Cinderella's Christmas Secret - Sharon Kendrick Page 0,16

mind. ‘And this is the best feeling in the world. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Yes.’ There was a short silence while she fought and lost the battle to let the subject go. ‘But you’ve felt it before, I suppose? Probably lots of times.’

He didn’t deny it. ‘Of course. But not for a while.’

She wanted to ask, but Hollie told herself it was none of her business. That his answers might not be what she wanted to hear. And when she didn’t say anything—which seemed to surprise him—he moved closer. So close that at the points where their bodies connected, she could feel goosebumps icing her skin.

‘So why don’t we enjoy what we have? Just for tonight,’ he added softly. ‘I could send my chauffeur home and we could enjoy a little more uncomplicated pleasure. I could show you many different ways to achieve orgasm. We could explore and enjoy each other’s bodies, because yours is...’

Hollie felt a feeling of power as his finger drifted down over her sternum, to lie possessively on the soft flesh of her belly. ‘Mine is what?’ she questioned breathlessly, as if she had conversations about the nature of desire every day of the week.

‘Esta magnifica. So soft, so womanly, so full,’ he husked, beginning to knead her flesh with his fingers and making her want to moan with delight. ‘I want to be inside you again. Deep inside you. As many times as I can. Do you want that, too?’

Of course she did and she nodded eagerly. Who wouldn’t want it? But his husky question came with a coded warning. Just for tonight, he had emphasised. Which meant she mustn’t expect anything more. His words weren’t the stuff of dreams or fairy tales, but that didn’t mean she had to shoot them down in flames. At least he was being honest with her. At least he wasn’t playing games and messing with her head, which meant something to a person who had been brought up to believe that men were nothing but inveterate liars. And now he was reaching down for his discarded trousers and sliding his phone from the pocket to have a rapid conversation in Spanish, presumably with his chauffeur, laughing briefly before hanging up. What was he laughing about? she wondered. But suddenly her slight paranoia was forgotten because he was pulling another condom from his wallet and in that moment Hollie felt properly grown-up for the first time in her life.

She was having sex! The amazing Spaniard had already given her, not one, but two orgasms—and he was planning on giving her some more! Christmas really had come early!

She settled back against the pillows, anticipation shivering her skin as he began to stroke her, with that look of dark intent on his face which made her melt inside. And then he ruined it all, as he brushed his lips over hers.

‘Do you realise,’ he mused, his hand reaching comfortably for her breast, ‘that I don’t even know your name?’

CHAPTER FOUR

HOLLIE’S MOUTH DRIED as she waited. She was trembling. Of course, she was trembling. Who wouldn’t be in her situation?

She closed her eyes, uttering some kind of wordless prayer, but when her lids fluttered open, her wish had not been granted. Nothing had changed. She was still staring through the window of her tiny cottage at the dark night outside and the Christmas lights in the window of the house opposite. She was still exactly the same woman she’d been seconds ago.

She swallowed.

Pregnant.

Pregnant with the Spanish tycoon’s baby.

Her heart pounding, she knew she couldn’t keep putting off the inevitable. She needed to tell Maximo and the longer it went on, the harder it seemed to be.

She was still finding it hard to get her head around what she’d done. After a lifetime of being a virgin, she’d fallen into bed with a man who was practically a stranger. She couldn’t have found a more unsuitable man to be her first lover, if she’d tried. An international playboy who had seemed all too eager to put distance between them once their brief encounter was over.

The night had not ended on a particularly good note. She’d hoped he might stay on for a while next morning. She’d thought about making him pancakes for breakfast, with honey or cheese. Or an omelette, maybe—because didn’t the Spanish use a lot of eggs in their cooking? Perhaps she’d been secretly hoping to impress him with her undoubted skill at all things cuisine—the way to a man’s heart and all