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“Like I said, back to London.”
He sat down on the bed beside her. “Because I kissed you?”
“Yes.”
His dark eyes glittered in the shadowy light from the shuttered windows. “Are you saying I kissed you against your will?”
Annabelle remembered the way her knees had trembled as he’d kissed her, how she’d wrapped her arms around his shoulders as waves of pleasure had exploded down her body. She remembered how she’d gasped, how she thought she’d die with need.
Swallowing, she looked away. “I can’t work with a man who clearly thinks all women are his own personal toys.”
“I don’t think that,” he said in a low voice, his body inches away from hers on the bed. “I respect you, Annabelle.”
Sure, she thought bitterly, he respected her. And he would keep on respecting her, right until the moment she surrendered in his bed.
When he’d comforted her last night after her nightmare, she’d felt cherished, protected, even safe.
Safe? She mocked the thought. Stefano Cortez, safe? He was the opposite of safe. He was a heartless, selfish playboy. If she allowed him to seduce her, if she gave him her virginity, he might give her pleasure, yes. But he’d be gone by dawn. And she’d have sold her soul for that brief illusion of being cherished and protected.
“You don’t respect me.” Annabelle shook her head stonily. “I’ll have the magazine send another photographer.”
“You’re the only one I want.”
“You should have thought of that before.”
“You can’t drive to London,” Stefano said roughly. “You heard what the doctor said. You need to stay off your feet.”
“I’ll take a taxi to the airport and send for my truck later.”
“I won’t let you go.”
Folding her arms to hide the tremble of her hands, Annabelle glared at him. “You can’t keep me here against my will.”
In the gray shadows of the shuttered bedroom, Annabelle felt warm air blow against her skin from the ceiling fan. She felt the dark power of Stefano’s gaze and shivered. Maybe she was wrong. Santo Castillo was his own private estate, the empire he ruled, with a staff loyal to him alone. For all she knew, Stefano could keep her here against her will.
The air between them hummed with electricity as he started to move toward her.
Swiftly, Annabelle swerved her feet around the side of the bed, starting to rise to her feet. Stefano stopped her with a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t go,” he said quietly. “Rest. We’ll talk later.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Let me go.” He exhaled. “Please.”
That single humble word stopped her as nothing else could. His dark eyes gazed at her with passion, yearning.
He looked at Annabelle as she’d dreamed her whole life of a man looking at her.
“You’ve had a difficult time,” he said in a low voice. “Traveling from Portugal. Your bad dream last night. You’re exhausted. Please. Stay. Rest. Then we’ll talk.”
Annabelle looked at the hard lines of his body. She thought of fighting past him to call a taxi, or physically trying to hop her way on one foot downstairs to her truck in the garage. Not appealing. Nor was it a happy thought to imagine dropping out of her assignment at the eleventh hour. Aside from what it would do to her professional reputation, she would personally know she’d fled here like a coward.
She could just imagine the juicy gossip that would be whispered behind her back. The stud of Santo Castillo, people would nod knowingly, has claimed even the ice queen as his victim.
Annabelle hissed through her teeth at the thought—of having the whole world think Stefano had seduced her.
He stared down at her. “Please, querida.”
Crossing her arms, Annabelle glared at him.
