‘Now you need someone to satisfy your needs.’

Emily turned her head and opened her eyes. His head was close, resting on the cushion right by hers. ‘What makes you think I haven’t got someone already?’

‘If you did, you wouldn’t be looking at me with those hungry eyes.’

She lifted her head, a little on her dignity. ‘You don’t need to lay it on with a trowel, Luca. I’m not completely inexperienced.’

‘Only relatively—si?’ He laughed. ‘What was he? Some young fool who wouldn’t know how to give pleasure to a woman even if she gave him step-by-step instructions and a map showing the way?’

She felt the blush covering her cheeks and neck, and she shut her eyes again to pretend it wasn’t happening. He’d been exactly like that.

‘Emily. I can offer you nothing but a memory.’ His voice was a little strained. ‘But I think it would be some memory.’

Praise for Natalie Anderson:

‘Natalie Anderson is one of the most exciting voices in steamy romantic fiction writing today. Sassy, witty and emotional, her Modern Heats are in a class of their own…’

—Cataromance

BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE

‘Natalie Anderson’s latest romance manages to be sexy and sassy, but also deeply emotional and highly poignant. BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE is a wonderfully romantic story of unexpected romance that’s bursting with freshness and exuberance, but it will tug at your heartstrings and have you reaching for the tissues as well. Moving, well-written and utterly compelling, in BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE, Natalie Anderson has outdone herself once again!’

—Cataromance

Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, Natalie Anderson decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and, boy, is it that! Especially writing romance— it’s the realisation of a lifetime dream, kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Mills & Boons®… She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website any time—she’d love to hear from you: www. natalie-anderson.com

Recent titles by the same author:

PLEASURED IN THE PLAYBOY’S PENTHOUSE

BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE

PLEASURED BY THE SECRET MILLIONAIRE

BETWEEN THE
ITALIAN’S SHEETS

BY

NATALIE ANDERSON

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Rosie and Simon.

You two have the most incredible generosity,

kindness and sheer zest for life. Our holiday in London

at Casa King-Currie was amazing—every moment fun

and relaxing and memorable. Luca and Emily’s story

would never have come out into the light if it hadn’t

been for the break you enabled us to have,

and for that I really, really thank you.

CHAPTER ONE

ARROGANCE personified. Emily stared at him, her temper going from sizzling to spitting hot. He stood right in front of her, with the height of a basketball star, and shoulders the breadth of a rugby prop. A man mountain, a mighty example of the male in physical prime. Totally obscuring her view. Totally commanding attention.

Typical.

Worse than that, he had one of those fancy phone gadgets that did everything—not merely phone calls, but music, web connection, camera—the works. And every time he pushed the buttons they beeped. Loudly. The overture was about to begin, Emily found the rapid succession of beeps incredibly annoying.

Pointedly, she cleared her throat.

She had not spent the last year working crazy hours, scrimping and saving every last cent to get her sister and herself all the way to Italy and to this fabulous opera only for the moment to be ruined by some selfish jerk who thought his social life was more important than the live performance about to unfold. More important than showing some respect to the other people there who wanted to appreciate the evening.

She cleared her throat again.

Fractionally he turned, threw a quick glance her way, but the beeping didn’t stop. Rather it was the cacophony of trills and fragments of well-known phrases that ceased as under the direction of the lead violinist the orchestra stilled. Then came the lone note from the oboe to which the other instruments would tune. But did that stop him? No. The purity of the sound was shattered by the relentless beeping.

Any minute now the conductor would walk out and applause would greet him. Beeps didn’t constitute applause. Beeps were annoying. And she couldn’t see through him.

She glared at his back now as well as clearing her throat once more. A tailored jacket hung from those doorframe-wide shoulders, one hand on his hip pulling the jacket back, emphasising the narrowing of his torso to a slim waist and hips. She knew there were serious muscles under the white shirt and dark trousers. She’d watched as he’d walked up from the super-expensive seats. He was hard not to notice, taller than almost all the people there. From the front she’d seen the way his shirt neatly tucked into his trousers with not an ounce of anything unnecessary—like fat—rippling the smooth, straight stretch of white cotton. Well dressed, good-looking, so sophisticated and cool in this hot and crowded space. She figured he’d come up so as not to disturb those in his own elite strata—no, he’d conduct his business and bother the plebs up in the cheap seats.

One of the waiters came past, singing his way through the crowd for one final time before he’d quieten for the spectacle, tormenting her with his cry.

‘Bebite! Acqua! Cola! Vino bianca! Vino rosso! Bebite…’

She’d go for all those drinks right now. She was hot. She was thirsty. She was irritated.

This time she coughed.

Where on earth was Kate? What was taking her so long? Only her little sister could need the bathroom right as the opera was about to start. And as far as Emily could tell, the toilets in the ancient arena were few and far between and had queues centuries long. Meanwhile her mouth was dry and she wanted the six-foot-plus pillar blocking her view of centre stage to move. And then he did, turning right round as he held the gadget up in front of him. The flash of his grin was more blinding than the sudden flash of bright light.

‘What—’ she asked tartly ‘—you’re taking photos now?’

‘Sì.’ He nodded, smiling like the Cheshire cat. ‘I need a new wallpaper photo for my phone. And this is such a spectacular view, don’t you think?’

‘I think the “view” is behind you. You know, the stage, the set, the orchestra.’

‘Oh, no, you’re wrong. The beauty of the night is right in front of me.’ As he put the phone thing in his pocket he held her gaze with a long, lazy, unmistakably challenging stare that she felt from the top of her head to her fingertips and all the way to her toes. And in all the secret spaces in between she burned. Spitting hot became unbearable—she was melting, literally melting at his feet. And stupidly she wished she were wearing something a little more glam than her cheap cotton skirt and tee combo. Why couldn’t she have a gorgeous black gown, some serious bling and ice-queen sophistication to set it off?

She choked for real then—half giggling, half spluttering on a speck of something in her throat.

Eyes watering, she heard his call to the passing waiter. He spoke rapidly in Italian. She didn’t catch a word of it. Only glimpsed the smile pass between the two men and then the money. He took the step separating where he stood and she sat, and handed her the bottle of water he’d just bought.

‘For your throat.’ Dry amusement was all obvious and all aggravating. ‘Please.’ He held the bottle a little closer, right in her face, and she knew he wasn’t going to remove it.

