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“What muff?” he asks again.
I study him and think. He is really quite handsome with his olive skin and dark hair, which would curl if he’d let it grow. I get the feeling that like his closet, he likes to keep a tight rein on that, too. Even the five o’clock shadow is maintained to perfection, accentuating the sharp edge of his jaw just so. I reach out to touch the scruff of it, remembering how it felt between my legs.
The thought takes me a minute to process, and I have to blink and force my eyes to focus. “What were we talking about?” I ask him and see the smile he’s trying to suppress. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Now why would I do that?” he asks as I stand and reach out to grab hold of his arm to steady myself, very aware of how strong he is and how good that bicep feels. I bring my other hand to his other arm, study the expanse of his chest, then trail my fingers over the muscle there. He stands still, sucking in a breath as my fingers slide over hard abs, but when I hover them just over his slacks, he catches my hands.
He groans, and I see the press of his erection against his slacks. The sight of it makes my sex clench. I shouldn’t want him—certainly not now. I’m still sore.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he says, tone dark.
I look up at him. “What makes you think I can’t finish? Besides, I didn’t get to see you.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“I’ve been thinking—” I start.
“Have you?” he asks.
“Don’t interrupt me.” One corner of his mouth quirks, but he controls it and gestures for me to go ahead. “I’ve been thinking. We’re enemies, you and me.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Yes. We have to be.”
“Why?”
That throws me off. Why? Why do we have to be enemies? “You’re an Augustine, and I’m a De Léon. That makes us natural enemies.”
He smiles, releases my wrists, and leans close to tilt my chin up with one finger. “You’re an Augustine now, remember?” He pokes the tip of my nose. “And very cute when you’re drunk, you know that?”
“I’m not…” I stop, take a deep breath in, and close my eyes for a minute so the spinning slows.
“Go on. What were you going to say?” he asks.
I nod, but when I open my mouth to speak, I hiccup again. He turns away, so I don’t see him stifling his chuckle, but I can hear it. I grit my teeth and push one hand into his pants, grip his erection, and squeeze. That definitely gets his attention. And he’s not laughing.
“Madelena,” he starts, voice a growl. He takes hold of my wrist in a half-hearted attempt to pull me off. “You’re drunk, sweetheart, and probably more than a little sore.”
“Sweetheart?” I get caught on the term of endearment, losing the already fraying thread of my thoughts. I squeeze tighter and hear his sharp hiss of breath.
“I won’t take you again tonight.” He pulls my hand off him, but it’s not without effort.
“We can be enemies with benefits,” I say.
His forehead furrows as he considers and casually unties the belt of my robe so it falls open. He pushes it off one shoulder. His gaze sweeps over me and he runs his knuckles over my breast, my nipple tightening when touched.
“Enemies with benefits. Did the wine help you come up with that?” His gaze darkens. “Do you want to come again? Is that what this is about?”
“That’s the benefit part.”
“Is it now?” He grins a cocky grin. Santos Augustine has a playful side.
He walks me backward, and within a few steps, the backs of my knees hit the bed. He pushes my robe off then pulls his shirt over his head. I scan the chaos of scars that make up his chest, his shoulders, and his arms, wondering about his past.
“You want to see me, Little Kitty?” he asks, drawing me back into the present. He pushes his shoes and socks off, then his pants and briefs. He stands naked between my open legs. I look at him, my gaze hovering over his cock. I may not have seen him earlier, but I’d felt every inch of him—and he’s not small.
I swallow because he’s beautiful in that cruel way. When I reach for him, he shakes his head and gently lays me backward on the bed before opening my legs and looking down at me.
