The Secret Mistress
Emma Darcy
One more night…Tricked into believing Luis Angel Martinez was committed to marrying another woman, and convinced he had drawn her into being his secret mistress, Shontelle had ended their affair, declaring he'd been no more to her than an interesting Latin lover.Two years on, Luis wasn't married and he was the only man who could get her brother's tour group out of danger… in exchange for one more night with her. But what would it be - a night of truth , love or vengeance ?
Passion (#u2dbb232c-4c34-58cf-bdc5-5897af31397b)Title Page (#ucd055c37-0b53-527f-9066-eba5461282f3)Dedication (#u7c077351-c2aa-5aa5-9a3f-0d00b905a89b)CHAPTER ONE (#uf7c3eb60-85dc-549b-bca8-8b1de0a52495)CHAPTER TWO (#ue4264e2b-b11a-50d8-b82a-ec4a946f3a3b)CHAPTER THREE (#udc5b9425-0e22-51a3-8d94-27bfb54003c7)CHAPTER FOUR (#ue94cf7fa-e820-5024-9cf1-4c84237cf1f8)CHAPTER FIVE (#u12bdd78d-c5bd-5174-9aae-066f59a0dc21)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“What do you want from me, Luis?”
“What I had before.”
Shontelle’s mind fragmented under the force of his apparent desire to repeat the passion they’d shared. Some tattered shreds of reason shrieked that he was only playing with her.
“What do you mean?” she cried.
“I mean to seize the day, Shontelle. Or, to put it more graphically...the night. I want one more taste of you.”
Shock waves slammed through her. One more taste.... Only one....
“Not such a difficult deal, is it?” Luis taunted. “Just a matter of giving me what you gave of yourself two years ago...in your desire to get what you wanted of me.”
“I didn’t get what I wanted then,” she protested, her voice thin and shaky under the appalling weight of devastated hopes.
A savage fury flared into his eyes. “Was I not all you wanted of a Latin lover?” His mouth curled with cruel intent. “Well, let me try not to disappoint you tonight.”
Presents
Passion
Looking for sophisticated stories that sizzle? Wanting a read that has a little extra spice?
Pick up a Presents Passion
—where seduction is guaranteed!
Look out for our next Passion
title in September: Mistress by Arrangement by Helen Bianchin Harlequin Presents
#2049
The Secret Mistress
Emma Darcy
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Lew Pulbrook, whose INCA TOURS of South America inspired this book and provided all of the background material in it. Many, many thanks to Lew and Kristy for sharing their knowledge and experience, while showing me and all “The Amigos” a fantastic and fascinating part of the world.
CHAPTER ONE
LUIS ANGEL MARTINEZ was feeling good as he rode the elevator up to his hotel suite. He’d completed the business he’d come to La Paz to do, he’d dined well, the current crisis in the city provided him with the perfect excuse for missing his own engagement party, and his mother—widely regarded as the wealthiest and most powerful woman in Argentina—couldn’t do one damned thing about it.
He couldn’t help smiling.
The two young women who were sharing the elevator—their accents and clothes marking them as tourists from the U.S.A.—turned interested, hopefully inviting eyes on him. Luis instantly killed the smile. Black scorn blazed from his dark eyes, shrivelling their speculation, and his whole body stiffened in proud rejection of whatever fantasies they nursed.
He despised the foreign women who tripped around, looking for sexual adventure, and he most particularly hated being viewed as a possible Latin lover. He might look the part, having the dark olive skin and black hair of his Spanish heritage, with the added attraction of a taller, more powerful physique than the average South American male, but he sure as hell would never get drawn into playing the part. He’d been burnt once. Once was more than enough for him.
The elevator halted. He glared balefully at the back of the two blonde heads as the women made their exit. Not that their fairness compared in any way to the silky sun and moon mixture of Shontelle’s hair, but the minds under the hair probably held the same attitude towards sampling one of the natives for the pleasure of a new carnal experience.
Not me, ladies, he savagely beamed at them before the doors shut and the elevator resumed its upward climb. His mother was right on one score. Best to tie himself to a woman of his own race, own culture, own background. No nasty surprises with that kind of matchmaking. All smooth sailing. Especially with Elvira Rosa Martinez at the helm, steering everything as she saw fit.
Except she hadn’t counted on this little squall blowing up in Bolivia, causing him to miss the engagement party she had planned behind his back.
Unavoidable circumstances.
The absolutely perfect excuse.
The thought restored Luis’ good humour. He was smiling again as the elevator opened onto his floor and he headed for his private suite. No one could validly question his staying right here. It was literally impossible for him to get out of La Paz without running into trouble.
After yesterday’s violent march of the farmers through the streets, Bolivia was boiling up to yet another change of government. The airport was closed. A curfew had been imposed. The military had taken over the city.
Safely and comfortably ensconced in the Plaza Hotel, Luis was not in the least perturbed by these events. Bolivia was Bolivia, renowned for having more changes of government than any other country, five in one day in recent history. The volatile political situation would eventually blow over and life would go on as usual.
He entered his well-appointed suite, closed the door on all the outside problems, and moved to the mini-bar, deciding one or two more celebratory drinks were in order.
Of course, a second engagement party would be arranged, although he’d insist on doing it himself—his way—next time. This minor reprieve was only a postponement of the inevitable. He was thirty-six years old, time for him to marry, time for him to start a family. It was also time for his mother to step right out of his affairs.
She’d undoubtedly be stewing with frustration over this further delay to a public announcement of her most cherished ambition—the tying of the Martinez fortune to that of the Gallardo family. Do her good, Luis thought with intense satisfaction. She was far too fond of pushing.
She’d picked Claudia Gallardo out for him very shortly after his brother’s death. Luis had scoffed at the idea—a schoolgirl! She’d be groomed to suit him, to grace their social position, to uphold all the traditional virtues of a wife, his mother had argued. I’ll choose my own wife, he’d tossed back at her at the time, but he really didn’t care anymore, not since Shontelle—that green-eyed witch—had chewed him up and spat him out.
