SINCE THEY WERE in Madrid the day before the awards ceremony, Rodrigo decided to visit the set of his company’s new prestige film, a historical drama-romance of the Spanish Civil War currently being shot near the Plaza de Canalejas.
But even there, as he discussed the production’s progress with the film’s director, his eyes rarely strayed from his wife.
He couldn’t look away from her. The way her beautiful face lit up as she chatted with the cast and crew. The warmth of her hazel eyes. The joy of her smile.
Lola was more beautiful than the star of any movie, he thought. Her long, highlighted hair swayed over her shoulders, caressing the tops of her breasts. She was dressed modestly, in her black coat and jeans that showed off her shape. As she pushed the baby stroller, she seemed utterly unaware of the fact that wherever she went, Rodrigo’s eyes followed her.
Every other man’s, too.
As she walked, her curvy body moved so gracefully and sensually, she seemed to be dancing to unheard music. Rodrigo frowned when he saw her speaking earnestly to the star of the film, a famous Spanish actress whom Rodrigo had once known well. Very well.
Ten years before, when Rodrigo was just twenty-seven—in the first flush of success, having expanded the derelict Madrid studio he’d inherited from his father to twenty employees, including Marnie McAdam—he’d been briefly engaged to Pia Ramirez.
He’d fallen in love with Pia before they’d even met, while watching her onscreen, where she’d played a poignant heroine who sacrificed everything for love before she died, nobly and beautifully, at the end of the film. Five years older than Rodrigo, she’d seemed equally lovestruck after their first date. Within two weeks, he’d proposed marriage, and she’d accepted.
A month later, he’d been anonymously sent photos of Pia naked in bed with a man he didn’t recognize. Young and naive as he’d been then, it had nearly killed him.
Little had Rodrigo known that this pattern would be repeated twice more, with two other women. A quick engagement, followed by an equally swift betrayal. With photographs.
But a few months earlier, when the director had wanted to hire Pia for this film, Rodrigo hadn’t tried to stop him. Pia was talented and, at forty-two, still a major draw at the international box office. His other two ex-fiancées also still worked in the movie industry, and he’d never tried to hurt their careers. If you blacklisted everyone who betrayed you in Hollywood, you’d have no one left to work with.
But now, as the director continued to talk anxiously about the film’s dailies and bloating budget, Rodrigo barely listened. His eyes kept falling on his wife talking to his former fiancée. He wondered what the two women could be talking about so intently. Him? No, surely not. Why would they?
Rodrigo’s gaze dropped to Lola’s backside, her hips. The gentle curve of her waist. She drew him like honey. He could hardly wait to take her home and—
He watched Lola take her phone out of her coat pocket. Looking down at it, she read something and smiled. A warm, intimate smile. As if she had a wicked secret. Still smiling, she tucked the phone back in her pocket.
What message could make her smile like that?
Who had sent it?
A memory of her voice came back to him. If you’re just going to ignore me, I’m taking Jett back to New York. To be with friends.
Friends? A trickle of ice went down his spine. Friends like Sergei Morozov?
Why would the man propose if he’s never even slept with you? His question echoed in his memory, along with her answer.
Because he thinks it’s the only way he can have me.
It’s nothing, Rodrigo told himself firmly. She hasn’t been in contact with Morozov. I know she hasn’t.
So why did he feel so suddenly on edge?
He interrupted the director in the middle of the man’s sentence. “Excuse me.”
“Of course.” The director looked shocked, as if no one had dared to be rude to him for a long time. Leaving without a glance, Rodrigo strode past the side lights and cameras to the edge of the set.
“Hello,” he said shortly to Pia Ramirez, who had been married to another man for eight years now. They had three children, none of whom he’d met, but he knew about them, in the way that everyone knew everything in the insular world of television and film production.
The Spanish actress sobered. “Hello.” She smiled at Lola. “I just met your new wife.”
“I see that.” He looked at Lola. “What have you been talking about?”
Her lovely face was blank. “Nothing in particular.”
But Rodrigo thought Lola had a guilty expression. What was she hiding? He didn’t like it.
He ground his teeth into a smile. “I’m done here. Shall we go?”
“Sure.” Her voice was overly casual as she turned to tuck a blanket around their baby in the stroller. “Jett is hungry, anyhow.”
“So am I,” he said.
