Her Passionate Italian: The Passion Bargain / A Sicilian Husband / The Italian's Marriage Bargain. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
guilty looks, the lies that had tripped so defiantly from her tongue. Money had nothing to do with Sonya’s part in her betrayal. She’d just wanted Angelo with a fever that had raged out of control. So she’d had him, because the wanting had been more powerful than her loyalty to a close friend!
And the money had nothing to do with the sexual part of Angelo’s betrayal because he must have known he was putting everything at risk when he gave in to his desire for Sonya. For who else was more likely to confess all in a fit of conscience than the closest friend to his future wife?
His future wife. The one he would take to bed only when he had to.
Oh, dear God… ‘I’ve got to get away from here,’ she whispered on a sudden burst of panic and reeled away to take a couple of shaky steps towards the terrace doors.
Everything happened so fast then that she was thrown into shock. There was a muttered curse followed by two hands arriving at her waist and she was being lifted bodily off the floor, turned and dumped unceremoniously back to the floor then clamped to a hard male chest.
‘What are you—?’
‘Shut up,’ he ground out furiously. ‘Someone is coming.’
And she froze like a statue as she heard the sound of Angelo’s voice calling her name from the terrace just outside their door. The door handle rattled. Her heart withered in her chest and her fingers went up to clutch at the lapels to Carlo Carlucci’s dinner jacket.
‘I don’t want to see him,’ she choked. And she didn’t. She never wanted to set eyes on Angelo again!
‘I locked the door,’ his grim voice reminded her.
‘He will see us through the glass.’ She moved even closer to his superior framework as if trying to blend right into him.
His arms accommodated her, a hand gently curving round her slender nape, the other splaying across the low part of her back. ‘He can’t see you,’ he murmured in husky reassurance. ‘It’s dark in here. I am wearing black and my back is to the window. If he sees anything it will be the dark outline of one of his male guests enjoying a snatched moment in his father’s study with one of his female guests.’
‘M-me,’ she pointed out.
There was a short silence. Then he said cynically, ‘Did you tell him about our two meetings, cara? How very loyal of you.’
The cold taunt brought her eyes up to clash with his. The guilty flush that mounted her cheeks said all she needed to say.
‘Well—well,’ he murmured. ‘It seems to me that your whole life is built on dangerous secrets, mi amore.’
‘I don’t have any secrets,’ she snapped. ‘And there was nothing dangerous about our two brief meetings!’ she added, frowning at the sudden quickening she felt in her pulse.
‘Liar,’ he drawled. ‘We connected sexually. I don’t know how you kept your hands off me.’
‘How did you ever get to be so arrogant?’ she gasped, staring at him.
‘It took practice,’ he replied, and the weird thing about this conversation was that it was so deadly serious without a hint of mockery to be heard! In fact she could see that frightening anger simmering in his eyes. ‘You want to be thankful that I am attracted to you or you would be languishing somewhere in the Batiste garden, slowly dying from a broken heart by now.’
It was like being kicked when she was already lying in a battered heap on the ground. On a stifled choke she went to step away from him. Once again he showed his superior strength to keep her still.
‘I hate you,’ she choked.
He didn’t bother to answer. She could feel the strength in his fingers where they pressed into her lower back and the very disturbing presence of his thumbs slowly circling against her stomach wall. Tiny senses began to stir in places she didn’t want them to, low in her abdomen and in the tips of her breasts. It was mad; the whole crazy evening was turning her quietly insane. She hardly knew him, she certainly didn’t like him yet here she was, standing in his arms, letting him tell her that she fancied going to bed with him!
The door handle rattled again. ‘Who is in there?’ Angelo’s glass-muffled voice questioned impatiently.
‘Persistent devil,’ Carlo said. ‘Perhaps we should give him a taste of his own medicine.’
Alarm stiffened her backbone. ‘No!’ was all she could get out before he lowered his dark head.
It was the sheer, heart-stopping shock of it that held her immobile, the unfamiliar touch of his mouth against hers. He was taller than Angelo, darker than Angelo, harder and stronger and more forceful than Angelo had ever been with her. Her startled lips were ruthlessly parted, and his tongue darted through the gap. A tight rush of sensation shot from her mouth to her breasts to low in her abdomen then poured like quicksilver down her legs.
She had never experienced anything like it. A shocked, disorientated whimper clawed at her throat as she was suddenly flung into alien territory, the heat, the intrusion, the flagrant intimacy of that invading tongue exploring the inner tissue of her mouth trapping her inside butterfly tremors of bemused response.
He pulled his head back, glinting her a dark-eyed puzzled frown, saw her wide-eyed startlement, the revealingly shocked tremor of her lips. ‘Did Angelo sexually starve you into submission?’ he uttered with an oddly strained laugh.
She just continued to stare at him, too befuddled to take in the question, and his eyes took on a hard light. He hissed something unrepeatable about Angelo then lowered his head again to return to where he’d left off. Only this time with more heat, more sensual purpose, and his hands joined in, lifting and crushing her into closer contact with his body and holding her there while he ravaged her mouth. She felt the burgeoning power of his passion pressing against her then her own body responded as that place between her thighs began to pulse then grow damp. Sensation was slithering everywhere, in her bloodstream, coiling round muscles to make them writhe into greater contact.
It was shocking, so basic and—and physical! Her crushed breasts swelling and stinging painfully as her nipples grew tight.
The door handle rattled. She jerked her head back against his restraining hand and their lips parted with a disconcerting pop. Electric wires had been attached to every extremity. She was breathless yet panting. Her tongue and lips felt swollen and hot. He was staring down at her with glinting black fixed eyes and a perfect stillness, his expression peculiarly…
She didn’t know what his face was telling her. She only knew she’d just been somewhere very perilous and that she did not like it—but she did.
Sex, she called it. Lust said it better. She’d been kissed with hot and driving passion for the first time in her life by a man who was very good at it.
Heat hit her pale cheeks. She dragged her eyes away from him and became aware of the way the flat of her hands braced painfully against the solid wall of chest. Everything about him was solid, his shoulders, his arms, the bowl of his hips where she could feel the solid column of his—
‘Let me go,’ she demanded hazily.
He did the opposite, pressing her closer then lowering his head again to flick his tongue across her burning lips. She almost detonated on a ball of hot static. A helpless cry keened in her throat.
Footsteps sounded as Angelo moved away from the window, bringing Carlo alive with a jolt. His eyes lost that frightening expression, his brows pushing together on a frown. His grip on her tightened and Francesca found herself being lifted again, swung around then unceremoniously dumped in the chair she had used before.
The wretched brandy glass was slotted back between her fingers. ‘Drink it this time,’ she was tersely instructed as he turned away.
‘I’m dizzy enough,’ she thought and didn’t realise she’d said it out loud until his grim response