Olivia Gates - Best of Desire

“Don’t worry about me.” He leaned back on his elbows, white shirt stretching open at the collar to reveal the strong column of his neck. “I always look out for myself.”

“Then what are you gaining?”

“More time with you, at least until the restraining order is in place.” The heat of his eyes broadcast his intent just before he reached for her. “I’ve always been clear about how much I want to be with you, even on that first date when you wouldn’t kiss me good-night.”

“Is that why you chased me? Because I said no?”

“But you didn’t keep saying no and still, here I am turned on as hell by the sound of your voice.” He plucked her glasses off, set them aside and cradled her face in his palms. “The feel of your skin.”

While he owned an empire with corporate offices that took up a bayside block, his skin still carried the calluses of the dockworker and sailor he’d been during his early adulthood. He was a man who certainly knew how to work with his hands. The rasp as he lightly caressed her cheekbones reminded her of the sweet abrasion when he explored farther.

He combed through along her scalp, strands slithering across his fingers. “The feel of your hair.”

A moan slipped past her lips along with his name, “Tony…”

“Antonio,” he reminded her. “I want to hear you say my name, know who’s here with you.”

And in this moment, in his eyes, he was that foreign prince, less accessible than her Tony, but no less exciting and infinitely as irresistible, so she whispered, “Antonio.”

His touch was gentle, his mouth firm against hers. She parted her lips under his and invited in the familiar sweep, taste and pure sensation. Clutching his elbows, she swayed, her breasts tingling, pulling tight. Before she could think or stop herself, she brushed slightly from side to side, increasing the sweet pleasure of his hard chest teasing her. His hard thigh between her legs.

She stepped backward.

And tugged him with her.

Toward the open French doors leading into her bedroom, her body overriding her brain as it always seemed to do around Tony. She squeezed her legs together tighter against the firm pressure of his muscled thigh, so close, too close. She wanted, needed to feel him move inside her first.

Sinking her fingernails deeper, she ached to ask him to stay with her, to help her forget the worries waiting at home. “Antonio—”

“I know.” He eased his mouth from hers, his chin scraping along her jaw as he nuzzled her hair and inhaled. “We need to stop.”

Stop? She almost shrieked in frustration. “But I thought… I mean, you’re here and usually when we let things go this far, we finish.”

“You’re ready to resume our affair?”

Affair. Not just one night, one satisfaction, but a relationship with implications and complications. Her brain raced to catch up after being put on idle while her body took over. God, what had she almost done? A few kisses along with a well-placed thigh, and she was ready to throw herself back in his bed.

Planting her hands on his chest, she stepped away. “I can’t deny that I miss you and I want you, but I have no desire to be labeled a Medina mistress.”

His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “Are you saying you want to get married?”

Six

“Married?” Shannon choked on the word, her eyes so wide with shock Tony was almost insulted. “No! No, definitely not.”

Her instant and emphatic denial left zero room for doubt. She wasn’t expecting a proposal. Good thing, since that hadn’t crossed his mind. Until now.

Was he willing to go that far to protect her?

She turned away fast, her hands raised as she raced back into the sitting area. “Tony—Antonio—I can’t talk to you, look at you, risk kissing you again. I need to go to bed. To sleep. Alone.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“To end this craziness. To stop thinking about you all the time.”

All the time?

He homed in on her words, an obvious slip on her part because while she’d been receptive and enthusiastic in bed, she’d given him precious little encouragement once they had their clothes back on again. Their fight over his simple offer of money still stung. Why did she have to reject his attempt to help?

She paced, restlessly lining up her shoes beside the sofa, scooping Kolby’s tiny train from a table, lingering to rearrange the blue flowers. “You’ve said you feel the same. Who the hell wants to be consumed by this kind of ache all the time? It’s damned inconvenient, especially when it can’t lead anywhere. It’s not like you were looking for marriage.”

“That wasn’t my intention when we started seeing each other.” Yet somehow the thought had popped into his head out there on the patio. Sure, it had shocked the crap out of him at first. Still left him reeling. Although not so much that he was willing to reject the idea outright. “But since you’ve brought it up—”

Her hands shot up in front of her, between them. “Uh-uh, no sirree. You were the one to mention the M word.”

“Fine, then. The marriage issue is out there, on the table for discussion. Let’s talk it through.”

She stopped cold. “This isn’t some kind of business merger. We’re talking about our lives here, and not just ours. I don’t have the luxury of making another mistake. I already screwed up once before, big time. My son’s well-being depends on my decisions.”

“And I’m a bad choice because?”

“Do not play with my feelings. Damn it, Tony.” She jabbed him in the chest with one finger. “You know I’m attracted to you. If you keep this up, I’ll probably cave and we’ll have sex. We probably would have on the plane if the steward and my son hadn’t been around. But I would have been sorry the minute the orgasm chilled and is that really how you want it to be between us? To have me waking up regretting it every time?”

With images of the two of them joining the mile-high club fast-tracking from his brain to his groin, he seriously considered saying to hell with regrets. Let this insanity between them play out, wherever it took them.

Her bed was only a few steps away, offering a clear and tempting place to sink inside her. He would sweep away her clothes and the covers— His gaze hooked on the afghan draped along the end corner of the mattress.

Damn. Who had put that there? Could his father be deliberately jabbing him with reminders of their life as a family in hopes of drawing him back into the fold? Of course Enrique would, manipulative old cuss that he was.

That familiar silver blanket sucker punched him back to reality. He would recognize the one-of-a-kind afghan anywhere. His mother had knitted it for him just before she’d been killed, and he’d kept it with him like a shield during the whole hellish escape from San Rinaldo. Good God, he shouldn’t have had to ask her why he was a bad choice. He knew the reason well.

Tony stumbled back, away from the memories and away from this woman who saw too much with her perceptive gray-blue eyes.

“You’re right, Shannon. We’re both too exhausted to make any more decisions today. Sleep well.” His voice as raw as his memory-riddled gut, he left.

* * *

Dazed, Shannon stood in the middle of the sitting room wondering what the hell had just happened.

One second she’d been ready to climb back into Tony’s arms and bed, the next they’d been talking about marriage. And didn’t that still stun her numb with thoughts of how horribly things had ended with Nolan?

But only seconds after bringing up the marriage issue, Tony had emotionally checked out on her again. At least he’d prevented them from making a mistake. It was a mistake, right?