He took ice and a lime from the refrigerator, lined up the bottle of Caipirinha, and wished he could blot the memory of Shontelle Wright right out of existence. Because of her...after her...he’d wanted more than just a suitable wife. He’d wanted to feel...
But maybe he didn’t have any passion left in him, so what did it matter if his marriage bed wasn’t as warm as he’d like it? Stupid to keep holding out for something he might never experience again. He would make the commitment to Claudia soon enough. She was willing. He was willing. Together they’d beget another line of heirs and heiresses. Surely he’d feel something for his children.
Nevertheless, it was one thing resigning himself to the destiny mapped out for him, another to be relentlessly pressed into it. Although he’d finally put his rebellious years behind him and shouldered the responsibilities that would have been his older brother’s, had Eduardo lived, Luis did not want his mother thinking she could rule his life. He was glad—yes, glad—he couldn’t fly back to Buenos Aires to keep her timetable, however reasonable it was.
Claudia would undoubtedly wait submissively.
She did everything... submissively.
Luis grimaced. Sometimes he suspected it was an act, deliberately put on to give him the sense of being on top. Respected. Honoured. King of his kingdom. But, so what? At least he knew where he was with Claudia.
He dropped the wedges of lime into his glass, mashed sugar into them, added the ice and drowned the lot with Caipirinha. Sweet and sour—like life, he thought. The telephone rang as he stirred the drink. Carrying the glass with him, he moved to pick up the nearest receiver, cynically wondering if his mother had found a danger-free way out of La Paz for him.
“Luis Martinez,” he rolled out carelessly.
“Luis, it’s Alan Wright. Please...don’t hang up. It’s taken me hours to track you down and I desperately need your help.”
The quick, taut plea stilled what would normally have been an automatic reaction. Luis had no wish to see, hear, or have any contact with the man whose sister had taken him for no more than a lump of tasty Latin meat. The heat of deeply lacerated pride instantly burned through him.
“What kind of help?” he snapped, angry with himself for even hesitating over cutting off his former friend.
“Luis, I have a tour group caught here in La Paz. We were due to fly to Buenos Aires yesterday. God knows when the airport will be reopened. They’re frightened, panicky, and some are suffering from altitude sickness. I need a bus to get them out. I’ll drive it. I thought you might be able to provide it.”
A bus.
It conjured up old memories—a much younger, wilder Alan, driving a beaten-up bus through the Amazon jungle to the mining operation where Luis had been sent for safekeeping, away from the troubles in Argentina. Alan had worked there for six months, more or less swapping his mechanical skills for the spare parts he needed to get his bus roadworthy enough to set up his own tour business.
An Australian, in love with South America—nothing was going to stop Alan Wright from selling it to tourists back home. Camping trips to start with, he’d decided. Then gradually he’d build up to the bigger money stuff. Luis had admired his initiative and determination, liked his cheerful good nature, and enjoyed his company. For nine years they’d maintained an infrequent but always congenial contact with each other. If Alan hadn’t introduced his sister...
“Is Shontelle with you?”
The question slipped out, unconsidered and loaded with a long, pent-up hostility that hissed down the line.
No denial. Nothing but a fraught silence that emphatically underlined the division of their interests.
“Is she?” Luis demanded harshly, uncaring of what the other man thought, knowing he had the power to ruthlessly cut their connection without any comeback.
“Goddammit, Luis! I’ll pay you for the bus. Can’t you just deal with me?” Alan exploded, tension and urgency ripping through every word.
She was with him.
More than pride started burning through Luis Angel Martinez. Every cell of his body was hit by an electric charge. Adrenalin shot through his bloodstream. Even the sense of his sexuality leapt into powerful prominence...sharply revitalised, wanting, needing, craving the satisfaction of wringing something more from the woman who’d dismissed all they’d shared as a brief bout of lust, come to the end of its run.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At the Europa Hotel,” came the quick, hopeful answer. “As luck would have it, just around the corner from the Plaza.”
“Very convenient!” Luis smiled. It was a smile that would have chilled the heart of anyone who saw it. “What’s the size of your tour group, Alan?”
“Thirty-two, including me.”
“I can get you a suitable bus...”
“Great!” A gush of relief.
“...And have it at your hotel, ready to go in the morning...”
“I knew if anyone could do it, you could.” Warm gratitude.
“...On one condition.”
Silence. On edge again. “What is it?” Wary.
Luis didn’t give a damn about Alan’s feelings. His friendship had probably been as self-serving as his sister’s association with him. After all, for a foreign tour operator, Luis Angel Martinez was a contact worth having in South America. He could open doors.
And shut them.
“Shontelle will have to come to my suite at the Plaza to negotiate the deal with me,” he stated blandly. “The sooner the better, for your purposes.”
“You can’t be serious!” Alan burst out. “There’s a curfew on. Army tanks are trundling around the streets and trigger-happy soldiers are everywhere. A woman alone, breaking curfew...it’s too dangerous, Luis.”
So was driving a bus out of here, Luis thought. The farmers were in revolt. They’d be blockading all the roads from La Paz. Alan was obviously prepared to take risks to get his people out, probably counting on his skill as a good talker with a dab hand at appropriate bribery. Which he could use tonight, as well, if need be. His plea on Shontelle’s behalf left Luis totally unmoved.
“You can escort her from hotel to hotel, if you like. The distance is very short and the road that links us is a cul-de-sac, hardly the place for a tank or soldiers on guard duty,” he pointed out.
“I can’t leave the group. Shontelle can’t, either. The women need her to...”
“There is a side entrance to the Plaza from the steps leading up to Prado 16 de Julio. I’ll have a man posted at the door to let her in. Let’s say...half an hour from now?”
Luis set the receiver down with firm decisiveness. He smiled again as he jiggled the ice in his drink. A responsibility to others often led to paths one wouldn’t take, given an absolutely free choice. Because he was his mother’s son, he would end up married to Claudia Gallardo. Because Shontelle was Alan Wright’s sister, she would end up in this suite tonight.
