She nodded. “Yes.”
He understood. There was an urgency to their coming together. A need that seemed to exist only between them, and in an insatiable way.
She moved and he moved with her. Their limbs tangled on the ground as once more he claimed her. This time, his weight pressed down on her and his lips clashed with hers with a passion that was fuelled by both anger and desire.
“Why are you fighting this?” She asked between snatches of breath as his hands ran over her body, feeling her through the fabric of the dress.
His expression flashed, for the briefest of moments, with an emotion that was impossible to interpret. “Do I seem like I am fighting you,cara?”His eyes locked to hers and to emphasise his point, he thrust into her slowly, gently, teasing her and making her heart flip over.
Ridiculously, she felt the sting of tears cloying in her throat. He studied her face, and saw the moment her eyes moistened, though she flicked them shut so that her long black lashes made perfect dark crescents against her cheek.
Desire throbbed between them, yet he saw her sadness and his whole body ached to fix her. He kissed the tip of her nose gently, and dropped his forehead to hers.“I’m here with you now.”
But for how long?The question was a darkness in her mind, blotting everything else out.
It was a testament to their physical connection that she was able to grab hold of the sensations he was arousing and come back into the moment. He was whispering to her in Italian, stroking her hair, and all the while, he moved within her, reminding her that their bond was special and strong.
She felt the beginning of her orgasm bursting from deep inside her abdomen, spreading, tingling, throbbing and pulsing through her body. It started slowly but within seconds it was an intense explosion of the kind of heat she’d never known before. She clung to him for dear life, crying out as every single cell in her body began to shake.
“Jesus!” She bit her teeth into the smooth tanned flesh of his shoulder. Her nails dug into his back, dragging lines across him, scoring her questions into his skin.
He laughed. Power was a beast in his gut. He felt better than he’d ever known he could. He held her close as he exploded, not that there was any chance of her letting go. They were two survivors of the hurricane of their need.
And even though she was filled with questions, she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask them now. She wasn’t sure her heart could bear the answers he might give. She sighed, and slowly, peeled herself away from him, easing herself back to the floor. He pushed up on his arms, so that he could hover above her and stare into her eyes.
When she blinked hers shut, he made a sound of exasperation. “Look at me,” he commanded, and when she didn’t oblige, he shifted his weight so that he could kiss her eye lids. “Look at me,” he repeated.
“Why?” But she flashed her gaze to his, feeling a burst of electricity as her will power slammed into his.
“This is not a perfect situation,” he said slowly, thinking once more of the dark past that dogged them at every step; of the reason he’d met her and seduced her; of the photo he’d taken and the manner in which he’d sent it. There was no hope of their becoming anything beyond what they were. How would she ever forgive him? How would she ever accept the burning need he’d held for revenge? His need to punish the man who had slowly, in the most painful way, killed his father had eaten him alive.
“Isn’t it?” She murmured, scanning his face. From her perspective, of course, it was the stuff of dreams. He had swept her off her feet. She just wanted to stay there!“You’re pushing me away again.”
A frown tugged at his lips. “I’m attempting to be truthful with you.” Even that was a lie! He looked around her bedroom, his displeasure obvious. “Your room is very … neat … but it is not sufficient for you.”
“I happen to like it,” she retorted with mock offense.
His gaze flared back to hers. “Come with me.”
Her heart flipped in her chest. “For how long?” Her gaze was loaded with determination.
He pushed up to standing. As with the first time they’d made love, he was still basically dressed. His shirt was undone and hung loose around his chest. Her eyes fell to his shoulder where she could see the hint of a bite mark. Her cheeks flamed. She had done that. She stood gracefully, and pushed his shirt away, so that her eyes could roam his back freely.
“I’ve scratched you.” She’d done worse than that. She’d come close to drawing blood, by the looks of it. “I’m so sorry.”
He spun around and caught her in his arms. “Di niente,” he demurred, his smile sexy and seductive and perfectly gorgeous. “They are … battle scars.”
“Battle scars?” She shivered. “That’s so primitive.”
“Si. As it should be.” He stroked her cheek gently. “Come with me.”
“For how long?” She repeated, her eyes hoping to see the promise in his eyes that he wouldn’t make with his mouth.
“I can’t give you that.” He held her close, his hips seeking hers. “I don’t deal in promises when I cannot fulfil them.”
“You were perfectly happy to buy me for two days …”
“Two days I can easily fulfil,” he responded, his eyes darkly contemplative.