What could she do? Act the totally irritated diva? She couldn’t, not when the opera hadn’t actually started, and he’d put the phone away and was suddenly smiling. It was some smile.

‘Thank you,’ she said, mentally blaming the breathiness of her reply on the awkward angle of her neck as she craned it right back to look at him.

He sat in the gap next to her. ‘You’re looking forward to the opera?’

‘Yes.’ Where was Kate? Where was the conductor? But time was playing tricks and the tiniest of moments became eons.

He nodded. ‘It is a good one. They perform it every year here.’

‘I know.’ She’d read it in the tourist books she’d devoured from the library. Right now her eyes were devouring something else. Up close he wasn’t just good-looking, he was incredible-looking. While his physical presence had been noticeable from a distance, nearer it was his expression that arrested her attention.

He was tall, he was dark, he was handsome. So far, so cliché. Like almost every man she’d seen in this city he was immaculately groomed. But there was so much more. There was the strong, angled jaw and the faint shadow of stubble. And in the heart of that was his mouth—wide and full—contrasting with the steep planes of his cheekbones. That mouth raised questions that Emily wanted to answer—was it as smooth as it looked? Warm or cool? It was certainly infinitely touchable. Utterly inviting.

Vying for first place with his lips were his eyes. Deep chocolate-brown, they were set off by the requisite thick, long lashes. But the chocolate didn’t have the dull, matte quality of a solid block. It was warm and glossy and liquid, the dark variety—there was no diluting milky sweetness. And at the very centre there was a hardness—a ‘don’t go there’ dangerous quality that totally aroused the curiosity of Pandora in Emily. It was like the bitterness at the bottom of a strong coffee or the darkest of dark chocolate that her taste buds both desired and recoiled from.

‘Aren’t you going to have your drink?’ He didn’t seem fazed by her scrutiny, instead seemed quite content to sit and study her right back. Closely.

She remembered the bottle and marvelled that steam wasn’t rising from it. Surely the water should be boiling from the red-hot elements that were her hands?

‘I think you should,’ he spoke easily. ‘You seem thirsty.’

That smile had broken the arrogant set to his features once more. A wide, sensual slash, his lips were surprisingly soft-looking, and framed white, straight, strong teeth. Oh, he had it all, didn’t he? The height and body of a champion athlete, and the full features of a sensuous lover.

He glanced at the cheap cloth bag beside her, so obviously empty. ‘You have no picnic? No lover to share the music and the magic of the night with you?’ He gestured around them where many in the audience were snacking on treats stored in small baskets. Most were paired off, couples sitting close, the scent of romance heavy in the atmosphere.

‘I’m here with my sister. She’s just gone to get something.’ Emily’s defence mounted.

‘Ah, your sister.’ He nodded, tone cryptic.

For want of something, anything to stop her staring at him, she flipped the lid on the water bottle.

‘Where are you from?’

It was obvious to him that she was foreign. He’d spoken in English to her from the off. She figured it was the travel garb, the ancient clothes that had left that budget chain store many seasons ago and hadn’t ever seen an iron. She was no fabulous Italian fashionista.

‘New Zealand.’ She tossed her head, scraping for some pride.

A hint of surprise lifted his expression. ‘You’ve come a long way. No wonder you’re looking forward to the music.’

‘Yes. I’ve wanted to come here for years.’ It had been her fantasy escape. Now she wanted to know if Italy was as warm and flavoursome a country as she’d always imagined. The opera had been the way to convince Kate to stop here en route to London.

If Emily had both the choice and the money, she’d travel on to Venice, Florence, Rome…everywhere. Countless times she’d watched every Italian movie they had at the DVD store where she’d worked. She even had a few phrases to try out on friendly looking faces. She looked down at the stage, where the lights were gleaming and the orchestra was now waiting quietly. It was the realisation of a dream.

Her irritation melted away and she drank from the water bottle—a long, deep swig that ended with an unstoppable sigh of satisfaction.

Light, cool, strong fingers took her chin, and he turned her face back towards his. Stunned, she let him, silently absorbing the intensity of his expression, feeling it draw her even closer to him. And then it was only his index finger touching her, carefully sliding with gentle but firm pressure along her lower lip, rubbing the droplets of water into her dry lips.

‘Very thirsty,’ he said softly.

As his fingers caressed sensations surged within her—the sparks of bliss in her nerve endings, the devilish desire to flick out her tongue and taste him.

The audience of thousands was silent with expectation but it was nothing compared to the anticipation enthralling her. She didn’t want him to break the delightful contact. Rather the wish for more rocketed. This was crazy. She couldn’t want a complete stranger to kiss her, could she? To touch his lips to the spot where his finger now stroked?

But yes. Emily, who had never been one for flings, let alone one-night stands, was almost overcome by the urge to lie back and let him do as he pleased—right here, right now, in an amphitheatre filled to capacity. The water bottle slid from her weak grasp to the stone seat beside her as she mumbled, ‘You realise it’s about to start?’

His gaze lowered, lids almost closing right over his eyes, hiding the sharpening gleam in the even darker chocolate. ‘What makes you think it hasn’t started already?’

Oh, my. His fingers left her mouth but brushed her thigh as he picked up the small candle that she’d completely forgotten. Instinctively every deep internal muscle within her tensed, wanted to squirm. The onward rush of sensation was heady and new and delightful. His eyes flipped back to hers, and she knew he was aware of the waves that were crashing over her, drowning her in unaccustomed, unexpected desire.

‘Let’s light this, sì?’ He pulled a lighter from his pocket. There was a metallic click and the flicker sent a warm glow into his face. She couldn’t look away—she was fascinated by the tension in his jaw, the firm curve of his mouth, the brilliance in his dark eyes. Inside and out, she adored his searing attention.

Luca made himself break free of her mesmerising stare and concentrated stupidly hard on lighting the candle. But when he held it out for her she didn’t move and he just had to look close again. Like a statue she sat, still gazing at him with those sky-wide, sea-green eyes. He couldn’t help grinning as he transferred the candle to his other hand, using his nearest to capture hers. God, she was gorgeous. Honey-coloured hair and a softly curved figure in a pale green tee that brought out the depths in those eyes. He’d noticed her on his way up to get better reception for his phone and then he’d been entertained by her less than subtle methods of showing her displeasure at where he was standing. He’d strung out sending his text just to feel her reaction. And then he’d had to capture it—the sultry glare, the long legs bent beneath her.

