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‘Sí. I demand praise. Heaps of it piled high onto my head. So why don’t you wipe that disapproving look off your face for once, and tell me how good I am?’ His mouth curved into a provocative smile. ‘You know you want to.’
Carly stiffened as something unfamiliar prickled over her skin. Was he flirting with her? She stared at him, her eyes blinking. Surely not. Unless flirting was almost like a reflex action for him, a bit like a goldfish gasping for air if somebody tipped its bowl onto the floor. It’s just sweet-talk and it doesn’t mean anything, she told herself fiercely. So don’t act as if it does. ‘You probably overextended yourself, but, yes, you were good,’ she agreed grudgingly. ‘Actually, you were very good.’
He raised his wet eyebrows. ‘Why, Carly,’ he murmured. ‘Praise from you is praise indeed.’
Flustered now, she tried not to let it show, dipping down below the surface of the water, mainly to try to distract herself again. But when she stood up again she could see that Luis’s eyes had narrowed and it took a moment for her to realise that he was staring at her with fascination. Or, more specifically, he was staring at her breasts.
The stretchy fabric of her modest one-piece had suddenly become tight and shiny and was clinging to her like a second skin. Embarrassingly, she could feel her nipples pushing against the wet fabric like two little bullets.
Had he noticed that?
Oh, God. What if he had?
‘I think you ought to get out now,’ she said quickly. ‘Before you get too cold.’
‘Or too hot,’ he amended, but his words were so indistinct that she told herself she must have misheard them. She must have done. Unless she was seriously imagining that Luis Martinez—one of the world’s greatest lovers—was making a suggestive remark to her.
‘Let’s go,’ she said, and dived beneath the water to escape his watchful black eyes.
She swam further than she had intended but she needn’t have bothered, because the cold water failed to have the effect it should have done. And when she rose to the surface, gasping for breath, she still had that same terrible aching in her breasts when she looked at him.
CHAPTER THREE
IN A STREAM of impatient Spanish, Luis cursed loudly and eloquently. Outside, the wind howled and rain battered remorselessly against the tall windows. Never-ending rivulets slid down the glass as the sound of the summer storm served as background noise in the scarlet and gold drawing room.
When was this damned rain ever going to stop?
Redirecting his gaze to the table at the far side of the room, he watched as Carly bent over a tray and poured him a tiny cup of espresso.
He felt another unwelcome jerk of desire, jackknifed through his groin with an exquisite precision which made him want to squirm. He scowled instead.
He was bored.
Bored and frustrated.
And one must be as a direct result of the other, he reasoned. Because why else would he be feeling such powerful pangs of lust for someone like little Miss Mouse?
Unobserved, he let his eyes drift over her, trying to work it out. For once, the shapeless cut of her jeans managed to enhance her figure, though not through any deliberate intention on her part. When she bent over like that, the denim stretched tightly over her bottom and emphasised the generous curves of her derriere. She ought to wear close-fitting clothes more often, he thought hungrily. Just as he ought to be in his study analysing the stock market, or reading through the stack of emails which Diego had sent through to him earlier. His mouth tightened and the need to distract himself from her luscious body became paramount.
‘Play cards with me, Carly,’ he said suddenly.
She turned round to look at him, her expression at first startled, then decidedly wary.
‘I don’t play cards,’ she said.
‘Then I’ll teach you.’
Still she hesitated.
‘What’s the matter?’ he drawled. ‘Afraid I’ll corrupt you? One game of poker and you’ll be gambling away all your hard-earned wages?’
Wishing that he would stop looking at her like that, Carly straightened up and carried his coffee across the room, putting it down on the table beside him.
Corrupt her? She wondered if he had any idea what a good job he’d already done in that department. Wouldn’t he be appalled if he knew how much he was on her mind these days? If he realised that she lay in bed thinking about him at night, when the silence and the darkness of her room seemed to magnify her thoughts. Thoughts which felt like longing, but which were closely followed by terrifying memories. Yet even those memories weren’t enough to prevent the tingling in her breasts, or the molten ache low in her belly as she lay beneath the feather-soft duvet.
She had felt...frustrated...but had found herself recoiling from needs which she had repressed for so long. She kept telling herself that all she needed was to maintain some kind of balance, until things got back to normal again.
But when would that be?
