Page 20 of Italian Baby Shock

And it must have been good experience too, judging from the way he kissed you.

It wasn’t fair that had been taken from her, it just wasn’t, and as she’d thought just before, she was tired of not knowing. Tired of fighting herself too, because shouldn’t she know? She’d talkedto him, fine, but what about afterwards? When he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back, and then he’d taken her to bed?

What had it been like? She’d experienced his kiss and to feel his mouth on hers had been so...good. But what about his touch? His hands on her bare skin? She wanted more and it was time to admit that.

He knew all these things about her and she knew nothing, and that was wrong. Yes, that gave him power and she was tired of him having all of it. Because it wasn’t only the memory of that night he had, but a family legacy that went back centuries, massive wealth, and looks good enough to tempt an angel into sin. He also had authority and arrogance, and all she had was...what?

She had her child and a decent job, it was true. The flat she lived in was okay, but it was slightly run-down and there was no garden. Certainly it couldn’t compare to his palazzo.

It’s not just getting answers to your questions that will give you power. He wants you and that gives you power too.

The thought wound through her like champagne fizzing in her blood.

Looking up at him, she could see the need in his eyes. The hunger. Yes, he wanted her. Right now, right here, he’d said.

They’d had one night two years ago and this powerful man, this man who had everything, hadn’t been able to forget her.

Therewaspower in that. Power over him.

Power and knowledge andhim.

She might not ever get the memories of that night back, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t create new ones. She could give herself that couldn’t she? Especially if he could make her feel as good as she suspected he could. As good as she had the night she didn’t remember.

The admission eased something tight inside her, as if she’d been holding herself contained since the moment she’d met him, and now she didn’t have to.

Now she could take what she wanted too.

But she wouldn’t let him have it all his own way. She’d exert some of that newfound power of hers, see how that would affect him. Chip away at his arrogance. Make him wait. Make him sweat. Make him desperate.

Why not? There was also a power in not remembering too, because while she might not know the details, her body remembered. And she didn’t feel nervous or unsure, because she’d already done this once. She knew he wanted her, that he hadn’t been able to forget the one night he’d had with her. Which meant it had been good. Very good.

He’d buried the fingers of one hand in her hair, closing them into a fist, holding her tight, and she could feel his desperation in the strength of his grip. For the first time since they’d met, a sense of satisfaction filled her.

‘Now?’ she asked huskily. ‘This is hardly private.’

‘I’ll tell my staff to stay up the front of the plane. They won’t bother us.’

She lifted a hand and touched his cheekbone experimentally, her heart racing, feeling the warm satin of his skin and the faint prickle of whiskers. It felt thrilling, almost illicit to touch him like this.

Nipping his finger when he’d touched her mouth had been an automatic reaction, and she hadn’t known where the urge had come from. Perhaps that was another thing to come out of that night. Whatever, now that she’d had a taste of his skin, all salty and masculine, she wanted more.

She’d never been kissed—or at least not that she remembered—and after hearing her mother talk about how terrible men were, she’d decided she never wanted to go there herself. Butnow, here she was in the arms of a man who wanted her, and she didn’t feel threatened.

No, she felt powerful.

She let her fingers trail down his cheekbone and along his strong jaw, loving the prickle of stubble against her fingertips. Loving, too, the way his gaze flared as she touched him, blue darkening into twilight shadows.

She touched his mouth, tracing the line of his lower lip, the curve of it. It felt soft even though nothing else about him was, and it had felt soft too when he’d kissed her. Yet also firm, masterful...

He’d gone very still, making no move as she touched him, her fingers trailing where they would, his gaze fixed to hers. She traced the proud line of his nose then up to those sooty black brows with their arrogant arch, and back down again to his other cheekbone.

‘Little bird.’ His hold in her hair tightened. ‘I’m getting impatient. Yes or no. Give me an answer.’

She liked that he asked her. She liked that despite him pulling her into his lap and kissing her, he’d waited for her to respond before he did anything more. Her mother had always told her that men took what they wanted, took what they thought was theirs, yet despite his obvious power and wealth, he was waiting for her to give him permission.

Maybe this was a glimpse of the man she’d met that night two years ago. The man whom she’d wanted enough to give him her virginity in spite of all the warnings about men her mother had given her.

‘I’m thinking,’ she said, flexing that power a little, wanting to see how far she could push him. ‘I’m also trying to remember.’ She stroked her fingers down the side of his strong neck to the knot of his tie, then pulled at it, the silk loosening, baring histhroat. His pulse beat there, strong and steady beneath her fingertips, his skin warm.

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