He kissed her. Kissed her deeply. And held her in his arms all the way to Rome.
The night was very dark, the ancient Appian Way lit only by a quarter moon and a scattering of stars that some ancient god might have tossed against the firmament.
The tall pines sighed at the caress of a warm summer breeze.
Draco led Anna through the shadow-filled silence of his villa, to his bedroom, where he turned on a lamp that shed a pale, ethereal glow over the bed.
Then he took her hands and drew her to him.
Dio, how lovely she was! Her hair streamed down her back in long, loose curls of palest gold. Her blue eyes glittered as she raised them to his. She was beautiful beyond any woman he had ever known.
Even her name was beautiful, he thought, and he spoke it now as she came into his arms.
He bent to her and kissed her.
She rose on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck and returned kiss for kiss.
It was almost as if they had never been intimate before. He knew Anna felt it, too; she looked up at him, her lips delicately parted, her eyes luminous and filled with questions.
The questions weren’t hers alone.
Last night had been incredible. Such passion. Such desire. But this—this was not the same. It was a different kind of passion, a new kind of desire. It was a storm, building inside him.
The seconds ticked away. Then Anna stepped back and reached for the hem of her T-shirt.
He caught her wrists, brought her hands to his lips, kissed each with lingering tenderness.
“I want to undress you,” he said in a low voice.
A tremor went through her. “Yes,” she whispered, “oh yes.”
He caught hold of the bottom of the shirt, eased it up, drew her free of it and tossed it aside.
His heart turned over.
Her bra was pale peach silk, almost the color of her skin. Her breasts swelled above the delicate cups. Ripe fruit, awaiting the touch of his hands, the heat of his mouth.
Draco bent his head and pressed a kiss to each curve of lush flesh within the silken cups. Anna moaned, cupped her breasts, made them an offering to his desire and hers, but he took her hands and brought them to her sides.
Not yet. Not yet.
Her jeans rode low on her hips. He undid the button, opened the zipper, his eyes never leaving hers. He saw the color in her face deepen, heard her breathing quicken. She made a little sound, half moan, half sigh.
He was killing them both.
What an exquisite way to die.
Inch by inch, torment by torment.
There would be no mercy for her, or for him.
He was already hard as a man could be without groaning but this—this was a special kind of pain, and worth whatever it took to endure.
He would not rush this night.
He knelt. Unlaced the laces of her sneakers. Her feet were bare, the arches high and feminine. He curved his hand around one ankle, then the other, and slipped the sneakers off. Then he rose again, hooked his thumbs into the jeans and slowly, slowly eased them down her hips and legs.
Draco got to his feet, everything in him tight and intense, his eyes narrowing to dark slits as Anna stepped free of the jeans.