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He nodded toward the dresser. “Third drawer. Take the Barcelona football shirt and keep it.”
He’d worn it when they’d gone running. It had been laundered, folded and carefully replaced in his drawer. “Are you a big fan?”
“Everyone is Barcelona is. Do you really need help taking off your suit?”
“No, give me a minute.”
He waited by the dresser. It was a heavy piece of furniture, mahogany to match the bed. The mirror above it reflected the whole room. He leaned his crutches against the wall. When Libby reappeared clad in his T-shirt and nothing else, he pulled out the fourth drawer. “Use this as a step and climb up on the dresser.”
“Santos, we don’t have to run through every possibility to have sex.”
“Indulge me.”
She kissed him and did as he’d asked. Once on top, she was the perfect height and he shoved her knees apart and burrowed between her legs. Now eager to play, she ran her hands through his hair and nearly purred with each stroke of his tongue. A sweet ache swelled in her core, luring her toward bliss, but he stopped to leave her wanting.
He reached under her T-shirt to rub his thumb and forefinger over her nipples. “I’ll bet your nipples are a pale pink. They’re as soft as rose petals.”
His glance was dangerous now, full of the desire she met so eagerly. He kept one hand on her breast, and slid two fingers of his other hand into her. She grabbed hold of dresser and scooted forward to encourage him. He twisted his fingers but again stopped before she came.
“Promise to stay in my bed the next time we’re together.”
She ground her hips against his hand. “You ought to give me an incentive.”
He gave the inside of her thigh a playful nibble. “The lavender lingerie wasn’t enough?”
He sucked her clit, but as she began to gasp, he pulled back. “Put your hands on my shoulders.” When she did so, he grabbed her waist, turned her to face the mirror and she held onto the dresser. Their eyes met in the reflection, and he smiled, rubbed his hands over her bottom and then pulled a condom from his pocket. “You better hang on.”
It was a command rather than a request, but she was already hanging on tight. She was so wet he entered her on a smooth glide, and she watched him look down where their bodies met. He moved in and out slowly, then placed his hands over hers to keep his balance as he kicked up his pace.
A taunting heat filled her, a powerful distraction, but she focused on his expression. He looked enormously pleased with himself, and she pushed against him. He closed his eyes, a longing for control clear in his furrowed brow, but she bumped against him again. Not so hard she’d send him sprawling to the floor, but a fast jolt to lure him deep. His strokes slowed, and she ground her hips against his to tease him. She was so close, but he stopped again and just held her.
“You still haven’t promised to stay in my bed,” he whispered against her hair.
She clenched her inner muscles to best him at his own game, and too fully aroused to play, he pushed her against the dresser and with fast deep lunges, rocked her to a stunning finish. She clung to the dresser for support and watched his face as he spilled into her. He didn’t grimace as though he were in pain; he closed his eyes as though lost in a splendid dream. He rested his head against hers and they remained leaning against the sturdy dresser until they both found the energy to breathe.
“That was an inspired incentive,” she whispered. “But you’ll have to repeat it fairly often.”
He drew her earlobe through his teeth. “If I can find the time.”
She arched her back to rub her shoulders across his chest. “I’ll find a way to remind you.”
He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight. “I just bet you will.”
Later that night, Javier Cazares came to the house dressed in casual sports clothes and a cheap pair of black-framed glasses. “The couple who interested us didn’t attend. Showing the photo of them I took outside the arena would have provoked too many questions, so I appeared enthusiastic about the group’s goals and waited to speak until I was spoken to. The group has been meeting for approximately two years. The leader is Lawrence Sanchez, a historian of some note. He believes violence begets violence and that all of society will benefit from a moratorium on bullfighting.
“I spoke with one man who attends the meetings to meet women, so clearly all the group’s members aren’t as committed as Dr. Sanchez. There was a flyer posted to encourage additional protests at the arena, but no posters with photos I might have used to gather names. I listened carefully, but no one bragged they’d been responsible for your injury, Santos. I’m sorry I didn’t discover anything of note, but I’ll go again next week. As for Victoria Rubio, the name doesn’t come up in any of the databases I can access. I’ll keep searching for her.”
“Her boyfriend followed me to the marina yesterday,” Libby revealed. “There must be some way to discover who he is.”
“You recognized him?” Cazares asked, his eyes nearly as wide as his glasses.
“Yes, he was as close to me as you are now.”
Cazares sat back and flipped his notebook closed. “Don’t go out alone. He may have been testing the situation to see how close he could get to you.”
Santos raised his brows. “Yes, I know,” Libby responded. “We all need to be careful.”
“More careful,” Santos emphasized.