She fed the baby in their waiting Rolls-Royce, then they decided to have lunch at his favorite tapas bar in Salamanca, on the Calle de Serrano. Afterward, sending away the Rolls-Royce and driver, they walked home down the lovely, boutique-lined street, pushing the sleeping baby in his stroller on the beautiful, though chilly, November day.
As they walked, they spoke of inconsequential things, such as the recent nominees for Best Picture and Best Director, and the speech Rodrigo intended to make during tomorrow night’s International Studio Guild awards ceremony. But as he tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, because he’d already decided he could trust her, he found himself growing increasingly on edge as he heard pings from her coat pocket, indicating she was getting more messages on her phone.
Messages she studiously ignored.
Messages she obviously did not want to read in front of him.
Trying to reason away his sudden irrational fear, he reminded himself about the prenuptial agreement. Lola would never cheat on him. She’d lose everything.
But the more pings he heard from her pocket, the more his nerves felt scraped raw.
At Rodrigo’s suggestion, they stopped in a designer boutique so Lola could find a new dress for the awards ceremony. As she went to the private dressing room with an armful of gowns, he waited in a private sitting area, next to their sleeping baby, calming his nerves with a glass of good champagne given to him by the solicitous salesgirl. He was already anticipating seeing Lola in the gowns.
Then he heard the noises from her nearby dressing room.
The pings coming fast and furious from behind the curtain.
And he realized, with a sickening lurch, that Lola was secretly, frantically sending messages back to the person who’d made her smile.
Rising from the comfortable white leather sofa, he crossed four steps to her dressing room. Scowling, he yanked open the velvet curtain.
Turning, Lola gasped, instinctively covering her half-naked body with her arms. He had a swift glimpse of her full breasts barely covered by a lacy black bra, and flimsy black panties. Instantly his breathing was hard, and so was everything else.
Then he saw the phone in her hand.
His body went cold, his breathing steadied, and everything became clear again. Looking down at her, Rodrigo said, his voice like ice, “Who are you talking to on your phone?”
Lola suddenly seemed to forget she was naked. She straightened, dropping her arms. Clutching her phone behind her back, she lifted her chin. “None of your business.”
It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
“None of my business?” His voice was dangerously quiet now. “You’re my wife.”
“Your wife.” Her eyes glittered. “Not your prisoner.”
“Give me your phone.”
“No!”
Reaching around her with his powerful arms, he felt her soft, half-naked body brush his own. As her plump breasts were crushed against his chest, his gaze fell to her full, raspberry-red lips.
He heard her intake of breath. Watched as the tip of her pink tongue nervously licked the corners of her mouth, before her white teeth tugged into the tender flesh of her lower lip. For a moment, he felt lost, dizzy with need.
Grimly, he shook off the blinding haze of desire and reached around her to snatch her phone from her hand.
“You are such a jerk!” she cried.
He expected the phone to be locked, and for him to have to demand her password. But to his surprise, it wasn’t protected. He touched the screen, and instantly saw whom she’d been talking to.
Rodrigo’s eyes widened. She hadn’t been exchanging messages with Sergei Morozov, or any other man.
She’d been chatting with two women. One called Tess, the other Hallie.
He looked swiftly through the messages, then looked up, dumbfounded. “These are just your friends.”
“Of course,” Lola said angrily, snatching the phone back. “Who else would I be talking to?”
“Why did you try to hide the messages from me?”
“Because they’re private. They’re my friends, not yours!”
“No.” Did she think he was that stupid? He glared down at her. “There’s a reason.”
She narrowed her eyes, then said resentfully, “Fine. I wanted to ask you later tonight. After I had the chance to butter you up. Fat chance of that now!”
“You can’t butter me up,” he said arrogantly. She snorted, then shook her head.
“My friends were worried, since they hadn’t seen me around for a while. They went to my apartment and Mildred told them I went away with some man.”
“Not just a man. Your husband.”
She sighed. “I didn’t share that part yet. They were shocked enough as it was. I just said you were an ex who’d come back into my life.” She bit her lip. “They’re dying to know more. Tess invited us to Thanksgiving dinner next Thursday. I want to go. And tell them everything in person.”
Rodrigo looked at her blankly.
“You know Thanksgiving, right?” she said, with exaggerated patience.
