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He was even more devastating in person than in photographs. At thirty-five, he was breath-takingly handsome, dark-haired and strong with a lean, muscular physique. His worn jeans fit snugly against trim hips. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up, revealing tanned forearms laced with dark hair, showing he clearly was not afraid of physical labor. His chin-length dark hair was pulled back into a leather tie at the base of his neck.
He held his powerful body absolutely still as his dark eyes raked slowly over her.
Annabelle’s breath disappeared from her lungs. She felt vulnerable and exposed, like a hapless gazelle beneath a lion’s lazy gaze. She felt the restrained hunger of a well-fed predator who had absolute confidence in his power over her.
“Welcome to my home, Miss Wolfe,” he said in softly accented English. His sensual lips curved into a half smile. “I have been waiting for you.”
Their eyes locked. Heat flashed through her, heat so sudden and unexpected that she nearly stumbled back. Annabelle had to force herself to keep her face impassive, even as her trembling hands tightened around the strap of her camera bag.
“You—you have?” she said faintly.
“Your reputation precedes you.” Stefano Cortez’s lips curved as his gaze traced slowly down her body. “The famous Annabelle Wolfe. The beautiful photographer who travels to every corner of the world on assignment.”
Struggling to hide her flushed skin and pounding heart, Annabelle lifted her chin. “And you are Stefano Cortez—the greatest stud of Santo Castillo.”
She’d meant to offend him, but he only gave a low laugh. The sound of that deep, masculine amusement caused another strange flutter through her body.
He moved closer, and she licked her suddenly dry lips.
“You are as charming as I’d hoped. Mucho gusto,” he whispered, looking down at her. “Encantado.”
He didn’t touch her, but his words were like a caress, as if he’d kissed her hand. As if he’d pressed his warm lips against her skin. His masculine power pressed upon her consciousness from all sides. She felt the power emanating off his tanned skin, the virile strength of his lean, muscular body.
She swallowed, gripping her camera bag with both hands as she muttered, “Nice to meet you.”
His sensual mouth curved, as if he knew why she did not hold out her hand in greeting, much less her cheek.
“I look forward to seven days of your company, señorita,” he said. “I can see this week will be pleasurable indeed.”
His dark eyes gleamed with the promise of untold delights, and Annabelle’s breath quickened. He was so close she could feel the heat emanating from his skin. She felt vulnerable. Feminine. She felt a strange, deep longing to let herself go, to melt her tense body into his warmth and fire.
Dear God, what madness had come over her? She had to get a grip! Even a legendary Spanish playboy couldn’t have this much power, this fast!
She set her jaw. She would show both of them that she was no fool. Because she knew, however beautiful a playboy’s face might be, his soul was always s
elfish and cold. She’d learned that long ago.
Annabelle drew back, glaring at him.
“How flattering,” she said acidly. “But surely you don’t intend to spend the entire week with me, Mr. Cortez. I’ve heard from multiple sources that your interest in a woman rarely lasts longer than a single night.”
Annabelle waited for him to scowl at her rudeness, but to her chagrin he only looked amused.
“In your case, Miss Wolfe,” he said softly, “I might make an exception.”
Her heart leaped in her throat. She swallowed, trying to slow her quick, shallow breath.
Do not trust his charm. Do not, she told herself fiercely.
“I work best alone.” She raised her chin. “So thanks, but I won’t need your company. Or want it.”
He blinked.
Annabelle took a deep breath, remembered how hard Equestrian had fought to get this exclusive at Santo Castillo, and tried to modulate her tone. “Forgive me if that sounds harsh. I just don’t like to have anyone hovering over me as I work.” She tried to smile. “And I’m sure you have a great deal to do for your charity gala this weekend …”
Abruptly, he lifted his hand toward her. She jumped back, wide-eyed and jittery as a colt. He frowned. “Allow me to carry your bag, Miss Wolfe.”
Oh. So that was why he’d reached for her. A warm blush curled her cheeks. “That’s not necessary.”
