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He swung her around. “Are you making fun of me?”
He was laughing, so clearly he understood her joke, but she was the one who’d nearly died, while he’d walked unharmed from a bullring. She hugged him tight. “I shouldn’t have left Libby home alone with Santos.”
Rafael sighed and put her down. “Do you want to go back?”
“Do you mind?”
“No, but I’m spending the night in your room if we do. Mrs. Lopez isn’t there this late to cluck her tongue at us, and I don’t care if Santos does.”
Maggie stepped back into her shoes. “Fine, let’s go. It doesn’t matter where we sleep, but I’m getting awfully tired.”
“Maggie? I won’t embarrass you in front of your parents.”
“I don’t think you could embarrass me if you tried.”
He pulled her back into his arms. “Is that a dare?”
She relaxed against his solid warmth. “No, merely an observation.”
He smoothed her hair off her face. “I like your sister. She can handle Santos on her own.”
“Yes, she probably can,” she mumbled through a yawn. She’d warned her about Santos, and Libby wasn’t a Spanish girl who’d have his poster on her bedroom wall and already love him. She trusted Libby to do what was right. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s stay here.”
“Are you sure?” He nuzzled her throat with tender kisses.
“Positive.” She convinced him with a loving sigh that drifted into teasing giggles.
He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m so sorry there’s no time to honeymoon in the Seychelles before my classes begin.”
“I really don’t care where we go as long as we’re together, and we could pretend we’re staying in the Seychelles. They have CDs with sound effects of big crashing waves, and we could make love without any danger of drowning.”
He traced her lower lip with a fingertip. “The shower would work tonight.”
She unbuttoned his shirt. “I love it when you use your imagination.”
The bathroom was so small they had to strip with little regard for their discarded clothes before they entered. The hot water created a steamy cloud, and once Maggie had rubbed soapsuds over Rafael’s chest to make him slippery, she slid her breasts against him with a teasing purr. He had his back to the showerhead so the water hit his broad shoulders rather than her face. He braced himself against the tile wall, picked her up with an arm around her waist and cradled her bottom with the other.
They really needed a larger shower, but rather than complain, she wound her legs around his hips, guided him in deep and rocked against him. “I’ll never get tire
d of you.” She clamped her inner muscles with a rapid beat to torment him, and he turned to spray the water across her back. Easily taking control, he plunged into her with a forceful rhythm, and then stilled to feed her passion as well as his own. It was an intoxicating pattern, and she came seconds before he lost all sense of restraint. Locked in each other’s arms and slumped against the wall, they were too relaxed to move, and he didn’t put her down until the water turned cold.
“That was more like a waterfall than rolling in the surf,” she murmured between kisses.
“Then we’ll have to keep trying, but my bed will do tonight.” He wrapped her in a towel, picked her up again, walked back to the bed and dropped her right in the middle.
Although shutters covered the balconies at night, Libby could still hear the sea rushing toward the shore. The house was eerily quiet, but she wasn’t sleepy. The bed had a thick mattress and fine Egyptian cotton sheets. The whole room was as beautifully furnished as a five-star hotel. She wore a short cotton sleep shirt decorated with colorful cats. Touching her lips, swollen with Santos’s kisses, she wished she’d brought something sexy. Her experience with men could be described as romantic bouts sans clothes rather than sultry encounters in delectable lingerie, but Santos’s affectionate kisses had pushed her thoughts in a sexier new direction. That she didn’t want to go there was irrelevant.
Determined to ignore him, she brushed her hair with furious strokes, climbed into bed and opened the Stephen King novel she’d begun on the plane. Her mind wandered maddeningly, however, and it was very late before she turned out the lights.
When her travel alarm clock buzzed at six a.m., she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours. She got up, dressed in a clean tank top and shorts, and was surprised to find Tomas in the kitchen with coffee already made. Santos walked in right behind her. He looked as gorgeous as he had last night, apparently without effort. She really wanted to hate him but couldn’t whip up even a hint of dislike when he looked so damn good. Life was totally unfair.
He picked up a Thermos from the counter. “Let’s take coffee. Do you want cream or sugar?”
“Both please.” She noted Santos’s grimace and shrugged. “Maybe we should take two.”
Tomas produced a second Thermos and a canvas bag to carry them, and she fixed her coffee the way she liked it. “Where’s your boat?”
“The marina’s close, but I’ll drive.” He led her out to the garage, where a white Mercedes SUV sat in the driveway. “Have you done much sailing?”
