her. "Do not complicate things, mi amor. It is so simple. Just come. Come with me. You will see. I will show you how easy love can be."
He kissed her again then. In the middle of the street, with traffic going by, he kissed her, his amazing, skilled mouth manipulating her into a pliant longing to stop questioning this gift and make it hers.
Overcome suddenly by a helpless loneliness and a raw disillusion that weighed like lead, Lily gave up.
She accepted that if this seductive creature had approached her any other night, any other time, any other place, she'd have smiled at his bold daring, told him he was a beautiful man, and sent him on his way. But the wound of Kara's death was too fresh. The guilt that it hadn't been Lily was too raw. And the fatigue and sometimes heartbreak that accompanied her profession was all too weighty. The ambitious and boorish advances of Jorge Poveda added insult to the pain she was feeling—while Manny Ortega offered a beautiful, irresistible star to light a sky shrouded by the darkest of clouds.
She allowed herself the luxury, then, of getting lost in his smoldering kisses and burning black eyes. Let herself sink into his sexy, slashing smile that said he would make things better—at least for a little while.
A little while was all she needed.
Just a little respite.
Just a little release.
And acknowledgment that she was still a woman ... with a woman's needs ... a woman desperate for affirmation that she was vital and desirable and alive.
Manny undressed her slowly. It was the part he relished most. Watching her dark eyes shift from anxiety to anticipation. From anticipation to bold, achy need. From need to insatiable hunger. And his Lily—she had been hungry for a very long time. It showed in her gaze as she watched him. Resounded in her sighs when he but barely touched her.
Hungry. Yes. She was very hungry. He would feed her. But first, he would feast. His eyes. His senses. His mouth.
She trembled as they stood beside the bed in a softly lit room that smelled of the sandalwood candle he had lit and of the woman whose skin he could not wait to expose inch by ivory inch.
"Your skin is amazing." Standing behind her, he lowered the zipper of her dress, and the creamy width of her back was revealed to him.
He pressed a kiss there along her spine, just between her shoulder blades, then ran his tongue up to her nape, humming his pleasure while he drew the dress off her shoulders and let it fall in a rustle of silk to the floor.
He kissed her neck, long, lingering kisses, and steeped himself in her scent. Slowly, he unhooked the back clasp of her black bra. Slower still, he lowered the satin straps down her arms, then filled his palms with the warm, luxurious weight of her bare breasts.
"Mi amor, I do not know how long I can wait to be inside you," he whispered, then turned her around so he could see her. "Beautiful. Heavy and full." Her nipples hardened as she watched him caress her.
Ah, yes. His Lily was starving. He wanted her ravenous. Greedy. And wonderfully impatient as she stepped out of her dress and stood before him only in black panties and slim high heels that made her legs look a mile long.
Watching her eyes, he unbuttoned his uniform jacket and tossed it aside. His shirt followed; then he sat down on the bed and drew her between his thighs. Her lovely breasts were at mouth level. With his hands gripping her waist, he drew her toward him. Savoring every moment, he bussed his nose around her velvety soft areola, absorbing the feel, the scent, the heat of her, and loving her response. Her soft sighs. Her slight trembling. Her wildly erratic heart rate. The unsteady cadence of her breath.
"You like that, mi amor?" he murmured when she lifted her hands to his shoulders and arched against his mouth. "Yes, I think you like that very much." He smiled against her breast and finally took her nipple
Hilda Newman and Tim Tate