Page 28 of Fiancée for the Cameras

“I will give you what you want,bella,” he whispered, his words thick with desire. “Anything you want. Ask me, Monica.”

She didn’t say anything for so long that Andrea thought she’d lost her nerve. Then she exhaled and her hands came up to clasp his cheeks and she brought that luscious mouth to his. That first soft press of her lips against his drained away all the anger he’d felt at her leaving and all the resolve he’d shored up the entire evening to resist her.

Yes, this would only be a fling, but she knew the score and who the hell was he to decide what she could or could not handle?

He had behaved like a donkey’s ass all evening—ignoring her, cursing himself for the possessiveness he felt—but the moment he had realized she had left, he’d known it was useless to try to resist this heat between them. He wanted her too much.

Her kiss was gentle and exploratory, as if she still didn’t believe that he wouldn’t push her away. When Andrea pulled his head back, she followed with a protest, lips clinging to his, fingers digging deep into his shoulders to keep him tethered to her. A chuckle emerged from his chest but she swallowed that, her mouth opening wider, her tongue swiping at his with tentative but wanton strokes. Her fingers went to the nape of his neck, the tips digging into his hair and pulling, and when she pressed herself flush against his body and moaned, every little lie he’d told himself collapsed.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Andrea tugged her to him. A softoofescaped her mouth as he circled her nape and tilted her mouth just so for his liking.Dio mio, she was sweet like the thickest of honeys and responded like quicksilver. When was the last time he’d known such pure, sweet passion, the last time he had even allowed a woman to touch him with such abandon, the last time he’d truly looked for a connection and not just easy sex?

“More, please, Andrea. More,” she whispered against his lips.

He ravished her mouth, desire licking through him like an inferno, as she responded to every stroke and lick and nip without backing down, demanding in that breathy little voice that he not stop. When he sucked on the tip of her tongue, her nails dug into his nape, egging him on. He didn’t remember the last time a kiss had revved him up this fast; didn’t remember when it had become the end rather than the means.

He could have gone on kissing her for the rest of the night, if that was all they could have. He felt dizzy like he used to when he’d beaten a previous speed or taken to a new racetrack and broken records.

Slowly, he pulled back, their breaths choppy and fast around them. Pupils blown wide enough to eat up the unique yellow, Monica clung to him.

Andrea kept his hand around her neck, loving the way she burrowed into his touch, loving how she molded herself against him like a climbing vine, loving how she trembled from head to toe. Finally, she looked up, and a lazy smile stretched her swollen lips. Without looking at him, she rubbed the pad of her thumb against his lower lip, the touch exploring and gentle.

Andrea opened his mouth and sucked the digit in. Her rough rasp sent his blood pooling south. He released her finger with a pop.

“That was...” She blinked, pulled back and searched his gaze. “That was the best kiss I’ve ever had,” she said, chin risen almost belligerently.

“If you’re looking for disagreement,” he said, his hands stroking over the planes of her back, loving how she pushed toward him, seeking more, “you will not find it here. Tell me,bella, did you get what you wanted?”

She nodded. Then, leaning forward, she pressed her cheek against his and rubbed, like a cat. Her skin was like the softestvelvet against his rough jaw, and slowly, as if in beat to his drugged pulse, she brought her mouth to his ear and said, “Yes, but I’m greedy, Andrea. I want more.”

“Spell it out for me.”

“I want to go to bed with you. I want to touch you as I’ve wanted to for three weeks. I want to see if reality can stand up to my feverish, delirious dreams of you. I want to explore this between you and me and I want so much pleasure that I—”

His hands on her hips, Andrea picked her up and she instantly wrapped her arms around his back. He kissed her roughly, deeply, even as he maneuvered through the lounge to his bedroom. He bit her lip and when she jerked against him, nudging her sweet core against his thick shaft, he told her in filthy words all the stuff he’d wanted to do to her the moment he’d seen her in the dress earlier that evening; all the things he’d thought when she’d slammed into him during the dance; all the possessiveness that had swirled through him when she’d danced with a colleague who had a reputation for wandering hands.

CHAPTER NINE

MONICAWOULDHAVEfloated on the fluffy clouds of sensation from his kiss for the rest of the night, if not for Andrea gently lowering her to what felt like another cloud. It was his bed, she realized, her heart fluttering in her chest like a hummingbird’s wings. Then there was a sudden explosion of light and she scrunched her eyes shut, fighting it and the urge to hide herself.

“Monica?”

From his soft tone, she knew that he’d seen her momentary hesitation. His hands rubbed over her arms, gentling her. “It can just be a kiss.”

God, what a coward she was.

She opened her eyes to find him looking down at her. Her breath hung suspended in her chest at the sight of him like this, with her, for her. Out of the periphery of her vision, she took in the vast bedroom with all-glass walls on two sides, giving a delicious peek out into the night glitter of Milan. And inside, she was aware of the sheer luxury of the silk sheets under her hands, the vaulted ceilings and the airiness of the space. But all of it was a background hum to the main attraction, the man whose attention she held now.

This was not the Andrea Valentini that the world got to see, with his hair all mussed, and his thin, sculpted mouth just a little puffed up from her kisses, and his dark, dark eyes betraying his desire. This was the Andrea she’d conjured in her dreams and for a second, Monica felt a frantic pulse of panic thrash through her that she couldn’t handle him in reality, that she might not be enough to hold his attention for more than... Which made her even more desperate to grab this moment andenjoy it to the fullest. She shooed away all those niggles and, leaning back onto her elbows, drank him in, letting her senses fill her up with him.

He was a feast to her eyes with scruff on his cheeks, his shirt unbuttoned enough for her to see the shadow of taut olive-colored skin stretched tight over his chest. Unlike Francesco, who had been very proud of his gym body and his waxed chest and oiled muscles, Andrea was lean and taut. There was an effortlessness to his masculinity, a raw, innate confidence that established him as a natural leader.

“Any more doubts,bella?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes. But he wasn’t laughing at her; she knew that, too.

“Nope. Nada. Zilch,” Monica replied, sitting back up. Reaching him, she unbuttoned his shirt all the way and pushed it back onto his shoulders. His chest was covered in a smattering of hair. Fingers trembling, she traced the contours of his torso, from the corded column of his throat to the hard pectorals, all the while loving the graze of his hair against her palm. Just touching him made desire beat louder in her veins, and she never wanted to stop. Never had she felt this kind of desire to make a man crave her as much as she did him.

When she reached his leather belt, she hesitated, but slowly pushed on, undoing it first. His fingers arrested her. Bringing her hand to his mouth, Andrea pressed a kiss to her wrist. “My turn.” And then he tugged the lapels of her shirt up in his hands and tore them apart until the few buttons she had managed flew off and pinged on the cold marble floor.

“Will you let me do what I want with you,bella?”

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