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Chapter 4
Santiago flexed his fingers. What the fuck am I doing? He strode into the office and closed the door behind him. He couldn’t stay in the common areas, and going to the master suite where she would sleep was out of the question.
He slammed his fist on the desk. Mierda. He’d slapped her. Never in his life had he spanked a woman’s culo with abandonment. Sure, he’d smacked buttocks in the throes of passion, but having her at his mercy had been… incredible. His cock twitched.
Then… the amazing sex.
Wind rumbled through the house. And snow slammed into the window. Staying had been the right choice—until he’d feasted on her luscious, round, full butt cheeks.
He swallowed. Exposing his weakness—her—would only make him even more vulnerable. The spanking had been a good way to show her who was in control, until he’d completely lost it and fucked her beyond comprehension. The best sex of his life.
How could he have passed it up? The soft, erotic moans escaping from her kissable lips rang in his ears. Don’t stop.
He heard the sound of the door, much like he had a few hours earlier, when she stormed back into his life. No, not his life. The cottage. The noise from the whispering hollows filled the space, and he marched out of the office. Did she try to walk out in the snow? Is she insane?
A “meow” made him turn his face to the left. A skinny black cat with green eyes curled against the magazine rack. A cat? He’d been at the cottage for a couple of days and never spotted any pets in the vicinity. Alan would certainly have told him.
“Excuse me,” she said, rushing from the kitchen with a couple towels in hand. Tiffany leaned down and started to wipe the snow from the feline’s paws. The cat made a purring sound, and with a different towel she wrapped him, and held him on her lap like a newborn baby.
Of course she was at the bottom of it. “Did you open the door to rescue the cat?”
“Yes. I took a quick shower, then came to the living room and heard her whimpering. I wonder how many days she’s been roaming. Look how skinny she is,” she said, then kissed the top of the cat’s head.
A few candles lightened the living area, and they probably had been her doing too. He suppressed a smile, and gently rubbed his lips against the animal’s fur. The touch brief, yet filled with caring.
His heart squeezed. The only time he’d kissed her skin before tonight had been during a Christmas celebration. Not like he had planned on it, but before he could jerk away, her lips softly touched his cheek. How would her mouth feel against his own? Shaking his head, he willed the memory away. He cleared his thick, dry throat. “You can’t be opening the door in this weather, Tiffany. You have to be careful. Haven’t you looked out the window?” he said, even though just the sound of the angry wind smacking against the window should have been enough to change her mind.
Tiffany lifted her chin, and her gaze locked on his. The fire in her pretty eyes rivaled the candles. “I sure did. And I wasn’t about to let this poor defenseless animal die.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. She had a point. “How do you know it’s a she, and not a he?”
She petted the cat’s head, and then it purred in response. “Because I volunteer at a cat shelter. I can tell the difference.”
“Do you have any cats?” he said, remembering the black and white cocker spaniel who was already a treasured family member when his mother married Alan.
Sadness flickered in her eyes. “No. I love animals, but it sucks saying good-bye to them,” she said, her voice above a whisper.
Saying good-bye when she left the shelter to go home? Or did she mean something else? He leaned forward, as if to hear her better. “I’m sorry about Buster. My mother told me.”
“I know. I went to work, came back and he lay on the floor. He lived for twelve good years, so I guess he had it coming.”
He curled and uncurled his fingers. He had to fight the need to envelop her in a warm embrace. Especially after what just happened. Their gazes met, and passion stirred deep inside him. Blood thrummed in his veins. She must have felt it, too. She parted her lips, as if she meant to speak, then stepped back. The spark faded in her eyes. “Okay. Just keep the cat out of my way,” he said gruffly. Truly, he wanted her out of his way, but since that couldn’t be the case until the next day, he would settle for the cat. Because he couldn’t be jealous of a fucking fur ball. Could he? No. He snorted. That would be beyond ridiculous.
She cocked her head to the side, as if she had not heard him correctly. “Are you allergic to cats?”
“No.”
“Then why are you being so mean? I think it’s time we talked about stuff. Like how your cock high-fived my pussy.”
He coughed. Shit. Why was she bringing it up? If he told her he’d always loved her in the least decent way, he’d have to own up to his own mistakes. Proposing marriage to Patricia even though he’d fantasized about Tiffany. Keeping Tiffany at an arm’s length for most of their relationship because he was far too weak to resist her for long. “I got carried away.”
She put the cat on the carpet and the furry animal kept at her feet, her tail swaying lazily from side to side. “Yeah, me too. Why did you spank me?”
Couldn’t she just let it go? “Why did you let me do it?” he asked, buying himself some time.
She stared at him, in silence. Her baby-blues shimmered again, and a glint of hope touched her darkening irises. A shade of red spread across her cheeks and neck, and she shrugged. “Because I… I liked it. It’s good to get rid of the pressure of making decisions even for a moment.”
“Do you mean work?”
