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And then he’d lost control in the shower too. He’d carried her in with the intention of doing no more than soaping the sweat from their bodies, and instead he’d lifted her against the tiles and plunged into her, the roar of pleasure in his veins obliterating all thought until she’d whispered urgently in his ear, telling him not to come inside her. He’d withdrawn immediately, shocked that he’d forgotten to protect them—even more shocked that for one reckless, fleeting second he’d wanted to bury himself inside her again and say to hell with the risk.
He’d stood panting, torn between lust and good sense until, with a bold, saucy look that’d stopped his breath, Emily had dropped to her knees, wrapped her fingers around him and taken him in her mouth. He’d tried to summon a protest but his attempt had been half-hearted at best, and in a matter of seconds she’d brought him to the edge of completion.
Ramon had slept with countless women in countless places, but standing in that shower, with his hands braced against the walls, staring down at Emily’s flushed, satisfied face, had been the single most erotic experience of his life.
Her words from earlier came back to him.
What happens in Paris stays in Paris.
At any other time, such an edict would have suited him down to the ground. What self-professed playboy wouldn’t want to hear words that relinquished him of any unwanted strings or emotional commitments?
And relationships without strings were Ramon’s golden rule. It was how he’d lived his life for the last twelve years and how he intended to carry on. Forming attachments was something he avoided for good reason. You couldn’t hurt people if they didn’t get close.
The thought of hurting Emily made him feel physically ill. She was tough, but he sensed her outer armour shielded an underlying vulnerability. Their conversations hadn’t touched on family, but he recalled reading some tabloid bio on Maxwell that had talked of his wife having died in childbirth.
How must it feel, knowing the woman who’d given you life had lost her own while bringing you into the world? He couldn’t imagine it, yet he knew a worse pain. The pain of knowing his actions, his choices, had led to another person’s demise—not once, but twice.
His hand tightened around his phone. He had no business comparing Emily’s life to his own. Unlike him, she had done nothing wrong. She wasn’t responsible for her mother’s death.
He thought of his mother, Elena, and her difficulties with conceiving and carrying a child to term. Having Ramon after adopting Xavier must have been quite the shock. To their credit, his parents had shown no favouritism, treating their sons with equal affection, but no doubt it’d been a great irony for them that Ramon—their own flesh and blood—was the one who’d proved a disappointment. Who had shamed the family. His mother was a good woman, but he wouldn’t blame her if she never found it in her heart to forgive him.
He ran his gaze over Emily’s face, wincing at the small patches of redness where his stubble had grazed her skin. He felt a tightness grip his chest. He’d known her for less than a week yet he knew she was strong and principled—a good woman, like his mother. Was that why she made allowances for her father? Or was it because she had no one else? Her grandfather was dead, she had no siblings and there didn’t seem to be any extended family on the scene. Aside from Royce, who hardly qualified as a contender for Father of the Year, was Emily alone in the world?
The tightness intensified and with it came a vague sense of unease. Since when did he speculate on the personal lives of his lovers?
Yet he knew he couldn’t class Emily as one of his casual flings. His relationship with her was primarily a professional one and tonight he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t have crossed. He’d been reckless, allowing his base desires to govern him, and he knew he should be regretting it right now, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was thinking about pulling the sheet away, easing her thighs apart and tasting her again. He was thinking that one night, a few brief hours, wasn’t enough time to do all the things he wanted to do with her...to her. And he was thinking that, if their time together had to be confined to Paris, then perhaps this one night wasn’t long enough. Perhaps they needed the whole weekend.
Her eyes opened and she blinked drowsily, stretched her gorgeous limbs and smiled up at him with lips pink and swollen from his kisses. ‘Ramon?’
‘Sí, mi belleza?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Late—or early, depending on your view.’
She rose onto her elbows. ‘Do we need to go? Is the plane waiting for us?’
He put his phone on the nightstand. ‘No. I’ve stood the pilot down for the night.’
A flicker of anxiety showed in her face. ‘Will he be available to take us back first thing in the morning?’
Ramon climbed onto the bed. ‘He’s available when I want him to be available.’ He pushed the tangled sheet off her
and palmed the soft mound of honey-blonde curls at the apex of her thighs. Slowly, he ran a fingertip down her sensitive flesh and her soft gasp made his groin tighten. ‘Tender?’
‘Only a little.’
He gave a slow smile then moved his hand and made her gasp again. ‘In that case, I’ll be gentle.’
* * *
Bright morning sunlight streamed through the lounge windows of the penthouse and for the first time in Emily’s life she truly appreciated the sentiment behind the expression ‘the cold light of day’.
She pulled the belt of the fluffy white bathrobe tighter around her waist. ‘No,’ she said and felt an immediate rush of relief, because the other word she could have uttered—the big, fat, resounding yes that was even now attempting to crawl up her throat against her better judgement—could not, under any circumstances, be allowed to escape. ‘I can’t stay another night. I need to go home to London this morning.’
And I need you to put some clothes on, she almost added, although thankfully only his chest was on display. He wore his dark suit trousers from last night but they weren’t belted or zipped properly and they sat too low on his hips. She knew if she let her gaze drop she’d see more of his flat, muscled stomach than her composure could handle at present.
Unaware of her internal struggles, he poured coffee from a silver pot into two china mugs. ‘Is there something you need to return for today?’
