Viv nudged her, wearing a big grin. “I was going to make a play for him myself, if you didn’t get your head screwed on right.”
Rosa rubbed the spot between her brows. “How long have you known?”
“Weeks. You’re not so good at the intrigue, and in the mornings, you walk around smiling. Though not lately.”
Yeah, not lately.
As the older woman went off to refill glasses, Rosa summoned the courage to meet Chris’s gaze. She might punch him in his battered, beautiful face if he gloated. She hadn’t been ready to make that confession, instead had been forced into it. Yet he wasn’t responsible for forcing her hand, and that was the only thing that kept Rosa from losing her temper. She didn’t like being cornered.
Only anger echoed in his tawny green eyes, though whether for her or Falco, she wasn’t sure. He turned and stalked out.
Some smart-ass yelled, “Go get him, Rosa!”
That sounded like a good idea. Clearly they had some talking to do. She followed him out—and watched in astonishment as he strode toward her house. No invitation. He walked in as if he owned the place. She crossed the street at a slow jog.
Rosa found him waiting in the kitchen, a trickle of dried blood on his jaw. Other bruises were forming, but unquestionably Falco had gotten the worst of the exchange. She couldn’t help a flicker of pride. Chris had proven himself the toughest bastard in town. They all had to be thinking that was why she chose to sleep with him.
“You got what you wanted,” she said. “It’s all in the open now.”
“You don’t think I—”
“No, I know you didn’t.”
Chris took a step toward her, his knuckles cut and bruised, and touched the side of her face. “I missed you.”
Not enough to relax your conditions
.
But it didn’t seem like the time for complaints. Besides, she’d missed him too. So she nodded and he leaned in close. It felt strange in her home, where no man had ever touched her. But it was right. Being with Chris was right. She stretched up and twined her arms around his neck, kissing him for long, lovely moments. Her pulse kicked up a notch, her body aching for his.
“Let me get some water and clean you up.”
He shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”
“Don’t argue with me. Shirt off. You’re not getting in my bed unless you’re clean.”
Perhaps the implied invitation shut him up. She filled a basin, got a cloth, and went to work. He hissed at the first touch, then settled in to watch her trace his body. Trickles of water rolled over tanned skin. His muscles tensed beneath her hands, responding to every little touch. Soon she was thinking not of tending his wounds, but of his reaction.
“Tell me this is foreplay,” he gritted out. “Because it’s been a long damn time and you’re driving me crazy.”
She offered a half smile. “Does it feel good?”
“God, yes.”
“Pants off too, please.”
“Right here? In the kitchen?”
“That might be a little shocking in your current state. Come, then.” Rosa didn’t wait to see if he’d follow. She carried the basin and cloth into the bedroom. “Is this better?”
“Much.” Chris stripped out of his trousers as she’d asked. He was already fiercely aroused, trembling with it. Some of that might be adrenaline left over from the fight, but not all of it. He desired her with absolute ferocity.
“Lie down.”
He complied with an alacrity that told her he was truly desperate, and that lightened her heart as few things could. The distance between them had hurt him too. Their forced separation hadn’t just been some game to increase his status.
Quickly she finished washing his wounds and retrieved the ointment for his bruises. With great tenderness, Rosa anointed each darkening patch of skin, and again he watched her every move, hazel eyes dark with hunger. When Chris was as well tended as she could manage, she took the basin away. She returned with fresh water and a new cloth.
He groaned a little. “You’re going to tease me to death.”
“That’s not my intention.” Without explaining, she reached between his thighs for the delicious, straining erection and took great pains to wash him clean. He arched and moaned, lifting so she could do the job properly.
“What’re you doing to me, Rosita?”
“I’ve never done this for pleasure before,” she said softly. “I wanted to make sure you would taste as . . . pleasant as possible.”
“Taste,” he repeated, falling back onto her buckwheat hull pillows.
He made a beautiful contrast to her paler sheets, lying there with a stunned expression. Smiling, still fully clothed, she settled between his thighs. There was power in having a strong man laid out for her pleasure, open to anything she chose to do.
That gave her the courage to whisper, “Bend your knees for me.”
He complied and she curled her fingers around his cock, giving a little squeeze. The throb thrilled her. Chris propped up on his elbows, his face gone dreamy with lust. Rosa slid her cheek against the hot, rigid length until he moaned. Her hair spilled over his thighs, dusting him, teasing him. He thrust into it with his fingers, mutely begging for more.
Tentatively, she touched her tongue to the swollen head, which already leaked its clear fluid—salty, but clean tasting. Nice. Rosa licked a slow circle around the tip, then focused on the sensitive skin beneath. He bucked in response, pushing for more of her mouth, but she controlled him with a little pressure.
Instead of sucking she went lower, biting at his inner thighs and nuzzling the curve of his balls. By the time Rosa finished teasing, his breath came in ragged pants and his hands twisted in her hair, tangling but not hurting. She let him pull her head up and she took his cock between her lips.
Because she didn’t want to give him learned technique, she watched his face, measured her suction and the use of her tongue against the pleasure that flared across his sharp, graceful features. Each move she offered was for him alone—what
he
liked, not what she knew from other men. He liked it soft and slow at first, with building suction and teasing sweeps of the tongue, culminating with greater pressure on the head. Her arousal grew in conjunction with his. Feeling his pulse in her mouth drove her wild.