With him.
And he would take a great deal of pleasure in stripping her of more than her clothes!
CHAPTER TWO
SHONTELLE saw her brother’s jaw clench. He literally gnashed his teeth as he slammed the telephone receiver down. The violent action caused her heart to leap out of the frozen stasis that had held it for the duration of the call. The resulting pump of blood kicked reason into her mind, clearing it of the dark cloud of memories.
“What did he want?” she asked. It was obvious from the conversation that Luis had at least considered procuring the bus. It was certainly possible for him to do so. The Martinez family had fingers in many pies right across the continent; agriculture, mining, cement works, oil and gas, transport...
“Forget it!” Alan’s hand sliced the air with negative vehemence. “I’ll try something else.”
There was nothing else. Shontelle shook her head over the mess of notes on the table. They’d already been down every other avenue. The usual help Alan could tap into was not forthcoming.
She watched him steam around the sitting room of the suite they were sharing, a big man chopping up the space around her, making it feel claustrophobic with the sense of failure. Getting accommodation in The Europa, a relatively new five-star hotel, had been a coup for this tour. Now it seemed like a prison. Everyone in the tour group had lost their pleasure in its luxury, anxieties building with being trapped here. More bad news could make soothing fears and frayed tempers a very difficult, if not impossible exercise.
Alan always fought against imparting bad news to his tour groups, especially when there was no good news to make it more palatable. Normally he was a very cool operator, highly skilled at lateral thinking whenever a crisis arose, as it frequently did in South America. The ability to be flexible was paramount to bringing off a successful tour and Alan was always prepared to come up with an alternative schedule. But this time he’d found himself blocked at every turn.
He was the kind of man who hated being thwarted.
Or found wanting in any way.
So was Luis Angel Martinez, Shontelle remembered.
The two men were very alike in that respect. Kindred spirits. They’d been friends...the type of friendship where time and distance and social standing had no relevance. They might not meet for long intervals but such separations hadn’t made any difference, not over the nine years before...
Guilt wormed through Shontelle.
She had ruined it. For both of them. Blindly, wantonly, foolishly. Alan had warned her it wouldn’t work between her and Luis. Couldn’t. But she had refused to listen, refused to see...until Elvira Rosa Martinez had so very forcefully opened her ears and eyes. Then she’d been too wrapped up in her pride to realise how her exit from Luis’ life might have a bitter fallout on his friendship with her brother.
Not that Alan had told her of the consequences of her decisions. She had overheard Vicki, his wife, dryly informing an office associate they were no longer welcome on Martinez territory. The popular day trip from Buenos Aires to the ranch run by Luis’ younger brother, Patricio, had been struck from the tour.
When she’d tackled Vicki about it, the forthcoming explanation had been devastating. “Shontelle, did you really expect Luis Martinez to keep up the connection? You and Alan are not only of the same family, you even look alike.”
It was true. Alan was ten years older than her but the family likeness was unmistakable. The bone structure of their faces was the same; wide brow, high cheekbones, straight nose, clearcut chin. Alan’s top lip was thinner than hers and his eyes were not a clear green—more hazel in colour. The streaky blonde hair of his youth had darkened over the years but the variation in shade was still there. Either one of them was a physical reminder of the other, and that reminder would not be welcome to Luis Angel Martinez.
In her pride, Shontelle knew she had wounded his. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time. But it did. She had the strong conviction it especially mattered now.
“You were talking to Luis about me,” she said, drawing Alan’s attention.
He flashed her a pained look. “He asked about you,” he answered dismissively.
“No. It was more than that.” She frowned, trying to recall what she’d heard. The call had ended abruptly, just after Alan had said it was too dangerous for a woman to be out during curfew. “Tell me what he wanted, Alan.”
“I said, forget it!” he snapped impatiently.
“I want to know. I have a right to know,” she argued. “I’m just as responsible for this tour group as you are.”
He paused in his pacing but aggression still pumped from him. His eyes glittered with a fury of frustration. “I will not have my little sister grovel to Luis Martinez for anyone!” he bit out.
More pride.
It was heart-thumpingly obvious that Luis had turned the deal for the bus into something personal. Very personal. Which again was her fault. Shontelle took a deep breath to calm a host of skittish nerves. She couldn’t let this pass. It wasn’t fair to Alan. Besides which, the tour group was depending on them to rescue them from the situation.
“I’m not little,” she pointed out determinedly. “I’m twenty-six years old and I can take care of myself.”
Alan rolled his eyes. “Sure you can! Like you did two years ago when you talked me into leaving you with Luis.”
“I’m over that. I can deal with him,” she insisted hotly.
Too much personal knowledge sliced back at her. “You didn’t want to come back to South America. You wouldn’t be on this trip but for Vicki getting glandular fever. And you were as nervy as hell while we were in Buenos Aires.”
Her cheeks burned. “I came to assist you. That’s my job.” She pushed her chair back from the table which was littered with the evidence of failed attempts at solutions. Resolution drove her to her feet. “I’ll go and talk to him.”
“No, you won’t!”
“Luis Martinez was your last resort, Alan. Two years ago he would have got you the bus, no problem. I caused the problem and I’ll deal with it.”
He argued.
Shontelle stood firm.
Nothing was going to stop her; not the curfew, not the danger—which she considered very limited with the Plaza Hotel being virtually next door—not any of Alan’s big-brotherly concerns. She’d lived with guilt and shame too long. She’d spent two years being eaten up by memories she couldn’t change or bury. Luis Martinez wanted a face-to-face meeting with her. Then let it be. Let it be.
Maybe something good would come out of it
The bus, if nothing else.
She owed Alan that.
CHAPTER THREE
GOOD intentions were all very fine when made from a safe distance. Shontelle stared at the door which led into the suite occupied by Luis Angel Martinez and her heart quailed. A suite contained a bed...
