Page 39 of Claiming His Baby At The Altar

And then he kissed her again, harder, with a greedy possessiveness that knitted all her atoms back together and pulsed them back to glorious life.

This time Flora accepted the loss of control and melted into the heady heat of his hungry mouth.

A loud noise cut right through them and, eyes locking back together, both pulled their faces away so only the tips of their noses touched. Ramos’s ragged breath was warm against her sensitised lips, and her mouth tingled for more of his kisses, her skin burning for more of his touch...

More of everything.

The loud tune continued its incessant hum until Ramos stepped back and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He swiped it without even looking at the screen and threw it onto the sofa.

His chest rising and falling in great heaves, he held his hand out to her.

Feeling as if she were in the midst of a dream, Flora threaded her fingers into his and let him lead her into the bedroom. There, he pushed her gently on the bed.

He stared at her for the longest time and for a moment she was taken back to the look in his eyes the moment before their lips had brushed together for the very first time.

That was the night she had gone to him pleading for his mercy.

She’d looked in those spellbinding dark eyes and had run out of words. She’d lost the power of speech. In that moment, the only thought in her head had been that Alejandro Ramos was beautiful.

Alone as they had never been alone before, there had been no one to distract her, no one to rescue her.

She hadn’t needed rescuing from Ramos. She’d needed rescuing from herself.

Trapped in the swirling depths, her heart a sharp, painful tattoo, she’d been overcome with the need to feelhisheart and had placed her hand on his chest before she was aware of what she was doing. He’d sucked in a breath at her touch, she remembered. The hard beats had thumped against her palm. Spellbound, she’d cupped his cheek. He’d been unshaven. The look she could see in his eyes now had rung out starkly when he’d whispered her name. Slowly, his mouth had inched closer and at that very first brush of his lips to hers, she’d been lost.

And now she was caught again and she no longer had the strength or the will to fight it.

She no longerwantedto fight it.

Ramos shrugged his jacket off and let it drop on the floor. Eyes not leaving her face, he undid the buttons of his shirt and let that drop too.

Flora, her heart beating fast, unashamedly drank him in.

Hadn’t she known since that adolescent glimpse of his nudity that Alejandro Ramos was the epitome of masculine perfection, the physical standard for which she put all men but which no other could live up to?

He wore his rampant sexuality like a cloak, his melting eyes hypnotising and luring. Hadn’t that been why she’d always avoided looking in his eyes? Hadn’t she instinctively known as a young adolescent the danger that lay for her in those depths, known that they were a trap, just as she’d know his very scent was a trap to entice her too?

His hands went to his chinos.

His erection was clearly delineated beneath the fabric.

The pulse between her legs throbbed.

God, she wanted him. Desperately. A wanton craving that existed only for him.

She put a hand to the bulge in his chinos and traced the hard length.

His strong throat swallowed.

Tilting her head back to gaze up at his gorgeous face and to revel in the desire blazing from it, she undid the button of his trousers.

Working quickly, jaw clenched, he removed the rest of his clothes.

His erection sprang free, as huge and glorious as she remembered, and the pulse between her legs throbbed even deeper.

He stepped to her and put his hands to her thighs. And then he parted them. Kneeling on the floor before her, he slid his hands under the skirt of her dress and up, over her hips to catch the band of her knickers in his fingers.

The beats of her heart now smashing against her ribs, her breaths coming in quick bursts, Flora lifted her bottom to help him tug them down. Knickers removed, he unbuckled her sandals and threw them behind him with the other discarded clothes...and then he kissed a cherry-red painted toenail. And then his lips pressed over the arch of her foot to her ankle, brushing up her calf and over her knee, the marks of his mouth and tongue leaving a scorching trail of lightning in their wake, up the highly sensitised flesh of her thighs, hands gripping her dress and pushing it up, exposing her pubis...

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