Page 64 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

He stripped her slowly, kissing her neck, the lovely curve of her shoulder, her breast.

If he was to have one possession in all of his life, he decided it needed to be her.

He could say whatever he needed to to keep her with him. He could give her pleasure in all the ways he desired most.

She would not live in her little town for half the year, though. That would not work. Not before they had a child, and not after.

She had to stay with him.

But he would make her happy. He could show her all these things. He could spend a lifetime capturing her wonder like fireflies in a jar, enough for her, and enough for him.

He could.

He kissed his way down her body, down to her hip bone. To that glorious tangle of curls between her legs. He loved the taste of her.

He loved the way she cried out when he licked her. It was carnal, and yet it felt holy in a way that he would never be able to explain. He didn’t have to. Because he was Rocco Moretti, above all else. And she might have bewitched him in more ways than one, but it didn’t change the foundation.

He could have it all ways.

He could be this with her, and the ruthless businessman he had become.

The one that kept that lonely little boy locked in a bedroom light-years behind him.

And he would think of none of it now, because her sighs filled the room, and her flavor coated his tongue. And that was enough.

More than enough. Any more would simply be hoarding.

One did not need everything. That, he supposed, was the root of that illness. The need to have it all.

He would have bits and pieces. Here and there. It would be enough.

He laid her down on the bed, and thrust inside of her, watched as her expression contorted to one of wonder. Felt it echo inside of him.

With nothing but moonlight pouring down over them, he claimed her. Over and over again. He made a promise. To make her happy.

He kissed her, with everything inside of him, and he thought that maybe it would do something to ease the ache in his chest. It didn’t. It only got worse. But she was with him. She was with him still.

He thrust hard, fast, taking them both to the peak. And he swallowed her cry of need, so that it met his growl of completion.

He gathered her against his body, after they had found their release, and held her there. Their hearts beat in tandem, and he closed his eyes.

He was on the edge of something.

Something.

As he drifted off to sleep, the last image that filtered through his mind was of him, locking her in a room with him. So that she could never leave.

So that he would always have her.

Always.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

NOELLEHADNEVERbeen so happy.

Italy was beautiful. They had stayed in his house in Milan for a while after the train trip, and then they had gone on to Lake Como, then to Florence. Then on to Rome. It wasn’t anything like the quiet life she had imagined for herself, but it was magical.

It was because of him.

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