Irresistible.

He felt her quiver, tightened his own fingers instinctively, and made her take the burning candle. For a nanosecond that felt like for ever, they held the flame together, his fist encompassing hers. He liked the feel of her in his hand. He’d like to feel more of her in his hand.

‘You should have a lover to sit with at the opera.’ If it were him he’d slide his arm around her and pull her in snug against his chest.

‘So should you.’ Her gaze was direct.

‘True. Unfortunately I have other guests to entertain.’ Helplessly he shrugged. ‘But in a parallel universe I’d be here with you.’

‘A total stranger?’ Coy mockery flavoured her tone and her glance.

‘We wouldn’t be strangers for long.’

The green in her eyes deepened again and her mouth parted with the faintest of gasps. Yes, he did mean exactly that—they would be close and physical and fulfilled. And, yes, it was crazy. Since when did he sit holding the hand of a strange woman and fantasise about holding her in his arms? Since when did he think he could ever be fulfilled? Not like that—not by connecting with another person. People—relationships—were beyond him. It was only from work that he sought satisfaction now.

Her colour steadily rose but still she held his gaze. ‘What a shame there’s no such thing as parallel universes.’

‘Yes.’ This fantasy was the strongest temptation—and he searched for a way to sustain it, just for a moment more. ‘But there’s always tomorrow.’

She smiled at that. ‘Tomorrow.’

The burst of applause was deafening. He blinked and the bubble was burst. A quick glance down showed the conductor at the podium, his baton raised. He’d better get back to his seat—he did have guests to entertain. Damn. But he sent her a smile as he let go of her hand and stood. ‘Ciao, bella.’

CHAPTER TWO

EMILY spent the next moment of eternity trying to remember how to breathe. Then she shook her head and laughed weakly—puffing away the lingering intensity with a self-prescribed dose of sarcasm. What a flirt. He’d transformed her heat of anger into the heat of attraction, totally overcoming her annoyance and leaving her practically panting.

She watched as he descended the steps and re-entered the exclusive zone. He didn’t look back. He’d already forgotten her. He must do it all the time—gaze at an unsuspecting female with his deep brown, dangerous eyes; lay a single finger on her person—of course she’d say yes in a heartbeat. No wonder he wore that mantle of lazy arrogance. He was the kind of guy for whom everything came easy—especially women.

But the surprising fact was, Emily would quite happily have been one of his women.

Irresistible.

As the opening chords of the overture began Kate flung into the cavernous space beside her.

‘Great, you got some water,’ she said, picking the bottle up from beside Emily and half draining it. ‘Just in time for the show.’

Emily pressed her finger on her needy lips—retracing the path his had taken. As far as she was concerned, the main event was already over.

But the Arena di Verona did not disappoint. Over two hours later as the applause thundered and cries of encore and bravo rang out, pleasure and relief rippled through Emily. It had been so worth it. The warmth, the atmosphere, the music, the spectacle—everything had been as wonderful as she could have wished. Well, almost everything. Somehow that fleeting encounter with a gorgeous stranger had made her miss something she hadn’t had time to want until now—touch, pleasure, a sense of her own desirability. It had been a long time coming. She’d been too busy to date, and the one attempt at a boyfriend really hadn’t been worth it. But suddenly, with one touch from him, that closed door to the sensual part of herself had been swung wide open. And now she was left wondering, wanting to walk through it.

She and Kate moved among the mass of bubbling, happy people, finding their way out of the amphitheatre and into the piazza where the crowd spilled and milled. Emily didn’t want the night to end. She lingered, still feeling the vibrations from the sound of orchestra and voice, but most of all still feeling the touch of a finger on her lips…wanting more.

‘Did you think the soprano was a bit off in that last duet?’

Emily knew Kate was about to dissect the performance note by note, but honestly she hadn’t been listening too close in that one. She’d hadn’t been able to stop her gaze from travelling down to a certain spot in the rich seats where a dark head was slightly elevated above the others. The music had become the soundtrack to the kind of fantasy that she didn’t usually have time to indulge in.

‘Umm, which bit?’ Warmth pervaded her entire body and she smiled, reliving the secret pleasure of that chance meeting. Then she glanced at her sister, saw her mouth open and the deep breath. Her smile disappeared altogether as Kate launched full tilt into the final refrain of the biggest ‘hit’ of the night.

‘Kate!’ Emily whispered—mentally screaming. How embarrassing. But her sister just threw her a naughty glance and kept on going. As people turned to look a moat of space appeared around them and Emily longed for a lifeboat to take her back into the crowd. She scanned it, discomfort prickling as more and more turned their way. Then she saw the group of well-dressed men. He stood in the centre, half a head taller. Striking, and staring right in their direction. There was a woman there too. Of course there was. Standing right beside him—beautiful and elegant, obviously an Italian fashionista and obviously interested in him. A lover to sit with at the opera?

A stupidly strong sense of loss washed through her. They’d only shared a few words on the steps, but it had felt as if a myriad of possibilities had been unveiled. But she wasn’t anything like the woman he was with, so there was no ‘possibility’after all, and her disappointment was bitter.

The second Kate paused for breath Emily grasped her arm, propelling her forwards. ‘Are you done?’

‘No.’ Kate threw a smile in the direction of anyone still looking their way and fell into step. ‘I’ve had a great idea.’

Emily didn’t want to listen. Emily just wanted to get away. But, unlike him, Emily had to look back. She turned her head over her shoulder for one final glimpse. He was staring right at her, smile curling upwards, and as she met his gaze he winked. She didn’t smile, but she kept looking, needing to capture his image in her mind for one final moment before turning away.

They rounded the corner into one of the busy side streets and Kate lurched to a halt. ‘I am not just having bread for the next two days. We’re in Italy. I want pasta, I want pizza. I want a restaurant.’

‘Kate.’ Emily was close to exasperation point. Why couldn’t she understand that they just didn’t have the funds for that?

‘I’m going to get us some more money.’

‘How?’

‘Busking.’

‘Kate.’ Emily’s heart sank. She knew what her sister was like—the attention she’d got would only have whetted her appetite.

‘Come on, Em, you saw the crowd that gathered just then. Three songs and we’ll have enough for the most fabulous meal tomorrow—one of those long, lazy lunches at one of those tables outside, with millions of courses and lots of wine.’

