by Lynda Chance
“Yes,” she answered.
His eyes narrowed, almost as if displeased—which didn’t make any sense. “Right,” he said. “So the bad news isn’t so bad.”
Panic lodged under her breastbone. Bad news? “What bad news?”
“Condom broke, angel,” he said as if what he was telling her was insignificant. “I’m sorry—but you don’t need to worry—I’m clean.”
His succinct words took a moment to register and when they did, confusion warred within. How could he know that the condom had broken? He was still lodged tightly inside of her and he didn’t seem to be in one bit of a hurry to release her. “How do you know that it broke?”
“Because it was split, darling,” he said slowly.
Pretty, sweetness, angel … all these damn endearments! She was about to tear her hair out! “I don’t understand. You’re still—” a wave of embarrassment swamped her. “You’re still inside me. How do you know it split?”
One side of his mouth quirked up. Great. Now he smiles? “Not this condom,” he stated slowly, “The first one.”
Erin began blinking to wash away the fog in her brain. And when confusion departed, anger came swiftly on its heels. “The first one? Are you telling me that you knew the condom had broken? When you were in the bathroom?” She levered her hands against his chest and began pushing against him, to no avail. “You knew about it and yet you still … still came out here for more? Without giving me a chance to—”
His features twisted into an unpleasant grimace as he interrupted, “A chance to what?” he bit out heatedly. “Run away scared? Flounce away pissed? Fuck yeah, I knew about it. I also knew what your exact reaction was going to be.”
Erin’s lips flattened as anger permeated. “Oh, really? You know me so well? So, what? You decided to head my feelings off at the pass and just … screw me again? While keeping me in the dark?”
His face hardened almost imperceptibly, but she saw it, nonetheless. “Screw you? That’s not a very pretty word to come from such pretty lips.” Pushing his hips against her, physically reminding her that he was still, in fact, screwing her, he continued, “And hell no, I wasn’t finished with you yet. And guess what? I’m still not finished.”
Not finished? She’d never had a one-night stand before, and although she knew she should be feeling some relief that it appeared she wasn’t going to break that inglorious record, she still felt a wave of fury at his highhandedness. Shouldn’t she get to choose whether or not to sleep with him again? “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“What the hell do you think it means? It means I’m not finished with you yet.”
Erin felt her stomach quiver as she jerked back from him. Anger coursing through her system even as uncontrollable heat bled down her spine, she began pushing harder against him, until finally, he eased out of her and released her, condom intact, erection still there in all its glory. Great. Just effing great! Wouldn’t you effing know that he was a super-stud?
She grabbed the sheet and covered herself as she sat up. “I think we’re done,” she announced definitively.
Moving off the bed to stand before her, he held the condom intact as if it were no big deal, as if he were completely comfortable in his naked skin. “Wrong.”
Erin stared at him, a bit shell-shocked. Why was she fighting him? He was awesome—the sex had been spectacular. Maybe her reasoning was because of the superior ‘I know everything and I rule everything’ look in his eyes. And those eyes, even now, were blazing down at her as if she were his for the taking.
“Not going to happen, studly,” she taunted. “This is over, so you might want to chill.”
“Over?” His eyes narrowed. “Chill?”
“You understand the concept, right?” she asked sarcastically.
His eyes blazed into hers. “You’re asking me to chill? You don’t know me—giving up isn’t in my make up.”
“I don’t know you at all and that’s exactly the point.”
Silently, he reared back and gave her a glowering scowl.
Trying once again to gain control, Erin announced, “I think it’s time for me to go.”
“Not happening.” His words were definitive, but Erin was still naked—it wasn’t as if she were going to jump up in front of him this very second to get her way. Staring down at her with a look of impatience, he turned and prowled to the bathroom, coming back a few moments later with his jeans almost secure on his hips, zipped but left unbuttoned. And for the first time, Erin was taking a good look at his chest, and suddenly, she wasn’t far from hyperventilating.
The guy was simply awesome, there was no denying that fact. He was tall—well over six feet of lean, masculine hotness. Well-formed pectorals were sexily defined over six-pack abs. His biceps were defined as well, not bulging, only perfect—as if the muscles he sported were from intense labor and not from a gym workout. The thought sent a streak of heat through her system as her estrogen levels picked up once again. She’d never cared for the look of male muscles that were more for appearance and less for what nature had intended. Oh, yes, she could tell that Max’s muscles were the real thing; they weren’t simply the product of pumping iron merely to stroke his male ego.
Crap. This guy was talking more sex between them? Knowing damn good and well that she wasn’t going to be able to deny her own body, a wave of lightheadedness hit her, making her dizzy. What the hell had she done when she’d allowed her hormones to rule over her reasoning? Now that she knew exactly how good sex with him was—how was she going to say no? More to the point—why should she say no? The sex had been that good.
As she sat staring at him like a complete ninny with no brainpower whatsoever, he strolled over and lifted her chin with one finger. “It’s all good, sweetness.” His eyes seemed to soften and she had enough snap to wonder if his changed demeanor was intentional. “This night is about you and me—about us getting to know each other—doing whatever we want, whenever we want. It’s about cutting loose, Vegas style.” His finger swiped back and forth over her chin in a movement that entranced her, no matter how much she fought against it. “So, how about this?” he continued in a tone that was very obviously meant to seduce. “Why don’t we spend the rest of the night together—have an amazing day together tomorrow, and put a lid on everything that seems to be putting a frown on that beautiful face?”
