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Was her heart beating as rapidly as his? Was she standing so still because, like him, she was afraid that if she moved all this sexual static would ignite and explode in a glorious barrage of untamed want?
And those eyes…
Those wide-set, almond-shaped, luster-dark eyes were looking at him as if they would dearly love to put a curse on him but were too busy trying not to eat him alive.
The look hit him where he’d expected, hard between his legs, pouring those warm pleasurable hormones into his bloodstream as his sex began to swell. She’d done this to him the first time he’d ever set eyes on her, turning him back into a sex-charged schoolboy unable to control the urge. That she could still do it to him now, dressed as she was and looking at him as she was, should be surprising him. But, having spent the night before in a state of high arousal on her account, he’d had to come to terms with the unarguable fact that this woman did it for him all the time, like no other woman—still.
Then she did surprise him, breaking the tension gripping both of them by dragging her eyes away and moving across the room to stand staring out of one of the side windows at the view. It wasn’t the same spectacular view he got from the windows in the private part of his suite, but then this was a conference room, and conference rooms were designed for business not to give people a riveting vista of Rio. Nor were rooms like this designed for seduction. But in his private suite—
He grimaced, deciding not to let his mind go there—yet.
‘You could at least say Hello, Luis,’ he prompted dryly.
‘You are not Luis, you are Anton,’ she coolly replied.
Another grimace worked its way across his mouth, because he knew exactly who he felt like.
Hell, he knew that.
‘I suppose this means that you expect me to call you Senhora Ordoniz?’ he countered.
She turned to look at him. ‘I am a Marques,’ she announced, in that proud way she had of saying that name. ‘I always have been and I always will be a Marques. I never used the Ordoniz name, so I would therefore appreciate it if you would stop using it and inform that—Kinsella Lane
person of this, so she will not make the same mistake again.’
Kinsella? A black satin eyebrow arched in curiosity. ‘Jealous of her already?’
The taunt earned him a flash from her eyes. But she remembered as well as he did what a naturally jealous and possessive little witch she’d used to be.
‘She is your paramour—don’t bother to deny it.’ She dismissed the way he opened his mouth to do just that. ‘I saw it in her face when she looked at you. I heard it in that silly husky voice she used to speak to you when all I received from her was a chill.’
‘Paramour?’ Anton repeated. ‘What an old-fashioned word to use.’
‘Mistress, then.’ It made no difference to Cristina.
‘A mistress is reliant solely on the generosity of her benefactor for her pampered existence. Kinsella holds down a good job and relies on no man for anything—unlike some.’
He meant herself. Cristina stiffened. ‘I was never your mistress.’
‘I housed you, clothed you, fed you and bedded you—good definition of a mistress.’ He shrugged.
She ignored that. ‘Paramour suits her better—the way she flutters around you like some silly fluffy moth.’
‘But she is so beautiful, and so very willing, meu querida.’ He smiled tauntingly. ‘She also comes with no strings attached. How is a man supposed to resist?’
‘Then enjoy her.’ Cristina turned her face back to the window.
‘The position is yours if you want it.’
‘I don’t want it.’ She added a toss of her head.
‘Then that,’ he said, ‘concludes our business.’
Unimpressed by the shocked face she swung round to show him, Anton levered his long frame upright from the desk, his mood swapping from teasing to deadly serious with a speed that took her by surprise.
‘You know why you are here, Cristina,’ he said grimly. ‘If you are being foolish enough to let yourself think that you’re in a position to bargain with me, try thinking it through again.’
‘I will not share your bed with another woman!’ she tossed at him tautly.
