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And it was like being struck by lightning.
Stefano felt her hand in his own, skin against skin. Shock sizzled through him as her slender fingers trembled in his rough grasp. He tightened his grip, pressing their palms together, pulling her close in a visceral reaction.
He felt staggered by sudden violent hunger. His mind filled with vivid images, of ripping off her clothes, running his hands down her bare skin. Of pulling her down on the bed, taking her, filling her as her fingernails dug into his back, as he made her scream with savage pleasure.
With a ragged intake of breath, Annabelle ripped away her hand. Her cheeks were red as she turned away.
But the damage had already been done.
Dios mío. Stefano’s breath was shallow. She was the ultimate mystery. She was cold and hot, gentle and cruel.
He stared down at her, his body vibrating with need.
Soon, he vowed grimly, she would be pliant in his arms, spread naked across his bed. He would make her weep with pleasure. He would give her everything. He would take everything.
Nothing on earth would stop him from seducing her now.
CHAPTER THREE
ANNABELLE HADN’T WANTED to shake his hand. No way. But he’d stood there with his outstretched and left her no choice.
Touching Stefano’s hand had been like touching fire.
Annabelle had nearly gasped when she’d felt his naked palm, hot and rough against her own, when she felt his calloused fingertips brush the tender spot of her wrist. Electricity sizzled up her arm and ripped through her body. Her earlobes tingled, her breasts became heavy. Tension crackled through her like a lightning storm.
Just from touching his hand.
With a harsh intake of breath, Annabelle ripped her hand away, her cheeks burning hot. Even with her limited experience, she’d never felt anything like this.
“You win,” she said hoarsely, fighting to keep her voice even. “Go get my equipment. I’ll unpack.”
She heard something from him that sounded like a purr of satisfaction, but she was afraid to look at his face, afraid of what he might read in her eyes. Confusion. Fear. Desire. “Give me the keys to your truck,” he said. “It’
s unlocked,” she muttered, still not looking at him.
“I will park it when I’m done unloading.” She heard sudden amusement in his voice. “That is, unless you fear you cannot trust me not to break your car while driving it into the garage.”
Reaching into her camera bag, she tossed him her keys with the merest sideways glance. But in spite of her efforts not to meet his gaze, she could not resist one tiny peek. Their eyes locked and she held her breath, caught, unable to look away. He was so beautiful.
Beams of sunlight from the windows illuminated his black hair as his dark eyes ripped through her. Stefano Cortez was so brutal, so masculine.
Her pulse hammered in her throat. Men had hit on her before, but they’d left her completely untouched and unmoved.
Stefano made her tremble from within. He doesn’t want me, she told herself desperately, fighting her humiliating desire to flee. I’m not his type.
But his dark gaze was so intense. Almost … hungry. She saw the shadow of his chiseled jawline, the silhouette of his Roman nose, the masculine beauty of his face. He was like his house, she thought suddenly. As distant and foreign to modern life as his vast, remote ranch. Like a medieval Spanish caballero.
A warm breeze blew in from an open window, causing the tendrils of her hair to sweep against her cheek as their eyes held.
“Bien,” he whispered finally. “I’ll go. But I am glad you are here, Annabelle. I look forward to it. To all of it.”
As he left, it was as if he took the warm sunlight with him, leaving her in darkness and cold.
When she was alone, Annabelle sagged back against the large bed. Her knees collapsed and she sat down hard on the white down comforter. Her camera bag was still clutched in her lap as she stared blankly at the beam of sunlight against the white wall.
How was she going to get through this week?
How was she going to make it?
