Page 37 of The Texan's Secrets

Nico moved up behind Emilia’s chair, resting his hands on the back, squelching an urge to rest them on her shoulders. Their previous lovemaking had been amazing. But they hadn’t talked about it afterward. They hadn’t extended the intimacy in any meaningful way again.

He wasn’t sure what she expected now.

“Hungry?” he asked. “Or just thirsty?”

“Thirsty.”

“A cocktail? Wine? A soft drink?”

She looked up at him over her shoulder. “Honestly, I was thinking water.”

He was struck anew by her beauty and by his intense desire for her. But he kept his voice light. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a very affordable date?”

“Do you usually video record your dates?”

“Oh, man, there is a very sexy joke in there.”

She made a face.

“Joke,” he repeated with emphasis. “Definitely a joke.”

Her eyes softened, then deepened as their gazes held, and his pulse took an erratic jump.

It seemed natural to lean in. He moved slowly and steadily in case he was misreading, and her sultry expression didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

But she didn’t move, except to tilt her head to meet his lips.

One of his hands tightened on the chair back. With the other, he cupped her cheek to his palm, deepening the kiss. Then he shifted in front of her and drew her gently to her feet. To his delight, she stepped into his embrace and wrapped her arms around him.

His desire escalated to passion. He slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, skimming the warm skin of her back, imaging his hands roaming farther, higher, touching her soft breasts all over again.

She pulled back with a gasp, her eyes wide, lips dark pink and swollen. “There are a lot of windows in here.”

She was right. There were people in the gardens outside, and the door leading from the restaurant to the glass room was unlocked for anyone to wander in.

“Your place?” he asked, hoping she’d want to take this somewhere private.

“Paris is there. Yours?”

He wished. Oh, how he wished he dared take her home to his bed.

“Just painted,” he lied. “Enamel. The fumes need a few days to clear.” He hoped she chalked up the strain in his voice to disappointment, not guilt.

“Here?” she suggested. “A room?”

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it himself. They were at a resort. Resorts had guest rooms. The Bellamy had incredibly elegant guest rooms. He couldn’t think of a better place for a romantic interlude.

“Here,” he agreed and took her hand. Reviewing the video could easily wait until later—holding Emilia in his arms could not.

She gently stroked his bicep with her free hand as they walked to the lobby. It was a romantic touch, a sexy touch, a touch that had him increasing his pace until he was all but jogging to the front desk.

He tossed down his credit card and asked for their best room.

“Are you trying to impress me?” Emilia whispered in his ear, amusement in her voice.

“Is it working?” he returned, while the clerk checked her computer.

“It’s wasted.”

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