Her panties were pink. Hot pink and lacy, exactly like the bra. Another line of lace edged her clingy silk stockings.
His body roared. Vico stepped back from the temptation, his hands shaking in need.
Yet, when she awoke, the woman would turn as cold as the North Sea. From the first moment, Vico had been bemused by his lust for this chilly creature. He’d berated himself more than once as he’d stood in his shower, hot and hard and breathless. Thinking of her. Why did this sexless woman heat his blood to boiling?
He stared down at her, wondering if he’d been wrong. Wondering if her fiancé had gotten the golden ticket instead of the losing hand Vico had assumed.
He took in a breath. A very deep breath.
Gritting his teeth, he slung back the covers and pushed her under them, covering her and covering temptation. He wasn't a gentleman; still, he hadn't taken her clothes off to ogle. He'd taken them off to compound her dilemma when she awakened tomorrow morning.
In his bed. Semi-naked. With him naked beside her.
No, no. He was not a gentleman.
Clicking off the lights, he slid the towel off and slipped into bed. He put his hands behind his head and breathed.
What a fool. The wicked devil inside him hadn't taken into account his wicked body and the lust he'd unwillingly felt the last two months. For an icy Princesse. For the woman who put herself far above him with every look. For a sexless snob of a lady.
His cock twitched and suffered.
But his stubborn pride dug in its heels.
He'd endure this. The morning would finally come.
Then it would be Lise Helton who would suffer.
Chapter 2
The faint smell of almond swirled in her brain; a brain that throbbed. Not enough to pull her out of her favorite dream, though.
The one with him in it.
Her hand smoothed over his hot skin, relishing the warmth, the silky quality. Imagination was a powerful and wonderful thing, she mused in the midst of her dream. All of the details were so vivid, almost real. The heat. The smell of him. The man moved, turning on his back. Her hand slid across his chest, touching the coarse hair and tight nipples.
He muttered under his breath. Italian. Sexy and sweet. Still asleep.
How she loved this dream.
She would be ashamed in the morning. As always. But the knowledge barely penetrated the hazy, lovely imaginings washing through her.
Of being alive. Of being passionately wanted. Of being one with her lover.
Sliding closer to his warmth, her lips whispered across the skin of his shoulder—a shoulder of solid muscle. He tasted of male, salty and musky. Her tongue sipped of him. Her hand skimmed over his collarbone to his neck and then his jaw. Her lips edged along the shadow of hair on his cheek to his chin. To his mouth.
He slept on, his soft lips testifying to the fact.
She didn't mind. Of all the variations of this dream, she liked this one best. Instead of her real self, her passive-lover self, she became the teaser with this dream lover.
The instigator. The aggressor.
She kissed him lightly. Her tongue ran along his lips and into his slightly open mouth. He tasted of mint and man. A subtle combination of dark desire and potent passion.
Murmuring, he turned his head towards her.
She kissed the side of his Roman nose and the memory of his face, in the meetings she’d held with him, floated into her mind. The proud jut of his chin as he disagreed with her. The blaze of his hazel eyes as she fought back. Then his quick grin as he laughed her off. And the disconcerted feeling she invariably carried away from one of their confrontations.
Why are you thinking of this now? Enjoy the dream.
Here, in her dreams, there was no disconcertment, no disagreement. Only a raw and real connection with him. A bond of body and soul. A need to be one that both of them wanted. Only a dream, and, therefore, safe to revel in this make-believe union .
His long dark lashes quivered against her lips as she kissed him there. His big body moved once more, turning toward her. His hands finally slid across her skin, down her sides and then up to her breasts.
She gasped. Arched.
The wisps of her dream world parted, opened. Lise pulled them back, clung to them, clutched at her need for this to be unreal, her need to be with this lover only in her dreams.
The wisps clouded her mind and wrapped around her consciousness.
Quick male fingers dispatched her bra and plucked at her distended nipples. A dampness sprung between her legs as always. Only her dream lover coaxed this response from her. In the daytime, this filled her with horror. At night, it filled her with sweet, relieved pleasure.
His mouth moved down, suckled and sucked until she panted and wanted. His busy hands swept her panties and stockings off, trailing fire on her skin as he went. Reality parted her dreams once more and tugged her relentlessly to the edge of reason.