While he was concentrating on his solo work, Catalina could write for other Padua talent, start making a name for herself and gaining recognition separate from him. Proving that her success was of her own making, on her own merit.
Legally, he couldn’t release the combined album before his second solo one unless Padua agreed. Until they gave his plan the green light, Patricio didn’t want to build up Cat’s hope by saying anything to her.
“Ay, por favor, you can’t drop some vague ‘I might have a few ideas’”—she pitched her voice low, mimicking his deep timbre as she repeated his words—“and not expect me to want to hear them. When have I ever been known for my patience?”
He let his arched brow answer her question.
“Whatever,” she mumbled, stretching forward to set her glass next to his. Before she could settle back onto the cushion beside him, Patricio grasped her waist, lifting her onto his lap.
“¡Oye! What’s with the manhandling?” she complained on a laugh, grabbing his shoulders to steady herself.
But she skimmed her hands along his shoulders to cup his neck. Her thumbs brushed underneath his jawbone. A whisper-soft caress that created a flash fire of lust that blazed down his chest, into his torso, and straight to his crotch. Behind his jeans zipper, he throbbed for her.
“Tonight was our last show,” he reminded her, “so that means my ‘no dating anyone involved with the tour’ rule is now moot.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, her attention apparently trained on his jawline and the erotic brush of her thumbs back and forth rather than on his words.
By some silent, mutual agreement, they had stayed away from any discussion of their deepening relationship. How or if it might change after the tour. He knew what he wanted: more time getting to know each other, exclusivity, commitment. Words he worried she might not be ready to hear.
Gently he brushed her hair off her forehead and dropped a chaste peck on her smooth brow. Straightening, he trailed a finger down the length of her neck, traced her clavicle from one side to the other. Her shoulders shimmied with a shiver, and her lids grew heavy. Desire flared in her eyes in the seconds before they fluttered closed.
Bathed in moonlight and the soft glow from a recessed light in the partial wall, her face and figure were a shady sketch drawing of seduction and beauty. Perfection and charm.
Unable to resist her pull any longer, he ducked down to press a kiss on the sensitive skin behind her ear. Another on the side of her neck. Yet another on the center of her chest, where a gold crucifix dangled on a thin gold chain. Aching to taste her, he licked the curve of her cleavage at the top of her bodice, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
“I know what I want, Catalina. You.” He drew back to look at her, to let her see the truth on his face and in his eyes. In his heart. “I’m not Pedro, or my father. You know the real me. I’m a safe bet when it comes to breaking or bending that rule of yours.”
She cupped his face with one hand. Traced the edge of his bottom lip with her thumb, her gaze tracking the motion. “How do you manage to do this to me?” she murmured.
“Do what?”
“Excite, sway, unnerve. Make me feel alive and scared and horny and . . .”
He kissed her. Tenderly at first. Then her hand slid from his cheek to his nape. Her tongue licked the seam of his mouth, and he opened for her, deepening their kiss. She moaned, pressing closer, her soft curves molding with his hard ones in a perfect fit. Their tongues darted and teased, twisting and coaxing the other in a sensuous dance.
She surprised him by nudging his shoulders, and they fell back onto the wide cushions. Her long tresses fanned over them, and she broke the kiss to push them out of her face. Reaching up, he wove his fingers through her hair, gathering it in one fist while he tugged the stretchy band from her wrist to tie the locks back in a wobbly rendition of a ponytail. But it did the trick and she grinned, giggling as she wound her arms around his neck. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, then she drew it into her warm mouth.
He moaned and slid his hands down her back to grab her ass. She shifted to straddle him, hiking up her dress to make it easier. That gave him the perfect opportunity to run his hands over her legs and marvel at the softness of her tanned skin. His thumbs brushed the lacy material of her panties at her hips, and she rolled her pelvis into his.
Beneath his zipper, he strained for release, and he groaned at the pleasure-pain her hip thrusts elicited. Her hands dipped under his Henley to skim up his abs, her light touch trailing over his pecs, stoking the fire of his need for her.
While their hands explored, their mouths mated—lips and tongues caressing, exciting, pleasuring. She tasted like lime and vodka, and he was soon drunk from their passionate kisses.
His fingers traced the edge of her panties at the juncture of her thighs, seeking her luscious folds. Waiting for permission, he slowly dragged his hand away.
“Touch me, por favor,” she breathed into his mouth.
He delved a finger under her panty seam and brushed the short curls. She gasped when he swept across her entrance. Bucked as he found her clit, then buried his finger deep inside her. She moaned her satisfaction, grabbing on to his biceps and breaking their kiss, her plea for “more” a heated breath against his neck.
Adding a second finger, he dipped inside her again. Drawing in, then out while his thumb rubbed her clit and she writhed against his palm.
“I want you. In me,” she murmured, her hips meeting his hand thrust for thrust.
A light flickered in a building across the Strip, reminding him where they were. Out on the terrace, mostly hidden by the plants, but not completely. A paparazzo with a telephoto lens and no sense of decency might still be able to snap a picture neither he nor Catalina wanted plastered on the cover of a tabloid or going viral online. He especially didn’t want that for her.
“Not out here, querida. It’s not private enough.” He withdrew his hand from her, kissed her deeply, and then sat up, bringing her with him. He rose from the sofa and scooped her into his arms.
“Ay! ¿Qué haces?” Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he hefted her more securely.
“I’m taking you to bed, that’s what I’m doing,” he answered, striding to the sliding glass door.
“I can walk, you know,” she teased.
He tightened his hold on her, unwilling to let her go. Tonight. Or ever.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cat woke to a darkened room she didn’t recognize. As she wiped the sleep from her eyes, realization slowly dawned, like the sun that was trying way too hard to peek around the edges of the blackout curtains in Patricio’s bedroom suite.
Reaching out, she patted the bed for him but encountered only cold sheets. She rolled over and squinted open an eye to find his side of the king mattress empty. Disappointment was not a welcome bedmate.
Last night had been amazing. Multiple condoms and orgasms amazing. She smiled, remembering the many sides of Patricio the lover—commanding, gentle, teasing, and oh so satisfying. Stretching under the covers, she noted muscles that hadn’t been used much lately achingly letting her know they’d definitely gotten a delicious workout.
She didn’t exactly know what this irrevocable step in her and Patricio’s relationship meant, but she trusted him. And herself. They’d proven that they were good together. In multiple ways, some more deliciously seductive than others. She simply had to ensure—