Hot Summer Flings - Nicola Marsh Mills & Boon By Request

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was going to make Megan Armstrong his. He was going to make her forget every man she had ever known. Determination hardened to steel inside him. The need to claim her had not lessened with time, but deepened—she was going to be his.

      He ran a finger down her smooth cheek, smiling as he felt her shudder. He breathed in the fragrance of her hair and allowed the scent of apples to flood his senses.

      ‘I did not warm to the man,’ he explained.

      Megan, deep in the sensual thrall, responded to the wry admission with a vague, ‘Who?’ The warmth of his breath on her ear lobe was sending shivers of sensation all the way down to her curling toes.

      He brought his face close to hers until their noses were almost touching. ‘The clown you were fighting off in the car.’

      ‘I was fighting him off,’ she said, thinking, Kiss me, please kiss me. Every second he didn’t was sheer torture.

      ‘I know.’ He lifted his head fractionally and hooked a thumb under her chin, tilting her head from side to side as he studied the soft curves of her face with an expression of ferocious fascination. ‘I should have throttled him,’ he mused thickly. ‘I really wanted to, but not as much as I wanted to do this.’

      Without warning he grabbed her bottom, his big hands curling over the feminine curves as he hauled her upwards and hard against his body, sealing them from waist to thigh.

      Megan’s eyes flew wide, the breath leaving her body in a gusty sigh as she registered the bold imprint of his rock-hard erection as it ground into the softness of her belly.

      ‘Oh, God!’ she groaned as a rush of liquid heat exploded inside her. ‘You wanted. That night. But you were married.’

      His mouth twisted into a smile that left his dark eyes cold. ‘Do you think that a piece of paper stops a man wanting another woman? You of all people should know that isn’t so, Megan.’

      She flinched at the reference. ‘So you’re saying if it did I wouldn’t exist,’ she said quietly, trying not to be shocked by his admission. Maybe some men shouldn’t get married. Especially highly sexed ones like Emilio.

      He kissed her then, hard and possessively, the bruising pressure of his lips driving the breath from her lungs, his tongue probing deep into her mouth. Megan’s arms slid around his middle as she clung, kissing him back wildly, without finesse, just with a hunger that equalled his.

      When he finally lifted his mouth from hers it took several seconds for her head to clear, for a tiny sliver of sanity to filter back.

      ‘You’re going to do that again, aren’t you?’ Not that much sanity.

      He smiled, his liquid, dark, incredible eyes fastened on to her face absorbing every detail as he ran his fingers down her throat. ‘That’s up to you.’

      His reply frustrated her. ‘Do I have to beg?’

      No wonder he looked so smugly confident; he had to have had women begging him all his life.

      God knew Megan didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost, but if she had to beg she would. Where Emilio was concerned it seemed she had no pride.

      ‘You have to tell me you want me as much as I want you.’

      She began to turn her head, her lips trembling. ‘Because you don’t know.’

      The bitterness in her voice brought a frown to his face. ‘Because I need to hear you say it.’

      She couldn’t bear it. Every cell in her body craved his touch. ‘I want you, Emilio.’

      His nostrils flared as he moved in to bite her lower lip, breathing in her warm womanly smell as he nipped his way towards the corner of her mouth. ‘But if you prefer to go sightseeing.’ he teased, running his tongue along the sensitive skin of her inner lip. Her moan of pained protest drew a fierce grin from Emilio. ‘Though I should point out that my bedroom is much closer …’

      If they got that far it would be a miracle. He was clinging to what control he had with his fingernails. To have her shaking with lust for him was incredible and her wild response had blown him away. All he could think about was burying himself in her.

      Megan’s head fell back to look into his lean face. Her eyes were half closed, her cheeks flushed. ‘Bed, please.’

      A low growl vibrated in Emilio’s throat as his hold tightened, his arms like steel bands around her ribcage as he bit and nuzzled his way up the exposed curve of her white neck.

      Megan went limp in his arms, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks, her toes brushing the ground as Emilio walked blindly across the room to the bedroom door, his lips moving up the curve of her throat.

      He reached the door and her lips at the same moment. Keeping his dark eyes trained on her face, his mouth a tantalising whisper from her own, Emilio hefted her higher into his arms as though she weighed nothing, an arm scooping her bottom as he swung her upwards. She shivered, some buried primal instinct in her responding to the raw power revealed in his casual action.

      ‘KISS me, Megan!’ Emilio rasped, and kicked open the door, the instruction and action blending seamlessly into one.

      The door hit the wall behind with a loud crash, the vibration of the impact rippling around the apartment as Megan, her eyes glowing, grabbed his face between her hands and pressed her warm lips to his.

      Her enthusiasm drew a growl of approval from his throat, then as she slid her tongue experimentally into his mouth, tentatively and then with more confidence, she felt a shudder run through his lean body.

      She stopped kissing him long enough to moan, ‘God, you taste so good.’

      Emilio’s eyes darkened dramatically. ‘Madre de Dios!’

      ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked anxiously. He looked like someone in pain.

      ‘Wrong?’ he echoed. He looked at her, his brilliant eyes fierce but tender, the muscles in his brown throat visibly working as he swallowed, struggling to control the primal hunger pounding through his body. ‘No, things are very right. You wish to taste me, you shall,’ he told her thickly. ‘But not until I have sampled every inch of your delicious body.’

      The throaty promise planted a mental image in Megan’s head that made her skin prickle.

      His long-legged stride brought them to the bed in seconds. Megan’s eyes were closed and her arms still fastened around his neck as he lowered her onto the bed.

      As she sank into the mattress Megan opened her eyes.

      Emilio curved over her, motionless; his breath came harder as he looked down at her. ‘You’re beautiful,’ Emilio slurred, his voice thick with desire. ‘I’ve never in my life needed anything as much as I need you.’

      The husky confession sent a thrill through Megan’s tense, aching body. She waited, her heart beating frantically in anticipation as she stared into his glowing midnight-dark eyes.

      She wanted his touch, she ached for his kisses, she wanted him with a fierce urgency that scared her. For a second she wanted to retreat from it, push him away, but she made herself accept it, embrace it.

      In that moment her last doubts vanished in a blaze of certainty.

      This was what she wanted. The rightness of it made no sense, but that didn’t matter. Unable to communicate the ache of inarticulate yearning that brought the threat of tears to her eyes, Megan raised her arms, stretching her finger towards him in a silent plea.

      The gesture cut through Emilio’s last shred of control. A growl locked in his throat, his face set in a strained mask of primal need. He caught her hands, raised them to his lips and pressed his lips

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