Thank God he isn’t touching bare skin.
He strokes his thumb across the tip of my breast through the fabric of his shirt, and immediately my nipple tightens, my body betraying me.
“That’s it.”
His gaze flicks down to take in my reaction.Satisfaction gleams in his eyes, making my cheeks burn.
“Now it’s time for me to sample the wares.”
Frantically I shake my head.But we both know the truth.
When it comes to him, my responses are completely feminine and have been from the moment I first saw him on the rooftop.
Even the hated reminder that he’s my captor can’t make me stop wanting him.
His fingers linger on my breast, his pressure firm yet teasing, sending sparks of unwanted heat cascading through me.
My nipple pebbles harder under his thumb’s insistent stroke, the friction through the shirt amplifying every sensation.
A storm rages in me, defiance battling my unwanted desire.
How can I respond to this monster who stole me away, who intends to bind me to him in a forced marriage?
Determined to resist, I clench my fists at my sides.Intentionally I dig my nails into my palms.And the sharp bite grounds me, reminding me of who I am: Valentina Russo, not some simpering captive.
More in control, I grab hold of him.“Stop.”Even though my voice is laced with my fury, there’s a quiver in it that betrays me.
But instead of shoving his hand aside, I curl my fingers around his wrist .The steady thrum of his pulse is a massive contrast to my own erratic one.
“You don’t want this?”His eyes narrow, and the dark depths seem to swallow the dim light of the room.
“No.”
Does he see the conflict on my face?
I’ve never had a reaction to any man like this before.And it’s maddening.
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest.“Your body tells a different story, princess.”His words are a caress, wrapped in a rumbly timbre that resonates through me.
I release his wrist as if burned, and the damnable warmth of him lingers on my fingertips.
I refuse to allow him to have this kind of power over me.
Yet even as I think it, my breasts feel heavy, aching for more of that forbidden contact, and shame twists in my gut, sharp as the glass shard he pulled from my sole.
“Are you certain?”
Without warning, he slides his hand to my waist.
His broad palm is unyielding, and he splays his fingers to span my ribcage.
Heat seeps through the shirt, branding me, and I draw in a ragged breath.
The potent scent of him fills my lungs, intoxicating even though I despise him.
“Let’s see, shall we?”
I should stop this right now.
