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“You think I’d immediately fall in love with you?”
“Yes.”
She gave an incredulous snort. “You have no problems with your ego, do you?”
His dark gaze seared her. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.” She gave a careless shrug. “I do want love, it’s true. If I met a man I could respect and admire, I might easily fall in love. But that’s not you, Santiago.” She looked at him evenly. “No matter how rich or sexy you might be. So if you want me, too bad. I don’t want you.”
His expression changed. His eyes glittered in the moonlight.
“You don’t?” Reaching out, he ran his thumb lightly against her trembling bottom lip and whispered, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she breathed, unable to pull away, or to look from his dark gaze.
He ran his hand down her arm, looking down at her as if she were the most beautiful, desirable creature on earth. “And if I took you to my bed, you wouldn’t fall in love?”
“Not even remotely. I think you’re a total bastard.”
But even as she spoke, Belle couldn’t stop herself from shivering. She knew he felt it. The corners of his lips twisted upward in grim masculine satisfaction.
Softly, he ran his hand down through her hair. Her body’s shivering intensified. As she breathed in his scent of sandalwood and firelight, she felt the strength and power of his body against hers, beneath his long black coat.
“Then there’s no reason to hold back. Forget love.” He gently lifted her chin. “Forget regret, forget pain, forget everything fate has denied you. For one night, take pleasure in what you can have, right here and now.”
“You mean, take pleasure in you?”
She’d tried to say the words sarcastically, but the way her heart was hammering in her chest, her tone came out wrong. Instead of sarcastic, she sounded breathless. Yearning.
“For one night, let me give you joy. Without strings. Without consequences. Stop thinking so much about the future,” he said in a low voice, his hand cupping her cheek. “For one night, you can know what it feels like to be truly, recklessly alive.”
His black eyes seared hers, and the cold January night sizzled like west Texas in July as an arc of electricity passed between them.
Give herself to him for one night, without consequences? Without strings?
Belle stared up at him, shocked.
She’d never slept with anyone. She’d never even gotten close. She was, in fact, a twenty-eight-year-old virgin, an old maid who’d spent her whole life taking care of others, while failing to achieve a single dream for herself.
No. Her answer was no. Of course it was.
Wasn’t it?
He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek, his lips lingering against her skin, moving slowly. Sensuously. She held her breath, and as he drew back, she stared at him with big eyes, her whole body clamoring and clanging like an orchestra.
“All right,” she heard herself say, then gasped at her own recklessness. She opened her mouth to take it back. Then stopped.
For one night, you can know what it feels like to be truly, recklessly alive.
When was the last time she’d felt that way?
Had she ever?
Or had she always been a good girl, trying so hard to please others, to follow the rules, to plan out her life?
What had being good ever done for her—except leave her heartsick and alone?
Santiago’s dark eyes gleamed as he saw her hesitate. He didn’t wait. Wrapping his large hands on her jawline and then sliding them to tangle in her hair, he slowly drew his mouth to hers. She felt the warmth of his breath, sweet like Scotch, against the tender flesh of her skin.
