âWhat do you want from me, Luis?â
âWhat I had before.â
Shontelleâs mind fragmented under the force of his apparent desire to repeat the passion theyâd shared. Some tattered shreds of reason shrieked that he was only playing with her.
âWhat do you mean?â she cried.
âI mean to seize the day, Shontelle. Or, to put it more graphically...the night. I want one more taste of you.â
Shock waves slammed through her. One more taste.... Only one....
âNot such a difficult deal, is it?â Luis taunted. âJust a matter of giving me what you gave of yourself two years ago...in your desire to get what you wanted of me.â
âI didnât get what I wanted then,â she protested, her voice thin and shaky under the appalling weight of devastated hopes.
A savage fury flared into his eyes. âWas I not all you wanted of a Latin lover?â His mouth curled with cruel intent. âWell, let me try not to disappoint you tonight.â
CHAPTER ONE
LUIS ANGEL MARTINEZ was feeling good as he rode the elevator up to his hotel suite. Heâd completed the business heâd come to La Paz to do, heâd dined well, the current crisis in the city provided him with the perfect excuse for missing his own engagement party, and his motherâwidely regarded as the wealthiest and most powerful woman in Argentinaâcouldnât do one damned thing about it.
He couldnât help smiling.
The two young women who were sharing the elevatorâtheir accents and clothes marking them as tourists from the U.S.A.âturned interested, hopefully inviting eyes on him. Luis instantly killed the smile. Black scorn blazed from his dark eyes, shrivelling their speculation, and his whole body stiffened in proud rejection of whatever fantasies they nursed.
He despised the foreign women who tripped around, looking for sexual adventure, and he most particularly hated being viewed as a possible Latin lover. He might look the part, having the dark olive skin and black hair of his Spanish heritage, with the added attraction of a taller, more powerful physique than the average South American male, but he sure as hell would never get drawn into playing the part. Heâd been burnt once. Once was more than enough for him.
The elevator halted. He glared balefully at the back of the two blonde heads as the women made their exit. Not that their fairness compared in any way to the silky sun and moon mixture of Shontelleâs hair, but the minds under the hair probably held the same attitude towards sampling one of the natives for the pleasure of a new carnal experience.
Not me, ladies, he savagely beamed at them before the doors shut and the elevator resumed its upward climb. His mother was right on one score. Best to tie himself to a woman of his own race, own culture, own background. No nasty surprises with that kind of matchmaking. All smooth sailing. Especially with Elvira Rosa Martinez at the helm, steering everything as she saw fit.
Except she hadnât counted on this little squall blowing up in Bolivia, causing him to miss the engagement party she had planned behind his back.
Unavoidable circumstances.
The absolutely perfect excuse.
The thought restored Luisâ good humour. He was smiling again as the elevator opened onto his floor and he headed for his private suite. No one could validly question his staying right here. It was literally impossible for him to get out of La Paz without running into trouble.
After yesterdayâs violent march of the farmers through the streets, Bolivia was boiling up to yet another change of government. The airport was closed. A curfew had been imposed. The military had taken over the city.
Safely and comfortably ensconced in the Plaza Hotel, Luis was not in the least perturbed by these events. Bolivia was Bolivia, renowned for having more changes of government than any other country, five in one day in recent history. The volatile political situation would eventually blow over and life would go on as usual.
He entered his well-appointed suite, closed the door on all the outside problems, and moved to the mini-bar, deciding one or two more celebratory drinks were in order.