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heart and never given it back. She took family seriously. If he knocked her up, she’d find a way to make it work between them. He could have her and the life he wanted. Ruthless, yes, but then he always was when he wanted something.
    Whether she loved him or not... Well, love was a complication they’d be better off without. He could live with just this—her hot and luscious body in his bed, taking everything he could give her with unrestrained abandon. It was too easy to picture her in his penthouse in Manhattan, spread out on his gray silk sheets, sobbing his name as he fucked her with the nightscape of the city displayed thru the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the bed.
    “Umm... Miguel.” Her hands slid over his damp back, her lips pressed against the sensitive spot just in front of his ear. “I did miss you.”
    He caught one of her hands, then the other, dragging them over her head. With his knee, he nudged her leg over, widening the cradle of her thighs. He lifted his head and looked down at her, his aspirations for the result of this visit altering by the moment. His tongue traced the curve of his lower lip, his gaze sweeping over her face, taking in the dazed pleasure in her eyes and the cat-like smile of contentment. He rolled his hips just to feel how soaked she was.
    She inhaled sharply. “You’re still hard.”
    “Are you surprised, mi querida ? I’ve missed you, too.”
    He felt the sole of her shoe rub up and down his calf. A gruff sound of pleasure escaped him.
    Looking up at him with the blue eyes that haunted him, she gave him a taunting smile and wriggled suggestively. “Take me, then, mi tesoro . I’m yours.”
    No, you’re not , he thought as he withdrew slowly, only to thrust home hard and fast. Not yet. But you will be.
     
    * * * * *
     

CHAPTER 3
     
    Watching Faith shift gears in her classic Corvette was so arousing, Miguel’s dick stirred with appreciation even though he was presently wrung dry. That was why they’d left the bungalow, why they were driving to a sports bar with a late-night kitchen.
    She made him feel like a teenager again, hopeful and vigorous. He’d had her in bed twice, then again in the shower. When she sat on the couch in a plush terrycloth robe with her hair hanging in wet tangles around her shoulders, he’d wanted her again. The domesticity that he avoided with other women had been an aphrodisiac with Faith. He’d sat on the couch beside her and pulled her over him, his head falling back into the cushions as she slid her slick, hot cunt onto him. They’d gone easy on each other the last time, neither of them in a rush. He could tell she was getting sore and guessed she’d been without a steady partner in a while.
    Yet she’d come willingly to him when he asked.
    The pleasure he could give her was a vulnerability he was prepared to exploit. He would do or say whatever was necessary to get her to come home with him. The world was at his fingertips. He could meet whatever demands she might make of him.
    “You’re thinking hard,” she said, pulling deftly into the parking lot and claiming at space. “But at least you’re not scowling anymore.”
    “I’m too relaxed to scowl.”
    “Well, then, the food and a beer might put you to sleep.”
    He climbed out of the passenger seat and looked over the roof to where she stood on the driver’s side. “Don’t count on it.”
    “Promises, promises,” she teased.
    He met her around the front, raking her with a head-to-toe glance. She’d lost her makeup and hairstyle in the shower, but he didn’t see her as any less stunning now. The dress was amazing for its simplicity, allowing the woman inside it to take center stage—a woman who was presently commando in public, which drove him insane every time he thought about it.
    For the last dozen years he’d hungered for this, spending time with her, being teased by her, feeling wanted for something other than his money and power. His mother had warned him that