But when she looked into his eyes, the rich swirls of a bitter chocolate that had once danced with laughter—so long ago she thought she might have made it up—she didn’t see happiness. She didn’t see victory. She saw the same frustrated need that she felt.
‘Not at all,cara,’ he said, finally answering her question.
Frantic energy sparked and hissed in the air between them as they edged closer and closer to a line that had been drawn between them years before. As if they both knew that once they crossed it, there would be no going back. And there would be no going forward either.
But she couldn’t take it any more. She couldn’t live like this—in this half-life, stuck in the middle of what had been and what could never be.
‘You understand? What you’re doing?’ she asked, lips trembling, from desire or fear she didn’t know. Not fear ofhim. No matter what had passed between them, no matter how angry they had been with each other, she had neverfearedhim.
But he was pushing them. Though, she had—she admitted to herself—started it by coming here. Perhaps she’d known that all along. Perhaps, in fact, that was what had brought her here. The truth of what had brought her here. Maybe all along she’d hoped that he would push her, that she would rile him enough to finally call her on it, in a way he’d never have dared to do while her grandfather was alive.
‘Do you?’ he asked her in return.
She nodded.
‘I need to hear it,mi amor.’
The affectionate endearment made her want to growl, anger heating her cheeks with a flush, her antagonistic response enflaming his own.
‘Yes,’ she bit out from between clenched teeth.
‘Undo your shirt,’ he commanded, his voice guttural, the jump from hypothetical to real, tohappening, lightning fast, dumping adrenaline and dopamine into her system, landing in the pulse points across her body.
He stepped back from her as if giving her space to do his bidding, his eyes heated and heavy on her body, waiting, impatient for her to reveal herself to him. His voyeurism spiked her pulse as she fought the natural inclination to refuse, to deny him. But to deny him would be to deny herself, and to deny the truth of what they had just agreed on. Because he was right. She did want this. She wanted this more than anything else in the world right now.
With one hand, she undid the button of the oyster silk shirt between her breasts. Micha’s eyes were glued to every single move she made, making her feel the lie. Making her feel like she was precious to him, wanted beyond reason. The latter, she could just about believe.
She thought she might have rebelled under his scrutiny, but instead, shedelightedin it. One by one, she freed the buttons, the heavy silk material slipping open, revealing skin barely covered only by the thin lace of the ivory basque she’d worn.
Her breasts felt heavy, aching from where his gaze lingered, desperate for his touch, but he didn’t move an inch. Was he holding himself back or was he that impervious to her?
No.He couldn’t be. Everything in her roared in denial and the sudden need for proof that he wasn’t.
She rolled her shoulders back, the loose silk that had been barely hanging on top of her body finally falling down her arms, pooling at her wrists. Not satisfied by the flush on the cut of his cheekbones, her fingers went to release the button of her trousers, before stepping out of them and shaking the shirt free.
Her pulse raced, her heart thudding in her chest as she stood there in her Louboutins and basque, needing him to react, needing to push him, just so that she could feel him push back. In the reflection of the glass behind Micha, she caught a glimpse of herself, standing there—proud, powerful and determined.
And more aroused than she had ever been in herlife.
Oh god, she needed him to ease this want in her. She couldn’t bear it any more. But if this was his plan…to get her to undress, and to not follow through, she might never recover. The thought needled into her brain, getting stuck, but just when she might have buckled under the fear of it, he moved.
He closed the distance between them in a blink of an eye. His lips took hers—there was no other way to describe it—took them, possessed them. His tongue plunged deep, filling her mouth, tangling with her own, and it wasmagnificent.
He swallowed her pleasure-drenched gasp, as his hands grasped her shoulders and drew her powerfully against him. With just the basque and his shirt, there was nothing to stop her from feeling the contours of his chest, of the muscles he hid beneath well-cut suits and layers of false sophistication.
Moans turned into whimpers and she was all but begging by the time he had finished the kiss.
‘What is it you want, Maria? Tell me.’
‘You,’ she confessed.
And his hands roamed from her shoulders. One to her breast and one shockingly, over her backside, his palm caressing the curve of one cheek, fingers grabbing at her flesh. Damp wet heat pooled between her thighs and she bit her lip to stop the pleading, begging words that would have fallen if they’d been allowed.
She looked to him and saw one brow raised in knowing, knowing what she wanted and what she wouldn’t admit to.
He shaped her thigh with the palm of his hand and hooked her leg over his hip, pressing her back against the wall and inserting himself between her legs in a way that left no further room for doubt. She bit her lip and moaned when she felt the ridge of his arousal at the juncture of her thighs, unable to regret the slip when he pushed against her, rubbing the aching bundle of nerves until she was shivering with want.
Maria’s gasp was the most erotic thing Micha Rufina had ever heard and he couldn’t hold himself back any more. He slipped a hand between them, his hand covering her core, the heel of his palm pressing against her clitoris in slow lazy circles that were the direct opposite of the way his pulse was raging beyond his control.
