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And everything to do with her helpless, shameful addiction to him.
She wanted him.
Wanted to feel his body, hard and demanding against her.
Wanted him to strip the clothes from her and tumble her down on the bed.
Possess her.
Consume her, body and soul.
She took another mouthful of the gin and let her eyes wander over his tall, powerful frame.
His face darkened. He strode up to her, hands clamping around her upper arms.
She felt sexual excitement bolt through her. The sexual excitement he unleashed in her, night after night, that she had never known existed, that would never exist again once he had done with her.
He took the glass away from her, roughly setting it down. His eyes never left her. Something flared, deep in their depths.
‘I don’t want you drunk. I want you very, very sober…’
He pulled her against him, and lowered his head, spearing her hair with his hand.
And she was lost, sucked down into that vortex that sucked everything out of her. Everything except the consuming need to sate herself on him. And sate him with her naked, inflamed body.
‘I need to speak to you.’
Portia’s voice was clipped.
Diego looked up from the morning paper he was reading at the breakfast table.
Her face was expressionless. But then it always was.
Except in bed. Then and only then did that mask of indifference fall from her. Then, when he caressed her, possessed her, her face would show everything—everything that he was doing to her. She was helpless to resist her reaction to him.
He looked at her; his mouth tightened automatically whenever she had that face on her.
‘So speak.’
A frown flickered in his eyes. Her face was looking almost gaunt. Her cheekbones were standing out and there was a stark look about her mouth.
She’d lost weight.
Her body was thinner, he could tell. It was hardly surprising. In the week they’d been here she’d eaten like a bird.
And it was starting to show.
She’d said she wasn’t ill, so what the hell was wrong with her?
‘How long are you planning to stay in Singapore?’
Her enquiry was cool, with that same edge of indifference that always got unde
r his skin.
‘Why do you ask? Do you think I’ve had enough of you yet?’
The skin seemed to tighten over her cheekbones.
