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She put a hand to her burning face.
She thought of how Gabriel had looked at her with that single-minded intensity. No one had ever looked at her like that before. As if they truly saw her. As a woman. Independent of her name and the scandal that had rocked her family.
And then she cursed herself.
Gabriel Torres was an experienced man of the world. A consummate lover. He probably looked at all his lovers like that. She was just one in a long line. She’d intrigued him last night, but even if he hadn’t figured out she’d been a virgin she doubted very much he’d be expecting to see her again.
Terrified that he would wake and look at her, and see how profoundly he’d affected her, she stole out of the bed as quietly as she could. She held her breath when he moved, saying something incomprehensible in his sleep. When he didn’t wake Leonora gathered up her things and tiptoed out of the bedroom, finding a guest suite down the hall where she dressed and repaired herself as best she could.
She avoided looking at herself in the mirror. She tried to ignore the tenderness between her legs. But then she caught a glimpse of the redness around her jaw and neck. The burn from Gabriel’s stubble. The burn of shame.
She quickly pulled her hair back and tied it into a rough bun. She put her wrap around herself, hiding as much of the evidence of the passion of the night as possible. Then she crept out of the apartment and down to the lobby, where she got the concierge to call her a taxi.
Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long. As it drove through the quiet early-morning streets she took a deep, shuddering breath, hating the awful bereft feeling stealing over her.
She thought of the man sprawled sexily in bed in his stunning apartment. He would wake up and get on with his life and not think about her again. Of that she was sure. Last night would barely register on his radar. How could it when she’d been such a novice?
She’d made a pact with the devil, agreeing to sleep with Gabriel Torres, telling herself that one night would be enough. Because now the empty feeling inside her mocked her. One night with Gabriel Torres had ruined her for ever.
* * *
Gabriel woke slowly, through layers of a deep sense of satisfaction. Not just any satisfaction. Sexual satisfaction. It was a long time since he’d felt like this.
His mouth curved into a smile as images came tumbling back into his head. Long dark hair, elegant curves, high, firm breasts with deliciously hard nipples... Brown curls covering the apex between her legs—the place where he’d lost himself and found ecstasy. The best sex he’d ever had.
With a virgin.
His eyes snapped open on that thought and he jack-knifed up in the bed, instantly awake.
She’d been a virgin.
He hadn’t been able to process that information fully in the midst of the hottest experience of his life. She hadn’t asked him to stop. She’d entreated him to go on with those huge grey eyes. And he’d tipped over the edge of his legendary control.
Uncomfortably, he had to concede now that he didn’t think it had been her innocence that had elevated the experience beyond the realms of normality. It had been her. And their unique chemistry. He’d had no idea it would be so explosive.
Where was she?
There was a stillness in the bedroom that extended out into the apartment. He stood up from the bed and pulled on a pair of jeans, and only then noticed that it was bright outside. Already morning. He could hear the faint hum of city traffic.
He felt discombobulated. He always woke at dawn, if not before. He never slept in.
He padded through the apartment, an uneasy and unfamiliar feeling of exposure sliding into his gut.
There was no sign of her. Literally no sign. Had he dreamt it all? Then he saw the small tumbler that still held some alcohol. He didn’t like the sense of relief.
He went back into his bedroom and something glinted in the morning light on his cabinet. Her jewellery. She’d left it behind. He went over and picked it up and recognised instantly that it wasn’t real. Costume jewellery. To create a façade.
Leonora Flores de la Vega. The heiress with nothing to her name except her name. And her astonishing beauty. A virgin who’d left him behind in his bed.
No woman ever left him. He left women. And no woman left him with this hungry, clawing ache of need.
Even after only one night he could sense that the more he had of her, the more he would want. Unprecedented. One night with her was not enough. Not nearly enough.
As he stood under the powerful spray of his shower a few minutes later Gabriel knew that Leonora Flores was not like his usual women. There was a wildness under her serene exterior and it resonated with something inside him—a wild streak he never allowed to surface in his day-to-day life, when he had to be supremely controlled and on guard at all times. Too many people depended on him.
He’d been her first lover. And he couldn’t deny that, along with the erotic charge he felt thinking of that, he also felt something else totally uncharacteristic. Possessive. It had been there the previous evening too, when he’d felt the electric current between them as she’d stood beside Sanchez with his arm around her waist.
Gabriel emerged from the shower and
