The Spaniard's Pleasure: The Spaniard's Pregnancy Proposal / At the Spaniard's Convenience / Taken: the Spaniard's Virgin

Fleur couldn’t fight him and her own compulsion to lean into him, to let her body melt into his hardness. So she let his fingers stay where they were and tried not to think about the heat of his sleek, hard male body.

‘Going away would be good, for starters,’ she returned, her voice as cool as her body was hot. ‘After all, there is no one around and half the fun of calling someone a calculating bitch is having people hear you do it.’

In the shadows the colour along his chiselled cheekbones deepened.

‘I spoke with Tamara…’

‘Great! Though,’ she added bitterly, ‘it might have been even greater if you’d done that before you barged in accusing me—’

‘She explained things more clearly.’

‘The way I tried to. I suppose she tried to as well, but you probably didn’t listen to her any more than you listened to me. You heard what you wanted to and you wanted to believe that I’m a conniving bitch. What’s wrong, Antonio—was I getting too close?’

Fleur, who was staring fixedly at the floor, did not see his face as her shot in the dark hit home.

‘I do not—’ He broke off, loosing an impatient curse as he cupped her chin in one hand and dragged her face up towards his. ‘It is very difficult to talk to the top of someone’s head.’ His eyes flickered to her head as he lifted a section of silky blonde hair from her nape and let it slide through his long brown fingers.

His lips quirked into a quick self-derisive smile as he let his hand fall away. It came to rest on the curve of her hip.

If anyone saw them they would look like lovers embracing. The shocking idea sent a shameful rush of heat through Fleur’s body. She released the breath trapped in her lungs in a series of controlled little gasps and told herself firmly, This has to stop!

‘As I was trying to say, I do not always act as rationally around you as I might.’ She heard the sardonic inflection in his voice and heard him add in an odd voice, ‘But then we both know why that is…so I might have overreacted.’

‘Might…? You think?’ The puzzled expression in her eyes deepened. ‘What do we both know?’

‘We both know that it’s not easy to maintain objectivity when you’re dealing with someone you can’t look at without thinking about being in bed naked with them.’

The colour flew to Fleur’s cheeks. ‘Naked?’ she echoed in a strangled squeak.

‘That is my normal condition when I am in bed with a beautiful woman.’

‘I do not want to hear about your other women.’ Then, realising that her words might be interpreted as an admission that she was one of them, she hastily added, ‘Poor, misguided idiots—they have my deepest sympathy.’

‘I don’t want to talk about any woman but you. I don’t want any woman but you. Do not pretend you don’t know what I’m saying. That you haven’t thought about these things too.’

‘Are you implying I think about you naked?’

‘Are you saying you don’t?’

Fleur decided it was a lot wiser not to go there. ‘My God, you think everything is about sex.’

‘Not everything, but with you it’s not something that is easy to think past.’

‘I suppose you think I’m going to find your candour endearing.’

‘You really think that I’m in any condition to be calculating.’ He vented a hoarse laugh. ‘I can’t function at even a basic level. You’re…’ He shook his head. ‘I just don’t have the vocabulary to describe what you’re doing to me.’

Their eyes locked and suddenly all Fleur’s anger and resentment died. ‘You’re making my life pretty miserable too,’ she confided huskily.

‘Then what do you suggest we do about it, querida

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