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Lust whirled inside him. She had a way of staring at him with those big eyes, like he was something out of this world. And she felt soft and womanly against him, her scent teasing his lungs as he buried his face in her hair. “I’ve wanted this, Virginia. God, how I’ve wanted this.”

As she tipped her head back to him, he covered her lips with his.

Employing every ounce of experience and coaxing power at his disposal, he began to feast on that little mouth, drink of her honey.

Hesitantly she dipped her tongue into his mouth and a pang of longing struck in his core at how sweet she tasted, how entirely she succumbed and fitted her body to his.

In his need, he didn’t hear himself, the way his voice turned hoarse with longing as he spoke to her, cupping the back of her head gently. “Delicioso…besame…dame tu boca…”

She tasted of warmth and hunger, and responded like a woman who’d thought of him all day—wanted him all day.

Just as he had thought of ways of devouring her, too.

The kiss went, in the space of three seconds, from a hard quest to a need that left no room for finesse. While he took thirsty sips of her mouth, his hands went places, one to cup a plump buttock, the other to work on her shirt.

Her eager hands tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his pants and slipped inside, making him groan when her cool, dry palms caressed his chest up and down.

He imagined lifting her, wrapping her legs around him and taking her, and she jumped as though she were thinking the same thing, kissing him like no woman had ever kis

sed him before. She curled one shapely leg around him, and his hands went to his zipper.

“Damn.” He halted, then set her slowly on her feet. Restless, as he drew back, he rubbed the straining muscles at the back of his neck.

They were breathing hard and loud.

Her hand flew up to cover her moist, glistening lips. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite you.”

That little bite had made him want to bite her back, in every place imaginable. Damn. He rubbed his face with both hands, his blood thrumming in his body. He’d undone three buttons of her pajama top, and the flesh of one breast threatened to pop out.

Marcos regarded the creamy flesh while an overwhelming urge to dip his fingers inside the cotton and weigh that globe in his hand made him curl his fingers into his palm.

“Marcos?”

He jerked his eyes away, stared at the top of her head. “I had a long day.” And I thought of nothing but this moment.

He’d been out of his mind with jealousy at the sight of her flushed cheeks, that clown Mendez begging at her feet. How many men had stared at her, wanted her, like Marcos did?

Oblivious to the rampant storms of his thoughts, Virginia followed him down the hall and into the bedroom. He was a mass of craving and thirst and he’d never felt so perilously close to losing control before.

Crossing the length of the room, he braced a hand on the window and gazed out at the city. If she ever dared make a fool of him…if she ever dared so much as look at another man while she was with him…

“Marissa was after me for years.”

A quiet settled, disturbed by the rustle of her clothes as she moved around. “I’m sorry.”

Yes. Well.

So was he.

Such humiliation, the way she’d played him. “I didn’t know my father wanted her,” he said, unable to conceal the disgust in his voice, “until they were already…involved.”

When he turned, she was standing by the bathroom door. She’d grabbed a brush and was pensively running it through her hair. The lights shone on the satin mass.

Entranced, Marcos watched the curls spring back into place after a pass, and he wanted to plunge his fingers through that hair and wrap it in his hands.

“Don’t do that.”

She stopped. It took him a moment to realize the hoarse, ragged plea had come from him. She lowered her arm.

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