The Millionaire's Cinderella. Anne Marie Winston
tuft of dark hair covered the space between his nipples. Although she knew better, she couldn’t stop her gaze from tracking the path leading to the band on his low-riding jeans that he had managed to unsnap without her noticing. Slowly he lowered his zipper partway, leaving her speechless, excited, unable to move. Then the tattoo came into view.
Below his navel, a black jungle cat horizontally spanned the tight plane of his abdomen, interrupting the trail of masculine hair leading downward. Joanna’s mouth dropped open but she snapped it shut to muffle her sharp, indrawn breath. The tattoo looked powerful, provocative, impressive.
When Joanna finally looked up, she found his smile absent and his expression disarming. “Does this make me untrustworthy?” he asked in a low, spellbinding voice.
Her gaze traveled back to the tattoo and she took in the details, while the awareness that he was watching her sent electricity racing along her nerve endings. As far as Joanna was concerned, this particular artwork made him that much more sensual, seductive, mysterious. She had the overwhelming urge to touch it, to see if it was as silky as it looked. She was as drawn to that tattoo as she had been to its owner on New Year’s Eve— as she was tonight. Without regard for common sense, she breezed a fingertip across the cat—only to be stopped by the doctor’s grip on her wrist.
He released a slow, strained breath. “Normally I might say, ‘Feel free to keep touching,’ but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Not unless you realize you’re stirring up trouble.”
Joanna’s eyes moved to the obvious bulge below the waistband of his jeans, which were faded to a bleachedout blue in some hard-to-ignore places. Her face flamed from mortification, from totally forgetting herself, forgetting whom she was with, what she was doing. Again.
She dropped her hand to her side but couldn’t bring herself to contact his powerful golden gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…I don’t know. It looks so soft.”
“Take my word for it, it’s not.” His tone was wry, his voice grainy, deep and deadly.
She raised her eyes to his, finding them as enticing as they had been after he’d kissed her that night in the ballroom. Grasping for an innocuous question, she asked, “Is it a panther?”
He looked down at the tattoo. Joanna couldn’t seem to stop herself from looking, too. The muscles in his abdomen clenched as he ran one sturdy, square finger along the jungle cat’s back, much the same as she had, causing Joanna to shiver. “It’s a jaguar. My onen, or so my mother told me.”
“Your what?”
He redid his jeans, slipped the shirt over his head and secured his hair back in the band, much to Joanna’s disappointment. “Onen. My animal, or the animal assigned to me at birth. My mother was of Mayan descent. She believed in the folklore.”
“So you’re Mayan?”
“That and a few other things. Spanish royalty, reportedly a white missionary a couple of generations back. My family has a strong history of forbidden love.”
“Forbidden” pretty much summed up Joanna’s reaction to this man. An enigmatic, unpredictable man who held her imagination captive, kept her fantasies churning and her pulse erratic. “Where’s your mother now?” she asked, searching for something that might take her mind off his unmistakable aura, his blatant sensuality.
A fleeting sadness passed over his expression. “She died a few years ago. She was a good woman, a little misguided in her beliefs, but she was charitable to people in need.”
“Like her son?”
His smile crooked the corner of his lips, a decidedly cynical smile. “Don’t peg me wrong, Joanna. I enjoy my success and all that it brings.”
“But you helped the Gonzaleses, knowing they didn’t have any insurance and not much money.”
“I do that on occasion, but I still have paying patients. I’m not opposed to making money.”
Exactly something Joanna’s ex would have said, only he had been inclined to involve himself in get-rich-quick ploys, not honest work.
The conversation lulled as Rio Madrid continued to scrutinize her with penetrating eyes near the color of a harvest moon, as if he had some need to interpret her feelings, uncover her very soul.
Joanna struggled to come up with more small talk, but she had trouble assembling her thoughts with his steady gaze now on her mouth. At least he hadn’t mentioned that night…
“About the other night,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.
“The other night?” she repeated, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Yeah, New Year’s night. I find it hard to believe you don’t remember, because I haven’t been able to forget, querida.”
She shrugged, trying to affect nonchalance even though both her body and soul reeled in reaction to his declaration and endearment. “I thought maybe you didn’t recognize me.” She was secretly thrilled that he had.
“I didn’t at first, until you smiled.” He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. “You have a great smile. A great mouth.”
Joanna couldn’t ignore the tingles produced by his touch or her heart’s incessant pounding. “Do you always kiss females you don’t know?” she asked, her voice coming out too high.
He moved his palm to cup her cheek the same way he had that night. “Not normally, but you looked like you could’ve used a little company.”
She could use some strength at the moment, a lot of strength, in order to resist his lure. “I’m used to being alone. Not that I didn’t appreciate the gesture.”
He stroked his thumb back and forth along her jaw, her chin, grazing the corner of her lip with each pass. “Is that all you felt? Gratitude?”
She couldn’t begin to describe what she’d felt when he’d kissed her, what she was feeling now with him so close, his hand on her face, his eyes focused on her mouth, her will caught firmly in his grasp.
Then he lowered his head, slowly, slowly, and softly kissed her, no more than a tease, a taunt, but it left Joanna wanting as she’d never wanted before…
The shrill of a siren interrupted the moment. Joanna pulled away from him and walked to the window to survey the scene, as much to catch her breath as out of concern for the familiar activity downstairs. Three patrol cars pulled up at the curb near the front of the building and several armed officers dashed toward the entrance. Nothing she hadn’t seen before.
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. “You’re not safe here, Joanna.”
She hugged her arms to her chest. “I don’t have a choice.”
Rio took her arm and turned her to face him. His sultry expression had been replaced by one of unease. “Yes, you do have a choice.”
“I promise I don’t. I’ve looked all over the city for another place to live and I can’t find anything I can afford.”
“Maybe you haven’t looked in the right place.”
“What do you mean?”
He dropped his hands and took a step back. “This might sound crazy, but you can live with me.”
Crazy? Of all the absurd suggestions, this one had to top the list. “I don’t think so, Dr. Madrid.”
“It’s Rio, and let me clarify what I mean. I have an older restored house in a well-established neighborhood. There’s a nice room in the third-floor attic. It’s pretty big, and comfortable, with a private bath. The lady I bought the house from kept it as her reading room. You’d be comfortable there. And safe.”
No matter how tempting the thought, she wouldn’t feel safe—at least from an emotional standpoint—living in the same house with Rio Madrid, even if the place were