The Sicilian's Red-Hot Revenge. Kate WalkerЧитать онлайн книгу.
let her go. Not without exploring what this whole thing meant. Not without taking this unexpected, fiery connection to the furthest limits possible.
‘Oh, I’ve no intention of letting you go,’ he said again, disturbing himself even with the intensity of the way it came out. So much so that he amended it hastily, adding some nonsense about wanting to see her on her feet first.
And why, when they finally reached the shore, when his feet were on solid land, with the sand firm beneath them, did he not act on that? Why did he not let her down, still holding her, still supporting her, waiting to see if she could stand up by herself?
Because his whole body, everything that was in him, rebelled at the idea.
He had her where he wanted her and he wasn’t about to let go.
‘We’re here,’ he said when she didn’t appear to be about to stir either. Certainly she showed no sign of wanting to move but just lay in his hold as if she belonged there. ‘Signorina…’
That caught her attention, brought her head up. Her eyes—they were, he now saw, the softest, clearest blue, blue like the sky reflected in the sea—widened, looked straight into his.
‘You’re Italian!’
‘Sicilian.’
‘Oh…’
It was the last thing Emily had expected. When she had fallen into the cold, turbulent waters of the English Channel on a very English beach, she had never imagined that the man who had come to her rescue, like some knight of old racing to the defence of his lady, would be anything other than local. But now, looking up into his face, she saw that there was no way he could ever be taken for an Englishman. The olive-toned skin covering powerfully carved features, high, angular cheekbones, and the full, sensual mouth that now curved in a devastating smile, revealing white, white teeth, were definitely not the sort of looks she saw around her every day.
‘Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Vito…’
‘Emily…’ she managed awkwardly, her tongue stumbling even over her own name as she struggled with the over-heated race of her heart.
Those deep-set dark eyes burned down into hers with an intensity that seared her skin, making it flame with heat. It was as if the sun had suddenly come out from behind a cloud, almost blinding her, and she had to turn her head away, closing her eyes and burying her face in his shoulder.
She should say thank you, she knew. She should say thank you for rescuing me and now would you please put me down? Let me stand on my feet…?
But she couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t say anything.
The scent of his skin surrounded her. Warm and musky and still overlaid by the ozone from the sea. She took it in with every breath, felt it enfold her like the strength of his arms. No man had touched her, no man had held her in too long. No man except Mark, but Mark’s hold had never affected her like this. Even in the beginning. Mark’s arms had never felt so strong, his skin hadn’t had that wild, intoxicating scent that went straight to her head like a swallow of the most potent of spirits, making her thoughts spin.
‘Emily…’
That voice, that accent made her name into a totally different sound. They took away the clipped, essentially English, pronunciation she was so used to hearing every day and transformed it into a warm, lyrical sound, one that stirred her senses so that she nestled even closer, burying her face against Vito’s chest, in the curve between his neck and his shoulder.
The warmth of his skin was against her cheek, the still damp strands of his hair brushing her ear as he moved his head, making her draw in a long, ragged breath. And with that breath she took in once more the essence of him, the scent of his skin, the taste…
In the warm, concealing darkness her closed eyes fluttered open, fixed on the point where just inches away from her, the heavy, regular throb of his pulse beat just under the skin. The firm stretch of olive skin was so smooth, so tempting…If she just moved her head…
It was only when her lips touched the warmth of his flesh that she realised what she’d done. And by then it was too late, way too late. Just the feel of it underneath her mouth, the taste of it on her tongue, was like a drug, making her blood heat, her senses yearn. Something hot and hungry and uncontrollable was uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, sending shivers of reaction along the pathway of every nerve. She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her lips to that pulse again, breathing in the scent of his skin, tasting it with her tongue.
‘Emilia,’ Vito said again but this time on a very different note. One that matched the thunder in her head, the sensations in her body.
‘Vito…’ she breathed against his neck and slowly lifted her head, turning back towards him, tilting her mouth…
And found it taken in a sizzling, blazing kiss that sent reaction scorching through every inch of her.
CHAPTER TWO
THE world tilted, swung round her. Her vision blurred, her thoughts fled. Somewhere high in the sky above her, the cry of a lone gull was the only sound she was aware of, but it seemed to belong to another world, not the hot and hungry one that had suddenly reached out to enclose her, sweeping away all other sense of reality. And very soon even that faded, drowned out by the pounding of her own blood in her head.
She had let her arms drop from around Vito’s neck but now she flung them back up again. Not for support but to draw his head down, press those seeking, demanding lips even closer to her own.
His arms no longer held her, or, rather, they still held her but in a very, very different way. The strength of his support had gone from under her legs, letting her slide down the hard, muscled length of him, until the tips of her toes brushed the sand, dangling just above the actual expanse of the shore. And this time one arm was clamped tight around her waist, crushing her to him, while with the other he laced hard fingers through the partly dried tangle of her hair, twisting slightly to hold her head just where he needed it, her mouth under his so that he could take what he wanted.
She was burning, softening, melting against him. She scarcely knew where her body ended and his began. And as he loosened his hold slightly so that she slid downward, over the long length of his powerful body until her feet were finally back on the sand, although not yet actually supporting her, that feeling intensified to almost agonising proportions. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her hips cradled his pelvis, feeling the heat and pressure of his arousal hard against her. Her mouth was opening under his, allowing the intimate invasion of his tongue, tangling with her own, tasting the personal essence of him that had been on his skin and now was on her lips, on her tongue.
She had forgotten what this felt like. This instant, explosive, dramatic response to a man. The way that her heartbeat kicked hard, the way her breath came raw and uneven. She’d forgotten how it felt to know the honeyed burn of need, the heat pooling between her legs, making her writhe against his hard strength in hungry longing.
‘Emilia…’
His version of her name was a raw breath against her mouth, his voice deepening and roughening until, she barely recognised it.
Recognised it!
The words echoed inside her head in a rush of shock and bewilderment. She had heard—what?—less than one hundred words from this man’s mouth and yet she felt as if she knew his voice, would recognise it anywhere. It was as if that deep, husky sound, with the melodic accent she now knew to be Italian—Sicilian—was burned onto her mind like music etched onto a CD, so that she would always know it, always recognise it, no matter what happened.
It was as if it was part of her now, bound by links that could never be broken.
‘Vito…’
She tried his own name, feeling it strange and exotic on her tongue. Just the sound of it sent a shiver down her spine, making her tremble in his hold.