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Pepe despised violence. He’d grown up surrounded by it, not in his family, but in the associations his father had had until he had allowed his own conscience to lead him away from it.
Growing up, Pepe had vowed he would never allow his fists do the talking for him. Even when he’d felt the hot blade of the knife slice down his cheek he hadn’t retaliated. He’d been so numb from the preceding events that it had almost been a relief to feel something.
Yet for all that, it had taken every ounce of restraint not to throw himself onto the taxi driver and pulverise him.
If that driver had hurt her in any way, he doubted he’d have been able to hold on to that restraint.
Cara had stilled. He could feel her breath, hot through the crisp linen of his shirt, tickling his skin.
‘I...I need to put some clothes on,’ Cara said, trying to break away. It was happening again, that almost liquid feeling in her bones, the slavish desire creeping through her every pore. She tried to pull away but Pepe was too strong.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
She hated the thrill that surged through her at his unequivocal declaration.
All she could see were his women. Her head was crowded with them, all lined up and merrily waving at her, happy—proud even—to be used by him and, she had to admit, use him in return. There was no romance. Romance had nothing to do with Pepe’s liaisons.
Eejit that she was, she’d once been proud of her immunity to him.
It had been one big fat lie cooked up by her pride because he had never shown the slightest bit of interest in her other than as a friend. He’d flirted with her the same way he’d flirted with every other woman on his radar, but not once had he tried it on. Not until he’d needed something from her.
She’d been happy believing his sexual ambivalence towards her was mutual. She’d felt safe. Look at the trouble she’d got herself into when she’d allowed herself to believe otherwise.
She didn’t feel safe now. Not pressed against his broad frame with his arms wrapped around her so protectively, his hand snaking down her naked spine, marking her, his musky scent filling her senses...
Her tears had left her feeling raw. Exposed and hollow. Except the void inside her was filling with something else that she tried desperately to stop. Heat. Sweet, sweet heat that pushed the tormenting images away, until the only thing that filled her head and the hollow ache inside her was him.
‘Those women meant nothing to me.’ His gravelly tones whispered into her ear, his breath warm, sending tiny darts of pleasure skittling across her skin.
Her breath hitched. ‘And I do?’
He clasped her cheeks with his big hands, tilting her head back so she was forced to look at him. His eyes were deep pools of lava.
‘I don’t know what you mean to me,’ he said, his honesty stark. Brutal. ‘You’ve been in my head for four months and I can’t shift you from there. If I’d had the choice, I would have wanted more than one night with you. And you would have wanted more than one night with me.’
Before she had the chance to form a lie of denial, his head tilted and his lips moulded on hers.
Her response was stark and utterly shocking. All the sweet heat swirling inside her immediately converged into a pool of need so deep the intensity frightened her. It took all her strength not to react, not to move her lips in time with his.
She wanted to punch at him, but when she moved her hands to his shoulders to push him away, her fingers gripped onto him.
Pepe’s lips cajoled and teased and still she resisted, fighting with the last of her will power until his tongue broke through the tight line of her lips and darted into the heat of her mouth.
Something inside her snapped.
Her grip on his shoulders tightened as she responded in kind, exploring his mouth and sensuous lips as if his kisses were the life raft to cling to, to stop her drowning.
His hands caressed away from her cheeks, one snaking round to gather her hair together and spear her scalp—she had no idea when it had escaped the confines of the tight chignon—the other making broad strokes down her back until it reached her bottom. He clasped it and pulled her tight to him so his arousal was stark against her belly.
Pure, undiluted heat rushed through to her core and an unwitting moan escaped from her throat.
‘Cucciola mia,’ Pepe groaned, breaking away to nip at her delicate earlobe. Unbelievably, he was already fired up enough to explode.
Thank God he was still dressed. If he’d been naked, he would have plunged into her the second that earthy moan had echoed into his senses.
Drums played loudly in his head, his heart thundering to the same rhythm.