She wasn’t over him. She doubted she ever would be. Luis Angel... She’d even been besotted with his name. Dark angel, she thought now, barely suppressing a shiver. It took all her willpower to raise her hand and knock on the door.
In the next few stomach-knotting moments, Shontelle tried to steel herself against revealing the vulnerability she felt. This meeting would only be a matter of pride to the man she had to face. He undoubtedly wanted to rub in that she was the loser, not him.
Somehow she had to let that wash over her, do a bit of grovelling if need be. Remember the bus, she fiercely told herself. She had to get the bus.
At least Luis couldn’t mistake the fact she was dressed for business. Her dark red T-shirt was printed with the Amigos Tours logo and her khaki trousers with pockets running down both legs were plainly practical, as were her sturdy shoes. This was strictly a business visit.
The door opened.
And there he was, hot flesh and blood, simmering in front of her. His thick, wavy black hair was brushed away from the beautifully sculpted features of his face, as always, framing them with a kind of dark, savage splendour. His skin gleamed with almost a magnetic vitality. His deeply set eyes, lushly outlined by their double rows of lashes, projected more power than any one man should ever have.
Shontelle stood rooted to the floor, speechless, breathless, mindless, her good intentions instantly zapped out of existence. Her scalp tingled. Every millimetre of her skin tingled. Her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting into flesh. Her toes scrunched up in her walking boots. Her heart swelled, throbbed, its heavy beat of yearning echoing through every pulse point.
She wanted him.
She still wanted him.
“Welcome back to my part of the world.”
His voice jolted her back to the chilling reality of why she was here. She’d loved his voice—its deep, rich, flowing tones—but there was no caress in it now, nothing warmly intimate. No welcome in his smile, either. The full-lipped sensual mouth that had once seduced her with such passion, was curled into a sardonic taunt, and the dark blaze of his eyes held a scorching intensity that shrivelled any hope of reviving good feelings. Or even a workable understanding.
He stepped aside to make room for her to enter, derisively waving her into his domain. For one nervejangling instant, the highly civilised Plaza suite blurred in Shontelle’s mind and the Amazon jungle leapt into it—its overwhelming sense of the primitive pressing in on her, vampire bats biting for blood, big black tarantulas hiding in trees, ready to pounce on their prey...
“Scared?” Luis mocked, his eyes raking her with contempt.
It goaded her forward. “No. Should I be?” she tossed at him as she passed by, determined on holding a brave front.
He closed the door behind her.
The metallic click felt ominous.
“Spurned Latin lovers are notoriously volatile,” he remarked, still in a mocking tone.
“A lot of water under the bridge since then, Luis,” she answered, shrugging off the implied threat and walking on through the sitting room of the suite, aiming for the big picture window on the other side of it.
The spectacular view of La Paz at night was not the drawcard. She desperately needed to put distance between her and the man who’d deliberately raised memories of their affair. And its ending.
“I must say you look as dynamic as ever,” she threw at him, forcing herself to attach a conciliatory smile. “I’d say life has been treating you well.”
“It could be better,” he replied, watching her move away from him with a dark amusement that raised Shontelle’s sense of danger several notches.
“I expect you’re married by now,” she added, trying to drive a moral wedge between them.
His white shirt was half unbuttoned, revealing a provocative arrowhead of his broad muscular chest, dark skin tipped by a glimpse of the black curls she knew spread across it. His forearms were bare, too, sleeves rolled up, flaunting his strong masculinity. She hated the thought of his wife knowing him as intimately as she had.
“No. As it happens, I’m not married.”
The cold, hard words were like nails being driven into Shontelle’s heart. Had she made a mistake? A flood of hot turmoil hit her. Fortunately she’d reached the window. She swiftly turned her back on him, hiding her wretched confusion, pretending to be captivated by the spectacular view.
Surely to God he was lying! He’d been betrothed to another woman—the Gallardo heiress—before and during their affair two years ago. He’d lied then, by omission. He’d left Shontelle blindly believing she was the only woman who counted in his life when there were two others who had a longer, deeper claim on him.
How could anyone not count Elvira Rosa Martinez?
More to the point, it had been totally unconscionable of Luis to remain silent about the young woman designated as his wife; the sweet, convent-raised, beautifully mannered Claudia Gallardo.
His silence had spelled out where Shontelle stood in his life—a handy bit of foreign fluff on the side, out of his mainstream, suitable only for fun and relaxation. But then he hadn’t made any promises, she savagely reminded herself.
“I assume you’re not married, either, since you’re travelling with your brother,” he drawled, each word sounding closer.
He was coming after her.
“I’m here on business, Luis,” she said tersely, wishing she hadn’t raised anything personal. He couldn’t be believed anyway. He’d undoubtedly say—or not say—whatever suited his purpose.
“Do you have a lover tucked away at home, waiting to serve your inclinations?” His voice had the stinging flick of a whip.
“I’m all out of lovers at the moment,” she answered flippantly, disdaining even a glance at him.
“Which is why you came on this trip, mmh?”
The silky taunt hit her on the raw. The urge to swing around and let him have the sting of her tongue almost blew her mind off her purpose here. She gritted her teeth, folded her arms to hold wayward impulses in, and stared fixedly at the myriad of lights beyond the window.
“It looks like a fairyland outside, doesn’t it?” she remarked as lightly as she could.
It was true. La Paz was the highest capital in the world and it appeared to be built in a moon crater. From where she was viewing it from the low downtown area, the lights of the city rose in a great circular curve, going up so high they seemed to be hanging in the sky. Incredible there were actually people living behind them.
“You need a magician to get you out of it,” Luis mocked, standing right behind her now.
“We need a bus,” she said quickly, fighting her intense awareness of his nearness.
“The curfew doesn’t lift until six in the morning.”
Her heart skittered. What was he implying? They had all night to negotiate?
“I don’t like your hair constricted in a plait,” was his next comment, confusing Shontelle further.
Her spine crawled at his touch as he lifted the rope of hair away from her back. She knew what he was going to do but her mind couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t still love her hair. He couldn’t still want her!
