoulders as his tongue slid against her, hot and wet.
Holding her hips, he worked her with his tongue until she gripped the blanket beneath her, holding her breath until she started to see stars. He licked her softly one moment, then the next plunged his tongue inside her. She heard a voice cry out, and realized the voice was hers.
He swirled his tongue against her, increasing his rhythm and pressure until her back started arching from the bed. He pushed a single thick finger inside her, then two, stretching her wide. She gasped as the pleasure built almost too high to bear. Higher—higher—then—
Soaring to the sky, she exploded into a million pieces, falling to the earth in gently chiming shards. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It was pure joy.
Lifting up from her, he ripped off the last of his clothes. Positioning himself between her legs, he gripped her naked hips. As she was still gasping with pleasure, he pushed his huge, thick shaft inside her.
* * *
He’d dreamed of this.
For four months, Santiago had dreamed of seducing the sinfully beautiful woman who’d made it such a point to scorn him. He’d dreamed of having her deliciously full curves in his arms, her body naked beneath his. He’d dreamed of kissing her full pink lips and seeing her lovely face darken with ecstasy. He’d dreamed of taking her, filling her, satiating himself with her.
But now, as he finally pushed inside her, he felt a barrier he had not expected. He froze. He’d never once dreamed of this.
“You’re a virgin?” he breathed in shock.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Not anymore.”
He set his jaw. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she said in a small voice.
Something in her expression made him tremble. Something in her voice spoke directly to his soul. He felt a strange emotion in his heart: tenderness. He bit out, “You’re lying.”
“Yes.” Her soft, slender arms reached up around his shoulders and pulled him down, down, down against her, tempting him to his own ecstasy and ruin. “But don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, Santiago...”
Hearing his name on her lips, he sucked in his breath. How could even a romantic, idealistic woman like Belle Langtry be an untouched innocent, in this modern world? A virgin. Santiago was the only man who’d ever touched her, this infuriating, exhilarating, magnificent woman.
His soul felt the danger of getting close to any woman so innocent and bright. It made him want to flee.
But his body, held still deep inside her, felt the opposite as he looked down at her beautiful face, glowing with wanton desire. He shuddered. Ravaging hunger built inside him, thrilling his nerves, coursing down his limbs and centering at his hard core barreled deep inside her.
He lowered his head to hers. His kiss was gentle at first, then deepened, turning to pure light. His hands roamed slowly down her naked body, cupping and caressing her breasts.
She had the most perfect body, curvy and ripe. Any man would die to have a fiery goddess like this in his bed. And that this goddess was also a virgin...
He shuddered a little, and without realizing it, pushed deeper inside her. The soft whisper of a moan escaped her as he lowered his lips to suckle her breasts. Her breath changed to a gasp of ecstasy.
Gripping her hips, he very slowly started to ride her, even as he kissed her lips and caressed her breasts. He sucked her earlobe and slowly licked and nibbled down her neck. He felt her body lift beneath his as new pleasure rose in her, and she began to kiss him back hungrily.
He started to lose the last shreds of his self-control. She was wet, so wet, and somehow her tight sheath accepted all of him. His thrusts became deeper as he wondered if the size of him would be too much for her. But it wasn’t. He felt her tighten around him, gripping her fingernails into his shoulders. But that small pain only added to his building pleasure. When he heard her low gasp rise to a scream of joy he could no longer hold back. His eyes closed in pure ecstasy, his head tossing back as he filled her deeply, until his own roar exploded in the deep dark silence of the bedroom. Flying in a whirlwind, he experienced pure sexual joy such as he’d never known before as he spilled himself into her.
He fell back to the bed against her, eyes closed, cradling her body against his own. For ten seconds, as he held her, he felt a deep peace, a sense of home, sweeter than he’d ever known.
Then his eyes flew open. He was filled with regret so great it tasted like ash in his mouth.
“You were right,” Belle sighed, a hopeful smile on her lovely heart-shaped face. “I feel recklessly alive. That was like nothing I ever dreamed. Pure magic.” She pressed back against his naked chest, pulling his arms more tightly around her, as she said dreamily, “Deep down, maybe you’re not all bad. I might even like you a little.”
Santiago looked down at her grimly in the moonlight from the bedroom window. He’d just known ecstasy that he’d never experienced before.
