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‘Tell me which part is false,’ she challenged.
His gaze hardened. ‘I’ll tell you which part is right—every relationship ends. For ever is a concept made up to sell romance novels.’
‘Didn’t you have a long liaison once, when you were still racing? What was her name …? Angela? Ange—?’
‘Angelique,’ he bit out, his face frozen as if hewn from rock. ‘And she wasn’t a liaison. We were engaged.’
‘She must be the reason, then.’
Cold eyes slammed into her. ‘The reason?’
‘For the way you are?’
‘Did Derek Mahoney turn you into the intrusive woman you are today?’ he fired back, his tone rougher than sandpaper. ‘Because I’d like to find him and throttle the life out of him.’
Sasha knew she should let it go. But somehow she couldn’t.
‘Yes. No.’ She sighed and looked out of the window at Kensington’s nightlife. ‘Damn, I wish I smoked.’
An astounded breath whistled from his lips. ‘Why would you wish that?’
‘Because trying to have a conversation with you is exhausting enough to drive anyone to drink. But since I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and I’ve reached my one-glass drink limit, smoking would be the other choice—if I smoked.’ Abandoning the view, she turned back to him. ‘Where was I?’
A mirthless smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘You were dissecting my life and finding it severely deficient.’
‘Mockery? Is that your default setting?’
He lowered his gaze to her lips and her insides clenched so hard she feared she’d break in half. The limo turned a sharp corner. She grabbed the armrest to steady herself. Too late she realised the action had thrust her breasts out. Marco’s gaze dropped lower. Heat pooled in her belly. Her breasts ached, feeling fuller than they’d ever felt.
He leaned closer. Her heart thundered.
‘No, Sasha,’ he said hoarsely. ‘This is my default
setting.’
Strong hands cupped her cheeks, held her steady. Heat-filled eyes stared into hers, their shocking intensity igniting a fire deep inside her.
Sasha held her breath, almost afraid to move in case … in case …
He fastened his mouth to hers, tumbling her into a none-too-gentle kiss that sent the blood racing through her veins. He tasted of heat and wine, of tensile strength and fiery Latin willpower. Of red-blooded passion and intoxicating pleasure. And he went straight to her head.
Sasha felt a groan rise in her throat and abruptly shut it off. She wasn’t that easy. Although right now, with Marco’s mouth wreaking insane havoc on her blood pressure, easy was deliciously tempting.
His tongue caressed hers and the groan slipped through, echoing in the dim cavern of the moving car. One hand slipped to her nape, angling her head. Although he didn’t need to. She was willingly tilting her head, all the better to deepen the pressure and pleasure of his kiss. Her mouth opened, boldly inviting him in.
His moan made her triumphant and weak at the same time. Then she lost all thought but of the bliss of the kiss.
Lost all sense of time.
Until she heard the thud of a door.
Their lips parted with a loud, sucking noise that arrowed straight to the furnace-hot apex of her thighs.
Marco stared down at her, his breath shaking out of his chest. ‘Dios,’ he muttered after several tense, disbelieving seconds.
You can say that again. Thankfully, the words didn’t materialise on her lips. Her eyes fell to his mouth, still wet from their kiss, and the heat between her legs increased a thousandfold.
Get a grip, Sasha. She reined herself in and pulled away as reality sank in. She’d kissed Marco de Cervantes—fallen into him like a drowning swimmer fell on a life raft.