Admittedly Emily’s mouth was watering at the idea but she tried to ignore it. ‘You’re probably supposed to have permits to perform.’

Kate yawned big and fake. ‘Rules, Em?’

‘One of us has to be responsible.’ And she always had been—as a matter of necessity. She’d had sole responsibility for the two of them for years. Mother, father, sister, friend, breadwinner, cook, cleaner, chauffeur—all rolled into one.

‘It’s a shame there’s no piano for you to accompany me. Unless you want to do that duet?’

‘Not on your life.’ Kate could have the limelight. Emily was happy to accompany but centre stage was too bright for her.

‘I’ll only be ten minutes. No one will mind.’

Emily sighed and stepped to the side, watching as Kate shook out her hair from under her straw hat. Her sister was impetuous, impulsive and impossible to say no to and, as she’d predicted, she had a crowd around her within minutes. Emily wasn’t surprised. With her long red locks and slender figure, Kate turned heads even before she opened her mouth. And when she started singing? The angelic, pure tones made anything with ears stop and listen. As the crowd of people thickened Kate flung her a triumphant glance and truly got into her stride. Emily stood to the side and looked around, anxiously keeping an eye for sight of a carabiniere, not wanting to get into trouble.

‘Your sister is talented.’

She jumped. He was right behind her. She turned a fraction, and yes, really, he was there—looming large. Her body went hypersensitive. Her brain threatened to shut down altogether. ‘Yes.’

‘And so are you.’

Umm, how did he figure that? She shook her head. ‘Not quite in the same way.’

‘No,’ he agreed before his voice dropped, the alien lilt becoming more audible. ‘Your sister is still a child. Whereas you, I think, have the talents of a woman.’

Emily drew a sharp breath and turned to face him full on. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘No.’ His dark eyes held hers, amused and challenging. ‘You send me a look like that over your shoulder? What choice did I have but to follow?’

The gauntlet had been thrown. Silver fire raced through her veins. She had the talents of a woman? If only she did—why, then she’d have him on his knees before her, with all his arrogance and experience rendered useless. Wanting her beyond reason and willing to grant her anything—the crazy idea sent a thrill through her. Since when was she any kind of sex goddess? When was it that she’d last had sex?

She forgot about Kate warbling in the background, forgot about the woman she’d seen near him, only heard the humour in his voice, only saw the sexy smile… To be talking suggestively like this was so foreign, but so much fun. She wanted it to continue.

She tried an almost saucy reply. ‘If that’s the case, then perhaps you should be careful.’

His smile went wicked. ‘Definitely.’ He held out his hand. ‘Luca Bianchi.’

She glanced to his hand and then back to his face, letting her own smile go sinful. ‘You’re not afraid I might bite?’

‘I’m half hoping you will.’

She lifted her hand. ‘Emily Dodds.’ The frisson raced up her arm as contact was made.

‘Emily.’ The way he said it made her toes and everything inside her curl up tight. His hand gripped hers firmly. ‘Did you enjoy the opera?’

‘I loved it.’

He nodded. ‘It was a good performance.’

‘And a lovely atmosphere.’

‘My company could have been a little better. How about yours?’

‘It wasn’t bad.’

‘But it could have been better.’

‘Perhaps.’ Faux demurely, she looked down. ‘Are you going to give me my hand back?’

‘I was thinking I might keep it and take it home with me.’

‘Not tonight.’ She refused, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. Pleasure thrilled through her—to be so overtly admired, courted, frankly chased…by a man as attractive as this was heady stuff.

‘No? What a shame.’ His mouth curved too. ‘But there’s always tomorrow.’

For a long moment she stared into his melting chocolate eyes, a million ‘if onlys’ circulating in her head. His fingers tightened.

‘See, I told you!’ Kate bubbled up, shaking her upturned hat in front of her. ‘Enough for a five-course feast in a fancy restaurant.’

Emily tugged her hand and after a gentle squeeze he let it slip from his.

‘Singing for your supper?’ he asked dryly.

‘Lunch tomorrow!’ Kate answered. ‘Hi, I’m Kate.’

‘Hello, Kate. I’m Luca. I’m a friend of your sister’s.’

Emily glanced at him. Friend? There was a tease in his eyes directed totally at her. ‘Let me get you two a drink. You must be thirsty after performing in the heat like this.’

‘Oh, we—’ The sensible side of Emily thought she should refuse. But there was a whisker of a wink again. It was enough to tip her over. She was in Italy—her dream holiday destination—and she was flirting with the dreamiest guy imaginable. Little Miss Sassy elbowed Little Miss Sensible out of the way for good. ‘Thanks.’

Luca tried and failed to remember when he’d ever done anything as crazy as this. It had been so long, yet all of a sudden he was chasing hard for something that could only be momentary. But, hell, it would be fun. And wasn’t he due for a little fun? While the waiter fetched the wine, Luca tried to remind himself that in reality one-night stands were never as good as you thought they were going to be, but gave up after half a thought. Fact was, he hadn’t wanted a woman quite like this, quite in this way, ever. An instant, visceral demand—his whole body was tight with anticipation.

It was going to happen; he’d make certain of it. Therefore he didn’t need to be staring at her like some starving dog. However, controlling that urge was something of a problem when she looked at him like that—green eyes glittering with both challenge and caution.

‘What brings you to Verona?’ He made small but necessary talk.

‘We’re on our way to London,’ the sister answered. ‘I want to sing there.’

He spared a quick glance for the pretty young redhead and her pale blue eyes. She could do it if she wanted. ‘You have the talent to sing anywhere. But do you have the determination?’

‘Absolutely.’

His gaze was drawn back to the other direction—Emily. Scattered across her nose were a few freckles that he’d like to kiss and beneath that a mouth that he wanted to kiss even more. She didn’t have the girlish skinny physique of her sister. She’d still be considered trim but with more curves and length. Hips to cushion his, legs to wrap around his waist, hair to wind round his wrist and tug on so he could access her neck and kiss his way down to her full breasts.

As Kate babbled on about her career plans he sipped his wine and watched the faint dusky pink blush spread over Emily’s face. The more he watched, the more it spread and the deeper the colour grew. His own temperature began to lift.

‘You want a wonderful lunch, Kate?’ He finally interrupted the incessant flow. ‘I know just the place. You and Emily meet me outside here tomorrow at one and I’ll take you.’

‘Really?’ Kate’s desire was too easy to please. He had the suspicion her sister might be more of a challenge—but a very welcome one.

