He moved towards her, his hands taking hers and drawing her to stand close in front of him. 'Shall we seal this forgiveness once and for all, and then…?'
His arms went round her, settling her against him, and he kissed her, lightly, sweetly, and then with a deepening intensity that betrayed his hunger. Long moments later he whispered, 'I will not pretend that there will not be times when I will be angry, and you will be angry, querida, and we will quarrel, but you will always know that it is because you have the power to hurt and invoke anger. If I did not care I would be indifferent.' He moved his mouth against hers, tasting her lips in a sensuous caress that went to Laurel's head like a potent wine. But she forced herself to draw back and look up into his eyes, now unfathomably deep with his ardour.
'You're not going to marry Carlota?'
'Carlota? Heaven forbid! Where did you get that idea?' His brows narrowed, then relaxed with resignation. 'I know—Abuelita has been talking to you. But there is no arrangement, do not fear. And you?' his voice sharpened, 'you are going out tonight—with a man? If so, you will cancel it. You will make no more dates with any other man from now onwards. You are mine! And I shall never allow you to forget that fact. Is that clear?'
'More or less.' Laurel stretched up her arms and surrendered to the bliss of enfolding them round his neck and resting her cheek against the smooth, warm male-fragrant skin. 'There is just one thing…'
'I know…' his lips found the lobe of her ear, 'I have not officially made a proposal of marriage. Will you marry me, Seňorita Laurel Daneway, and be my Condesa of Castillo Valderosa?'
'Oh, yes!' she sighed in a whisper.
'Say my name. And tell me you love me.'
'I love you—so much I can't believe it's true. I'm afraid to wake up—Rodrigo, amado,' she whispered.
'It is no dream—I will prove it.' He crushed her to him, his passion riding high now and carrying her with him on a wild sweet surge of ecstasy. Like wisps of mist at dawn all the unhappiness of the past few weeks melted and were gone. Laurel forgot her surroundings, forgot everything, even the scantiness of her attire that was all too frail a barrier between her glowing body and the hard male hunger of his—until he gave a groan of torment and buried his mouth in the warm hollow of her neck.
'No, querida mia—not yet, alas.' His breathing came quick and uneven, then slowly steadied as he fought down the tumult of desire. His arms slackened. 'I think you had better put on some clothing or I will not be responsible for my actions.'
But he still held her, reluctantly putting her at arms-length while Laurel tried to break free of the ecstasy that held her a willing captive.
'Do you remember the first time we met?' he asked huskily.
The lovely rose tinted her cheeks and she nodded.
'I was too angered by your foolhardy obstinacy that day to be aroused by your unclad body. But now, in memory…' He looked at her, the unfinished evocation saying more than any words ever could. Slowly he raised his head and drew aside the lapel of her robe, bending his head. Just once his mouth touched the silken softness of her breast, infinitely tender, caressed and adored its dusky bud, then he drew the veil across temptation and thrust her gently away.
'Temptation and tradition make poor bedfellows,' he sighed regretfully. 'Now do as I bid you.'
'Or I will be punished?' she whispered mischievously.
'Or you will be punished.'
'I hope you're not going to banish me behind the traditional grille, to flutter my eyelashes and a lace fan while we complete our courtship?' she asked with pretended dismay.
'That may be necessary, unless you marry me very soon, my little paragon of virtue,' he said, brows quirking wickedly so that she laughed softly with pure joy.
He frowned. 'You may well laugh—no one at this moment except myself would believe you either a paragon or virtuous. It is as well that I am not totally without the ability to judge a woman's true character,' he added with imperious self-assurance.
But he caught her hand as she would have turned away, and the expression in his eyes made her heart turn over with a welling of love that was a sweet pain.
'Tempt me with just one more kiss—before I submit to the discipline of tradition,' he said softly.
For a moment Laurel gazed at him and her eyes took on a remote light. This was the velvet touch, but she had no illusions about the sheer feline power, the fire and the steel behind those burning magnetic eyes and the handsome chiselled features. No woman would ever tame this man—and she knew in her heart that she had no desire to be the one who would ever attempt to emasculate that fiery spirit. It was enough that he should love her…
With a heartfelt little cry she ran to be caught close and melt within his arms, surrendering to the blaze of desire in his dark eyes and giving herself up to this prelude to all the ecstasy to come.
She scarcely heard the doorbell ring, and ring, and ring…
What a surprise for Yvonne!
The Velvet Touch Page 19
