Page 49 of Lethal Obsession

I glance behind me to find Ofelia on her side, watching me. Her lips are still slightly parted, one hand curled on the pillow beside her flushed face, her blue eyes wide with questions I don’t have the answers to.

But we both know you’d love to try answering some of them, you piece of shit.

Thankfully, just before my extremely hard cock defeats my far less solid good intentions, the numbers above the elevator door light up. Clubbing is clearly about to give way to one of Lars’s notorious after-parties.

Not trusting myself to look back at Ofelia again, I close the door quietly behind me. I cross the floor to the bar barefoot, willing my cock to go down as I down a straight shot of vodka, then another. I’m pouring a third, my back turned to the elevator, and have only barely regained control of myself when the doors slide open and a raucous mass of bodies spills into the room.

“Motherfucker!” Lars’s exuberant tone hits me a moment before his lanky body bowls into mine, spilling my shot and almost knocking me over as he wraps an arm loosely around my shoulders and kisses my head roundly. “Why the hell are you drinking alone instead of with us?”

Bracing myself, I turn, attempting to grin at the extremely disheveled group. “Didn’t want to leave Ofelia alone. Don’t lose your shit, Mickey,” I add, seeing his expression darken. “Your sister went to bed just after we got back.” I nod at her closed door, grateful that years of lying to the Orlovs have honed my abilities to smooth perfection.

I don’t mention that the only reason she made it to bed at all is because I carried her there after she fell asleep against me on the sofa. Nor that despite being dead to the world, she clung to me like a limpet when I tried to lay her down in bed, making a noise when I attempted to break away that both broke my heart and made it pound at the same time.

Oh, so it was your heart that was pounding, was it, asshole?

I told myself I would just lie beside her until she calmed.

I certainly didn’t mean to fall asleep.

Or wake to find her body sprawled across mine and my hand gripping her bare leg, my fingers so high that I could feel the heat and need emanating from her.

Fuck.

I turn back to the vodka before Mickey sees that I’m a lying bastard. Lars’s extremely bloodshot eyes are a little less easy to fool. They settle on me, narrowing slightly, but apart from the faintest twitch at the edge of his mouth, he doesn’t say anything as he reaches for the stereo and starts to turn it up.

“Keep it down,” I say, nodding toward Ofelia’s door. “I’ll shut the divider. And keep the party on your side, will you?”

“Hey,” Benny protests as I head toward my door, which is one of three on Ofelia’s side of the electronic divider. “Stay, Pirate Boy! Party with us.”

“Si.” Lourdes nods, her eyes sparkling. “It is just starting, no?” Her increased accent is the only evidence of her alcohol consumption. She’s wearing Mickey’s suit jacket over her dress, and despite the thread of dawn lighting the sky, looks remarkably fresh.

Spaniards. I’ve never met one yet who can’t party all night without any visible effect.

“Not for me, it isn’t.” I yawn, heading toward my room. “I was just waiting until you made it home before heading to bed myself. Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mickey,” I say, when his frown deepens “I gave Ofelia the only free room in the suite, and I’m not moving from mine to another one just to satisfy whatever Victorian rules of propriety are going on in your head, especially when you will all likely be drinking for hours. Make sure he gets some sleep,” I say, turning to Lars and nodding in Mickey’s direction. “I imagine his father will expect to see us all at some point today.” I go through the divider and hit the button to close it without looking back, almost sagging with relief when nobody challenges me.

Fuck. I only realize I’m missing some of my clothes when I close the door on my silent, empty room.

Hopefully, if Mickey noticed at all, he assumed that my shoes and jacket are in my room, rather than scattered over Ofelia’s floor.

Despite jet lag, the intensity of the last few days, and the growing dawn, I’m wide awake and wired to hell. Not to mention acutely aware of Ofelia’s exquisite body laid out like a feast on the bed on the other side of the adjoining door between her room and mine.

The adjoining door that I definitely didn’t mention in my reassurances to her brother.

If Mickey knew about that, I’m pretty sure he’d have me forcibly removed from my room, even if it meant me sleeping on the fucking sofa.

Let alone what he’d do if he had any idea how close I just came to deflowering his sister.

Christ.

My entire body restless, I cross the room to the window, staring absently down at the early-morning street sweeper and willing my savage lust to subside. I can’t remember ever having it this badly. I can barely think for the taste and scent of her lingering on my skin.

Ofelia is a virgin.

Who the hell is still a virgin at twenty-two? After living in London, then Paris, for Chrissakes?

Except that I already know the answer.

Suddenly I’m standing back in that Granada courtyard, Ofelia’s pain-filled eyes locked on mine, her whisper hot on my skin. “Torture has been getting to twenty-one without ever being kissed . . .”