Page 44 of Bound By The Italian’s 'I Do'

She had a strong feeling that all the things she’d been helpless to stop herself from liking about him were the real Gianni.

No more thinking about the past.

Gianni sat at the end of the twenty-foot dining table laid for two, as it had been on board his yacht that night, and had a large drink of cold white wine.

Would she come?

He hadn’t felt this nervous since his first date all those years ago.

He’d invited Issy to share dinner with him. Again. She hadn’t given him an answer. Again. But her silence had been different this time. Allowed a sliver of hope to settle in him.

She hadn’t left a polite message declining. Yet. He looked at his watch and popped a large green olive in his mouth. There was still time for her to back out...not that she’d actually said yes.

Hope was dangerous, he rued, now reaching for a breadstick and forcing his gaze on the spectacular sunset unfolding before him rather than keeping it fixed on the path she would join him from. If she came.

How had this happened? Going from a potential fling to a seductive game with a hustler, to learning the truth about her, to this? All along this was supposed to have been nothing but fun, the same as all his other flings but with added bite.

He’d never imagined he would feel like this, that hecouldfeel like this. Like he was losing his head.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. His heart thumped.

He whipped his head to the left before his brain caught up with what his senses were telling him.

Emerging from the darkening shadows of the foliage-lined path, her eyes locked on his face, was Issy.

The closer she moved towards him the harder his heart pumped. Dressed in a pretty pale yellow sundress with the spaghetti straps she favoured but which caressed her body with a swing around the knees rather than constricted it, barely a scrap of make-up graced her face. It had no need of it. Her silky blonde hair hung loose, sweeping over her shoulders, the first real hint of chestnut that had so captivated him in her photos emerging at the roots, the two colours blending together to create something uniquely beautiful.

Unable to tear her gaze from Gianni’s face, Issy climbed the three steps onto the podium that served as his outside dining room. In the periphery of her vision silver fairy lights twinkled the perimeter of the wooden roof, a row of night-lights flickering on the table. With the sound of the sea lapping on the beach behind her, the whole scene was so dreamily romantic her whole being felt consumed by it.

But it was the man in the crisp white open-necked shirt and smart dark grey shorts who’d risen to his feet and taken slow steps towards her who consumed her the most. To see the way his chest was rising and falling as if it had a weight in it and the expression in the eyes as rooted to hers as hers were to his, an expression that was more, much more, than hunger...

Standing before him, she raised her arm and palmed his cheek. The thick stubble from four days ago had grown into a fully fledged beard. The pads of her fingers tingled madly in reaction to the sharp yet soft texture and her longing for him intensified.

His nostrils flared. His strong throat moved.

The tiny gap between them closed. His hands skimmed her waist then tightened around it.

Without a single word being uttered, he lifted her into air. Her face hovering above his, her hair brushing against his face, he continued to stare at her as if she were a miracle come to life before lowering her gently and then sweeping her into his arms so she was cradled against his chest.

Nestling her cheek against his beating heart, Issy breathed him in. The freshness of his cologne mingled with his clean skin enveloped her open senses. Open because she would no longer close any of herself off to him.

Gianni carried Issy up the stairs to his bedroom. She fit perfectly in his arms.

Gently, he sat her at the foot of the bed. Her eyes were open. Trusting. She reached a hand out to him. Capturing it, he kissed her pretty fingers, then stepped back to strip his clothes. First came the shirt which he shrugged over his head and let drop wherever it landed. Next came his shorts. He unbuttoned them and tugged the zip down, then, pinching his snug boxers with them, pulled them down his hips and thighs until gravity took care of the rest. Stepping out of them, he kicked his deck shoes off and had to force air into his lungs at the expression on Issy’s face as she drank him in... Because that’s how it felt. As if she were drinking in every part of him.

For the first time in his entire life, Gianni felt stripped to his marrow.

He took a step to close the small gap between them but she shook her head softly to stop him and got to her feet.

His heart had swollen so hard it came close to choking him. He watched as she pulled the dress up her beautiful body and over her head. Just as he’d done, she gave no care to where it landed.

Her hands went around her back. A moment later her pretty white silk bra fell the same way as her dress and all that was left were the matching panties. Clasping them with the tips of her fingers, she pinched the sides and pulled them down until she was able to step out of them. And then she straightened, cheeks flush, barely breathing, and it was his turn to drinkherin.

During their time on thePalazzo delle Feste, Gianni had feasted his eyes on her for hours and hours. It felt like he was looking at her anew. Slowly, he soaked in every inch of her, from the tiny brown mole on the side of her neck to the small, pert breasts with their beautiful dusky pink nipples to the neat triangle of dark brown hair between her legs all the way down to her painted toes.

Head tilted back, eyes wide on his, she took the step to him. His arousal jutted into the base of her belly. Her lips parted, a small breath pulled in. Her eyes darkened and pulsed.

Slowly, he ran his hands down her bare arms.‘Tu sei bella...’he whispered hoarsely.

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