Something that seemed to intensity her beauty...
His eyes shaped her uplifted face... He said her name. Wanting her to look not at the starlit sky, but at him. ‘Lana...’
His voice was husky. Sitting beside her in the back seat on the journey home, with the wine from their meal warming his veins, the scent of her faint perfume had caught at him. Knowing she was only a hand’s reach away from him in the dark interior of the car as it had hummed along the autostrada had been a torment.
They’d hardly spoken on the journey, only to make inconsequential remarks about the events of the day, but Salvatore had been endlessly aware of her presence so close to him, so private, with the glass screen dividing them from his driver, who’d been focussing on the road ahead. He’d allowed himself the luxury of glancing at her from time to time, after conversation had ceased, and had seen that she had closed her eyes, as if in sleep. But he was pretty sure she had not been sleeping. One hand had rested on the door, and by its position he’d been able to tell that her muscles had not been relaxed. Nor had her breathing been that of someone dozing.
The thought had occurred to him that she was deliberately feigning sleep in order to withdraw from him. He did not want her withdrawing from him. Did not want her gazing up at the stars now.
The wine he’d drunk at dinner was accentuating his senses, his awareness of her.
His desire for her.
It rose in his veins, sweet and rich.
From the very first he had held back, knowing he must focus on the business of his marriage, on the reason he had undertaken it, on facing outward to the world.
But there was no more need for that. Now he could give free rein to what he had felt from the very first moment of setting eyes on her. No more delays, no more holding back. For either of them.
That kiss he’d taken from her the very first night he’d taken her out to show all of Rome his new bride had told him what awaited him. That she would return all he wanted of her.
She desires me, even as I desire her.
And now—oh, now that desire between them could blossom and flourish and be fulfilled.
As he said her name, his voice husky, she lowered her gaze from the star-filled sky to meet his. For a second—an instant, a timeless moment—he held her eyes with his. Then his hand reached out, folded around her upper arm as he stepped towards her, closing the distance between them. He said her name again, and his other hand—of its own volition, it seemed—cupped her cheek. She stood completely motionless, but there was something in her gaze as he poured his eyes into hers that seemed captive...helpless.
Wordlessly, he bent his head to hers, let his mouth do what it ached to do again—to feel the velvet touch of her lips beneath his, to softly press itself to hers. He heard the low, soft sigh in her throat as her lips parted for his, her body inclined towards his. His hand around her arm tightened automatically to support her pliant body...so pliant, and the fingers at her cheek speared into her golden hair, holding her for his deepening kiss.
Blood surged in his veins, desire flaring strong and insistent. This—this was what he had wanted, ached for, ever since he had first seen her...ever since that first tantalising kiss he’d drawn from her that night at the Duchessa’s. He drew her against him, his kiss deepening, letting go her arm to fasten his arm around her slender waist, holding her for his desire and his sweet, sweet pleasure.
And for hers.
He felt it—felt her respond to him, felt her mouth open to his, her kiss deepen even as his did. Felt her hands lift to his chest, splaying out across it, and low in her throat he heard, with triumphant exultation, a low, helpless moan. Desire surged more strongly yet, released from the thrall he had imposed upon it—had had to impose upon it. But now, gloriously, triumphantly, he could let it loose upon her, let it loose within him.
He gave himself to it—to the arousal mounting within him, the arousal he could sense with every long-honed masculine instinct was possessing her too, binding her to him, and he to her. Their bodies pressed against each other, her breasts peaking against the hard wall of his chest. He wanted more—and yet more...
And then, like a douche of cold water, she wrenched herself free, jolting back. Stepping away.
‘No!’
A single word. A single forbidding edict. A single denial.
He stared at her, disbelieving, while the blood pounded in his head, scythed through his veins. He saw her hold up her hands, palms out, as if to ward him off. Her eyes were wide, distended.
‘No!’she said again, and took a further step back. ‘It’s impossible—’ Her voice seemed to shake, and she took a shuddering breath, hands still held up. ‘We can’t,’ she said, her gaze still stricken.
He stared at her. ‘Can’t?’ he echoed blankly. The word made no sense.
But she said it again. ‘We can’t,’ she repeated, as vehemently as the first time.
Her hands were still warding him off. She was backing away from him now—backing towards the front door as if trying to seek refuge from him by going indoors. He was still wordless with shock and incomprehension. And with a frustration that was biting through him in disbelief.
She was speaking again, throwing words at him. ‘Look, we’ve both drunk too much wine...spent too long alone together. We’re acting under impulse. Because of the wine, the night, the stars, whatever—’ She broke off, dropping her hands in a defeated gesture.
He was still standing there immobile, frozen. Uncomprehending.
‘Why?’ he heard himself say. ‘Why are you saying can’t? Do you think I don’t know when a woman is responsive? You flamed in my arms just now—’