‘Absolutely. It would be my pleasure.’ He directed that last word right to Emily, allowing in the faint provocation. All the pleasure would be in seeing her.

She lifted her gaze from her seemingly minute contemplation of her empty glass. Her eyes were such a deep green—thoughtful, assessing, seeking. He met them squarely. If they were alone it would be so easy. But they weren’t alone—not yet—and he had to hold back from moving the way he wanted. So for the first time in his life he found himself almost begging. ‘It’ll be the best you’ve ever had.’

‘Tomorrow?’ It was the kid sister all excited.

‘Yes.’ He refused to break the bond with Emily, only vaguely satisfied when he saw the faint upward tweak of her lips. ‘Tomorrow.’

When Emily walked to the piazza with Kate, they found Luca waiting, as promised, in front of the Arena. But he was not alone. On either side of him stood a beautiful woman. A cold, hard ball grew in Emily, freezing her throat, her chest, her tummy. What was he doing—building a harem? And yet as she walked towards him his eyes seemed to be eating her up. When his long, intense stare finally made it up to her face she was all hot again. Desire, curiosity, a wanting for a kind of wickedness—and above all vexation about those two other women. What made it worse was that she knew he’d read her expression, and right now he looked totally smug.

When they got within earshot it was to Kate that he turned. ‘Kate, meet Maria and Anne—both singers with the opera of the Arena di Verona. How would you like to spend the afternoon touring backstage and join in a rehearsal?’

Kate’s eyes were shining. ‘Really?’

Luca laughed, indulgence audible. ‘Yes, really. But wait, there’s more.’ His tone was full of irony. He handed her an envelope. ‘I have a contact that you might find useful in London. Here are the details. Be sure to get in touch because he’s expecting to hear from you.’

‘Really?’ Kate’s shriek was right up there at the top of her vocal range.

‘Maria and Anne will ensure you get some lunch. Perhaps not five courses in a fancy restaurant, but something.’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m not that hungry anyway.’

‘Fine, so run along, then. These two will take care of you.’

And she was just like a child, thrilled to have had her most prized wish granted. Not even sparing Emily a second glance.

‘Kate, will you be—?’ Emily didn’t get the ‘OK’ out.

‘Em, don’t be a nag. I’m nearly nineteen, remember? Back home I can drink, drive and vote.’

‘Yeah, but not all in the same afternoon.’ Officially she might be all grown up but Emily couldn’t seem to shake the responsibility just yet. Kate was all she had.

But her sister was practically skipping, already asking question after question of the two professional singers.

‘Don’t worry, Kate,’ Luca drawled after her. ‘I’ll take care of Emily.’

Kate didn’t turn, simply sang back, ‘I know.’

Emily watched them depart, not trusting herself to meet his gaze too soon. He’d take care of her? At twenty-four she didn’t need taking care of, but she had the feeling he didn’t mean in the protective parental sense.

After a long silent moment he spoke—quietly but, oh, so clearly. ‘So, Emily, it’s just you and me.’

She inclined her head, silently applauding him. This was a man who would get what he wanted—every time. And in that moment she knew that if she was what he wanted, she was what he would get.

She was free. Her sister—her responsibility—was gone for the afternoon, she was on holiday in the most beautiful city and she wanted to explore everything.

‘I said I’d show you the best of Verona. Are you willing?’

She looked at him then. Raised a single eyebrow so they both knew she was. His broad smile made one of its appearances—boyish and fun and infectious. ‘Then let’s walk.’

She couldn’t hold back the answering smile, nor could she quell the shiver as he took her hand. His grip tightened and he flashed a whisker of a wink, before leading them towards a side street.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘On a brief tour of some of the city’s highlights and then to lunch. Sound OK?’

‘Sounds fine.’

He stopped. ‘Don’t swamp me with your enthusiasm, Emily.’

‘No, that sounds great.’

‘Have you seen Casa de Giulietta?’

‘Yes.’ Supposedly Juliet’s balcony from Romeo and Juliet—aside from the fact that that story was fiction.

‘Of course you have. Did you leave a message?’

‘No.’ People left love notes and prayers on the wall.

‘No lover to leave a message for?’

How many times was he going to ask her that one? ‘Actually I’m not a fan of graffiti.’ She sidestepped with a grin and then narrowed her gaze at him. ‘Have you ever left a message there?’

‘I’m not romantic. What about Castelvecchio and San Zeno—been to those?’

‘Yes.’

‘Duomo?’

‘Yes.’

He frowned and stopped walking. ‘How long have you been in Verona?’

‘This is our fifth day. For the first two I took Kate on a route march around the city. I think I’ve seen most of the essentials.’

‘So that wasn’t your first opera at the Arena? They perform every other night.’

‘I know, but it was. We couldn’t afford to go twice. I just wanted to spend some time in Italy.’

‘Did you manage a day trip to Venice?’

‘Yes.’ She beamed. ‘It was wonderful.’

‘Right.’ He pulled on her hand and started walking quickly in the opposite direction from which they’d started.

‘Where are we going now?’

‘Straight to lunch.’

Excellent. Emily’s feeling of freedom grew as he led her across a bridge to the other side of the river and along a little farther until they reached some gates. Turning to her, his eyes sparkling with irresistibly sinful promise, he invited, ‘Come into the Giardino with me, Emily.’

CHAPTER THREE

GIARDINO GIUSTI. The beautiful Renaissance gardens had been designed centuries ago and were magnificent. The green upon green of the trees was a pleasant contrast to the grey and stone of the buildings in the centre of town. They wound their way through the formal topiary section. And although it was quieter and should have been cooler, all Emily felt was hotter and more attuned to the tiniest of sounds—the trickle of water, the hum of a bee, the shortness of her own breath…and the nearness of him.

He led her along a path, to where it seemed to be a little wilder, more shade, taller trees and a moist grotto not far in the distance. She looked at a shaded grassy bank.

‘Oh, look, someone’s having a picnic.’

‘Yes.’ He smiled that boyish smile. ‘We are.’

He walked up to the dark-suited man standing beside the spread. They spoke briefly and then the man walked away, down the path to the exit.

Luca gestured for her to come closer. ‘You’re hungry?’

As she stared she felt her insides light up. ‘And you say you’re not romantic, Luca?’ she gently mocked to cover the thrill.

‘It’s a simple picnic.’