Or maybe he didn’t.
Maybe he was playing some cruel cat-and-mouse game.
She wanted to look at his face but she was frightened to. What if he was waiting to feed off her feelings? Pride insisted she deny him the satisfaction of knowing she was rattled. Could he hear the mad thumping of her heart? Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, she recited feverishly.
He’d worked off the rubber band and was separating the twisted swathes, seeming to take sensual pleasure in the feel of her hair. Impossible to ignore it. Impossible to stay calm.
“What do you want from me, Luis?” she blurted out.
“What I had before.”
Her mind fragmented under the force of her own desire to have him again, and his apparent desire to recall and repeat the passion they’d shared. Some tattered shreds of reason shrieked that he was only playing with her, using his power to make her succumb to him, but she had to know, had to see.
As she jerked around to face him, her arms flew out of their protective fold and lifted into an instinctive plea for truth. “What do you mean?” she cried.
He still held a skein of her hair and he wound it around his hand as his eyes blazed their dark purpose into hers. “I mean to seize the day, Shontelle. Or to put it more graphically...the night. You want a bus. I want one more taste of you.”
Shock waves slammed through her.
One more taste...
Only one...
Payment for the bus.
“Not such a difficult deal, is it?” he taunted. “Just a matter of giving me what you gave of yourself two years ago...in your desire to get what you wanted of me.”
“I didn’t get what I wanted then,” she protested, her voice thin and shaky under the appalling weight of devastated hopes.
A savage fury flared into his eyes. “Was I not all you wanted of a Latin lover?” His mouth curled with cruel intent. “Well, let me try not to disappoint you tonight. We have many hours ahead of us. I promise you a feast of hot-blooded sensuality.”
Hot and hard and ruthless.
The awful part was, Shontelle could not stop her body from pulsing with excitement at what he offered. Only with him had she ever known intense physical ecstasy. She hadn’t even felt a twinge of attraction towards anyone else in the past two years. Just the thought of touching Luis again, feeling him...quivers of anticipation shot through her.
But he was treating her like a whore, laying it out that she could only get the bus in return for sex.
Sex...not remotely connected to love. Not even the slightest semblance of love. It was wrong, wrong, wrong! Her heart twisted in torment as he twisted her hair more firmly around his hand and tugged her closer to him. Then his other hand slid over her breasts, his palm rotating caressingly, his eyes glittering their triumphant knowledge of what had pleasured her in the past, and to prove him right, her nipples instantly stiffened into begging prominence.
“Stop it!” she hissed, hating his power to arouse her even as she revelled in the sharp sensation that stimulated a host of nerves, arcing from her breasts to the innermost core of her sexuality.
One black eyebrow arched mockingly. “You no longer like this?”
He was the devil incarnate, tempting her. The truth was, she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want him to ever stop. But he would. This was only to be one more taste. Unless...
Something deeply primitive stirred in Shontelle.
He wasn’t married, so he said.
And he still wanted her.
He also wanted a payback for his wounded pride.
Well, so did she. So did she!
“I don’t normally go for one night stands,” she said.
“But these are special circumstances,” he returned silkily.
“Just let me understand you clearly, Luis...”
With her heart thumping to a wild beat, Shontelle flicked open the shirt button over his chest curls and slid her hand inside, seeking and deliberately tweaking one of his nipples. His sharply indrawn breath was music to her ears. She had power over him, too. It wasn’t a one-way street.
Her eyes flirted challengingly with his as she spoke through the provocative, physical teasing. “...If I stay with you the night and let you have your...” She lowered her gaze to his mouth, regarding it assessingly. “...taste of me...” She let the words linger for a moment, then flicked her gaze up, raising her eyebrows in pointed questioning. “...I get the bus? Is that the deal?”
“Yes,” he hissed at her.
“Then make your calls now, Luis. Let me hear you arrange the delivery of an appropriate bus to The Europa Hotel as soon as the curfew is lifted tomorrow. When you’ve done that, I’ll call Alan to assure him everything’s all right and I’ll be staying with you until morning.”
His jawline tightened. His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like her calling the shots, but he’d dealt her the cards, made the rules of the game, and Shontelle figured he couldn’t fault her over playing them. A sense of triumph poured a burst of adrenalin through her veins. No one was a victim unless they allowed themselves to be.
She pursed her lips into a considering little smile. “A feast of hot-blooded sensuality sounds good. I do hope you’re up to it, Luis.”
The moment the words were out, she felt a swell of danger—a dark and fierce emanation from him swirling around her, sending shivers down her spine. He smiled right back at her as he released her hair—a smile that promised himself a deep well of satisfaction. He plucked her hand from inside his shirt and drew it slowly down, palm against him, fingers splayed.
“Feel for yourself how up to it I am, Shontelle,” he drawled, his other hand gliding up her throat to cup her chin.
He was fully erect, his arousal straining against the barrier of clothes. He guided her into stroking him as he tilted her head and bent his own. “Just to make sure I do want the taste,” he murmured, then covered her mouth with his, not giving her any chance of reply.
Shontelle didn’t even think of trying to deny him. The urge to taste him, too, was far too strong for any denial. And his mouth was soft, sweetly seductive, at first, his tongue merely flicking over the soft inner tissues of her lips, sensitising them with delicious tingles.
She responded, wanting to know if the passion they had once shared could be triggered again, beyond pride, beyond all the differences between them. Her free arm instinctively curled around his neck to hold him to her and the kiss deepened, pursuing a more erotic, more exciting intimacy.
Her body started clenching with a need it had all but forgotten. She grasped the hard proof of his desire, fingers digging around it, revelling in the feel of him. She was so caught up in her own strong responses, it came as a shock when he abruptly ended their kiss, removed her hand from him and broke out of her embrace.
“You must be hungry for a man, Shontelle,” he mocked, lifting the fingers that had been squeezing him to his mouth. He lightly nipped them. “Definitely an appetising taste. Please excuse me while I execute my half of the deal. I look forward to the rest of the night.”
