Filthy Rich Revenge: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book - Lynn Raye Harris Page 0,23

someone in her life. Was it asking too much to want what so many other people had?

What Alejandro had once had with his wife and baby girl?

But no, it was an illusion. Everything with him was an illusion, and she wouldn’t allow herself to believe it ever again.

But he’s hurting, Becca. He lost a precious child and he’s so very different because of it. He needs you.

She gritted her teeth against the onslaught. No.

“I can’t do it,” she said, as much to convince herself as him. “I don’t want to.”

It was a lie, though she prayed he wouldn’t hear it in her voice.

Alejandro turned her in his arms, pressed her against the side of the pool. The water was over her head and she had no choice but to cling to him. His dark head dipped down, his lips ghosting over her cheek, touching the shell of her ear.

“You want me, querida. You cannot deny this.”

“I don’t,” she said desperately.

“Not even for your precious hotel?”

She started to shake her head, realized her mistake when her mouth grazed his jaw. He turned, his lips capturing hers. She moaned—but was it protest or acquiescence? Her head fell back and her mouth opened beneath his. Whatever the reason, he took advantage of the lapse to tangle his tongue with hers. Wild, hot, sucking—their mouths devoured each other. Flame licked up her belly, blossomed between her thighs.

How could she possibly want this man after all he’d done?

But his loneliness called out to the loneliness inside her, tempted her in spite of her best intentions.

His hands slid down her buttocks, over her thighs, lifted them until she wrapped her legs around his waist, the hard length of him pressing against her center. Her body remembered all too well how wonderful sex had been between them. He’d left his impression on every nerve, every cell. Five years had not been enough to erase it.

Even as she shuddered, part of her brain remained lucid, sent the message to drop her legs, to end this before it went too far. He lifted them again, urging her to open to him. He gave her no chance to refuse as his thumb glided between her thighs, found the hot, wet center of her.

Rebecca gasped. It’d been so long…

Alejandro pulled back, gazed down at her with an expression that contained both surprise and confusion, as if he too were a little rattled by how quickly the situation was spiraling out of control.

“You are so hot for me. Like a flash fire. I want to burn myself in you.”

Something inside her was breaking. Breaking all her control and shattering her best intentions. She had to find her balance, had to resist the siren pull of him on her soul and her body before it was too late.

Panic set in, demanded she slow this thing between them before she was completely lost, before she gave in and did exactly what she knew she shouldn’t do.

Before she lost herself.

She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “La Belle Amelie.”

Alejandro’s expression froze. A second later, his smile turned cold. “Yes, of course. Ask me about your hotel.”

He didn’t stop touching her, didn’t give her a chance to react before he slipped a finger inside her, stroked her hot, wet walls. Sensation spun her higher, rocketed her toward the peak.

But Alejandro’s heart was no longer in it. She could see the disconnect in his expression. Icy anger had been replaced by cool neutrality. He was completely unaffected while she was close to a meltdown.

Why had she mentioned the hotel? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Stop,” she said, fighting her body’s reaction. Fighting him.

“Are you certain?” His thumb moved faster against her sensitive flesh, sent pleasure spiking.

“Yes, stop,” she gasped.

Too late. A wave of sensation crashed over her neglected senses, hurtling her into forgotten pleasure. Her body left her brain behind as she quivered and moaned in his arms.

Alejandro didn’t stop touching her, kept the pleasure spiking and cresting. His mouth touched hers. Softly, sweetly, completely at odds with the look he’d given her when she’d mentioned the hotel.

“Alejandro,” she gasped when he nuzzled her ear, whispering something in Spanish. She had to explain, had to make him understand. “About the hotel—”

She felt him stiffen.

“Sí, the hotel,” he said, pushing away from her suddenly. Water dripped from his tanned skin, glistened over the molded perfection of his lips. Every line of his face was set in a hard angle as he glared at her. “Would you care to ask