There was nothing simple about it. A large, ruby-red blanket was spread, and scattered on top of it were round cushions in heavy, gilt fabric—deeper reds, threaded with gold. Another rug was folded on one corner—what, should they need more room or was it for them to hide beneath? Oh, Emily was tickled…and so tempted.

Beside the space upon which they were so clearly meant to recline stood a large basket. Luca had knelt beside it already and pulled out wine. As he poured into the crystal glasses Emily decided she’d entered paradise.

Unhesitatingly she sat on the rug, accepted the glass he gave her and looked across the view of the impeccably maintained garden, needing a moment to recapture her sanity before she tossed all caution aside.

‘This is incredible.’

‘The best of Italy.’ He smiled, as if he knew she’d already lost it. ‘Here for you.’

‘The basket doesn’t look big enough.’

‘I wasn’t referring to the basket.’

‘Very sure of your own worth, aren’t you?’

‘Down to the last euro, yes. But we’re not talking money now.’

‘No?’

‘We’re talking pleasure. And you can’t put a price on absolute pleasure.’

* * *

Luca couldn’t look away from her. Her expression of delight was so genuine, so pleased, it made him feel guilty. ‘I didn’t pick all this, or lay it out.’

She laughed. ‘I know. But it was your idea.’

It was. And now he felt even more guilty—he wanted to wine, dine and woo her. For one night only. And for all her fiery eyes and flirting she was more sweet than sophisticated. Really, he had no right to mess with her, not unless she wanted it too. Not unless she understood the rules. A one-off, holiday fling. ‘The hotel prepared the food.’

‘So I get the five-course feast.’

‘You do.’

‘How come you have connections at the opera?’

‘My company is a corporate sponsor.’

‘Your company?’

‘Mine.’ It was all his and it was all his life. He had spent almost the entire decade dedicated to it. Getting his education, the experience and growing the private finance firm into the extreme success it was. He had taken no help from his father. He didn’t need his uninterested parent throwing him nothing but pretty patterned paper. He could make his own money, prove his own worth. ‘I often take valued clients and their wives.’

‘Their wives?’

‘Sì.’ He suppressed a smile. So she’d wondered about the woman with them last night. Yes, she was the wife of a client and, no, he wasn’t interested. He sent her a meaningful look, but saw she was checking out his left hand. He tensed. He’d worn a ring on that finger once. He’d kept it on for some time after—using it like a talisman to ward off women. But every time he’d looked at it he’d been reminded. Nikki hadn’t had the strength to push it on and he’d had to do it himself. And despite its tiny circumference, the ring he’d given her had hung loose, threatening to slide over her bony knuckle. There hadn’t been an engagement ring. There hadn’t been time.

Eventually he’d taken his ring off and allowed the sun to brown the pale mark. But even so he couldn’t forget. Even now, when he was plotting a moment of madness, the memory clung to him, reminding him of what not to do: don’t ever get attached.

‘What does your company do?’

‘Hedge funds.’ Good, when painful thoughts impinged he turned back to work—that was the way Luca liked it.

‘Hedges?’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘So it’s like gardens?’

He hesitated, unwilling to launch into a detailed explanation of the complex transactions he managed, so he fudged it instead. ‘I like making things grow.’

‘Money trees.’ Her eyes were sparkling with amusement.

He laughed—her naiveté had been a ploy and she was teasing him. ‘Right.’

‘And you like the opera?’

Why did she think that was a surprise? ‘I’m Italian, of course I like the opera.’

‘You don’t sound all that Italian.’

‘The curse of my education—boarding school in England from the age of seven. Over a decade ’til I emerged from the system. But I guess I inherited my appreciation of the opera from my mother.’ But more painful memories lurked with the mention of her so he moved the conversation back to Emily. ‘Do you like Italy?’ He didn’t need to hear her answer, already had it as her face lit up and it was his turn to tease. ‘Your first visit, right? Is it everything you hoped it would be?’

‘Actually it’s better.’

There was that genuine, warm enthusiasm again. Her anger had risen from that last night—based on the desire to enjoy herself, to make the most of the moment she’d obviously been waiting a while for. The freshness was tantalising. ‘Are you enjoying the food?’

She nodded.

‘Have you tried some of the local specialities?’

She looked vague so perhaps not. Of course, budget was an issue. He could help out with that today. ‘Italian cuisine isn’t just buffalo mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes, you know.’

‘No?’ She pouted. ‘But I love buffalo mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes.’

He chuckled. ‘Come on, try some more with me now.’

He delved deeper into the basket. The hotel had done a fabulous job, filling it with many small containers, each holding samples of this and that. Some were simple, just a few olives, other were complex miniatures of great dishes.

He lifted them out and explained them to her, where each came from, made her say the Italian name for them and then watched as she tried each, waiting for her reaction before tasting them himself. And all the while, his appetite grew.

Emily licked the sweet oil from her lips. Yes, she loved sun-dried tomatoes but, my goodness, the nibbles in those containers were out of this world. By now, eating as much as she had, under the shade of the trees, in this warmth, she would ordinarily have been overcome with laziness. But his presence, so close, precluded that. He was stretched out, propped up on one elbow, his long, athletic length stretching from one end of the blankets to the other. Relaxed.

Emily ached to touch him now—one appetite filled, another starving. Instead she took a breadstick from the box, needing something to fiddle with.

‘Tell me about your life.’ He looked across the small gap between them now littered with lids and containers, to where she sat up, legs curled beneath her.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘There’s really not that much to tell.’ There really wasn’t, certainly nothing glamorous or exciting.

‘Where are your parents?’

As she broke the grissini in two the shadow on her heart must have crossed her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘Will you tell me what happened?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled the moment away. ‘It was a long time ago.’ She broke one half of the grissini into quarters and gave him the potted summary. ‘Mum died in a car crash when I was fifteen. After the accident Dad went into a decline. He drank a lot. Smoked. Stopped eating.’ She rubbed the crumbs between her fingers and looked down at the trees. ‘I think with her gone he lost the will to live.’

‘Even though he had two beautiful daughters to look after?’

She could understand the question, perceived the faint judgment. Hadn’t she thought the same in those moments of anger that had sometimes come in the wee small hours? But she also knew the whole story; things never were black and white—shades of grey all the way. And so she shared a part of it.

‘He was driving the car, Luca. He never got over the guilt.’ She flicked away the final crumb, sat back on her hands and stared down the gentle slope to the row of cypresses. ‘He died two years after her.’