“Of course,” he said. “It’s one of the most profitable film weekends of the year in the US.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s also a time to be with friends. Family. Turkey and mashed potatoes. Football on TV? Does that ring any bells?”
“I know Thanksgiving,” he said, annoyed. “My mother was American.”
Her eyes lit up. “So you know how important it is to spend the day with the people you love.”
“It’s not that big a deal. My parents usually were away that day. With...friends.” His mother typically went jet-setting with her current lover, while his father either lost himself in work or pursued her in a rage, depending on his mood. Pushing the memory aside, he said, “But my mother always told our cook to bake me something like turkey. Often it was Spanish chicken with saffron rice.”
“You’re kidding.” Shock flashed through Lola’s eyes. “Your parents left you alone on Thanksgiving?”
“Somehow I survived,” he said dryly.
She shook her head decisively. “You deserve a real holiday.”
“So you’re offering to visit your friends in New York for my sake? Noble.”
“All right, you got me. I want to see them. Selfishly.” Lola put her hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t invite them to our wedding. I wanted so badly for them to be there. But now Tess and Stefano are hosting Thanksgiving at their new home. I want to spend the day in New York. Either with you—” she lifted her chin “—or without you.”
For a moment, Rodrigo was distracted by her soft touch against his arm, and the full view of her breasts as she looked up at him with defiant hazel eyes. His blood quickened. “You’re not taking my son away from me on Thanksgiving.”
Her lips quirked. “So now it’s suddenly a super-important family holiday?”
Staring at her full, wet lips, he murmured, “It’s growing on me.” Then he looked up. “Tess and Stefano? You don’t mean Prince Stefano Zacco, the fashion billionaire?”
“That’s him.”
“You’re best friends with Zacco’s wife?” His eyes narrowed. “And what about the other one... Hallie? Do I know her?”
Lola gave him a cheeky grin. “You often stay at her husband’s hotels.”
His eyes widened. “She’s married to Cristiano Moretti? Your best friends are both married to billionaires?”
“So?”
“Were they the ones who were going to help you fight for custody?”
She nodded. “We look out for each other.”
So she’d never been plotting with Sergei Morozov behind his back. All his irrational fears had been just that—irrational. As she set down her phone, he said quietly, “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Yeah. You should stop it.” Putting a hand on her hip, she gave him a tilted glance beneath her dark lashes. “Get this through your head. I’ll never betray you, Rodrigo. Ever.”
Hearing Lola speak those words caused a strange rush through his heart. His gaze fell to her full, lush breasts in the bra, traveling down her nearly naked body, to her tiny bare waist, expanding to the curve of her hips, with the little flimsy black lace panties. Behind her in the mirror, he could see most of her backside, with only the tiny strip between.
“Show me,” he whispered.
Pulling her into his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers. Pushing her against the wall of the changing room, he gloried in the feel of the soft curves of her body pressed against his own. He felt the tremble of her lips. Felt her hesitate.
He lured her, tempted her. He gripped her wrists to the wall, ruthlessly kissing her until her lips began to move against his, slowly at first, then hungrily, as her fire matched his own.
Pulling her wrists from his grip, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him down harder against her.
Outside their small changing room, in the exclusive, private waiting area, their baby was still noisily snoring in the stroller, parked beside the white leather sofa and three-way mirror. For now, they were alone, but at any moment, Rodrigo knew they could be interrupted. Perhaps the boutique’s salesgirls would come in to offer him more champagne, or bring more ball gowns for his wife to try on. He glanced back at the waiting area. For all he knew, there were security cameras.
He should take her back to his apartment, he knew, where they could be assured of privacy. But it would take too long. It would be twenty minutes. Thirty.
He needed her now.
Jerking the velvet curtain closed over the changing room doorway, Rodrigo kissed her passionately, cradling her face in his hands.
She was so sweet. So indescribably sweet. His earlier suspicions had melted away, and his heart was full of an emotion he didn’t want to identify.
I’ll never betray you, Rodrigo. Ever.
Lola belonged to him, him alone, now and forever.
Her long blond hair tumbled down her back as he slowly kissed down her throat. Her skin smelled of vanilla and summer, soft, warm and sweet. He felt her tremble as he caressed her bare arms, to her naked waist, his hands running over the hot skin of her back. He unhooked her bra, letting it drop to the parquet floor.
