She wanted this, gave herself to him.
“Lise,” he growled, staring into her eyes. “Now.”
The wave slammed into her and she cried out, a high, wild animal call. Her body rose, her head went back as the power of his loving swept across her skin, her muscles, her being. Her inner heart clenched and tightened around him as the passion enveloped her in its grip.
His hips pumped, pumped once more. Then his entire body stiffened into a taut bow of male pleasure. He threw his head back and gasped as he spilled himself into her. The warm liquid filled her womb and she knew this was true.
Knew this was right.
* * *
The rumbling purr prodded her awake.
Lise opened her eyes to the dim shadows of an unfamiliar room.
The pace of her heart stuttered while a tight feeling of panic crept over her.
Her head throbbed dully. Except this wasn't one of her stress migraines. Different somehow. An unpleasant taste coated her mouth and teeth as if she’d stuffed a musty cotton ball down her throat.
The purr grew and then subsided as a body rolled away from her.
She stilled. A body. Next to hers. She never slept beside anyone. Not all night. Not even Robert. She liked her space and her own bed.
The snore became deep and growly. A male slept beside her. Not Robert. Robert hadn’t made a sound the one time he’d fallen asleep on her sofa.
Lise slammed her eyes shut.
What had she done?
A memory, stark and clear, came to her and blazed like acid across her brain. Tawny eyes. Burning, possessive. Looking down at her. She stifled a moan. No, it must be the dream again. The stupid dream.
The purr continued. Contradicted.
In a stiff, tentative movement, she turned on her back and forced herself to glance across the bed.
The black silk of his long curls covered the pillow. His naked back was a stretch of male perfection. The sheet lay low on his body, covering little. So she did herself a favor and closed her eyes again. Looking at him, invariably, excited her. And look where that had gotten her.
She'd lost her mind. Clearly, utterly lost her mind.
Another memory pounced. Drinking. She'd been drinking. Screaming…
Orgasms.
That's what she'd been drinking. Drinking and then actually getting one. For the first time in her life. With her boss. Her nemesis. Her dream lover who now had become her real lover.
Oh. My. God.
She had to get out of here, wherever here was, immediately. Like yesterday.
Using a stealthy slide, she tried to slip off the bed undetected. However, his sheets were not obliging. They tangled around her legs as if acting on his behalf. With a thud, she landed on the luxurious carpet, on her bum, legs dangling above her ready to be detected.
Her heart skittered into a furious jangle of apprehension.
He snorted and stirred.
OMG. OMG. OMG.
The rumble resumed. She let out a sigh of relief and slowly pulled her legs from the clinging sheets. Peering over the mattress, she puffed another breath of release at the sight of his sleeping form.
Then she looked down at herself and relief fled.
Totally naked. Not a dream. Not a fantasy.
She really had lost her mind and had sex with Vico Mattare.
Unprotected sex.
There’d been no condom. There hadn’t been time in the frenzy of lust.
Squeezing her eyes shut once more, she leaned her forehead on the mattress. For all the effort she’d put into her education and all the times she’d relied on her keen intelligence, bottom line, she was a complete and utter idiot. Not only had she not insisted on a condom, she no longer had the protection of taking her usual birth control. She’d wanted to get pregnant as soon as she married.
Married to Robert.
Not anymore.
The memory of her broken engagement came—surprisingly dull. Like her headache. She couldn’t seem to think about Robert. Her entire focus zeroed in on the Italian she despised. And what she’d done with him.
Willingly. Wantonly. What a disaster.
Unprotected sex with a man who bedded women as a hobby. A man who apparently lived to be on the pages of the tabloids with one bimbo after another. The pictures had made her smirk when her PA showed them to her. What a jerk, she’d thought. What kind of woman would want a man like that?
A complete-and-utter-idiot kind of woman. Like her. Lise Helton.
She would have to get checked. She would have to make sure—
Think about this later.
Lise pressed her forehead into the soft mattress and nearly groaned. She could put off many thoughts, but not the thought of what lay in her immediate future. What she would have to deal with when she went to work on Monday.
He would never, ever let her forget this.
Leave. Think about this later.
She glanced over the side of the bed. He hadn't moved. The purr continued its lazy rumble, reassuring her. He was deeply asleep. Giving her a chance to avoid any messy confrontation until she got back to being the real Lise Helton—the cool, contained CFO. Not this naked floozy lying like a sex slave on his floor.