Two years of trying to get him through it. But the depression had pulled him so far down and the drinking had gone from problem to illness and the damage to his mind and body had become irreparable. He couldn’t climb out of it and he didn’t want to. He simply shut down. Emily had taken over everything.

‘What happened then?’

‘I was eighteen. Kate was nearly thirteen. They let her stay with me. I left school and got a job.’

Emily had been thinking of studying piano at university but instead she’d worked and they’d put all they had into Kate’s singing. Her younger sister had the looks, the talent and the drive. Now, nearly nineteen, she was determined to come overseas and make her break before, as she put it, she got ‘over the hill’. Emily was her accompanist—both in terms of playing the piano for her to sing, and in terms of support.

‘So you looked after Kate.’

Emily shrugged. ‘We looked after each other.’ There was no one else.

The silence was long and finally she looked at him. The darkness in his eyes reflected the dark days. Somehow he knew. He understood the struggle and the loneliness. And for a second there she thought she saw pity. Well, she didn’t want that—not today, not from him. She’d lived through it, she’d survived and so had Kate. Now they were off, heading towards that new horizon. Life was moving forward. And she was totally trying to ignore the fear thumping in the pit of her stomach. For the last six years she’d worked two jobs plus done all the household chores. She’d created stability, routine…now nothing was stable, there was no routine and she couldn’t foresee the future. All she knew was that she wanted more than what her life had been back home. A more satisfying job, a more satisfying social life… And sitting with this gorgeous man in this beautiful garden, it felt as if the chance to open up a new part of her life was being offered right now.

‘What about you?’ she asked, lightening her tone. ‘Where’s your family?’

His face tightened and she knew the shadow was a match for her own. ‘Really?’

‘Cancer killed my mother when I was seven.’ He spoke bluntly but it was clear the pain was still sharp.

‘And your father?’

He shrugged. ‘I went to boarding school straight after. We’re not close.’ The bare recitation spoke volumes.

She sat back, shocked. He’d been sent away? To a whole other country where they didn’t even speak his first language?

The slight smile in his eyes was all cynical. ‘I take after my mother. I think I was too painful a reminder.’

So in a way they’d both been rejected by their surviving parent. Luca had been sent away, and Emily’s father had gone away himself—in mind and spirit anyway—leaving Emily to shoulder the burden of caring for his fading shell.

‘Where’s your dad now?’

‘He remarried. They live just outside Rome.’

Their eyes met. Was that part of what had drawn them together? That somehow they’d recognised that they had shadows in common?

She barely had the chance to process that when he sat up. ‘Enough gloom. The day is too short.’ He reached into the apparently bottomless basket. ‘Let’s try dessert.’

Perhaps their pasts had nothing to do with the attraction. Perhaps it all came down to the fact that he was the most physically dynamic man she’d ever seen. And he was right. They didn’t need to share more in the way of gloom. Today was about holidays and sun.

The dessert was some creamy confection. He held the spoon, his laughter a soft rumble as he made her lean closer to taste it.

Oh, my. It was the taste of pure decadence.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ He had a spoonful and then offered her another.

‘Mmm-hmm.’

She stretched out and lay back on the pillow then, giving herself over to the utter indulgence. Closing her eyes, letting her mind savour the flavour and soak up the heat. She wanted more of the sweet, wanted much more of him.

‘So all this time you’ve been looking after your sister,’ he spoke softly. ‘Now you need someone to satisfy your needs.’

She turned her head and opened her eyes. His head was close, resting on the cushion right by hers. ‘What makes you think I haven’t got someone already?’

‘If you did, you wouldn’t be looking at me with those hungry eyes.’

She lifted her head, a little on her dignity. ‘You don’t need to lay it on with a trowel, Luca. I’m not completely inexperienced.’

‘Only relatively, sì?’ He laughed. ‘What was he? Some young fool who wouldn’t know how to give pleasure to a woman even if she gave him step by step instructions and a map showing the way?’

She felt the blush covering her cheeks and neck and she shut her eyes again to pretend it wasn’t happening. Her ex had been exactly like that.

‘Emily. I can offer you nothing but a memory.’ His voice was a little strained. ‘But I think it would be some memory.’

She reopened her eyes then—drawn by the power behind his words.

‘When did you last do something you wanted to do?’ he asked. ‘Not something for someone else, or something you had to do. But something you wanted, just for you?’

She couldn’t remember. And she knew he knew. ‘Is that what you’re offering? How generous of you, Luca,’ she mocked gently. ‘As if there’s nothing in it for you.’

‘There’s everything in it for me. I admit it.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m selfish. Be selfish with me.’ He raised himself back up on one elbow, rolling onto his side to face her. ‘We have more in common than you might think. I’ve been working hard too and you’ve worked hard for so long. Don’t you deserve a treat?’

‘Is that what you are?’

He leaned closer. ‘You tell me.’ He reached across and took her hand, lifted it and pressed it to his chest. ‘Feel it? Accelerating?’

The solid thump in his chest was strong and regular and hypnotic and her fingers wanted the fabric to disappear so she could feel his skin direct.

‘Is it like this for you, when we touch? When our arms brush as we walk side by side, does your body want more? Mine does.’ He still spoke quietly but she felt the force of his underlying feeling pierce through to her marrow. ‘What if I did that to you, Emily—would your heart start to race?’

It already was—faster and faster with every word and the spiralling anticipation.

‘I think we should find out.’ He let her hand go and reached across to her, his fingers drawing along the line of her collarbone.

‘Luca…’ She shook her head but couldn’t deny the fire his touch ignited.

His hand slid down, pressed against her tee shirt, pulling it close to her skin, so that her breast was displayed, and he looked at her tight, peaking nipple. He smiled as it jutted out for him; he didn’t need to feel her heart to know his effect on her.

He looked back into her face, intensely determined. ‘Just one kiss.’

One afternoon. One absolute temptation.

He didn’t need to coax her mouth open. She met him halfway, already wet and pliant and seeking. She closed her eyes, able to focus on nothing but him. And there was nothing but his kiss. His mouth moved over hers, his tongue probing, tasting. Rapidly it became more insistent—plundering, taking. She raised her hands, sliding them into his hair. Surrendering and then beginning to make her own demands—opening wider, seeking deeper, harder.

