Page 73 of His Innocent for One Spanish Night

And this was one.

She’d felt too naïve before, too gauche to attempt it, but now she knew she wasn’t being judged, that it was just sheer pleasure they gave to each other.

‘God...’ he moaned as she kissed up his dark length and came to the tip.

He was tall, so he hooked the chair with his foot and brushed off all the lovely folded clothes, letting her sit down.

‘Hold it,’ he said, lifting her glossy curls so he could see her hands and her face and her lips around his length. He guided her hand for a moment, and then he stopped and sank into the pleasure of her untutored mouth working him.

He started to thrust and then attempted not to.

She pulled her head back and looked at him, all gleaming and wet from her mouth, and then she took him in her mouth again, a little more boldly. Her bottom was lifting off the seat as he started to thrust. Her own sex was hot as she took him more deeply than she’d ever thought she’d dare.

He was brushing her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, tender with his hands. And he was no longer watching in the mirror, just tending to her as she tended to him.

‘Emily...’

His voice held a warning, and she could feel him swelling in her mouth, and then he shouted a breathless shout, and she tasted him for the first time, stunned at the pleasure of this intimacy, taut and on the edge of coming herself as she looked up at him, so glad for these moments.

‘Come here,’ he told her.

He pulled her up and took her to bed, and they lay silent together, wrapped in their own thoughts but not sharing them.

She knew it might be a little dangerous to do that.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ITWASN’TJUSTthe brilliant sex, or the walking hand in hand to the restaurant, it was the long slow dinner, where the waiter kept having to come back because neither was ready to order.

‘You look incredible.’

Alejandro took Emily’s hand in the candlelight. The white tablecloth was dotted with little gold foil stars and, feeling his hand over hers, she felt the happiest she ever had.

‘And with that curly hair you won’t have to get it done again for ages.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I’m not sure...’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I read it.’

‘Or one of your lovers told you?’

‘God, no, they’re always at the hair salon,’ he said. ‘Not you, though?’

He sounded curious, rather than scathing, enough that she shook her head and told him how her mother had always cut her hair.

‘She made all my clothes too.’

‘Seriously?’

‘She was very talented at sewing and knitting.’ She felt a surge of tears, out of place on such a gorgeous night, but his hand simply held hers and he allowed her to speak on. ‘I don’t think my teenage self appreciated that at the time.’

‘You wanted high fashion?’

‘Yes,’ Emily admitted. ‘But now I feel so dreadful for all the times I sulked when she made me yet another jumper...’ She gave a shrill laugh. ‘She made me a pair of jeans once. They were awful, and I told her so.’ He held her hand tighter. ‘I’d give anything to have a pair of her hand-made jeans or one of her jumpers now.’

‘It sounds as if you had incredible parents.’

‘I did,’ Emily agreed. ‘I just didn’t always appreciate it at the time.’

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