Page 23 of Innocent's Wedding Day with the Italian

The pulse between her legs throbbed with the same rage as the fury in her veins. All these months she’d fantasised about the moment she saw him undressed for the first time and the muscularity of his chest and the light smattering of dark hair covering it was so much more than her imagination had conjured. It only fuelled her anger; that she should be seeing it now, like this and not in the dreamlike state she’d so anticipated. That the power he held over her was stronger than it had ever been increased it to fever pitch.

It was time to claim that power for her own. She had let Enzo dictate everything for long enough. No more. Never again.

‘I want the wedding night you promised me.’

He stared at her for a long moment before breathing deeply, leaning back against the headboard and closing his eyes.

‘Don’t close your eyes to me,’ she snarled.

Jaw clenched, he fixed them on her face. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

Ignoring him, she pulled at the straps of her bridal negligée. ‘I bought this for you. For our wedding night. You were supposed to strip it off me with your teeth.’

His breathing became erratic. The throat she’d adored nuzzling moved convulsively. ‘Go back to your room, Miss Foley.’

‘I thought you wanted me,’ she flared, climbing onto the bed. ‘Or was that just another lie after all?’

He shook his head with ragged movements.

‘Do you want me or not?’ she demanded, straddling his lap. ‘Is your desire for me a truth or a lie?’

His voice was thick. Pained. ‘You know it’s the truth.’

‘Do I?’ Grabbing the hem of her negligée, she whipped it over her head and threw it to one side. Something dark and angry had taken possession of her and she was glad of it, welcomed the fury firing through her veins. ‘Then prove it.’

She would never have a wedding night. Not now. When Rebecca left this villa, that would be it for her. There was not a chance in hell that she would let another man get close enough to lay a finger on her.

Even if she ever felt she could risk it, she knew in her heart it would be pointless. No man could make her feel an ounce of what Enzo made her feel, and shehatedhim for it. Hated that he’d destroyed any chance of her forging a truly loving relationship.

He’d ruined her. For everyone but himself.

Enzo’s eyes had darkened, his face taut, chest rising sharply. Not taking her eyes from his, she rested her hands on his naked chest for the first time and rubbed her fingers over the dark hair lightly covering it.

He sucked in a breath and shuddered. Somehow his eyes darkened further. Became hooded.

The pulse between her legs was throbbing stronger than ever, mingling with the sickness for him and her furious desire.

Suddenly he straightened from his recline against the headboard, hooking an arm around her back to stop her from losing her balance. His other hand cradled the back of her head.

‘Who are you punishing here?’ he asked in a thick undertone, long fingers spearing her hair, his face so close their lips were only a feather away from touching. ‘You or me?’

The tips of her breasts brushed against his chest. The sensation was almost more than she could bear.

She cupped his cheeks and deliberately dug the pads of her fingers into the stubbly skin. ‘Both of us,’ she whispered harshly.

The grip on her hair tightened. The brown eyes boring into hers with such intensity were molten swirls. And then he groaned. In the breath of a moment, his lips fused to hers in a kiss so hard and passionate the pain of it was almost as acute as the pleasure.

Rebecca melted into it. Parting her lips in time with his, she dragged her fingers to the back of his head and clasped it as tightly as he clasped hers, the lock of their mouths deepening furiously, tongues plundering, teeth clashing.

She could have screamed her relief. This was what she wanted. What she needed. The hedonistic pleasure of Enzo’s touch driving out the pain and obliterating her thoughts. She didn’t want to think. For this one night, she just wanted to lose herself in Enzo.

Whatever was infecting her was clearly contagious.

Her breasts crushed against his chest, a strong hand swept feverishly over her naked back, over her shoulders, exploring her contours, dragging down her spine to the curve of her bottom and then sweeping back up again. The silk bed sheets were still across his lap, beneath it the full strength of his arousal hard against her mound, and it filled her with a burning heat to know that soon, finally, the wanton hunger so alive in her veins for him would be sated.

Breaking the lock of their mouths, he gazed at her. ‘Mio Dio, you’re beautiful,’ he muttered hoarsely before smothering her in another deeply passionate kiss that she felt all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

He’d been holding back she realised dimly when he wrenched his mouth from hers and pulled her head back, exposing her throat for him to devour. The fever she’d tasted in his kisses all those times before and the desire in his eyes had been mere shadows of what he was giving her now.

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