It was bliss. She wanted it to last, wanted to savour each stage. But too soon she wanted more. The need to move closer grew, she wanted him to roll right above her, wanted to feel his weight, to be pressed down into the soft rugs by his hard hips, wanted to explore his…

He drew back. ‘Emily.’

She opened her eyes, hating the interruption.

‘I am going to take you back to my hotel and kiss you like that all over your body. Is that OK with you?’

‘Is your hotel far?’

He laughed, an uncontrolled shout of genuine amusement.

‘I’m serious. Can’t we just do this some more here?’ She didn’t want to wait. She wanted it all, right now.

He smiled, that wonderful warm, relaxed smile, and leaned over her again. The kiss was right back at hot. And then he was kissing her jaw, her throat, his hand was at her breast and she learnt him too, learning the boundaries with her touch—learning that with Luca there were no boundaries. The kisses and caresses were so intense and satisfying yet awakening such an appetite that she knew there would be no saying no. No tomorrow and no regrets. There was only now and a need so great it was overwhelming.

Through heavy eyes she saw the blue of the sky and the green of the branches above them, felt the heat of summer, and all her senses appreciated this paradise. And there was more to come; he promised so much more with every kiss. She shifted on the rug, restless. She’d never known how desire could be a sort of suffering, hadn’t felt this depth of longing for physical fulfilment. The pain of it and the way the body could absolutely overrule reason.

He groaned, as if he too were in pain, and as if he’d read her mind and knew how willing she was, how much she wanted. ‘I’d love to see you naked under these trees, but the Giardino is public. Unless spending the night with the carabinieri is on your list of tourist activities, then we need to leave. Now.’

She almost, almost didn’t care, caught between not wanting this moment to end and wanting to get to the end as fast as possible—to completion.

‘OK.’ She forced the answer; it was like dragging herself out of the warmest, sweetest water. And all she wanted to do was disappear into the depths again. Had he drugged her with that food? But, no, it was his body, and his touch, that were the opiate.

He rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Then come.’

Their eyes met for a pregnant moment. And then she smiled.

‘What about this?’ She gestured to the rumpled rug and scattered cushions and containers, not wanting to have to think about them, but years of taking responsibility insisted on it.

He shook his head. ‘It’s taken care of. Don’t worry.’

He took her hand and led her down the sloping gardens. Waiting at the gates was a sleek grey car. Luca held the door open for her and she slid in. He climbed in the back with her. The driver pulled away. It was only minutes to the centre of Verona and his hotel, but all of them were occupied as with light fingers he turned her head towards him and kissed her. She didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want him ever to stop.

CHAPTER FOUR

SURFACING from the car into a hazy reality, Emily walked beside Luca into the hotel. When she finally focused on her surroundings she almost stumbled. Opulence wasn’t the word. And suddenly she feared she had no place here in her crumpled skirt and camping tee shirt. It was the early afternoon and they were walking into his hotel for an erotic indulgence. She was so turned on, she could hardly walk for the way she’d gone weak at the knees, and she had the horrible feeling that everyone must know. It was so strong to her that surely it must be obvious to everyone else? She longed to return to the quiet solitude they’d had in the warm gardens. This was sophisticated and exclusive and so not her.

He seemed to sense her discomfort, taking her arm and shielding her from the eyes of those in Reception. Smoothly he guided her through the lobby to the lift. It wasn’t a possessive touch, he didn’t put his arm around her and haul her close, it was merely a light hand at her elbow, and the simplicity and the politeness made the doubts wane. There was respect in his manner and she knew he had every intention of taking care of her. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

He didn’t maul her in the lift either, stood beside her quietly, keeping his hand still light on her arm as he escorted her onto his floor. He swiped the key card and opened the door. She walked in, relieved to be alone with him again but still knocked sideways. He didn’t just have a room, he had a suite. She’d guessed he had money, understood he was a financier of some sort. But she hadn’t realised it was quite like this.

She turned to study him, reassessing. All Italians dressed nicely, didn’t they?

‘Second thoughts?’ He was watching her just as keenly. ‘It’s OK to say no.’

Concentrating on him made the intimidating surroundings disappear. She melted all over again.

‘No,’ she said, then smiled naughtily at the flash in his eyes. ‘I don’t want to say no,’ she elaborated firmly.

She watched, quite pleased as with obvious effort he un-clenched his jaw. ‘Good.’

‘It will be the best, won’t it, Luca?’ She searched for final reassurance. Having had a sample of what could only be heaven, she didn’t want disappointment. She’d had that before. ‘I want the best.’ And she did. To be lost from herself for just a few magic moments. One afternoon where she could forget the past and ignore the future. Let go of worries and responsibilities and be free to feel pleasure. It would be the first time and she’d been waiting for ever.

He closed the gap between them with slow, sure steps. His finger traced her lower lip as it had the night at the opera. ‘Don’t doubt it.’

Her eyelids lowered slowly as the crazy lethargy returned. It was as if her senses were tuning out everything except him—his touch, his voice, his scent and his determination. There would be no saying no. It wasn’t even an option, not for her.

This magic, this mysterious man—she wanted to know no more, except of his body. It had been there, from the first glance, the blink and reassessment that had happened in the quickest instance—one body’s recognition of the other.

She didn’t believe in love at first sight. But now she most certainly believed in lust at first sight. Her body programmed to seek his as her mate. It had never happened to her before. The few dates she’d been on, that past boyfriend—she’d felt nothing. But this, this was as if she’d been branded with a white-hot iron—his.

She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. She still couldn’t. Through her half-closed lids she watched him concentrate as slowly, so slowly, the tips of his fingers moved from her lips, brushing down her jaw, her neck and down the slope of her chest. She went taut with anticipation but his path diverted, going around her nipples rather than directly over them. She hissed out her breath, wanting him to touch her there.

But his fingers skimmed down her sides, and then took the hem of her tee shirt. Carefully he raised it, automatically she lifted her arms to help. In a second he had it off her, and tossed it to the side.

She stared at him, unashamed about the way her full breasts were trying to burst out of her bra, at the way her nipples were pressing hard against the fabric—begging him the only way they could. She just wanted him to touch.

His jaw was clenched hard again. His hands lifted. The light, gentle fingertips went back to her waist, slipping around her skirt to find the zip.

She wriggled her hips to help it slide down. And then she was standing before him, for a second stupidly hoping that it didn’t matter that her bra and briefs didn’t match.

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