Bought by Her Italian Boss(10)

A spasm of pain went through her, increasing when she saw another flash  and suspected her moment of torment had just been caught and would be  fed to the online trolls.

She found herself ducking her head, letting him draw her into his chest  in an embrace that she knew he staged to look tender, but it felt  tender. Like a place of shelter. She was on her very last nerve and  desperately wanted to believe she was safe with him, but she couldn't.  Not by a long shot.

"I don't kiss strangers," she muttered into his chest.

He smoothed her hair behind her ear and his breath warmed her cheek as he spoke. "We're lovers, mia bella."

In her periphery, more flashes were sparking, but maybe that was the electric reaction he provoked in her.

"You don't even find me attractive. Can you imagine how it feels to kiss  someone you know feels nothing for you? Actually it's worse than that.  You feel contempt. This is not a nice place to be. I can't pretend to be  okay with it."

His hands stilled on her. "Have you had many lovers, Gwyn? You keep surprising me with what sounds like naivety."                       
       
           



       

"How is it naive to know that all these seduction moves of yours are  motivated by a desire to protect the bank, that you're actually  overcoming disgust to touch me?" She lifted her face to glare at him,  unable to read his face in the dark. "Are you going to tell me next that  I'm being too cynical?" She nearly choked on her own words. She was  growing weak just standing against his body heat, reacting to him even  though she knew he felt nothing toward her. This was so unequal.

"You're a very beautiful woman. You must know that." He rested the heel  of his hand on her shoulder, fingertips toying at her nape beneath the  fall of her hair.

The caress was so beguiling, the words so throaty, her whole body  responded. Her knees weakened, her skin tightened and her nipples  prickled. Deep between her thighs, damp heat gathered. Her breath  hitched.

At the same time she heard the levelness in his tone and understood that  his body might be growing hard, but his mind was still not affected.

"I suppose this is an affair then," she said, feeling him give a small start of surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not a relationship with a future. It's going to serve a  purpose then end with neither of us calling or texting. You're right. I  haven't had a lot of lovers and they've mostly been hit and runs. That's  why I don't date much. I hate the part when I'm left feeling used.  That's why I don't want to kiss you right now. I'll just feel dirty  after."

"Ah, cara, you are very naive," he said with a gentle laugh. "You're in a  position to use me. Stop being so nice and do it. You'll feel  terrific."

She gave him her profile, staring into the dark, angry that he made  being nice sound like a character flaw. Angry that her life had been  destroyed. Angry that there was no substance to what was going on  between them. She was an object. Nothing real or important. This was how  her mother had felt all the time.

A self-destructive impulse rose and she tossed her hair as she looked up at him.

"Fine. We'll kiss."

It was too dark to tell whether his brief hesitation was surprise or  something else, but his hand moved to cup her cheek and he bent,  capturing her mouth in a firm, hungry possession without a lead-up. No  delay.

Because they were lovers, she reminded herself as excitement tore  through her veins. According to the illusion they were projecting, they  were familiar enough with each other to throw themselves into a  passionate kiss without preamble.

Heart pounding, she returned his kiss with all the emotions roiling in  her. Fury, mostly. She let her hand go to the short hairs at the back of  his neck and increased the pressure, drawing him down to her, hurting  herself with the way she mashed her mouth against his, liable to leave  both of them bruised as she scraped her teeth against his lips in  punishment for all that he'd done to her. For all that the world was  doing to her.

He grunted and his hand went low on her back, pressing into her bottom  to pull her tighter into him, fingertips flagrantly tracing the line  between her cheeks.

She didn't protest. She shuffled closer, shoving herself aggressively  into his frame, like they were combatants. She moved her hand to take a  fistful of his hair, hoping his scalp stung while she moved her lips  under his, mouth burning with avid, angry friction.

With another gruff noise, he lifted his head, let her catch one breath,  then closed his arms more tightly around her, swooping into a deep,  dominant kiss, tongue spearing boldly into her mouth.

Her reaction might have been frightening to her if she wasn't so close  to exploding. She needed this outlet, this contained space of banded  arms keeping her from flying apart. She fought letting him take over as  long as she could, flicking at his tongue with hers, trying to make him  break, but he was too strong willed. Way stronger than her.

With a little sob, she finally capitulated, softening and letting him take control.

Her reward was a wash of delirious pleasure. Suddenly she felt what this  kiss was doing to her. Her blood was hot, her erogenous zones  sensitized and singing. His body seemed to envelop hers in sexual need.  She was so steeped in desire, her knees folded.

She would have gone anywhere with him in that moment. Would have let him  do anything. She wanted him to cover her and push inside her and take  her to a place where nothing could touch her.

His assertiveness eased. His hand moved soothingly over her back. His  damp lips tenderly caressed hers until they broke apart to gasp for air.  He tucked her head under his jaw and held her ear against his pounding  heart.

She rested there, trying to catch her breath, listening to his heart  slam, feeling like she'd been running and now the ache of exertion was  catching up to her.                       
       
           



       

He was hard, she realized, and she panged again with longing for this to  be real, for them to make love so she could lose herself in mindless  pleasure. She ought to find his desire threatening, she thought. Or  offensive maybe. She didn't move away from pressing against him, though,  liking that evidence of his reaction even if it was strictly  physiological. She stayed in that little cave of safety his arms  provided, face pressed to his shirt, body sheltered from the wind by his  broader one.

And she started to cry.

There was no stopping it this time. It wasn't a grand storm, just a slow  leak of tears that grew into a steady, unstoppable flow. Her control  surrendered to exhaustion, like a drowning victim letting go and sinking  beneath the surface. She clung with limp arms and leaned her weight  into him as pulsing waves of suffering rocked her.

He didn't tell her to shush. He held her, rubbed her back and didn't say a word.





CHAPTER FIVE

VITO SAT IN the armchair of the hotel room, feet on the ottoman, wearing  only his pants. He was pretending to read emails, but sat angled so he  could watch Gwyn sleep.

A full-out rainstorm had manifested while she'd been fixing her face in  the head, after their kiss. The yacht had raced to moor at the nearest  marina and, while most of the guests scrambled through sheets of rain  for taxis to take them to their hotels, he had walked into the yacht  club and paid a fortune for a top-floor room. He hadn't been interested  in leading the paparazzi back to the mansion and Gwyn had been at the  end of her rope.

He could have taken a suite, he supposed, but he didn't want anyone  counting how many beds had been slept in. He had shared this one with  her-until he'd given up trying to sleep. She'd been emotionally drained  and slightly drunk, looking disturbingly vulnerable and wary after she'd  washed her face and put on his shirt to sleep in it. She had threaded  her bare legs under the covers and kept firmly to her side of the bed.

He'd kept his pants on, since he never wore shorts, and tried not to  touch her once he had put out the lights and crawled in beside her. At  least until he'd realized she was curled into a ball, shivering from the  chill of getting soaked by the rain. He could have risen to turn off  the air-conditioning, but he'd spooned her instead.

When she had stiffened, he'd said, "Go to sleep," in the same quietly  firm tone he would use on any of his abundant underage cousins, nieces  and nephews who might creep down the stairs when they ought to be in  bed. Molding Gwyn to him, he'd gone quietly out of his mind while she  had relaxed into the hot curve of his chest and thighs.

She had dropped into a deep sleep, leaving him nursing an aching  erection, blood burning like acid in his arteries. Every time he dozed,  his mind took him back to kissing her on the deck, when she'd  aggressively tested his control.