One Night in Buenos Aires: The Vásquez Mistress

‘You’re being shocking on purpose.’

‘I’m being honest,’ he said harshly. ‘Because I thought that was what you wanted. Maybe now you’d like to rethink that particular demand, given that the truth of what is on a man’s mind is so rarely what a woman wants to hear.’

Shaken to the core by the savagery in his voice, Faith backed towards the door. ‘I’ll—I’d better leave you alone. I’ll see you later.’

‘You certainly will and by then I will have addressed the issue of contraception so you can knock that particular excuse off your list.’ He gave a humourless laugh and opened the bathroom door. ‘In the meantime, we have guests for dinner. They arrive in two hours, and in order to concentrate on business I have to not be thinking about sex all the time. So this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to delve into that expensive wardrobe of yours and find something that covers you from head to toe. I want nothing showing.’

‘Raul—’

‘If necessary, sew two things together. Wear a coat! But I don’t want to see cleavage or leg or so help me, Faith, I’ll show you in public just how important sex is to me.’ And with that rejoinder he strode into the sanctuary of the enormous bathroom and slammed the door firmly shut behind him.

Dios, she was driving him wild.

In the fierce grip of dark, primitive sexual need, Raul slammed the palm of his hand against the shower controls and sent fierce jets of freezing water cascading over his tense, throbbing body.

He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched, his teeth locked as he tried to let go of the tension. Every muscle in his body was pumped up and hard, the hormones coursing round his blood like a dangerous drug.

Litres of cold water sluiced over his heated, throbbing flesh and he stood there with grim determination until he finally acknowledged that he would develop pneumonia long before the desperate need in him died.

Unaccustomed to feeling sexual frustration, Raul leaned both hands against the wall and breathed deeply, trying to use his brain to calm the overwhelming need that tortured his body.

He hadn’t intended to touch her like that; not then. What had happened to him? He, who prided himself on his control. He had more finesse than to indulge in mindless, animal sex and yet the facts spoke for themselves. The moment they’d been alone he’d had her up against the wall, his hand on her flesh …

He was behaving like a man possessed and he didn’t know what had angered him most: the fact that she’d stopped him or the fact that he’d been so crazy for her that he hadn’t given a single thought to anything except the immediate satisfaction of being inside her.

Not even the subject of contraception.

Never, with any other woman, would he have forgotten contraception. It had been his mission, the single overriding fact that had governed the way he lived his life.

But with Faith …

Resigning himself to the fact that cold water was not going to cure his current affliction, he turned off the shower with another forceful punch of his hand and reached for a towel from the pile.

It didn’t matter what she did, how she behaved, he wanted her more than any woman he’d ever met.

Acknowledging that fact with a growl of frustration, Raul wrapped the towel around his hips.

Marriage.

He’d avoided that institution all his life and yet somehow here he was, married.

And what had been a mutually satisfying relationship had been transformed into an emotional minefield that no sane man would attempt to negotiate.

He only had to think of her and the desire leapt inside him like a wild animal hunting its prey.

So now what? He mocked himself with the question. It was obvious that, like all women, she wanted him to talk. And given the look on her face when he’d given her a small taste of what was on his mind, he knew that if she really had access to his thoughts, their marriage would be over in a flash.

So perhaps now she’d learned her lesson and wouldn’t risk asking him for his thoughts again, he thought grimly.

And he probably ought to do his bit for the relationship and prove that it wasn’t all about sex. And that shouldn’t be too hard. He might not believe in love, but he did enjoy the sparky, intellectual side of their relationship. He appreciated the fact that she was intelligent enough to challenge him in conversation. He was quite prepared to discuss the stock market, polo or any other subject that interested her.

In fact he was quite prepared to be thoughtful and caring, just as long as thoughtful and caring didn’t involve an exchange of thoughts and feelings.

As long as they steered clear of that, their marriage should be fine.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FAITH stared at herself in the mirror, barely seeing her reflection.

What was she doing here? How had she reached this point?

She was an intelligent woman who could have been absorbed in her career, instead of which she was living at the whim of an extremely volatile billionaire, wondering whether she was wearing the right dress.

Impatient with herself, she turned sideways and took another look, wondering whether to go back and change into something different. Still on edge after their previous encounter, she had no idea how to handle Raul in his current mood.

They had entirely different ideas about marriage, she thought helplessly. About life.

For him, blistering sex was apparently enough. Was that just his macho, South American genes coming into play?

Still shaken by the explosion of passion that had consumed both of them, Faith lifted a hand to her lips, still tasting the lick of his tongue and the heat of his kiss.

He’d been out of control. Seriously out of control.

And so had she.

What had happened to her brain? What had happened to her ability to think clearly and logically?

Stopping had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, even harder than walking away from him because at the time, that had seemed the right thing to do.

And now? Did it seem right now?

She didn’t know.

All she knew was that her body was buzzing and desire was racing round it like a dangerous drug.

With a groan of disbelief, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to dispel the erotic images in her head. She had to stop him thinking about sex. And she had to stop thinking about sex. So, with that objective in mind, she’d been perfectly happy to comply with his command that she wear something discreet.

In the wardrobe he’d provided for her, she’d found a simple black dress that fell from a high neckline to the floor in a single sweep of soft fabric. She had no idea if it was too dressy for the evening ahead because he hadn’t elaborated on what was expected of her. All she knew was that when she looked in the mirror, not one single part of her was on display except her arms.

Satisfied that she’d fulfilled his request, she walked into the living room on shaking legs. She was standing by the door looking across the beach, her stomach knotted in a turmoil of anticipation when she heard him enter the room.

Making sure that her defences were firmly in place, she took a slow breath and turned.

As always he exuded effortless style, his trousers superbly tailored to make the most of his physique, his jacket moulded to his wide shoulders. Tall, athletic and impossibly handsome, he looked every inch the wealthy and successful tycoon and the hint of arrogance in his bearing made her smile.

‘I’m sure the other guy, whoever he is, will just give up on the spot when he sees you.’ Her eyes slid over him. ‘You look scary and intimidating when you dress for business, do you know that?’

‘Appearance matters.’