He walked away from her, seemingly completely in control of himself. Shontelle was left feeling shattered, her legs trembling, drained of strength, her stomach churning so much she wanted to be sick, her heart aching, her mind zigzagging helplessly through a maze of fierce contradictions.
She loved him... and hated him.
She craved more of him...yet wanted to cut out his callous heart.
Was it to be a night of intense life... or a night of heart-killing desolation?
She didn’t know...couldn’t decide...couldn’t tear herself away from whatever might pass between them.
He picked up a telephone, pressed a sequence of numbers, spoke with the arrogant authority of his name, his position, the power that came automatically with great wealth...Luis Angel Martinez...the only man who’d ever moved her like this...and maybe the only man who ever would.
Was there anything to win by staying?
The bus, her mind answered.
But the bus had no relevance to the question.
She wanted...needed...to win something for herself. So she had to stay and see this night through, even if she lost everything.
One night...one night...unless she could turn it into something more.
CHAPTER FOUR
LUIS was rock-hard and in pain but the shattered look he’d left on Shontelle’s face was worth every second of the discomfort. No way was she going to turn the tables on him! He hoped the witch was burning with frustration.
He deliberately kept his back turned to her while he talked on the phone to Ramon Flores who could organize any form of road transport in La Paz. It was local courtesy to speak Quechua, the old Inca language, and Luis did so with perverse pleasure, knowing Shontelle would not be able to follow it. Her grasp of Spanish was good, but she only had a sketchy knowledge of the native dialects.
Let her stew in uncertainty, he thought. She was too damned sure of her power to get what she wanted. Before this night was out she’d learn who was master of the situation, and he’d kiss her goodbye with the same brutal finality she’d shown him two years ago.
“The bus is not a problem, Luis,” Ramon said predictably. “But...”
The pause sharpened Luis’ attention. “But what?”
“It would be useless to ask any of my local drivers to deliver it. They would be stopped and arrested before the bus got to The Europa. The military edict is no gathering of crowds. They consider three people together a crowd. A local man taking out a bus...it would not be allowed. Too suspicious.”
Luis frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. Yet if he didn’t deliver...no, he had to. He refused to look weak and ineffectual in front of Shontelle Wright. There had to be a way.
“Your Australian friend...he might get through, being a foreigner,” Ramon suggested. “Since he is prepared to risk his tour group in trying to get out of La Paz, tell him to come to the depot and take the bus himself. It will be fully fuelled, ready to go.”
It made sense, but it wasn’t the deal he’d agreed to with Shontelle. Her words, not his, he reasoned. He didn’t have to toe her line. The essence of the deal was the same. The bus would be available for Alan to take. That was all his erstwhile friend had requested.
“Someone will be at the depot to hand over the bus?” he asked.
“Curfew lifts at six. I’ll have a man at the gates at six-thirty.”
“Thank you, Ramon.”
“Your friend is a fool, Luis.”
“His choice.”
“It’s our bus. This could bring trouble kicking back to us.”
“I’ll wear it. You are simply following my orders, Ramon.”
“As you wish.”
Luis slowly lowered the receiver, his mind engaged in hard reappraisal. This whole enterprise was stupid, inviting trouble. Alan’s tour group was safe at their hotel. What was another week or two out of their lives? Better locked away in luxury than dead. It was just as stupid for him to get involved, putting the Martinez reputation for finely balanced political sense on the line.
For what?
A woman who had used him...a woman worth nothing!
Madness to have been tempted into wreaking some sweet vengeance. It was beneath him. He should dismiss her from his suite right now, send her off with a bitter sense of failure. That was vengeance enough.
He turned to do it.
She stood framed by the blackness of the night beyond the window, the twinkling stars of light from the city surrounding her, lending her an air of etherial mystery. Her long hair gleamed like a stream of moonlight and her golden skin glowed, the perfect foil for eyes that shone like emeralds. Her full lips were slightly apart, as he’d left them, waiting it seemed for another kiss, insidiously beckoning him.
He forced his gaze down the long graceful line of her neck to the blood-red T-shirt. She had no heart, he told himself. No heart. But the lush softness of her breasts moved as though to the beat of one, a beat that tugged on him with inexorable and tormenting strength.
How was it possible, he wondered, to feel such desire for a woman...yet hate her with equal ferocity?
“Is the bus assured for tomorrow morning?” she asked, her voice strained.
The conviction swept into Luis’ mind. This was no fun for her. Which was only right and just. She’d had her fun last time. It was his turn tonight. He could send her away right now, defeated, but what satisfaction was there in that? He wanted—needed—the same physical satisfaction she had taken from him, over and over again.
“Yes,” he said. “You’ll get the bus.”
Which put their deal on the line.
Luis watched her take that in, and all it implied. Her gaze dropped from the hard challenge in his. Her hands interlocked in front of her waist, as though testing how much strength she had, fingers flexing...and he craved their touch on him again. Her breasts and shoulders lifted slightly as she drew in a deep breath. He found himself holding his own breath, waiting for her decision, willing her to concede to him, his whole body focusing energy on her, determined on drawing her into the ring with him.
She spoke, still with her eyes downcast. “If you have a wife, Luis, this is a rotten game you’re playing and I won’t be a party to it.”
Luis clenched his teeth. It was because of her he didn’t have a wife, but he’d rot in hell before she dragged that admission from him.
“If I had a wife, you would have had no access to me, Shontelle,” he stated bitingly.
Her lashes slowly lifted, her eyes meeting his with an oddly poignant expression of irony. He caught a sense of fatalism, yet there was no resignation to defeat in it, more a feeling of being ready to ride whatever outcome ensued from the situation. It disturbed him. It wasn’t what he expected from her. Not what he wanted, either.
“What time should I tell Alan the bus will be at our hotel?” she asked. “He’ll want to have the tour group ready to go.”
The hotel! It was on the tip of his tongue to state that Alan would have to collect the bus from the depot. A surge of pride stopped him. If he didn’t win his ground with this woman, he would always feel whipped by her. Which was totally intolerable. No way would he give Shontelle Wright any cause to scorn him again.
