LITMIR.BIZ

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minutes.’

      ‘Want to watch a video?’

      Why not? ‘Okay.’

      ‘Comedy? Action? Drama?’

      She wrinkled her nose and gave him an impish grin. ‘Surprise me.’

      When she entered the entertainment room he sat sprawled on the leather couch, a half-magnum of chilled champagne rested in an ice-bucket, there was a packet of crisps waiting to be opened, the lights were dimmed, and the television screen was running previews prior to the main movie.

      Miguel patted the space beside him and extended a hand. His eyes were dark and his mouth curved into a sensual smile. ‘Come here.’

      ‘That sounds like an invitation,’ she murmured as she crossed the room, and his smile broadened.

      ‘Do you need one?’

      Hannah indicated the ice-bucket. ‘Are we celebrating?’

      He caught hold of her hand and pulled her down to him. He leaned forward, eased the cork from the bottle, then poured the contents into two flutes and handed her one. ‘Salut.’

      Miguel took a sip of excellent vintage champagne and watched as she mirrored his action, then he took the flute from her hand and gave her his.

      It was a deliberately sensual gesture, and she held his gaze for a few seconds, all too aware of the exigent sexual chemistry between them.

      Liquid fire coursed through her veins, awakening each separate sensory nerve-end until her body became one pulsing ache in anticipation of his touch.

      With considerable effort she dragged her gaze away and looked blindly at the television screen, focusing on the Technicolor images as the movie began to unfold.

      The champagne was superb and she sipped the contents slowly, aware of the shift in Miguel’s frame as he draped an arm along the back of the couch bare inches above her shoulders.

      It was a relationship film, the acting excellent, and if she remembered correctly both male and female leads had earned Oscar nominations for the parts they played.

      Hannah gradually became absorbed in the plot, and relaxed a little. She finished her champagne and Miguel took the empty flute from her fingers, placed it on a nearby low table, then settled back.

      Minutes later she was aware of his fingers playing idly with her hair, gradually loosening the pins that held the smooth twist neatly together.

      Her concentration was shot to hell as he leaned close and nuzzled her earlobe, then began pressing light kisses along the edge of her neck. When he savoured the sensitive hollow at its base, it was all she could do not to groan out loud.

      ‘You want to see this movie?’ she questioned huskily, and heard his soft chuckle.

      ‘You watch it, querida.’ His fingers slipped open one shirt button and slid beneath her lacy bra to tease one burgeoning peak. ‘I have something else in mind.’

      ‘Here?’

      A hand covered her thigh and began a slow upward slide. ‘We’ll eventually make the bedroom.’ He released another shirt button. ‘But for now, enjoy.’

      Five minutes was all it took for her to twist her fingers into the folds of his shirt and pull him hard against her. It was her mouth that sought his with hungry passion, eliciting a husky chuckle as his arms bound her close.

      With urgent hands she sought his waist, wrenching the buckle open in her quest to touch him as he had caressed her.

      She felt shameless, utterly wanton, in the need for his possession, and she gasped as he reared to his feet in one easy movement and strode towards the stairs.

      On reaching the bedroom they helped remove each other’s clothes, then Miguel took her down onto the bed with him and subjected her to such exquisite lovemaking she wept from the joy of it.

      Later, much later, it was she who initiated a slow, sensual journey that had him breathing deeply as he fought for control, only to lose it as she rode him to a tumultuous climax that left their bodies slick with sensual sweat and sated emotions.

       CHAPTER NINE

      THE day began with rain, which diminished to light showers and by midday the city was bathed in steamy heat and high humidity.

      Hannah had dressed to kill in a tailored lightweight black suit that shrieked class. The deep V of the buttoned jacket showed a tantalising glimpse of cleavage. Black stiletto-heeled shoes added extra height to her petite frame and sheer black stockings showcased slender calves. Her hair was smoothed into a sleek chignon, and she wore minimum jewellery.

      The overall look was one of a woman who was self-confident with high self-esteem. It hardly mattered that inside she felt like jelly as she entered the chosen restaurant a deliberate few minutes late.

      It appeared Camille intended to play the same game, for she was nowhere in sight, and Hannah allowed the maître d’ to escort her to a reserved table where she ordered a light spritzer and sipped it slowly as the minutes ticked on.

      The waiting increased her nervous tension, and after ten minutes she summoned the waiter and placed her order. If Camille intended to be a no-show—

      ‘Hannah. My apologies.’ The voice was as fake as the smile Camille offered as she slid into the seat opposite. ‘I was held up on the phone.’ She lifted a hand in an expressive Gallic gesture. ‘Parking, you know how it is.’

      Begin as you mean to go on, a tiny voice prompted.

      ‘I’ve already ordered. I can only spare an hour.’

      The wine steward appeared and Camille ordered Dom Perignon. ‘I thought we’d celebrate, darling.’

      ‘And the occasion is?’ Hannah queried with a lift of one eyebrow.

      ‘Why—life.’ Camille’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Isn’t that enough reason?’

      ‘Not,’ she countered firmly, ‘when you’re determined to interfere in mine.’

      The waiter presented the menu and Camille spared it the briefest of glances, ordered a salad, then flipped Hannah a hard, calculated look. ‘Haven’t you learnt I am a formidable adversary?’

      ‘A very foolish one.’

      Camille’s gaze narrowed. ‘What did you think of the prints, darling?’

      ‘The digitally altered ones?’ Hannah posed silkily. ‘Or the few of you sprawled among the sheets in a state of déshabillé?’

      The calculation evident intensified into something that was almost dangerous. ‘How else would I be, when Miguel had just left my bed?’

      ‘Wrong, Camille,’ she corrected with deceptive quietness. ‘Miguel was never in your bed.’

      Camille’s expression didn’t change. ‘Failing to face up to reality, darling?’

      Hannah speared a succulent asparagus, dipped the tip in the river of hollandaise sauce on her plate, and took time to savour it. ‘It is you who needs a reality check,’ she offered seconds later.

      ‘The prints were explicit.’

      She looked at the Frenchwoman, and almost felt sorry for her. ‘A fantasy, Camille.’

      Camille’s lips tightened. ‘Irrefutable proof. The date function does not lie.’

      ‘No,’ Hannah agreed. ‘You made just one small mistake.’

      ‘And what was that?’

      She took her time in answering. ‘Miguel flew home Tuesday evening.’

      ‘Impossible. The suite was still

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