Page 7 of Cinderella's Christmas Secret

‘As much as possible, yes. Life is easier that way,’ she asserted, when he continued to look at her. ‘You know, more dependable.’

‘Really?’ he pondered reflectively, the pad of his thumb brushing over the beard-shadowed jut of his jaw—a movement which seemed to fascinate her. ‘But surely dependability can get a little boring sometimes. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-six,’ she said, a little defiantly.

‘Don’t you ever want to throw caution to the wind and do something unpredictable?’

‘I’ve never really thought about it much, to be honest.’

He noticed that her fingers were trembling, making her coffee cup rattle against the saucer as she quickly put it down on the hearth.

‘Well, think about it now,’ he said. ‘What would you do, for example, if I were to acknowledge the unspoken desire in your eyes and touch you? If I were to brush my fingers against your hair, to discover whether it feels as soft as it looks in the firelight?’

‘I can’t...’ Her words sounded husky and he could see the swallowing movement of her throat. ‘I can’t imagine you doing something like that.’

‘No?’ He heard the note of repressed hope in her voice and silently, he answered it, reaching out to imprison a single lock of hair and stroking it between his thumb and forefinger, like a merchant examining a piece of valuable cloth. ‘The funny thing is neither can I. But I am. And it does. Like silk, I mean. Rich, dark golden silk.’

‘Mr Diaz.’

‘I’ve been thinking about touching you all night long,’ he husked unsteadily, skating his palm down over the abundant waves. ‘And you like it, don’t you? You like me stroking your h

air.’

Her shuddered word was barely audible. ‘Y-yes.’

For a while he listened to her uneven breathing and felt his own corresponding leap of desire. ‘And you know what comes next, don’t you?’

She shook her head and gazed at him in silence.

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Tell me,’ she whispered, like a child asking to be told a story.

‘I kiss you,’ he said, a note of urgency deepening his voice to a growl.

Their eyes met. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, nodding her head with eager assent. ‘Yes, please.’

It was the most innocent yet the most provocative thing he’d ever heard.

And suddenly her hair was a rope and Maximo was using it to guide him towards her waiting lips and he felt his body tense with a sweet and tantalising hunger.

CHAPTER THREE

MAXIMO WAS KISSING HER until she had started to make mewling little sounds of hunger. Until she was moving her body restlessly against him in a gesture of unspoken need.

She should have been nervous about what was about to happen, but fear was the last thing on Hollie’s mind as the Spaniard drew away from her, his black eyes blazing with passion in the glow of the firelight.

He laced his fingers through the fall of her hair, and his breath was warm against her lips as he spoke. ‘I think it’s time we found ourselves somewhere more comfortable, don’t you?’

‘Yes, please,’ she whispered again, and then wondered if she should at least have gone through the motions of pretending to give it more than a moment’s consideration.

But that flicker of apprehension fled as soon as he picked her up and carried her upstairs, like the masterful embodiment of all her forbidden dreams. She could hear the powerful beat of her heart and the creak of the wood as he negotiated the narrow staircase.

‘Where’s your bedroom?’ he demanded, once they’d reached the top.

She supposed now wasn’t the time to tell him there was only one bedroom—instead she jerked her head in the direction of the nearest door, wishing she had tidied up a bit more. ‘In there.’

But as he kicked it open, Maximo didn’t seem to notice the cardigan lying on the chair or the pile of cookery books teetering in a haphazard pile on the bedside table. Instead, he set her down and spoke in a voice which suddenly seemed much more accented than before and more than a little unsteady.

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