Postcards From Madrid. Lynne Graham
were there to provide support.’
Sophie folded her arms with a jerk. She could not believe his nerve. ‘So I give up my life here, move abroad and live in limbo on your property like some charity case. Thanks, but no, thanks! I’m not unreasonable. I’m happy to share Lydia with you but I refuse to hand her over to you lock, stock, and barrel. I mean, what are you planning to do with her?’
‘Engage childcare professionals to take care of her every need.’
Her green eyes flamed. ‘That really says it all, doesn’t it? Why can’t you just be honest? You haven’t the slightest personal interest in your brother’s child. You think it’s your duty to give her a home, but you resent it—’
‘That is not true.’ But there was enough of a grain of truth in that accusation to flick Antonio on the raw.
‘You’ll never love Lydia the way I do because you’re always going to see her as a burden!’
‘You’re wrong,’ Antonio incised almost fiercely.
‘Of course you will. She’s not your baby and you didn’t ask for her and you’re not that fussed about kids anyway…and if you get married Lydia’s likely to be as popular as rat poison with your wife!’
‘I have no intention of getting married—’
Adrenalin pounding through her veins, Sophie stalked over to him to look up at him, her eyes bright with conviction. ‘But she needs a mother, Antonio. Not people you pay to wash and feed her.’
‘I’m not ready for marriage.’
‘Then let Lydia and I alone and send us the occasional postcard!’ Sophie advised thinly, her temper rising at her inability to gain an emotional reaction from him. ‘You’re too selfish to take charge of a baby. You’ll neglect her. You’ll be too busy wheeling and dealing at the office and socialising with your harem of women to make time for her!’
Brilliant eyes shimmering into a hot golden blaze, Antonio closed long fingers round Sophie’s wrist to urge her closer. ‘Harem?’ he prompted with subdued mockery.
Angry, mortified colour burnished Sophie’s cheeks. ‘Pablo used to tell Belinda all about your exploits with your string of women.’
‘Pablo would have known nothing. We were not close. I did not confide in him. But while I may not talk of my conquests I’m not ashamed of my sex life. Did you think I would be?’ Arrogant dark head high, Antonio gazed down at her, lush black lashes semi-screening his disturbingly intent gaze.
‘I don’t give two hoots about your flippin’ sex life!’ Sophie flung in affronted denial, her cheeks burning.
‘I think you do…’ Antonio breathed soft and low, the dark timbre of his deep, rich drawl feathering down her slender spine like a hurricane warning. ‘I think that nearly three years ago I was too much of a gentleman for your tastes—’
‘Gentleman is not a word I would label you with,’ Sophie cut in unevenly, a hunger she could not suppress licking up in her pelvis and freezing her where she stood bare inches from him. Every inch of her was taut and screaming with so powerful an awareness of her own body that she felt light-headed. All she needed from him was one kiss, she was telling herself. One kiss just to see what all the fuss was about and she was convinced that he would be as much of a disappointment as every other guy she had kissed. But in Antonio’s case, it would be a glorious, wonderful disappointment that would for ever banish her unease around him.
‘But, whatever the label, you’re still hot for me, mi cielo,’ Antonio murmured huskily.
Sophie trembled. ‘Curious…’ she admitted in a breath of sound, her throat dry and tight.
Antonio never kissed women in public. He gazed down at her, his attention welded to the darkened emerald of her expectant eyes and the ruby allure of her luscious, parted lips. He lifted a hand to close his fingers into her curls, learning that her hair felt soft as silk and picturing the rebellious golden-toffee waves spread across his pillows. Thought had nothing to do with what happened next.
His mouth touched hers; she stopped breathing. He brushed her lips light as a butterfly and then slowly deepened the pressure. She was torn by delight and impatience and a mortifying desire to grab him with both hands. Tantalised beyond bearing, she leant towards him, wildly conscious of the aching heaviness of her breasts below her T-shirt, the swelling sensitivity of the rosy crowns abraded by the rough cotton. She knew she wanted his mouth there too and the very thought shocked her rigid, but she could no more pull back from him and temptation than she could have stemmed the tide.
‘Antonio…’ she whispered.
‘I don’t want this…’ Antonio growled, but he went back for more of it all the same.
Passion banished restraint as he used his tongue to delve deep into the moist interior of her mouth. That invasive tactic had the most extraordinary effect on Sophie. The taste and feel of him drove her wild. An excitement close to the edge of pain shot like flame through her slender length. She shivered violently and locked her arms round his neck, kissing him back with unconditional fervour. The heat and strength of his lean, powerful body hard against her softer curves left her breathless and gasping.
In an abrupt movement, Antonio wrenched himself back from her. Stunning eyes a scorching gold, he was breathing heavily. For a split second, Sophie was lost in a time slip, still craving that intoxicating tide of sensation. Then self-preservation kicked in and she spun away, digging shaking hands into the pockets of her jeans and dragging in oxygen in a greedy gulp. He was dynamite. She hadn’t wanted to find that out. But equally quickly it dawned on her that the attraction was not one-sided, as she had once naïvely believed.
Her body felt electrified and deprived, but her mind was racing. A wicked sense of triumph put her embarrassment to flight. Antonio Rocha, Marqués de Salazar might think that he was vastly superior to her in every way, but he still fancied her. Whoopee! Yay! She was tempted to dance round the beach and sing. In one fell swoop, in the space of one revealing kiss, almost three years of believing that she had made an outsize fool of herself in Spain had been wiped out. Antonio was more into tattoos than he was ever likely to admit.
The silence stretched like an endless cavern where light never shone.
Feeling indecently smug and ashamed of herself, Sophie veiled her sparkling eyes and reflected dizzily that she had never imagined a kiss could be that volatile.
‘We were talking about you taking up residence in Spain,’ Antonio reminded her drily.
He sounded so cool and calm that her buoyant mood deflated as if he had stuck a pin in her. All right, maybe he was only a teensy weensy bit attracted to her. It took enormous effort for her to recapture her ability to concentrate. ‘Spain…that idea’s not on,’ she countered in a flat undertone. ‘We’d be in your country and Lydia would be in your home and I wouldn’t have any rights. You would be making all the decisions about her. You could easily change your mind about allowing me to see her—’
‘You would have to trust me.’
‘I don’t,’ Sophie confided without hesitation. ‘I’d have too much to lose. And I just know you’ll get married and that would change everything—’
‘I am not about to get married. What is this obsession?’
Sophie was unimpressed. She shot him a sidelong glance. Her heartbeat speeded up. He really was breathtakingly handsome. ‘Now or five years from now, what difference would it make to me? I’d still be powerless and no wife of yours is likely to allow me to stick my oar in where Lydia’s concerned. Your wife would have far more say in her upbringing than I would ever have—’
‘Por favor Dios… I enjoy my freedom. I won’t take a wife for at least ten years!’
‘I just want to be with Lydia. That’s all that I want,’ Sophie stressed with pained dignity. ‘I love her…you don’t. I mean…maybe you’re always going to