With a virgin.
A romantic.
Sleeping with Belle had done strange things to him. His body had never known such deep pleasure. And his soul...
She yawned. “I just hope no one heard us.”
“They didn’t,” he said harshly. “Letty and Darius are in the other wing, and this house is made of stone.” Stone like his heart, he reminded himself.
“Good. I’d never live it down if Letty knew, after everything I’ve said about you.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I said you were a selfish bastard without a heart.”
His shoulders tightened. “I’m not offended. It’s true.”
“You’re funny.” She looked up at him sleepily. “You know, no matter what you think, love and marriage aren’t always a prison sentence. Look at Letty and Darius.”
“They look happy,” he said grudgingly, then added, “Looks can be deceiving.”
Her forehead furrowed. “Don’t you believe in anyone? Anything?”
“I believe in myself.”
“You’re a terrible cynic.”
“I see the world as it is, rather than as I wish it could be.” Eternal love? A happy family? At thirty-five, Santiago had seen enough of the world to know those kind of miracles were few and far between. Tragedy was the normal state of the world. “Do you already regret sleeping with me?”
Shaking her head, she smiled up at him, looking kittenish and shy and so damned beautiful that his heart caught in his throat. “You feel so good to me. I’m glad you’re here.” She yawned, closing her eyes, cuddling against him. “I couldn’t bear to be alone tonight. You saved me...”
Pressing against his chest, she fell asleep in seconds.
Santiago yearned to sleep, as well. His body wanted to stay like this, with her, cuddled in this warm bed, taking solace in each other against the cold January night and all the other cold nights to come.
Warning lights were flashing everywhere.
He looked down at her, sweetly sleeping in his arms, so soft and beautiful, so opinionated and dreamy and kind. So optimistic.
You saved me.
Santiago felt bone-weary. Carefully, he disentangled himself from her. Rising from the bed, he walked naked to his coat crumpled on the floor. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed the number of his pilot.
The man struggled not to sound groggy. It was eleven o’clock on a cold winter’s night. “Sir?”
“Come get me,” he replied. “I’m at Fairholme.”
Without waiting for a reply, Santiago hung up. He looked back at Belle one last time, sleeping in his bed, so beautiful in the moonlight. Like an innocent young woman from another time. He couldn’t remember ever being that innocent, not with the upbringing he’d had.
Whatever Belle might say, she would want to love him. She would try, like a moth immolating herself against an unfeeling flame.
Of course she would. He was her first.
His jaw tightened. He never would have seduced her if he’d known. He had a rule. No virgins. No innocent hearts. He never brought anyone to his bed who might actually care.
And he’d just seduced an innocent virgin. The friend of Darius’s wife.
He felt a low self-hatred. After Nadia, he’d vowed never to get involved with anyone again. Why risk your capital on an investment that was a guaranteed loss? Might as well flush your money—or your soul—straight down the drain.
He thought again of Wuthering Heights. He’d never read the book, but he knew it ended badly. It was romance, wasn’t it? That always ended badly. Especially in real life.
Santiago silently dressed, then picked up his overnight bag. But he hesitated at the door, still hearing the wistful echo of her voice.
Don’t you believe in anyone? Anything?
He’d lied to her. He’d told her he believed in himself. But the real answer was no.
Belle would wake up alone in bed and find him gone. No note would be needed. She’d get the message. He really was the heartless bastard he claimed to be.
As if there was ever any doubt, he jeered at himself. Regret and self-loathing filled him as he turned down the hall.
He wished he’d never touched her.
CHAPTER TWO (#ueb84b8f4-7ce5-529e-ad7c-692d4fac961b)
SHIVERING IN THE warm July twilight, Belle stood on the sidewalk of Santiago’s elegant residential street on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. She watched well-dressed guests step out of glossy chauffeured cars, climbing up the steps and ringing at his door, to be greeted by his butler.
A butler, she thought bitterly. Who had a butler in this day and age?
Santiago Velazquez—that was who.
But the butler wasn’t the problem. Belle watched a crowd of beautiful young socialites, giggling and preening, hurry up the steps of his brownstone in six-inch heels and designer cocktail dresses.
She looked down at her own loose, oversized T-shirt, stretchy knit shorts and flip-flops. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Her brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She’d fit in at his fancy party like a dog driving a car.
