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CHAPTER SEVEN
LEO CONTROLLED THE urge to floor the Maserati’s accelerator until they’d cleared the mountain roads and had hit the expressway back to the city. Without traffic delays the journey time was forty minutes. He reckoned he could do it in thirty.
Helena leaned forward in the passenger seat, removed her other sandal and massaged her ankles. ‘I swear high heels were invented by men as instruments of torture.’
She sighed—a soft, breathy sound that coiled through his insides like a ribbon of smoky heat.
‘Could we have the air-con up a bit, please? It’s awfully warm.’
Happy to oblige, he adjusted the controls and glanced over as she settled back in her seat. Her eyes were closed, her features smooth apart from a slight frown, and for a moment he was reminded of his sister. Of that intriguing combination of strength and vulnerability some women seemed naturally to possess.
A sudden tightness invaded his chest—the same suffocating sensation he always felt when he thought of Marietta and the battles she’d had to face. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. He had no business comparing Helena with his sister. They were poles apart. He loved Marietta. She was his blood, and he’d give his life for hers in a heartbeat. The feelings Helena stirred in him were rudimentary, nothing more than lust—a lust he intended to sate before this evening was out.
Thirty minutes later, in the courtyard of his apartment building, he pulled open the passenger door.
Helena glanced up. ‘I can walk,’ she said, gathering her shoes and purse before climbing out.
‘We should see to that foot.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s fine. Really. It doesn’t hurt all that much.’
Inside, he ushered her into the building’s single elevator and watched her back into a corner, her belongings clutched in front of her like some sort of shield. Against what? Him? He thought of their too-fleeting kiss and all the little intimate touches and quips that had driven him slowly insane tonight. Anticipation spiralled in his blood.
‘The skin’s broken,’ he said, looking at her foot. ‘We should at least clean and dress the wound.’
They entered the apartment and he cupped her elbow, steered her towards the living room. Ignoring her mumbled protest, he sat her on the sofa and went to fetch the first aid kit from the kitchen. When he knelt in front of her she lifted her dress, obediently stuck out her foot and allowed him to clean the shallow gash. He finished by applying a neat dressing.
She offered up a smile. ‘Thanks.’
He nodded, but didn’t rise. Didn’t speak. He held her gaze until her lashes fell and she shifted slightly.
‘Leo...’
Liking the husky little catch in her voice, he sat back and hooked his hands behind her knees. Her teeth captured her lower lip and he held back a groan. The sight of her gently biting her own soft flesh was inordinately sexy. He pulled her to the edge of the sofa, spread her legs and moved between them.
Slim, toned muscles trembled under his hands. ‘Leo, please... Don’t do this.’
Undeterred by her soft plea, he cupped his hand under her left breast, cradling its fullness and weight in his palm. Only a sheer layer of silk separated his fingers from her flesh.
‘This...?’ He slid his thumb back and forth over the slippery fabric, teasing her nipple to a hard nub beneath the burgundy silk.
A tiny groan escaped her lips—a groan he might have mistaken for protest had she not arched into his touch.
‘Yes.’
Her throat convulsed around that single word, drawing his gaze to the base of her neck where the skin looked so soft, so delicate, it begged to be kissed.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to the fluttering pulse there. Oh, yes. Soft. Warm. Sweet. He breathed in her summery scent, used the tip of his tongue to taste her skin.
‘And this...?’
No words this time. No protest. Only a silent shudder that rode her body like the crest of a powerful fever. Satisfaction rippled through him. The message her body conveyed was unequivocal: she wanted him, hungered for him as fiercely as he hungered for her.
He shifted to cover her mouth with his, but she pulled back. Desire roughened his voice. ‘Do not tell me you don’t want this.’
‘You know I do.’
Her candid, husky confession kicked his pulse up another notch.
