Enamored. Diana Palmer
saw her reaction, and all his good intentions melted. She looked lovely with her clothing plastered to her exquisite body, and through the wet blouse he could see the very texture of her breasts, their mauve tips firm and beautifully formed. His jaw tautened as he stared at her.
She started to lift her arms, to fold them over herself, because the way he was looking at her frightened her a little. But he turned abruptly and started out.
“I’ll get some branches,” he said tersely. “We’ll need something to keep us from getting filthy if we have to stay here very long.”
While he was gone, Melissa stripped off her blouse and wrung it out. It didn’t help much, but it did remove some of the moisture. She dabbed at her hair and pushed the strands away from her face, knowing that she must look terrible.
Diego came back minutes later with some wild-banana leaves and palm branches that he spread on the ground to make a place to sit. He was wetter than ever, because the rain was still coming down in torrents.
“Our pursuers are going to find this weather difficult to track us through,” he mused as he pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket and managed to light a small cheroot. He eased back on one elbow to smoke it, studying Melissa with intent appreciation. She’d put the blouse back on, but even though it was a little drier, her breasts were still blatantly visible through it.
“I guess they will,” she murmured, answering him.
“It embarrasses you, niña, for me to look at you so openly?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t have much experience…” She faltered, blushing.
He blew out a thick cloud of smoke while his eyes made a meal of her. It was madness to allow himself that liberty, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She was untouched, and her eyes were shyly worshipful as she looked at his body. He wanted more than anything to touch her, to undress her slowly and carefully, to show her the delight of making love. His heart began to throb as he saw images of them together on the makeshift bedding, her body receptive to his, open to his possession.
Melissa was puzzled by his behavior. He’d always been so correct when they’d been together, but he wasn’t bothering to disguise his interest in her body, and the look on his face was readable even to a novice.
“Why did you become a mercenary?” she asked, hoping to divert him.
He shrugged. “It was a question of finances. We were desperate, and my father was unable to face the degradation of seeking work after having had money all his life. I had a reckless nature, and I enjoyed the danger of combat. After I served in the army, I heard of a group that needed a small-arms expert for some ‘interesting work.’ I applied.” He smiled in reminiscence. “It was an exciting time, but once or twice I had a close call. The others slowly drifted away to other occupations, other callings, but I continued. And then I began to slow down, and there was a mistake that almost cost me my life.” He lifted the cheroot to his lips. “I had enough wealth by then not to mind settling down to a less demanding lifestyle. I came home.”
“Do you miss it?” she asked softly, studying his handsome face.
“On occasion. There were good times. A special feeling of camaraderie with men who faced death with me.”
“And women, I guess,” she said hesitantly, her face more expressive than she realized.
His black eyes ran over her body like hands, slow and steady and frankly possessive. “And women,” he said quietly. “Are you shocked?”
She swallowed, lowering her eyes. “I never imagined that you were a monk, Diego.”
He felt himself tautening as he watched her, longed for her. The rain came harder, and she jumped as a streak of lightning burst near the temple and a shuddering thunderclap followed it.
“The lightning comes before the noise,” he reminded her. “One never hears the fatal flash.”
“How encouraging,” she said through her teeth. “Do you have any more comforting thoughts to share?”
He smiled faintly as he put out the cheroot and laid it to one side. “Not for the moment.”
He took her by the shoulders and laid her down against the palms and banana leaves, his lean hands on the buttons of her shirt once more. This time she didn’t fight and she didn’t protest, she simply watched him with eyes as big as saucers.
“I want to make sure the bleeding has stopped,” he said softly. He pulled the edges of the blouse open and lifted the handkerchief that he’d placed over the cut. His black eyes narrowed, and he grimaced. “This may leave a scar,” he said, tracing the wound with his forefinger. “A pity, on such exquisite skin.”
Her breath rattled in her throat. The touch of his hand made her feel reckless. All her buried longings were coming to the surface during this unexpected interlude with him, his body above her, his chest as bare and brawny as she’d dreamed it would be.
“I have no healing balm,” he said softly, searching her eyes. “But perhaps, pequeña, I could kiss it better….”
Even as he spoke, he bent, and Melissa moaned sharply as she felt the moist warmth of his mouth on her skin. Her hands clenched beside her, her back arched helplessly.
Startled by such a passionate reaction from a girl so virginal, he lifted his head to look at her. He was surprised, proud, when he saw the pleasure that made her cheeks burn, her eyes grow drowsy and bright, her lips part hungrily. It made him forget everything but the need to make her moan like that yet again, to see her eyes as she felt the first stirrings of passion in her untried body. The thought of her innocence and his resolve not to touch her vanished like the threat of danger.
He slid one hand under the nape of her neck to support it, his fingers spreading against her scalp as he bent again. His lips touched her tenderly, his tongue lacing against the abrasions, trailing over her silky skin. She smelled of flowers, and the scent of her went to his head. His free hand went under her back and found the catch of her bra, releasing it. He pulled the straps away from her shoulder and lifted her gently to ease the wispy material down her arms along with her blouse, leaving her bare and shivering under his quiet, experienced eyes. He hadn’t meant to let it happen, but his hunger for her had burst its bonds. He couldn’t hold back. He didn’t want to. She was his. She belonged to him.
He stopped her impulsive movement to cover herself by shaking his head. “This between us will be a secret, something for the two of us alone to share,” he whispered. His dark eyes went to her breasts, adoring them. “Such lovely young breasts,” he breathed, bending toward them. “So sweet, so tempting, so exquisitely formed…”
His lips touched the hard tip of her breast, and she went rigid. His arm went under her to support her back, and his free hand edged between them, raising sweet fires as it traced over her rib cage and belly before it went up to tease at the bottom swell of her breasts and make her ache for him to touch her completely. His mouth eased down onto her breast, taking it inside, savoring its warm softness as the rain pelted down overhead and the thunder drowned out the threat of the world around them. Their drenched clothing was hardly a barrier, their bodies sliding damply against each other in the dusty semidarkness of the dry ruin.
He felt her begin to move against him with helpless longing. She wasn’t experienced enough to hide her desire for him or to curb her headlong response. He delighted in the shy touch of her hands on his chest, his back, in her soft cries and moans as he moved his mouth up to hers finally and covered her soft lips, pressing them open in a kiss that defied restraint.
She arched against him, glorying in the feel of skin against wet skin, her bareness under his, the hardness of his muscles gently crushing her breasts. Her nails dug helplessly into his back while she felt the hunger in the smoke-scented warmth of his open mouth on hers, and she moaned tenderly when she felt the probing of his tongue.
He was whispering something in husky Spanish, his mouth insistent, his hands suddenly equally insistent with other fastenings,