Chapters (17)
“That is my answer to you,” El Diablo said in a deep voice, “for I cannot let you go. Not while your kisses have the power to excite me, however tired, however weary I may be. You are a very exciting woman, Skye!”
“But how can we go on like this?” she asked desperately.
“What shall prevent us?” El Diablo asked. “Is there anyone waiting for you in England? Have you promised to be anywhere by a certain date?”
He knew the answer to his questions and he laughed as he saw her face.
“You covered your tracks too well,” he taunted her. “Your cruise into the unknown has brought you the adventure you were seeking and now you don’t like it. Aren’t you a little ungrateful?”
He was teasing her and yet there was still that deep frightening note of passion in his voice.
“Let me go!” Skye hardly seemed to breathe the words, but he heard them. Instinctively he reached out towards her.
Then unexpectedly he swung her legs off the floor so that she lay on the couch, her head on the soft cushions, his arm across her body so that, he looked down at her.
“No, don’t move,” he ordered as she tried to struggle up. “We are comfortable like this. For the first time today I am at peace with the world.”
“You think only of yourself,” Skye said accusingly.
“Of course,” he replied. “What man doesn’t? There is a delight in coming home to you, in fighting a battle different from the one I fight all day, a battle in which I know I must win because I am stronger.”
Again she tried to rise from the couch, but he put his hands on her shoulders to hold her down and bent his head to kiss her.
“Fight me as you will,” he murmured against her lips, “you are not strong enough because what I want I take.”
“I hope Alejo will torture you tomorrow,” Skye cried, stung beyond endurance.
“He will if he can catch me,” El Diablo smiled.
“Then let’s hope he is clever enough.”
“So bloodthirsty?” he enquired. “Don’t look at me like that.”
He kissed her eyelids.
Then she felt his lips travel over her cheeks to the softness of her mouth. She knew how hopeless it was to struggle further.
His kisses were growing more passionate and more demanding and there was a fierce possessive hunger in them as if they demanded her very soul.
Striving to make herself rigid, Skye felt him bury his face in the softness of her neck.
He was drawing closer and yet closer to her.
She knew his desire was increasing second by second and as, helpless, she let the tempest of his passion rage over her, she wondered if this was how he had felt towards the woman in the photograph.