Hot Christmas Nights: Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding / His for Revenge / Mistletoe Not Required. Anne OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.
reminding himself that she had nowhere else to go. But now that he had seen her again, his reservations dissolved. God, she was beautiful.
The swift and heady rush of desire heated his veins as he walked towards her and repeated her trembled little greeting, and yet something in her big violet eyes made his voice gentle as he leaned over her. ‘Hello,’ he said as he bent his head to whisper a kiss on her bare shoulder. ‘Is this the way you’re always going to greet me when I get home from work?’
‘Do you like it?’ she whispered, closing her eyes as she felt the soft, seductive graze of lips.
‘Yes, I think we can safely say that I like it, cara. I like it very much. Though I think we could improve on it even more.’ His hand moved round to give a little tug of the knot which constrained the towel so that it fell away—revealing her rosy-tipped breasts, the slender dip of her waist and the rounded curve of her pale hips. She looked like a still-life painting come to glorious life, he thought as he let his fingers drift downwards to cup one breast.
Cassie’s eyes opened wide as she saw the image reflected back from the mirror—his olive fingers contrasted against the paleness of her own skin. She could feel the insistent peaking of her nipple against his palm and the warm heat in the pit of her stomach as his lips grazed over her damp hair. Restlessly, she wriggled—tried to turn to have him kiss her properly—but he wouldn’t let her. ‘Giancarlo,’ she breathed.
‘Stay,’ he commanded as his fingers continued to stroke her.
‘But it’s—’
‘Stay!’
Despite her erotic imprisonment, she felt a hot, fierce heat shoring up inside her—building and building as he reached further down, his fingers tangling in the soft fuzz of hair at the juncture of her thighs and the honeyed moistness it concealed. She squirmed as he moved against her heated flesh and gasped his name as she felt the heat now spiralling upwards—like a great, strong tidal wave which was carrying her in its rush. It had happened to her when he had taken her to bed—but he had been there with her, not fully dressed like this, as if she were some kind of erotic puppet and he were pulling the strings. As if he were not part of what was happening to her. But then those new and extraordinary sensations began to engulf everything else—so that the world seemed to be composed of nothing other than sheer delight.
‘Giancarlo,’ she gasped, closing her eyes as she felt it about to happen.
‘No, watch,’ he urged. ‘Watch yourself in the mirror, mia bella. Watch how beautiful you look when you experience pleasure.’
Obediently, Cassie’s lids fluttered open to see that her eyes were dark with desire. Glancing upwards, she met his mocking reflection in the mirror—felt control slipping away as his fingers continued their insistent dance. And then desire dissolved within her—leaving her helpless to do anything but watch herself orgasm. She saw the involuntary jerk of her body and the way that the high colour in her cheeks seemed to spread all over her breasts—as if someone had washed them in rose-pink paint.
Weakly, she clutched onto his arm until the spasms had died away—feeling as if she might float away if she let go of him—but now Giancarlo had moved forward and he lifted her up into his arms. And she thought how decadent it seemed that he was still in his work suit while she was completely naked.
‘Wasn’t that the most erotic thing imaginable?’ he murmured, pressing his lips over hers and feeling her warm sensuality rising up to meet him.
Still dazed, Cassie nodded—because she couldn’t deny his words. It was. But as he took her through into the bedroom she thought that it had been…been…
What?
A demonstration of his superior sexuality. A pleasure-fest, yes—but without any of the attendant romance of deep kisses and tender caresses that her foolish heart had craved. Did he sense her misgivings? Was that why he sat her down on the edge of the bed and crouched in front of her?
‘Are you going to undo my tie?’ he murmured.
With trembling fingers, she complied—realising that he meant her to carry on, so she unbuttoned the silk shirt, too. He helped her with the belt and the trousers, swiftly divesting himself of the rest of his clothes until he was as naked as she, his body all satin-sheened skin and powerful limbs.
‘Oh, Giancarlo,’ she whispered as she felt the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against her.
‘What?’
‘I didn’t realise—’
‘That it could be so good?’ His lips curved into a smile before drifting to her neck. ‘And I didn’t realise that you would be so beautifully responsive. So quick to orgasm and so eager to learn.’
He pushed her back onto the bed and moved over her, his fingers entwining in the spill of her hair and his lips whispering over hers in tantalising little kisses. And Cassie revelled in the growing familiarity of his body. Already, she was eager to reacquaint herself with the feel of tensile muscle beneath the silken skin and the honed perfection of his torso. This time she knew exactly when he wanted her to part her legs—and although she knew now what to expect, the glorious intimacy of his first thrust still took her breath away.
Glancing up, she could see that the ebony eyes were slitted and opaque as he entered her, could see the play of muscles in his powerful shoulders as he moved inside her. His lips dipped to tease hers—brushing and biting and grazing—until she greedily raised her hands to pull his head down, hearing his soft laugh as he deepened the kiss. She revelled in the changing rhythm—the way his hands clamped around her waist so that he could draw her even closer—until she felt so full of him that there was only one way to release herself from this exquisite tension and that was to let go.
She cried out—a strange, broken little sound she scarcely recognised as her own voice—and almost immediately she heard his own ragged groan. Afterwards, she lay there for a warm age, wrapped in his arms—her head on his chest as she listened to the thundering of his heart as it grew steady and his hand stroked absently at her hair.
But Cassie felt shaken as she lay in the curve of his arms. She hadn’t realised that sex could make you feel so utterly vulnerable—even more vulnerable than she’d felt in that room with the security officers at Hudson’s. Or that it could bind you to a man—make you want to cling to him and never let him go.
He must have gone to sleep, for his hand stilled to lie on top of her head, and she risked turning slightly, her eyes drinking in the details of his face as if she was committing them to memory.
In sleep the rugged features were relaxed—his expression less stern. She studied the dark sweep of his lashes and the way his hard mouth had softened into a sensual pout. It suddenly occurred to her that the man he really was lay concealed behind the rather formidable mask he always wore. Would he ever let her see what lay beneath?
She was unprepared for his sudden awakening—the way those lashes parted to reveal the ebony gleam beneath.
Giancarlo stretched and gave a lazy yawn. ‘Eri persa nei tuoi pensieri,’ he murmured.
She pleated her brows in response. ‘What does that mean?’
‘That your thoughts were elsewhere.’
Cassie pushed the hair back off her face. ‘They were.’
‘Usually a danger sign where a woman is concerned,’ he observed drily.
‘I was thinking…’ She hesitated, because despite the intimacies they’d just shared there was something still a little intimidating about him. ‘That I don’t really know anything about you,’ she finished softly.
His index finger stroked from neck to nipple, his mouth curving as he registered her answering shiver. ‘Yes, you do,’ he contradicted silkily. ‘You know how to turn me on with your big violet eyes and your petal lips and your soft, firm curves. You’re learning a little more every time we make love. By the time you