But the kettle boiling sounded deafeningly loud, almost as loud as her heart. She turned and looked at him. He was leaning against the counter, perfectly still, just watching her. And something in his eyes made her feel quite dizzy. ‘So?’ she questioned, in a voice which sounded a million miles away from the usual way she asked questions.
He smiled. ‘So why am I here?’
‘Well, yes.’
He let his gaze drift over her. ‘I couldn’t help myself,’ he said, with a shrug, as if admitting to a weakness that was alien to him.
Eve stared back at him. She tried telling herself that she wasn’t like this with men. She worked with men. Lots of them—some of them gorgeous, too. Yet there was something different about Luca—something powerful and impenetrable which didn’t stop him seeming gloriously accessible. Sensuality shimmered off him in almost tangible waves. He was making her feel vulnerable, and she didn’t want to be.
She could feel the slow burn of a flirtation which felt too intense, and yet not intense enough. Part of her was regretting ever having asked him into her house, where the walls seemed to be closing in on her, and yet there was some other, wild, unrecognisable part of her that wished that they could dispense with all the social niceties and she could just act completely out of character. Take him upstairs and have him make love to her, just once. That was what he wanted; she knew that.
But life wasn’t like that, and neither was she.
‘Explain yourself, Luca,’ she commanded softly.
There was only one possible way to do that and it wasn’t with words. He moved towards her and noticed that she mutely allowed him to, her eyes wide with a mixture of incredulity and excitement. As if she couldn’t quite believe what he was about to do. But she made no move to stop him, and he could not stop himself. He brushed his fingertips over the strong outline of her jaw with the intent preoccupation of someone who was learning by touch.
He felt her shudder, even as he shuddered, and then he caught her in his arms, his breath warming her face, his lips tantalisingly close to hers.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she gasped.
‘I am about to kiss you,’ he said silkily. ‘Surely you can recognise that, cara?’
‘You mustn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…because it’s inappropriate!’ she fielded desperately. ‘We hardly know each other!’
‘Have you never kissed a man who is nearly a stranger?’ he murmured. ‘Isn’t there something crazy and wonderful about doing that?’
Nearly a stranger. There was something so forbidding about that comment, and she tried to focus her mind on it, but all she could feel was the fierce heat of his body and it was remorselessly driving all rational thought from her head. She pushed her hand ineffectually at his chest. ‘That’s beside the point, and besides—how do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?’
He gave a low laugh. ‘You should not have boys in your life, Eve—there should be only men. And there is no one.’ He drifted a careless fingertip to trace the outline of her lips. ‘Even if there is, he is nothing to you. For you do not want him, cara. You want me.’
It was ruthless, almost cruel, but it was true. She did.
He read the invitation in her widened, darkened eyes and brought his mouth crushing down on hers, and as her own opened in sweet response he felt desire jackknife through him with its piercing, flooding weight.
‘Oh,’ she sighed helplessly. ‘Oh!’
He smiled against her lips, sensing capitulation, and Eve dissolved, her fingers flying up to his shoulders, her nails biting into his flesh as she felt her knees begin to buckle and threaten to give way. She could taste her breath mingling with his and her body melting against his as he pulled her hard against him.
Vainly, she fought for control, for some kind of sanity. ‘Luca, for God’s sake—’
He lifted his head and looked down at her, his dark eyes almost black as they burned into her. ‘What?’ he whispered.
‘This is crazy. Mad. I just don’t do this kind of thing!’
‘You just did,’ he pointed out arrogantly. ‘And you want to do it again.’
Yes, she did. She had given him the bait to play masterful and he had taken it and she liked it. Maybe too much. She wonder
ed if he was masterful in bed and the hard, luminous brilliance in his dark eyes told her that, yes, he probably was. But would he give as well as take?
‘You do.’ He laughed as he felt her move restlessly against him. ‘Oh, yes, you do.’
It was a statement, not a question and she didn’t answer, just pressed her hips against his and she felt him jerk into hard life against her, heard the almost tortured little moan he made.