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Jealousy… And vicious, uncontrolled desire.
The dress was one he vaguely recognised. Was it one of Ana’s? But on Cerys it looked different—seductive, erotic. The floating layers flowed over her curves, cupping her spectacular breasts, while the glittery heels made her legs look about a mile long. The lights on the villa porch, which he left burning always to dispel the ghosts when he came here to escape thecastillo, illuminated the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, not quite hidden by the dusting of powder. Her short cap of chestnut curls caressed her neck as her ragged breathing seemed to cut through the noise—of his throbbing pulse, and the distant snap of castanets from the flamenco performance which had just started. The smudge of make-up on her lids sparkled in the twilight and deepened the unique colour of her irises to a translucent mix of mermaid green and sky blue.
‘Bueno.’ He ground the word out, his insides in an uproar of need. His hunger for her was so intense he felt unhinged, untethered from his own sense of self.
He skimmed a finger down her cheek, her vicious shiver of response vibrating in his groin.
‘Because you already belong to me,’ he managed, around the thick ball of desperation in his throat.
He grasped her wrist and tugged her towards him, aware of her eyes widening with shock—but also flooding with awareness.
She must feel it too, this physical force which linked them, and had tormented him for weeks. This erotic compulsion which had become a living, breathing monster in the past few days—with her in his home, but always out of reach.
She shuddered. ‘I… I do?’ she said on a whisper of breath as she searched his face, the rise and fall of her breathing making her breasts press seductively against the too-tight bodice, threatening to spill out—and snap the last thin thread on his control.
How had he been reduced to this? Every time he spied her from his study, running across the courtyard each morning to rendezvous with his sister, every time he had found himself walking through the forest on the opposite bank of the river where Ana had told him they swam regularly, the clamouring need had increased…
Until a week ago, when he had finally earned the reward he had never acknowledged he had been seeking… Spotting her through the trees, her high full breasts displayed to perfection in a bikini she must have borrowed from Ana too, because it had barely contained the luscious flesh. And the need had exploded through his veins like wildfire.
He had vowed that night while he stroked his turgid flesh and imagined those full breasts swaying into his palms, that he would not ask Ana about her again, would remain locked in his study working for the siesta hours to avoid another glimpse of her wearing only a few scraps of spandex, her luminous skin glistening with moisture.
But his latest vow had been shot to hell three days ago. He had been crossing the courtyard after a difficult four hours in the fields, checking the yield, organising the schedule for harvesting with the winery manager, when she had run around a corner and straight into him. Suddenly his arms had been full of her fragrant flesh, his lungs filling with her scent—summer flowers and female musk. And those eyes—so bold, so inviting, so conflicted—had stared at him out of the heart-shaped face he had become obsessed with.
It had taken all his control to release her.
But tonight…tonightwas too much. He couldn’t let her go again.
His hands moved up her arms, edged her forward until he could lower his mouth to hers, the desperation to taste her intoxicating, tormenting.
‘I want to kiss you, Cerys,’ he whispered across her lips. ‘I have wanted to for weeks,’ he finally admitted to himself as much as her.
Why had he tried to deny this hunger for so long? When his attempts to control his reaction had only made the need more acute? What, exactly, was he trying to prove?
She let out a sob, arousal darkening her eyes to black. ‘Okay…’
Her husky agreement was like a gunshot, threatening to destroy what was left of his control. As the fault lines snaked out, his hands trembled, but he forced himself not to shatter. Not to take what he craved so desperately. Not.Yet.
He desired much more than a taste of her, but the sheen of innocence still clung to her—despite the crushing jealousy which had consumed him when he had seen his brother touch her.
He must tread carefully.
He had never taken a mistress, had prided himself on always being able to control his libido, unlike his father. But it was clear he had been kidding himself all along. Because all it had taken was the right woman to unleash that feral, elemental part of himself, to awaken those same needs and desires which had torn apart his family—and destroyed his childhood.
He should be ashamed, disgusted, but somehow all he could feel was the searing desire to claim her as his. But before he gave in to the hunger, he must ensure he did not exploit her, the way his father had exploited so many women.
‘Do you desire me, too?’ he asked.
It was a crude request, one that was beneath a man like him—he was usually so sophisticated with women, his sexual needs easy to contain and compartmentalise. But not with her…Neverwith her.
She blinked, but then she bit into her lip, tugging the pouting flesh with her teeth, and his hunger surged.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I think so.’
Think?
He pressed his forehead to hers, tried to calm his ragged breathing and get a grip on the vicious need, his hands shaking as he caressed her hips through the thin material of the dress.
He had to make her understand what this would mean, so she could make a clear choice.