Page 43 of Awakened in Her Enemy's Palazzo

Then, as his glance drifted to her mouth, he began to kiss her again, stroking into the warm recesses of her mouth, dragging her into him, sealing their bodies at the hip while he kissed her, trailing kisses down her throat until he reached her breast.

Ignoring, actually enjoying, the abrasive rasp of his stubble against her skin, she slid her fingers into his hair and held him there. She tried to press in harder and, sensing her frustration, he stopped, pulling her thigh across his so that, without thinking, she rubbed the aching damp core of her sex against him, feeling the desperation build inside her as they lay there in a tangle of sweet, slick limbs and gasps and moans.

She was so involved in what she was feeling that she barely registered her silk panties were gone until he slid a finger into her wet heat.

‘You are so tight,’ he murmured against her mouth.

‘Am I?’ she whispered dragging her foot down the back of his leg as she breathed in the warm, earthy smell of his arousal.

‘It’s been a long time for you?’

The idea that she had not got over this George person filled him with a fierce, savage determination that he would make her forget the man ever existed.

‘Sort of...’

She nodded, closing her eyes as he curved his hand over one breast, making a sound of throaty appreciation when he discovered it fitted perfectly in his hand.

His appreciation had apparently given her confidence, because she admitted in a rush, ‘Actually, not a long time...more never.’

It took a few seconds for her meaning to penetrate, at which point he froze and lifted his head to look at her, the dark ridges along his cheekbones emphasising the sybaritic cast of his sculpted features.

‘You’re saying...?’

Grace nodded, thinking that if he rejected her now—

She found herself unable even to think that far ahead—but she could almost taste the desolation she would feel. It would be nothing remotely like the way she had felt when George had rejected her—that would be like comparing a flickering candle flame to a full-blown forest fire...

‘Oh,cara...’ he crooned throatily, stroking her face with a tenderness that was in stark contrast to the smoky passion in his eyes. ‘Are you sure you want this now...with me...?’

The answer came easily to her.

She wanted him—all of him, only him—here and now.

‘Very sure.’

‘I will make it good for you, I promise.’

She watched through her lashes as he divested himself of his boxers, drinking in the sight of his body, which was an essay in male perfection—not an ounce of surplus flesh to disguise the muscular ripples that defined every muscle and sinew of his long greyhound-lean body.

When he rolled towards her again, bringing himself closer, he traced the dip of her waist and the gentle female flare of her hip with a finger.

He stared at her, wanting to lose himself in her, the need so strong that he hesitated.

She was so small, so fragile...

He kissed her collar bone, her mouth...

He was afraid that he would break her.

But her passion was bigger than her frame, and the knowledge darkened his eyes with passion.

She made him think of a sleek and supple little cat...

Her breath quickened in anticipation as she saw his eyes darken.

‘I need you,’ he said.

‘Please, yes...’

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