‘Jealousy?’ The word stunned her, stealing her voice.
To be jealous, he’d have to care about her. She’d done her homework via the Internet and knew Damaso had a notoriously short attention span when it came to lovers. He thrived on pursuit. He certainly didn’t stick around long enough for possessiveness. Yet the idea of him caring, just a little, cracked open a frozen part of her heart. ‘You don’t have a jealous bone in your body.’
‘Don’t I?’ His mouth turned down in a tight grimace as he loomed close, hemming her in.
‘What about this one? It’s held you close.’ Damaso picked up her hand and placed it on his forearm. She felt his heat through his clothes.
‘Or this one.’ He slid her hand up his arm and across to his collarbone. Her palm tingled at the contact and tiny ripples of delight fluttered up her arm. ‘You slept there, do you remember? Your head on me, your leg over my belly.’
Damaso’s voice was hypnotic, drawing her into a place where nothing existed beyond the pair of them and the haze of desire clouding her mind. No, not just desire. A longing for the warmth and...contentment she’d found so briefly with him. She swallowed hard, feeling herself weaken.
‘Don’t, Damaso.’ She yanked but he wouldn’t release her hand. Her heart hammered high in her throat as she fought panic.
‘Why don’t you go to your girlfriend?’ Marisa hated the tell-tale way her voice wobbled. It revealed how much she cared.
‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ His ebony gaze captured hers and her breath stalled. ‘She stopped being that before I met you. Besides, I have no desire for any other woman.’ The way he said it, as if the truth throbbed in his husky tones, made Marisa’s knees turn to water.
‘Stop it! Don’t play these games.’ She hated that he could make her feel so vulnerable, so hurt. So needy.
His other hand cupped her jaw, his touch gentle.
‘I never play games, Marisa. Ever. Ask anyone—it’s not my way.’
‘Of course you do.’ Her voice was half an octave too high. Was it his touch that did that? Or the fixed way he stared at her mouth? Or the searing tide of need rising inside? She jutted her chin.
‘You tried to seduce me just days ago so I’d agree—’
His hand slid over her lips. She breathed in the fresh, salt scent of him, tasted it on her tongue when she swallowed. Why did it affect her so?
‘And you told me not to touch you unless I meant it.’
Finally he dragged his hand away but, instead of releasing her, he spread long fingers over her throat, down to her collarbone, where her pulse hammered unevenly.
‘I want you, Marisa.’ He leaned in so the words caressed her face. ‘You have no idea how much.’
She planted both hands on his wide chest and pushed. Nothing happened except her palms moulded to the solid shape of his torso.
‘Don’t lie. You only want me because I’m carrying your baby.’ She’d never found a man she could trust. They were all out for something. And now it wasn’t just her wellbeing at stake, but her unborn baby’s. She had to keep a clear head for its sake and make the right decisions for its future. ‘You want to secure me, that’s all—trap me into marriage.’
Something dark and untamed glimmered in his eyes and Marisa’s heart leapt against her ribs. Slowly, infinitesimally slowly, his lips curved into a smile that turned her insides to liquid fire. His hands slipped to her shoulders and, despite her caution, his touch on her bare skin melted another layer of her defences.
‘It’s true that I find the fact you’re carrying my child unbelievably erotic.’ His voice was husky and inviting. She’d never heard anything so mesmerising.
Damaso moved, one thigh wedging hers apart and pushing up against her. She gasped as she came in contact with his erection. Her inner muscles clenched needily, making a lie of her resistance.
His Adam’s apple rose and fell as if he was nervous. Yet she was the one whose nerves were stretched to breaking.
‘I mean it this time, Marisa. I want you. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.’ His chest rose as he drew in a shuddering breath. ‘This is about more than the baby, or what the world thinks. This is about me and you. Right now, all I care about is how you make me feel, and how I make you feel.’
Despite everything, she wanted to believe him. How she wanted to!
He plucked one of her hands from his chest and planted a kiss at the centre of her palm. Her knees buckled as he sucked at her flesh, sending waves of weakness through her.
‘Can’t we forget tonight and start again?’ His voice was dark, liquid temptation.
‘Why?’ Marisa clung to his shoulder for support, trying to shore up the distrust that would keep her and her child safe. ‘What is it you want?’
‘I want us to be just Damaso and Marisa. Simply that.’
Did he have any idea how perfect that sounded? How real and uncomplicated? How tempting?
Damaso’s head swooped low and, with a sigh, Marisa gave up the battle she’d been losing for so long.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THIS TIME WHEN Damaso bent to kiss her, Marisa lifted her mouth to him, desire filling her. For the first time she didn’t turn aside so his lips brushed her face, her throat or the sensitive point behind her ear.
The sensation of his mouth on hers, sure and hard, demanding the response she could no longer stop, blasted her into another world.
Wave upon wave of pleasure crashed through her. She clung to broad shoulders as his marauding mouth demanded more, ever more. Her surrender elicited a growl of satisfaction from Damaso that she felt right through her core as he gathered her close.
She needed this, him, filling her senses, as she couldn’t remember needing anything in her life.
Even the night they’d shared—giving in to instinct and reaching out to Damaso in the hope he was different from the rest—Marisa had shied from this particular intimacy. She’d shared her body but kissing on the mouth had been a step too far. It was a boundary she hadn’t crossed since Andreas had seduced and betrayed her. In her mind, it had become a symbol of gullibility and defeat.
Yet now she revelled in Damaso’s hot, delving kiss, the tangle of tongues and hot breath, the flagrant openness and hunger.
There was no trace of bitterness, only the spicy, addictive taste of Damaso spinning her senses out of control and a thrill almost of triumph in her effervescent blood.
There was something else she couldn’t name, something strong and pure, that filled her with elation and wonder.
This felt right. More than right.
She gave up trying to put a name to it as her mind fogged.
Marisa clamped her hands to the back of Damaso’s head, revelling in the tangle of his thick, soft hair between her fingers. She angled her head to give him better access as he devoured her. His big hands held her close, his body anchoring her.
If this was defeat, it was glorious.
This kiss wasn’t like Andreas’s practised moves. Nor was it like Damaso’s earlier attempt to seduce her into compliance. It was potent, hungry, untamed and it affected them both equally.
She felt the shudders rake Damaso’s big frame as she moved against him; heard the raw delight in his gasp as she licked into his mouth; registered the convulsive tightening of his hands at her waist as she pressed even closer, trying to meld herself with him.
The air sizzled with the charge they generated.