Claimed by the Sicilian. Kate WalkerЧитать онлайн книгу.
but of course he hadn’t. Guido had never given a damn about appearing naked, or semi-clothed, in front of her, his supreme self-confidence driving away any concern for modesty.
So that now, while she still huddled under the crumpled sheet, hiding away from him, he stood tall and proud, the broad expanse of his chest, the bronzed skin lightly hazed with jet-black hair, openly exposed. It was impossible not to remember how it had felt to be held against that chest, how the heat of his skin, the roughness of that hair, had rubbed against her sensitised nipples. Nipples that ached even now with the imprint of his caress, the longing for more.
Her fingers hungered to touch, to stroke over the smooth, satin skin, to feel the strength of muscle and bone. And between her legs heat pooled rapidly, tormenting her senses so that she had to shift uneasily under the light covering of fine white linen.
‘No…’
It was a moan of protest at her own response that escaped her. She’d been burned that way already—burned twice, for God’s sake—so what was she thinking of even being tempted again?
CHAPTER NINE
‘NO?’ GUIDO questioned softly. Too softly.
Amber knew that voice of old. It was the one that he used when he was carefully reining in what he really wanted to say. When he was holding back the rage or the cynicism that in a weaker man would already have escaped, boiling over into dangerous fury.
‘No? If it wasn’t that, then what was it? You hadn’t tired of me. I know it—you know it.’
To Amber’s horror, he lowered himself onto the bed, coming to sit beside her, very close—too close.
Dangerously close.
She didn’t know how to react. She wanted to run but she didn’t dare. It would give too much away about the way she was feeling. She wanted to reach out and touch him, know the sensation of her fingertips on his skin, press her lips to him, taste him. But she didn’t dare to do that either. And so she curled up in a tight little ball, twisting her legs away from him so that they wouldn’t touch. She was afraid that she would feel the heat of him even through the linen of the sheet. That his touch might even burn her skin in spite of its protection.
‘We never tired of each other, did we, Amber?’
‘No…’
It was all that she could manage. She couldn’t deny it after all. He had left her bed to go to that meeting. A bed in which they had just made mad, passionate love.
No! In her mind she corrected herself automatically.
A bed in which they had just had wild, fierce, abandoned sex. Sex that she had believed was making love but that he had seen as cold-blooded passion. A hunger for her that he would do anything to appease.
Even marry her.
‘Why did you do it?’
‘Why did I do what?’
His tone was disturbing, almost frighteningly gentle. Frightening because it sounded real. It sounded believable. And it was too tempting to believe in it. But believing that Guido did anything gently was a big mistake.
‘Why did you marry me?’
‘It was what you wanted. And I wanted you. If I could have had you any other way, I would have done it.’
Well, was that blunt enough for her? The bald, flat statement left no room for discussion or manoeuvre. He had seen something he had wanted and he had made the arrangements necessary to ensure that he got what he wanted. That was Guido Corsentino all over. What he wanted was what he got. No argument; no debate.
‘I still want you.’
If it was possible, there was even less room for debate in that statement.
‘So that answers your next question.’
‘It does? And just what was my next question going to be?’
The sidelong glance that flashed at her from those deep, dark eyes warned against the note of flippancy that had crept into her tone. Don’t challenge me, that look said. Don’t even try!
‘You don’t even have to say it. It’s written clear on your face—you want to know why I came after you, why you’re here.’
‘You came after me because you wanted to break up my marriage to Rafe,’ Amber said slowly.
He might be right about the rest of the question that burned in her thoughts but she didn’t want to risk opening up that particular can of worms. Because it inevitably led to another, more uncomfortable question—the one that went ‘Why did you have sex with me?’ Because there was no way on earth she could ask ‘Why did you make love to me?’
‘And because I still wanted you,’ Guido put in, stilling her nervous tongue when she would have gone on. ‘But it took the prospect of your marrying another man to make me see just how much.’
He was jealous! Amber didn’t quite know why that should rock her world so violently, but it did. So much so that she actually put a hand out onto the surface of the bed to support herself when the room seemed to shudder around her. The movement made the sheet she had been holding to her gape widely at the front and she had to clutch at it frantically to keep it from falling. The resulting tug at her nerves made her voice sharp as she met his black, intent gaze.
‘And is that supposed to flatter me?’
‘I don’t do flattery.’
The lift of Guido’s broad shoulders shrugged off the question as unimportant.
‘I would have come after you anyway—it’s just that the need to stop your illegal marriage made me move rather faster than I’d planned.’
‘You would have come after me?’
Amber couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had been so sure that she had slammed the door on that particular relationship-locked it and thrown away the key. She had never thought that he might actually come after her. But then of course she hadn’t bargained on the fact that their marriage had actually been legal instead of the fake she had believed it to be.
‘I was waiting for you to come to your senses.’
He sounded so confident, so totally sure of himself—and of her—that Amber could only gape stupidly, her eyes wide and glazed, her mouth falling slightly open.
‘And now I suppose you think I should be thankful that you saved me from a bigamous marriage.’
Once again those broad shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. Amber tried not to notice how the movement flexed the muscles in his chest, defining the tightness of them, the narrow waist.
‘You would never have been happy with St Clair.’
But that was too much. The arrogance of the way that he had moved in, taken over her life, turned it upside down, was more than she could bear.
‘Did you even give me a chance to find out? Did it ever cross your mind that I might have wanted to be with Rafe?’
‘Do you love him?’
The question came harshly, thrown into her face almost brutally so that she reared back away from it as if it had been an actual blow.
‘Do you?’
‘You asked me that once already; why ask it again?’
‘Because you brought it up again. And isn’t it a normal thing to ask of a bride on her wedding day? Wouldn’t her family—her friends—want to know if she was in love with the man she was marrying?’
‘You’re neither my family, nor my friend.’
And the memory of just how little her mother had actually cared brought the sting of tears to her eyes, making her blink fiercely to drive them away. Under the covering of the sheet, the