It might be sheer madness to risk his own skin to balance the scales, madness to risk blotting the Martinez reputation for steering clear of trouble, but he would get the damned bus himself rather than give Shontelle a loophole out of this deal. She had to be his for this one night. Somehow it was a need that drove to the very core of his manhood.
“Seven o’clock,” he answered tersely. “Given that it’s not stopped by the military. That I cannot control.”
A sigh whispered from her lips. She nodded acceptance. “Fair enough! I’ll ring Alan now.”
Done!
Yet Luis’ triumph had a bittersweet taste. She had wrung more from him than she was worth. But she would pay, he promised himself. He would strip her of every bit of power she had over him before dawn came. Then he would be free of her. Finally free of her.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHONTELLE tried desperately to focus her mind on how to tell Alan she was spending the night with the man who’d stolen her heart two years ago and hadn’t valued it...a man who’d used her for pleasure...and when she’d taken the pleasure away, had vindictively taken out his displeasure on her brother. There was simply no way Alan was going to understand.
One more night...
With any luck she should at least win something from this encounter. It would either set her free of Luis Angel Martinez...or...give her hope of something more from him, more than she had believed possible.
He wanted her...perhaps as badly as she wanted him. It was what she was gambling on. Plus the fact he hadn’t married. The Gallardo heiress hadn’t got him. And maybe—just maybe—Elvira Rosa Martinez didn’t know her son as well as she thought she did.
“The telephone is free for you to use,” Luis dryly reminded her, gesturing to it with a casual grace that belied any tension on his part over her decision to stay.
He looked so arrogantly sure of himself.
But he did want her.
Shontelle pushed her legs into action and a wry smile onto her mouth. “This is not going to be an easy call.”
He returned a derisive look. “Did you think it was easy, looking like a fool for ordering a bus out in this volatile climate?”
He had a point.
Both of them fools.
For some reason, that thought boosted Shontelle’s morale.
Luis did not move away from the telephone to let her speak privately to Alan. He propped himself against the edge of the writing desk, apparently intent on hearing every word. She had no choice but to stand next to him, which heightened her awareness of the strong force field coming from his dominating maleness.
She turned her back on him once the call was put through. She didn’t want him witnessing her awkwardness in explaining her decision to Alan. It was bad enough knowing he was listening without him watching her every nuance of expression.
“Where are you calling from?” Alan demanded, the moment she announced herself.
“I’m still with Luis in his suite. He’s got you the bus, Alan.”
“What did he want for it?”
“It’s no problem. You can tell everyone to be in the hotel foyer, ready to leave at seven o’clock, all going well.”
“All going well?” Suspicion sharpened his voice. “What’s Luis up to, Shontelle?”
“Alan, he’s ordered the bus. He can’t guarantee the military won’t stop it before it reaches the hotel.”
She heard him expel a long breath. She also heard Luis straighten away from the desk, moving to stand behind her.
“Right! That’s it then,” Alan decided. “I take it you’ve finished talking and you’re ready to leave. Give me five minutes and I’ll be at the side door into the Plaza to bring you back here.”
Hands slid around her waist, distracting her. Luis was standing close behind her, very close, but not touching except for his hands. Her buttocks clenched in sheer nervousness. Her heart leapt into her throat when he started unbuckling her belt.
“Shontelle?”
She dragged her attention back to Alan, belatedly recalling he’d been offering the protection of his escort back to the hotel.
“Uh...no. No, we haven’t finished here,” she rushed out.
“Just starting,” Luis murmured, darkly purred words that set her pulse pounding. The buckle undone, he unbuttoned the waistband and drew down her zipper.
Shontelle held her breath. Her mind blanked out on all active thought, waiting, poised on the edge of an explosion of sensation should he move his hand inside her clothes and...
“What’s going on there?” Alan demanded, his voice getting edgier.
She gulped, forced herself to think. An answer was needed. Fast. “I’m going to spend the night with Luis, Alan,” she gabbled, almost yelping as her trousers and underpants were pulled down to her thighs.
“What?” Alan squawked.
Her brother’s shock was nothing to Shontelle’s at being so summarily stripped. Exposed. Vulnerable to anything Luis might choose to do with her. This was going too far, too fast. The urge to drop the telephone and yank up her clothes was muddled by Alan’s yelling at her.
“I’m coming to get you right now.”
“No!” She jerked around to face Luis, wanting to stop his actions, too. “No!” she repeated for him.
Wild, reckless and wicked intent blazed at her. He ignored her protest, picked her up, sat her bare bottom on the desk, lifted one of her legs, propped her foot against his thigh and proceeded to undo her bootlace. Shontelle lost track of what she should be doing. Luis was undressing her with ruthless efficiency. His powerfully muscled thigh was bent towards her, reminding her of how magnificently perfect his physique was. But shouldn’t she stop this...this taking? If she moved her foot up...
“Shontelle...” Alan bellowed in her ear. “...If this is the bargain he’s struck with you...”
“Alan, I’ve done your business,” she cut in, frantic to be free of the argument. “This is mine and Luis’ business and it’s completely personal. Personal! Got that?” she snapped.
Her shoe and sock were off. Luis was lifting her other leg.
“Are you off your brain? Luis will chew you up and spit you out again,” Alan thundered at her.
Once both her feet were free, he would remove her clothes and...there was no time for appeasing Alan. Couldn’t be done anyway. Just watching Luis’ deft, ruthless movements, she was torn between excitement and fear, yet swamping both feelings was a compelling need to know all she wanted to know.
“Let him do it then!” she cried recklessly.
“Is he holding the deal with the bus over you?” Anxious now...
Better for her to sound sane...though her trousers and underpants were being tugged down her calves, over her ankles. She struggled for breath, struggled for some final words.
“Do me a favour, Alan, and pack my bags so they’re ready to go. I’ll come back when the curfew lifts in the morning.”