She sucked until he began to thrust wildly. Stopping, she clamped a hand tight on his shaft to prevent the building orgasm. She didn’t move until his taut longing receded. His breathing calmed. His fingers relaxed. But then she began the buildup all over again—sweet suction, teasing tongue, and a delicate hint of teeth. He whispered to her; he coaxed. And then he offered sweet little bribes. None of it changed her resolve to make him lose his mind. Four times she did that, until he was begging and incoherent, arching in long, near-climactic tension.
Only when his gaze met hers and he mouthed,
Rosita, please,
did she slide up his body. She stripped quickly.
A special position on this night, one they’d never tried before. It was for intimacy and connection, this swimmer’s lovemaking. She wrapped her hand around his cock and sank down. He tensed beneath her, pushing up, even as she lay down on him, stretching fully along his body. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her breasts tight to his chest. This position demanded tiny movements to ratchet up the intensity, putting a lovely pressure on her clitoris. Rosa rolled her hips, getting the feel of it. She had seen pictures like this, but it was nothing she’d ever done with a partner.
Dios
, did he feel good.
She tightened on him. Chris growled a little, biting down on her neck. The surprising spark of pain stole her control. Orgasm startled her with its power. He rolled her over and went wild with his thrusts. Rosa’s breath came in bursts as the aftershocks spiraled through her. Ten long, hard strokes later, he shook and tensed atop her, but there were no unpleasant associations this time, only the sweet pulse of Cristián’s pleasure. He drove deep and held, gazing down into her face with agonized adoration.
Still calming, she stroked his back, his sides, and ran her fingers through his hair. She had never before cared if it felt good to anyone. With Chris, it mattered more than anything. For the first time she believed no other warm body would do. Maybe, just maybe, she represented something special to him. Certainly he did to her. Like Tilly and Jameson’s baby, Cristián meant hope. Not just for Valle but for her lost, damaged soul.
Shaking, he eased to his side and nestled his head against hers. “Love you,” he whispered into the silence. “So damn much.”
THIRTY
Chris lay in the darkness, hours later. His brain felt turned inside out. There in the middle of the night, he processed thoughts as he had for thirty-nine years of life. Rationally. Steadily. But the groggy aftereffects of the previous few hours stayed with him. Bloodlust against Falco, and just-plain-lust with Rosa, had done a number on his mind. He’d operated on an unconscious level: fight, then fuck.
There was absolutely no trusting an organ that switched off for such long periods of time.
Yet how could he do otherwise with Rosita as the prize? Curling his arm more tightly around her shoulder, he kissed the top of her head. Her soft breathing altered only briefly before returning to the steady cadence of sleep. He’d take on the entire town if need be, knowing the whole time that she was the toughest opponent he’d ever face.
Maybe that was why he hadn’t needed to hear her declaration of love in return. He would have a hard time believing she meant it.
But what the hell did he know about love? It just felt right. And this time it felt . . . epic. Besides, Rosa had taken a hell of a step in announcing their relationship to all of Valle—about goddamn time. They had something to build on now. That was more than enough, more than he’d ever expected.
Sleep would not come, despite his relaxed body and the lull of Rosa’s breathing. He held her and relived what she’d done to him. Pure black magic. She was a sensual sorceress.
He couldn’t stay with those memories, though—not without needing her again. She got so little rest.
Chris eased from the bed. He grabbed a soft throw from the back of a nearby chair and tugged it over his shoulders. The floor was cool against his soles, and the breeze sneaking in through the open bedroom window shivered across his bare skin.
Damn.
That window had been open. He smiled again, but cockier now, knowing their lovemaking had been far from hidden this time. Anyone walking past her casita earlier in the night would’ve heard Chris begging for mercy. Quite literally.
He padded into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. The sweetness hit him with a firm reminder of how good his life had suddenly become. An oasis in the desert.
But the wine was a simple luxury compared to finding Rosa’s books. Hundreds of them.
Hundreds.
From Allende to Zola, her collection was arranged alphabetically, the Spanish thrown in with the English and French. There were even a few titles in what appeared to be Chinese and Arabic, tucked into a bottom corner of the shelves. Chris hadn’t seen more than a dozen books in all his years of travel.
He was surprised to find his hands shaking when he reached out for
The Complete Sonnets of Shakespeare
. He’d always been a thriller and sci-fi guy himself, but even he was cultured enough to tip his hat to the Bard.
“I didn’t hear you get up,” Rosa said behind him.
The full-on sight of her standing in the bedroom doorway did away with conscious thought.
Again.
She wore a cotton wrap, done loosely at the waist—the same one he’d dreamed. Her hair, now such a sexy, tousled mess, framed her face. A strange, almost wondering smile edged her lips. Memories of what she’d done to him with that delectable mouth sent blood rushing away from his useless brain.
He cleared his throat. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
“Your version of help, Rosita, is teasing me to an early grave.”
Slinking slowly toward him, her smile growing, she seemed years younger. The burdens she carried so resolutely had been momentarily lifted. Chris felt an unimaginable sense of pride in having done that for her.
“You scared of me,
amorcito
?”
“You’d like to think that.”
“I would.” She nodded to the book he held.
“¿Qué tienes?”
“Shakespeare’s sonnets.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s beyond me.”
“You’ve tried?”
“I’ve tried all of them.” A little of her familiar defensiveness had returned, although Chris couldn’t figure why. “Some of them get away from me.”
“Is that why you gave me Poe?”
“No, Poe is just plain scary. I don’t need that in my life.”
Chris laughed, gathering her against his body and wrapping them together in the knitted throw. He nestled his chin against the top of her head. A feeling of rightness closed over them. He simply shut his eyes and exhaled, relishing such a gift.