He cupped her full, magnificent breasts, and heard her intake of breath. Lowering his head, he kissed her creamy skin, all the while running his hands over her hips, her back, her delectable backside.
He was hard. Aching. It felt like he’d been hard for days, wanting her. It was some kind of strange magic: no matter how many times he possessed her, he hungered for more.
Her initial hesitation had disappeared, replaced by fierce, undisguised desire. It was something he’d always loved about Lola. She never tried to hide her desire for him, which only made him want her more, making the fire inside him burn hotter still. Holding her in his arms, in this small enclosed space, he felt a sense of urgency, knowing they could be discovered at any moment.
He stroked the edge of her black lace panties, letting his fingertips trail over her skin, from her hip around the curve of her leg to her thighs. He lightly grazed his hand over the lace, then moved the fabric aside to slowly stroke her beneath it.
She was wet. Hot and wet. He felt her tremble, heard her sharp intake of breath, and he wanted more. He wanted to hear her gasp and feel her shake as she shattered beneath his touch.
Kneeling, he peeled off the panties. Lifting her leg over his shoulder, he paused between her legs. For a moment, he inhaled the scent of her, letting her feel the warmth of his breath, teasing her. And when he felt her shiver, he pressed his mouth against her skin and tasted her.
She gasped, one of her hands pressing against the wall, the other gripping his shoulder with increasing intensity as he worked her with his tongue, one moment swirling the taut wet nub, then lapping her with the full width of his tongue.
She gave a sudden muffled cry, biting her lip to choke back the noise. But he felt the full force of her explosion by her fingernails gripping into his skin, deep enough to draw blood.
He’d given her pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to give her more. Much more.
His wife was naked, but he was still fully clothed.
Rising unsteadily to his feet, he unzipped his fly. Lifting her against the wall, he wrapped her naked legs around his hips. In a single thrust, he buried his shaft, thick and hard, deep inside her.
So sweet. So hot. So tight. Holding her backside with the width of his hands, he felt a wave of pleasure as he filled her. He groaned in ecstasy.
She gasped, her hips moving against him, her legs tightening around him as he pushed inside her, riding her against the wall. Then he made the mistake of looking at her face.
Lola’s eyes were shut, her beautiful face glowing with sensual, almost sacred joy.
Seeing that, he lost control. With a low growl, he thrust deep inside her, hard and fast. This time, she screamed with pleasure, uncaring of who might hear them. And at that, he exploded, spilling himself inside her with a low, ragged roar.
They barely had a moment to catch their breath, when, in the private waiting room beyond the velvet curtain, they heard a surprised snuffle, followed by a plaintive wail.
“Now you did it.” With her legs still wrapped around his hips, Lola gave him a heavy-lidded grin. “You woke the baby.”
“I did?” He returned her grin. “You were louder.”
“Your fault,” she said loftily.
For a moment, they just smiled at each other tenderly, their bodies still entwined. He felt that strange burst of happiness, coming from the vicinity of his heart.
His heart.
A chill went through him. Abruptly, he released her, letting her feet slide to the floor. Not looking at her, he zipped up his fly.
“I’ll go take care of Jett,” he mumbled, and left her, closing the velvet curtain abruptly behind him.
As he took their baby out of the stroller, comforting Jett after the noise had woken him from his cozy nap, Rodrigo pulled a bottle from the bag tucked in the bottom of the stroller. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t felt what he’d felt. It was good sex. That was all. Just sex.
“Everything is all right, señor?” An alarmed salesgirl looked in on the private waiting area. “We heard a noise. It sounded like a scream.”
Rodrigo gave her his coldest, most supercilious stare. “My son woke up from his nap. Surely that’s not a problem. If it is, we can shop elsewhere.”
“No, no, of course not, señor.” The salesgirl backed away. “Let us know if your lovely wife needs anything more.”
He stared after her.
His lovely wife already had everything she needed. His fortune. His name. His body. She needed no more.
She’d loved him once. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
And neither would he. Every time he’d loved a woman, she betrayed him. Was every woman faithless? Or was there something about Rodrigo that made them so, from the moment he loved them?
He didn’t know, but it had happened not just once, not twice, but three times. He wouldn’t make it four.
These feelings he felt for Lola were sexual, nothing more. And that was all they could ever be.