Anne Mather - The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child

‘Querida…’ The word slipped helplessly from Alejandro’s lips, his hand finding the nape of her neck and turning her face up to his. ‘Do not—do not tell me you do not want me to kiss you. I think you want this just as much as I do.’

And then his mouth was fastened to hers, sucking all the breath from her body. Her lips parted beneath his, his fingers plunging into her hair. Desire, hot and electrifying, assaulted her senses. It was like a flame, licking along her veins, his tongue forcing its way between her teeth to possess the moist cavern of her mouth.

Alejandro’s senses swam. This was not meant to happen, he told himself, yet the smell, the feel and the taste of her caused him to gather her even closer into his arms.

One hand traced the contours of her spine, cupping her bottom and lifting her against him. She couldn’t fail to recognise what was happening. Almost without his own volition, he had surrendered to a need greater than his will.

And then the doorbell rang…

‘Cristo!’ Alejandro swore angrily, burying his face in the moist hollow of her throat, his overnight stubble abrading her skin. ‘Do not move,’ he groaned, uncaring of the reprieve this was offering him. ‘Por favor, Isobella, do not answer the door.’

‘I must.’

Isobel had already slid away from him, tugging down the hem of her tee-shirt, lifting a trembling hand to push back the tumbled mass of her hair. Her voice was shaky, but it was determined. Like it or not, she was going to open the door.

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