It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge. Julia JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
slid the straps from her shoulders, kissing the faint marks they’d left on her skin, then removed the little garment completely, dropping it to the floor.
He drew her slowly back against him, her head resting against his bare chest, letting her feel the heat of his aroused body. His lips feathered kisses down the side of her throat as his hands cupped her small firm breasts, his fingertips drawing lingering circles round her nipples, making them rise proudly like dusky roses in bud.
‘Bellissima.’ His voice was husky. ‘Deliciosa.’
He let one hand move slowly downwards with smooth and deliberate purpose, his fingers slipping under the edge of her lacy briefs to seek the silken triangle at the joining of her thighs.
‘No.’ Her voice was a gasp as her hand fastened round his wrist, halting him, forbidding him to go any further. ‘Stop—please.’
He paused, his fingers splayed across the flat plane of her belly.
He said quietly, ‘Tell me something, Emilia mia. Why are you so afraid of pleasure?’
‘It has nothing to do with fear,’ Emily said stonily, aware that she was shaking inside. She pulled away from him, drawing a deep breath. Staring in front of her. Not at him. Not daring to look at him.
‘You take three years from my life, you destroy my hopes of future happiness, and then you take me.’ Her voice rose. ‘And I’m supposed to be grateful—and willing?’
She shook her head. ‘In your dreams, signore. Besides, being mauled by you is far from my idea of pleasure,’ she added defiantly.
For a long moment Raf did not move or speak. Then suddenly he was no longer holding her—touching her, and she was aware of him moving away across the room. Of the slight creak of the mattress as he got into bed.
For a few heartbeats she paused uncertainly, then fumbled off her briefs, putting them with the rest of her clothing.
Drawing a deep, jagged breath, she turned and walked to the bed, resisting the impulse to cover herself with her hands. But far from gloating avidly over her approach, Raf was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Emily slid hurriedly under the covers, pulling them up over her shoulders, then lay still, waiting for him to reach for her.
But he did not move and, as the long minutes passed, her tension grew and the deeper inner trembling intensified.
At last he turned his head and looked at her, the hazel eyes cool and steady.
‘I will make a bargain with you, Emilia,’ he said. ‘Kiss me and I will ask nothing else from you tonight.’
Emily stared at him, then found a voice from somewhere, almost squeaky with surprise. ‘You’ll let me—just go to sleep—for a kiss?
‘I have just said so.’
‘But I thought you wanted…’ She didn’t just think—she knew. When he’d been holding her just now the evidence of his desire for her had been frank and unequivocal.
‘Undoubtedly I did.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But I find I am no longer in the mood to treat you as gently as I should, given your inexperience.’ He added coldly, ‘So perhaps I deserve a little of your gratitude, after all, if my only demand is a kiss. You are escaping lightly, believe me.’
He paused. ‘Do you accept my offer, Contessa?’
‘I—I suppose so.’
‘Bene.’ He waited for a moment, watching her, brows raised. ‘But you will need to come closer, cara mia,’ he added, his tone almost bored. ‘Sadly, it is impossible for you to reach me from such a distance.’
Biting her lip, Emily edged warily across the bed. When she was within range, she leaned over him, her lips brushing swiftly and awkwardly against his in the most fleeting of contact.
There was a tingling silence, then he said softly, ‘That may be your idea of a kiss, Emilia, but it is not mine. There is ice enough outside the house at this time. I do not require it here in my bed.’
She stiffened, needled by the faint derision in his voice. ‘I’m sorry if you’re not satisfied…’
‘Now that, as we both know, is a lie,’ he said. ‘But now is not the time to discuss my level of satisfaction, or lack of it, and what you might do to improve it.’ He allowed her a moment to assimilate that, then added, ‘At the moment, you are simply required to—try a little harder.’
He raised a hand, cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, so that she could not pull away. ‘So, kiss me again, cara mia,’ he invited quietly. ‘Kiss me as you did on that long ago night in your father’s house.’
‘But—but that was when I thought you were—someone else.’ Her voice was a breath.
‘Did you truly, bella mia?’ Raf asked cynically. ‘I have often wondered how that could be possible. But, if it is easier for you, pretend once more that I am someone else. I promise I will not even ask his name.’
His hand was impelling her down to him, bringing her ever nearer to his waiting mouth.
And this time, as her lips touched the firm warmth of his, she found herself allowing the contact to lengthen—even to linger. Because, she told herself in growing confusion, this was what he wanted. And it was such a minor demand for him to make after—after all those others.
Suddenly he moved, reversing their positions smoothly and swiftly, so that she was lying on the pillow, looking up at him, her startled eyes widening.
And then he was kissing her, his mouth moving on hers slowly and achingly at first, then with a hard, deepening urgency—a hunger that made the soft, trembling contours of her lips feel bruised.
Until she could scarcely breathe. Or think rationally any more.
Or why else would she have found that, against all expectation, she wanted to return the sensuous pressure that he was subjecting her to? That she needed to learn the lines of his mouth as thoroughly as he was exploring hers? And, maybe, even more…
And then, with almost shocking suddenness, it was over, and he was lifting himself away from her.
‘A great improvement,’ he said in a tone so impersonal that Emily, still dazed, almost expected him to give her marks out of ten. He ran a careless finger down the curve of her cheek. ‘Now, sleep well, cara,’ he added lightly. ‘And may all your dreams be sweet.’
He turned to switch off the lamp, leaving her with an unwanted, but potent image of the long, supple line of his naked back before the room was plunged into darkness.
Emily turned away too, almost scuttling to the opposite side of the bed, lying, taut and breathless, on its furthermost edge as she waited for her heartbeat to regain its normality.
She was shaken to the core by her own reaction. Bitterly ashamed of her own weakness. And surprised too that Raf had actually kept his word, had not taken further advantage of her.
Yet Emily knew she had by no means escaped unscathed. That there was an even more worrying aspect of the situation that she somehow had to confront.
That long ago night…
Those were the words that were now coming back to haunt her. His unfounded but still disturbing suggestion that she might have gone into his arms knowing full well that he was not Simon.
Indicating that her female instinct should have stopped her before she’d got within a yard of him, let alone thrown herself at him.
But that’s nonsense, she told herself. It was dark, and I was very young and very stressed—nervous as hell—not thinking straight. Besides, it was Simon I was expecting. No one else. Because Raf was with Jilly. I—I knew that. Knew that, if she had her way, there was no reason to expect him back before breakfast.
And, anyway,