Marisa wasn’t surprised when a flash of light flickered across her closed eyes and a boom that could only be thunder ripped open the night. It was as if the elements had been triggered by the force of passion unleashed when Damaso set his mouth on hers.
Something cool and hard hit her bare shoulders; Damaso held her pinioned against the reinforced glass wall that gave such a spectacular view of the city. The cool glass made her even more aware of the intense heat of Damaso’s aroused body. He was like a furnace.
Greedily, she wanted that heat for herself.
She dropped her hands to his shoulders and pushed his jacket back. He growled again, low in his throat, as if annoyed at the interruption, but let her go long enough to shake free of the jacket.
When he reached for her an instant later his hands moulded her breasts and she choked on a sigh of satisfaction.
‘Yes! That!’ Her head arched back against the glass, her breasts thrusting up into his palms as he caressed her, gently at first, then demandingly.
A guttural murmur broke from Damaso’s throat. She didn’t understand the Portuguese but her body responded to the urgency in his voice.
Her fingers fumbled at his collar, yanking at buttons till her hands met hard flesh. She wanted to bury her face there and taste the salty tang that rose sharp in her nostrils. She was wrestling with another button when Damaso’s hands dropped away and she had to bite down hard to stop the mew of disappointment that rose on her lips.
She needed his touch on her body.
She wanted...
With one tremendous heave of shoulders and arms, Damaso ripped his shirt wide, buttons spattering to the floor. In the semi-dark Marisa watched the play of heavy muscles, the ripple of movement all the way down his dark, gold torso as he fought to tear the sleeves away.
Then he was bare-chested, snatching her hands in his and planting them high on his solid pectorals. Her palms tingled as hot flesh and the brush of body hair tickled.
‘You’re stunning,’ she murmured. ‘How did you get to look so good?’
He shook his head, his features taut as if fired in metal. ‘It’s you who’s stunning, querida. I’ve never known a more perfect woman.’
‘I’m not—’
Damaso’s index finger closed her lips and it was a sign of her need that her tongue streaked out to taste him. His eyelids drooped as she licked him and the flesh beneath her hands rippled in spasm.
She did that to him so easily?
‘You’re perfect for me, Marisa.’ His voice, thick with that sexy accent, brooked no argument. ‘You’re exactly what I want.’
Why that statement stilled her soul, Marisa didn’t know.
Surely this was about lust? But when Damaso watched her like that, spoke of wanting her and only her, her heart gave a strange little leap. That look, those words, spoke to a part of her she’d kept hidden most of her life—the part that craved love.
‘Stop thinking,’ he growled, but his touch was gentle as he raised his hands and pulled the pins from her hair so it fell around her bare shoulders, a sensual caress that made her shiver. ‘This is just you and me—Marisa and Damaso. Yes?’
His breath warmed her face; his hands dropped to her shoulders then down to the exquisitely tender upper slopes of her breasts. His fingertips traced the sweetheart neckline of her strapless dress, centimetre by slow centimetre, till she could take no more and clapped her hands over his, dragging them down to cup her breasts as she leaned close.
‘Say yes, Marisa.’
She licked dry lips and through slitted eyes saw his gaze flicker.
‘Yes, Damaso.’
It didn’t matter whether she was saying yes to his statement that he wanted her, or his demand to stop thinking. Or whether she was simply urging him not to end the magic shimmering like stormy heat between them.
Whatever this was, she needed it, treasured it. For the first time in her life she felt not just passably pretty but beautiful, inside and out. No one had ever made her feel like this.
She blinked, her mouth hitching up in a tremulous smile as a glow filled her that had nothing to do with the warmth of Damaso’s body or the sultry night.
‘Marisa.’ His lips touched hers. Outside another crash of thunder shook the air, but it was the tenderness in Damaso’s bass voice that made her quake. She leaned into him, her face upturned, her mouth clinging to his. He plunged one hand into her hair, holding her to him as he slowly, thoroughly, savoured the taste of her.
How could a kiss make her weak at the knees? She wobbled in her high heels, clutching Damaso for support.
She half-expected to see a satisfied smile at her reaction when he drew back. Instead she read nothing but taut control that made his features severe.
Then he was gone, dropping silently to his knees before her, hands knotting in the spangled froth of her skirt. She shivered as his hands slid up her bare legs, pushing the fabric up and up. Ripples of excitement shivered along her thighs. She pressed them together as she felt a rush of liquid desire.
Damaso lifted her shirt higher, then higher still, pausing when he saw the little silk bikini panties in aqua that she’d chosen to go with her new dress.
The sight of his dark head close enough for his breath to heat her skin like a phantom touch made excitement twist inside.
He pushed the fabric right up to her breasts, baring her to his gaze.
Marisa’s breath laboured. There was something indescribably erotic about the way Damaso knelt at her feet, studying her so intently.
One large hand spread across her stomach, gently stroking till the tide of pleasure rose even higher.
‘You’re carrying our child in there.’ He looked up, midnight eyes transfixing her. Before Marisa could think of anything to say, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her flesh, then another and another. And all the while his eyes held hers.
She felt...treasured, vulnerable, different. The look on his face, the tenderness of his touch, the raw curl of arousal in her belly, created a moment of rapt awareness. She was a goddess come to life, the embodiment of femininity: creator, mother and seductress combined.
In that moment she felt awe at the miracle happening inside her and an unexpected sliver of hope. Damaso’s reaction was genuine. Could this pregnancy really help them forge a relationship?
Damaso’s mouth curved up in a smile. His eyes glittered in the soft light as he slid his hand down to the delicate silk of her panties, then with one swift tug dragged them down.
Over the sound of her gasp Marisa heard the whisper of tearing silk. Soft fabric fluttered down her legs.
‘They were new!’ Could he tell that was a gasp of anticipation, not outrage?
Damaso’s smile widened. ‘They were in the way.’
Before she could think of a retort, he dipped his head and her body convulsed as he pressed his lips to the centre point of every nerve. One stroke of his tongue and the trembling in her legs became a quaking shudder.
‘Damaso!’ Her fingers knotted in his hair, holding on, torn between wanting to pull him away and wanting him never to stop. For the storm was inside her now, the blasts of white-hot light jagging right through her again and again until, with a sob of shock, she shattered.
Marisa was tumbling, falling through a darkened sky lit by flashes of brilliant sparks. But she didn’t fall. She was cushioned, wrapped close, gentled as she shuddered again and again, her body strung out on ecstasy.
A hand brushed her face and, dazed, she felt wetness. Marisa gulped in air and realised there were tears trickling down her cheeks.