‘Say it,’ he insisted.
‘Okay.’ Whatever. Whatever he wanted to hear. She needed him inside her. Now. She held his gaze. ‘No regrets.’
The words had barely left her lips and he was poised for entry, braced above her, his hot tip pressed against her opening. She knew she was slick, ready to take him, yet still that first powerful thrust had her gasping aloud. She reached up and curled her fingers into his rippling shoulders. When it seemed he’d filled every inch of her he pulled out, the movement slow, torturous, then slid back in, setting a rhythm that started to build once more into that hot, sweet pressure deep inside her pelvis.
She closed her eyes, tipped her head back, let the feel of him, the scent of him, overtake her senses. For so long she’d gone without luxuries, denied herself pleasures, but tonight she would not deprive herself. Tonight she would indulge. Tonight she would take everything Leo wanted to give her and more. And tomorrow—or the next day, or the next—she would deal with the consequences.
‘No regrets...’ she whispered, and she moved her hips, matched his rhythm, urged him on faster and harder, until she flew apart a second time and Leo threw his head back and roared.
* * *
Leo kicked the sheets off his body, stared at the ceiling and listened to the sound of running water through the closed bathroom door.
After a long night of incredible sex he should be lying here feeling sated and spent. Instead he wanted more. More of the woman he was right now picturing in the shower, her long limbs and lush curves all soft and slippery and wet. His body stirred and yet as much as he ached to join her under the water, hoist her against the marble tiles and lose himself once more in her velvety heat, he needed to employ some restraint. Needed to bank his lust and make sure his head—the one on his shoulders, at least—was still on straight.
Anyway, she’d be too sore to take him a fourth time, and he already felt caddish on that front. Not that he hadn’t tried to be the gentleman when, in the faint light of dawn, she’d winced as he’d entered her and clung to him when he’d tried to withdraw. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her—had told her as much—but she’d wrapped her endless legs around him, sunk her fingernails into his buttocks and pulled him in deep, driving all thoughts of chivalry straight out of his head.
He expelled a breath, aimed another kick at the sheets.
Did her soreness mean she hadn’t been sexually active for a while? In London she’d alluded to a boyfriend but he’d seen through that lie and he couldn’t believe she’d be here now if she were in a relationship.
He scrubbed a hand over his bristled jaw.
Seven years ago he had taken her virginity, and though he’d been furious with her afterwards for not warning him, secretly he’d been flattered, his ego pumped by the fact she’d chosen him to be her first lover. In a primitive and yet deeply satisfying way he’d stamped his mark on her, and for the first time in his life he’d known the powerful pull of possessiveness—the fierce, unsettling desire to know that a woman was exclusively his.
He craned his head off the pillow and glared at the bathroom door. How many lovers had she taken since? One or two? A handful? Too many to keep count? A dark curiosity snaked through him. He should have given Nico a broader remit. Should have told him to look beyond her finances and living arrangements and dig a little deeper into her personal life: her friendships, her relationships. Her lovers.
He dropped his head back down and scowled.
Dio. What was wrong with him? Her liaisons with other men were no concern of his. Last night they’d indulged their mutual desire for one another—nothing more. A few hours of mind-blowing sex didn’t change their past, and it sure as hell wouldn’t change their future.
He swung off the bed, scooped his clothes off the floor and fired another look at the bathroom door. Either she’d managed to drown herself in three millimetres of water or she was taking her sweet time, hoping he’d give up waiting and leave.
Did she already regret their lovemaking?
The possibility turned his stomach to lead. He’d seen regret and something too much like pity in her eyes once before, the night she’d ended their relationship. He’d vowed he’d never let a woman look at him like that again.
As if he was a mistake she wanted to undo.
Naked, his chest tight, his shoes and clothes bunched in his fists, Leo turned on his heel and strode from the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HELENA FLICKED A speck of lint off her black trousers and cast a sideways look at Leo. ‘Lunch was nice,’ she ventured, adjusting the car’s seatbelt over her blouse. ‘The hotel gardens were beautiful.’
His gaze remained on the road. ‘Si.’
Silence fell. She waited a moment. ‘Anna was conspicuous by her absence, don’t you think?’
He spared her a fleeting glance. ‘Si.’
‘I didn’t expect her mother to be so pleasant. We had a lovely chat over dessert. Do you know Maria well?’
‘No.’
Helena sighed. Excellent. Three monosyllabic answers in a row. She sank down in her seat. This was not the man who’d sat by her side at the long luncheon table in the sun-drenched gardens of the Hotel de Russie. That man had been charming and attentive, playing the role of affectionate lover with such consummate ease she had, for a time, confused pretence with reality. Had actually indulged the notion their lovemaking might have meant something more to him than just a convenient lust-quenching tryst.
A wave of melancholy threatened but she fought it back.