Luis stepped in between her legs, his eyes glittering at her, exultant, revelling in seizing the moment, the night, her, everything...making it his.
“Shontelle, for God’s sake! Will you...”
Luis seized the telephone. “Stay out of this, Alan!” he commanded. “Your sister and I have much to work through and it’s very, very personal.”
There was no argument with Luis. He simply didn’t allow it, cutting the connection by slamming the receiver down. Without so much as a pause, he grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt and hauled it off her. Shontelle’s arms were still coming down as his hands whipped around her back to unclip her bra. No fumbling. Snap, and her last piece of clothing dangled loose and was swiftly consigned to the pile on the floor.
She was completely naked, dazed by the speed of its happening and the total lack of any sensuality accompanying the stripping of clothes. She stared at Luis’ face and saw a mask of hard pride...dark, dark Angel.
He gave her no time to think, speak, question. He gripped her rib cage, hoisted her off the desk and carrying her virtually at arm’s length, he strode through the suite to the bedroom. Impossible for Shontelle to find purchase for her arms or legs. They flapped uselessly. She was so stunned at being held like some distasteful object, any sense of coordination was utterly lost. He tossed her on the bed and she bounced into an abandoned sprawl.
“That’s where I want you,” he said, his voice harsh with the effort expended. He lifted his shoulders back, holding an imperious, superior stance by the bed. “Where you should be...” he went on with savagely mocking emphasis, “...on the playing ground you use so well.”
Scathing words, scathing eyes as they travelled slowly over her. They spurred Shontelle into a clear recognition of his fierce drive to pay her back for having regarded him as no more than a good lay. Even lower than that...a transient lay who’d worn out his novelty value. The Latin lover tag had remained a burr under his skin.
But deeper than that...was she still under his skin?
He was holding control, determined on keeping the upper hand, but how much feeling for her lay behind his armoured pride? If she could break through...
She moved sinuously, provocatively, arranging herself more comfortably on the bed, looping her hair over one shoulder so it streamed across her breasts. “You were quite a masterful player yourself, Luis,” she said with a reminiscent smile, idly moving a tress of hair back and forth over one of her nipples. “A pity you seem to have lost your touch.” She deliberately ran her gaze over his body as she added, “Brute strength is rather a sad step down.”
A mirthless laugh scraped from his throat. “In your search for variety, I’m sure a bit of rough has featured somewhere.” His eyes glittered challengingly at her as he stripped off his shirt. “I thought it might give you a kick since you grew bored with my kind of lovemaking.”
“I was never bored with you,” she said truthfully. “I thought what we shared was very special.”
A flash of derision. “So you left before it got spoiled.”
It was spoiled before she left. “The writing was on the wall, Luis,” she said quietly, remembering how naive she’d been not to even see it until it was pointed out to her. “I got out before it fell on top of me.”
“What writing?” he jeered, bending to remove his shoes and socks, his body language clearly contemptuous of any excuse she might offer.
“Your real life in Buenos Aires,” Shontelle said, testing for some flash of guilt from him for what he’d kept hidden.
There was no sharp glance at her. He finished taking off his footwear and when he straightened up, his dark eyes gloated over her with unmistakably sexual intent...such burning intent Shontelle squirmed inside.
“I see,” he drawled. “Our romantic idyll on the Amazon was over. I had work to do in Buenos Aires so you did not get my full attention there. Rest assured you have it tonight, Shontelle.”
He proceeded to unfasten his trousers.
“Why?” she shot at him, frustrated at being relegated to a sexual object. Though that might be all he’d ever thought of her. The urge to sting him as she was stung slid straight off her tongue. “Your other women not delivering any spice, Luis? You need a taste of me to supplement your diet?”
It stung him all right. His mouth thinned for a moment and there was a flare of anger in his eyes, giving her a glimpse of a banked inner rage that promised no quarter given tonight.
“You think you’re special, Shontelle?” He left the lilt of mockery hanging while he finished undressing. Then stark naked, powerfully naked, aggressively naked, he gave her a smile that curled with vengeful satisfaction. “Well, yes you are,” he drawled. “A rich, erotic indulgence...so special I think I should make a banquet of you.”
And spit me out in the morning.
Shontelle’s stomach was suddenly a hollow pit. All the cards looked black in this game—clubs and spades—no hearts, no diamonds. Even so, she could not give up all hope. Not yet.
“Taking a risk, aren’t you?” she slung back at him. “People get addicted to rich, erotic indulgences.”
He laughed, and despite its being dark amusement, his face was suddenly transformed into the lighter, more lovable Luis she had known, and Shontelle’s heart tripped over itself. Her body wantonly buzzed with anticipation as he prowled onto the bed, looming over her, sweeping her hair away from her breasts, raking it into a fan around her head, his eyes simmering with lustful heat.
“A substance has to be readily available for one to become addicted,” he murmured, sipping seductively at her lips. “I’ll just take all I can get of it tonight.”
Readily available... the phrase echoed in Shontelle’s ears as Luis fully engaged her mouth with his in a long, devouring kiss, stirring her hunger for him, a hunger that had been starved for two miserable, empty years. If she’d stayed, maybe he would have defied his heritage to keep her. Foolish pride... walking out on him without confronting him with what she’d been told, what he’d withheld. An open choice would have been better, cleaner.
Maybe with this second chance...
She raked her fingers through his hair, revelling in the feel of it, a huge surge of possessiveness welling through her. This man was hers, had to be. There was no other like him. And he had to feel the same about her. It had to be mutual, this passionate craving.
Then suddenly her hands were snatched away, slammed onto the bed and pinned above her head as he levered himself up. “It’s my night, Shontelle.”
She looked into eyes seething with dark turbulence.
“And the playing will be all mine.”
He bent and licked her lips as though collecting the lingering evidence of her response to his kiss, then trailed his mouth slowly down to the pulse at the base of her throat, pausing there to apply a heated pressure that kicked her heart into wilder pumping.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/emma-darcy/the-secret-mistress-39930554/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.