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‘Sex with you is all the pleasure I crave, mi corazón.’
‘You have other interests, surely? Everyone does.
’
His throaty laugh made her pulse pound harder. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Some culture. An exhibition. Something other than …’ Flustered, she waved her hand towards the severely rumpled bed beyond the sliding doors leading into the master suite, trying not to think of all the other places—the highly polished teak floor, the wooden bench in his outdoor bathroom, the hammock overlooking the stunning beach—where Marco had pleasured her during the long night.
Leaning over, he slid a hand around her nape and pulled her in for a hot kiss. ‘I’d much rather spend the day with you in my bed. But if you insist—’
‘I insist.’
Because Sasha had woken up this morning with a fearful knowledge deep in her heart. She was in danger of developing feelings for Marco de Cervantes. Feelings that she dared not name. Feelings that threatened to overwhelm her the more time she spent locked in his embrace.
At least away from this place, real life would impede long enough to knock some sense into her. To remind her that she couldn’t afford to lose her head over a man like Marco—a man whom she knew deep down grappled with his guilt for being attracted to her. After all, hadn’t it taken him three weeks to decide he could be with her?
He was also a man who believed her father to be guilty of fraud, a small voice added.
A sharp pang pierced through the concrete she’d packed around her pain. She hadn’t been able to raise the subject with Marco since that night in Singapore. Somehow knowing he’d painted her father with the same brush of guilt as everyone else hurt so much more. Which made her a fool. Why should he believe any differently? Just because they were sleeping together it didn’t mean the taint of her name had disappeared.
‘You have fifteen minutes to get ready.’
She roused herself to find Marco ending a call. ‘Ready for what?’
He tossed his phone on the table and brushed his knuckle along her jaw. Sparks of pleasure lit along her skin.
‘You want culture, mi encantadora. Korea awaits.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Sasha whispered as her bare feet touched the wet flagstones that led to the ancient lake temple, unable to tear her gaze away from the magnificent vista before her.
‘I’m finding that I don’t like you using that expression unless it relates directly to me, pequeña,’ Marco complained, releasing her hand as she leapt onto the next flagstone.
‘Are you jealous?’ she asked on a laugh.
He raised a mocking brow. ‘Of your insane adoration of old temples and ancient monuments?’ He rolled up his trouser cuffs and stepped on to the flagstones, bringing his warmth and addictive body up close and personal. ‘Not a chance. But I suggest you alter your phraseology, because every time you say Oh, my God in that sexy tone I want to flatten you against the nearest surface and have my way with you.’
He grinned at her gasp and his head started to descend.
‘No.’ She pulled away reluctantly.
He frowned. ‘Qué diablos?’
‘Shh, we’re in a holy place,’ she whispered. ‘No kissing. And no swearing.’
She giggled at his muted growl and skipped over the rest of the flagstones until she stood in front of the temple.
‘Wow.’
‘Wow I can live with.’
‘You’ll have to. I have no other words.’
From where they stood the small temple seemed to float on the water, its curved eaves reminiscent of a bird in flight. In the light of the dying sun huge pink water lilies glowed red, their rubescent petals unfurled to catch the last of the sun’s rays.
‘It’s all so beautiful. So stunning.’ With reverent steps Sasha approached the temple doors. ‘Can we go in?’
He nodded. ‘It’s not normally open to visitors. But on this occasion …’