As his words ended, he bent down and nipped her lips once, twice, and by the time he went for the third kiss, butterflies were banging in her tummy and all concerns fled to the back of her mind.
Nothing mattered anyway—it wasn’t as if she were planning to marry the guy. Another few hours and she’d be completely satiated and ready to go home to St. Louis. So for now, she closed her eyes and decided to take his advice and enjoy Max Santiago for the sheer pleasure of the man he was.
****
Max opened his eyes to the sound of running water. His mind was immediately alert; he knew exactly where he was and remembered exactly what had happened the previous night. A keen spiral of pleasure mixed with satisfaction coursed down his spine.
The girl was damn near perfect. And since his intentions were to make her his own no matter what, he couldn’t believe how goddamn lucky he was that she happened to check off all the boxes that he wanted in a woman. She was enticingly gorgeous. Not in an over-the-top, stop traffic kind of way—no, her beauty was subtler than that. She was pretty—so pretty that it took you by surprise on second glance. Her skin held a golden tone; her features had an exotic appeal that seemed to come from several ethnic backgrounds. Dark brown, silky locks topped her head and fell to mid-back—perfect for when he finally allowed himself to fist that hair in his hands and fuck her as hard as he needed to. That shit would happen soon; he wouldn’t be on this self-imposed sexual leash for long.
With a need for her raging in his bloodstream, her other attributes came to mind. Her voice was soothing—not too high-pitched or screechy. She was keenly intelligent, that much was obv
ious from only one evening spent in her company. He wouldn’t get bored with her easily. If he’d had the opportunity to hand pick his captive out of a thousand women, he’d undoubtedly have chosen her. Even now, he was itching to get home, to get her to himself, where she’d stay until he decided to let her go—that was, if he decided to let her go. Yeah, she was damn near perfect—possibly a tad stubborn—he’d have to work on that. She would very obviously need to learn from whom she took her orders. Him.
But that wouldn’t happen until he had her squarely away from this place. Firmly within the sanctuary of the place he called home—at least he called Argentina home sixty percent of the time. And to accomplish that feat, he needed to stay on top of his game. All day. Again, he reminded himself that he had a role to play this day. He would be the ultimate gentleman, polite, respectful, charming and complimentary at every turn. He’d clamp down on the fervor and impatience that his personality usually reflected. Was he being calculating? Were his actions premeditated? Fuck, yeah. It was the only way he’d be able to sweet talk her little ass onto his plane of her own free will, so sadly, it had to be done. He’d have her on his private plane before midnight—that was his goal—and even now, his pilot knew that he’d have to be on standby beginning around eight or so that evening.
The only real question left was exactly how he would manage to get her to do his bidding. Being on his best behavior all day wouldn’t do the trick entirely. Not a chance.
But he wasn’t too worried. He’d given her five orgasms the night before and sex was something that bonded women quickly. Or so he’d heard—he’d never intentionally tried to bond with a woman.
Confidence in his abilities settling in his gut and feeling no particular need to rush, he wrapped his arms around the pillow she’d been using and with the allure of her scent invading his brain, he closed his eyes and promptly fell back to sleep.
****
It was around five in the evening, after the best night and morning of sex she’d ever had, that Erin began suspecting that she was being bamboozled. But by six o’clock, she was on her third martini and having such a good time that she didn’t think she cared; she decided to just go with the flow. After all, what could one more evening in his company hurt?
And of course she was having a good time. Max—Maximo, to give him his full name—Santiago was lavish with his flattery, bold with his propositions, and so damn sexy that she’d allowed him to talk her into rescheduling her flight back to St. Louis until the next day. He wanted to spend the entire day with her—he’d practically begged to spend the day with her—and damn her, she’d been unable to resist.
By seven o’clock she was beginning to think she was in love. Of course, she knew it was the alcohol—well, the alcohol and the amazing sex—but whatever, the feelings he produced sent her heart rate into a tailspin and her brain on a walkabout.
She was definitely in lust. Big time. She was for sure infatuated. And why wouldn’t she be?
The man was a freaking god. Seriously.
As she took a semi-sloppy sip of her cocktail, she continued to study him as she let her conscience off the hook and her silly imagination run wild. Seriously—who would ever know if she bought a subscription to Brides magazine?
****
Chapter Three
Max watched the sleeping woman lying across the bed in his private jet. The door to the bedroom stood ajar and he could clearly see her from where he sat in the main cabin. For about the hundredth time since they’d achieved cruising altitude, he felt a fierce spiral of gut-twisting satisfaction blaze through his veins.
He’d accomplished his goal. She was his. His wife.
Erin Rule of the prestigious Rule family belonged to him. She was now Erin Santiago Villarreal and she forever and always would be. Forever. It was possible that he hadn’t acknowledged the forever fact completely, but the temptation to keep her was there, buried behind a solid wall of victory. An indelible kernel of emotion deep in his psyche that pulsed every few minutes: he was never letting her go.
