Reclaimed by the Tycoon - Chapter 6

Every fibre of his being was warning him off this. Warning him to lie, or at least not answer directly. His sham of a marriage had been a shield between them once before, and he felt the need to keep wielding it.

But Isabella was wrong about him. He wasn’t a liar. Nor was he a coward. He wouldn’t hide behind Charlotte and the visage of their marriage now. Perhaps to prove to himself that he was stronger than the desire that had once ravaged him, he braced himself and said, ‘No, Isabella. I’m not.’

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes were instantly hooded, shielding her thoughts. He hated that. He caught her chin with his forefinger and lifted it, angling her face towards his. The air between them sparked with the force of their attraction, and all the things they were both determined not to say.

‘You’re wrong about me,’ she said, her voice low and throaty, her eyes dropping to his lips, so he felt heat brushing over them. ‘I would never have slept with you if I’d known about her. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have wanted to, but…’

He didn’t want to hear anymore. He didn’t want to be out on this limb alone. The fact that he and Charlotte had technically been separated, that they knew their divorce was imminent, didn’t change the fact that he’d done the wrong thing by Isabella. He’d had no idea, when it had started, how serious it was going to become. How much they’d need each other. How much she’d become a part of his soul, that he’d crave her as he craved life itself.

He didn’t want to hear anymore, to feel anymore guilt, and so he kissed her again, to silence her, to apologise to her, to remind them both that there was something so much greater at play here.

Even when he was just as scared of the power she wielded over him, he refused to let this one chance go. Her kiss was fire and flame, and her arms around his neck were demanding, wanting more, needing him, so he moved his hand beneath her shirt, finding her breast, curving his palm over the achingly familiar roundness, feeling the weight of it in his hand, impatiently dragging the lace of her bra down, to expose the bare flesh to his touch.

It was everything, and nowhere near enough. He shoved her shirt up higher, exposing her to his eyes, his hungry gaze devouring her before he dropped his head and took a nipple in his mouth, pressing it with his teeth, rolling her sensitive flesh with his tongue until she was moaning in a way he was so familiar with.

Her fingers scored marks down his back; even through his suit jacket and shirt he felt the force of her need—he understood it, because the same feelings were rioting through him.

‘Damn you, Salvador, I hate you so much,’ she said, and he was glad to hear it. Hatred was just as good a shield now as a faux marriage had been then.

Hatred would protect them both from the strength of this. Because if he let himself tumble headlong into another relationship with Isabella, he had no idea if he’d ever be strong enough to walk away again. The thought of what that meant almost made him want to pull back from her now. Because caring for someone like Isabella, really letting her into his life, would make him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been since he was young. It would make him vulnerable in a way he’d promised himself he never would be again.

‘Good. Keep hating me,’ he ground out. ‘But understand this, Isabella. We are not finished. For one more night, you will be mine. And then, we’re done.’

Her lips parted on a quick rush of air, and her big green eyes stared up at him, as he moved his hand back to her breast and brushed over the nipple, before letting it run lower, down her flat stomach, towards the waistband of her skirt.

‘Promise me,’ he challenged, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric, brushing the softness of her underwear, before finding the warmth of her sex.

She cried out at his touch, and his cock hardened against the seam of his trousers, in a way that was perfectly painful.

‘I—don’t know what you’re saying,’ she moaned, as he found her clit and ran his fingers over it slowly, taunting her, teasing her, because there was nothing he liked more than when Isabella begged for him.

‘Isn’t it obvious, carina? I’m saying I want to take you to bed, one last time. We never did get a proper goodbye, did we?’

She shook her head, evidently unable to speak. Good. He liked that he could still do that to her.

‘Tell me you want me to fuck you,’ he ground out, sliding a finger inside her wet core, feeling her muscles squeezing him, acknowledging the truth of his statement before she could voice it.

‘I want—’ she moaned, tilting her head back.

He pushed another finger inside, moved them around, until she was panting with need. He was so tempted to take her now, but given her ankle, and the confines of the car, it would be far from the long, slow, satisfying experience he wanted.

‘I hate you,’ she said again, and he wondered if she knew that instead of upsetting him, her repeated insistence on that score set him free.

‘Good,’ he pulled out of her and found her clit again, moving fast now. If he couldn’t make love to her here, he would at least have the pleasure of seeing her fall apart and knowing it was all because of him. As he brushed her most sensitive cluster of nerves, he brought his mouth back to her breast, and sucked on her nipple hard, until she was writhing and twisting on the backseat, almost bucking out of his hand because she was such a live wire.

‘Cristo, Salvador,’ she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulder as she exploded against him, her breath coming fast, her cries coming faster. ‘That feels so good. I don’t ever want it to stop.’

The words struck a strange fear into his heart. Enough to break the spell of what they’d just done.

He pulled his head up and removed his hand, setting about straightening her clothes. His voice was grim, even to his own ears, when he spoke. ‘One night. And afterwards, this stops, once and for all.’ And then, as if to seal that, like a contract, he kissed her sweet, pink mouth.