He felt a bit sorry for her—poor little girl. The entire day, she’d never known what hit her. At least he didn’t have to feel guilty, though. The girl had made her own decisions. She’d willingly walked into the twenty-four hour wedding chapel and married him.
Sure, maybe he had—literally—charmed her out of her pants. He’d been at his seductive, playful best, if he had to say so himself. After a full day of sex, food, and alcohol, talking her into the wedding chapel had been ridiculously easy. He’d acted surprised by their location, as if they’d merely stumbled upon the place in the dark of the evening—and then he’d maneuvered her into a secluded doorway and kissed the breath from her. He’d moved his lips to her ear and whispered that he wanted to keep her naked in his bed forever. From there it had been simple; she’d married him without a quibble.
She’d stumbled only twice climbing up the steps onto his private jet, and he’d refused to feel guilty. Yes, she’d been inebriated—but son-of-a-bitch—he wasn’t the one who’d poured the alcohol down her throat, even if he had been the one to order the drinks.
Sadly, it had been necessary.
He’d had one unpleasant moment when he’d worried if she had her passport. He didn’t want her to know they were flying out of the US, and he didn’t particularly want to commit a felony by whisking her onto his jet without one. But as he’d surreptitiously questioned her about her plans, she’d told him she’d brought her passport just in case—her reasoning being that Tijuana was only a short, five-hour drive from Las Vegas and that she’d never before visited that particular border town. And that information had sealed her fate. After that, it had been a piece of cake to get the girl on his plane and totally, one hundred percent, under his control.
Was he proud that he’d used subterfuge? That he’d kissed the breath from her and seduced her into a marriage ceremony with the promise of nothing more than amazing sex? Not particularly proud, no, but that part of his plan was over now. He didn’t have to pretend any longer. His mission was accomplished and now he could again be the man he was—with no pretense between him and his brand new wife.
Erin was his now. And for whatever reason, at this point, his long-sought venganza and the Rule brothers’ reaction to their sister’s hasty marriage merely felt like an added bonus.
****
Erin woke to what sounded, to her admittedly foggy mind, like the vibrations of a jet engine humming. She opened her eyes and groggily put her hand to her aching head as she sat up. The sheet slipped to her waist and glancing down, with a moment of panic, she realized she was naked—at least she was naked on top. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the cover and discovered she was completely nude.
She closed her eyes as a haze of confusion set in. Clutching the sheet under her arms, she put her head in her hands and groaned aloud. What the hell had she done? Or perhaps more to the point, where the hell was she?
Opening her eyes again, she glanced around at what was obviously a bedroom in a private jet; the noise around her and the pressure changing in her ears told her definitively that she was on an aircraft. A wave of panic settled in her stomach. She swallowed and began to put a shaky hand to her brow, and that’s when she saw the huge diamond solitaire on the ring finger of her left hand. And accompanying it? Nothing else but a band of gold.
And then the memory hit her—and a moment of wild elation shot through her system. Max. The man who’d enticed her to act so irrationally. As a vision of his face and body swept over her, she couldn’t contain the pleasurable, satisfied shiver that swept along her nerve endings.
She was married.
And just as quickly the elation simmered down as worry slammed her system. Married? To a man she knew virtually nothing about? Maybe … maybe not so good after all.
Seriously—what the hell had she done?
Bits and pieces of the previous day, or what she assumed by now must have been the previous day, started to come back to her, sl
owly at first and then more quickly like a camera roll clicking in her brain. The drinking. Ugh—now she knew exactly why her head hurt. The picture changed—slow dancing. Her stomach flipped as the image shifted again. Her hotel room this time—more sex.
He’d definitely been out to seduce her—no question about that. Another trickle of elation tried to break free but she forced herself to think logically.
She took a stabilizing breath as the pictures slammed her brain one after the next, all coming back to her in vivid and damning color. There had been gambling, restaurants and bars. She gulped and forced herself to remember. There had definitely been a wedding chapel—and a jewelry store.
As she fingered the ring on her left hand, the memory of the airport came back to her.
Oh, my God—she’d gotten on a plane with him without a word? As a burst of shamed heat settled in her stomach, his features came back to her and she remembered exactly the reason she’d let him steamroll her into doing what he wanted—she’d been that easy.
But why had he wanted her so badly?
The guy was incredibly awesome, and by the looks of the plane that was now, only God knew where, he was rich as well.
So what was his reason for absconding with her? Could he have felt the chemistry as strongly as she had?
It just didn’t make good sense and she couldn’t make herself concentrate right now; her usual analytical reasoning was nowhere in sight. His reason would have to wait. She needed a glass of water, like pronto. She needed to brush her teeth. She needed to pee—hell—she needed basic clothing to cover her nudity.
Maybe after she had those few necessities to soothe her—maybe then she would allow herself to question his actions.
Max Santiago—her husband. And even as the thought formed, a slight buzz came to her ears as she remembered hearing the name ‘Villarreal’.
Where had that memory surfaced from? The insane wedding ceremony maybe? Surely Max had told her his last name was Santiago?
