Compromising Positions(20)

They crossed the paved walk and entered the shadowed cool of the entry hall and she turned on him.

“You expect me to believe that this whole thing--Serafina, the kissing, the messages--is a set up? By your mother?” Disbelief was thick in her voice. “I know she doesn’t like me, but that’s hard to believe.”

Marco’s grip on her elbow tightened.

“Harder to believe than me being involved with another woman? Harder to believe that after all my support and promises that I would betray you, in public, in front of my family, my partners, and my political contacts?” He forced her to face him. “You said I should know that your honor wouldn’t let you abandon your work. I hoped that you’d know my honor wouldn’t let me abandon you.”

She wanted to believe him so badly, but she had so many doubts.

“It would be easier to believe if I didn’t have to ignore what I saw with my own eyes.” Tears thickened her voice. As she was looking at him, she was seeing something else--the comfortable closeness between Marco and his ex, her beautiful face, the rightness of the two of them together--and emptiness filled her heart. He deserved so much more than she could give… someone who understood his world, and fit with his family.

Not her.

“I don’t care what your eyes saw.” Marco grabbed her with both hands, forcing her back to the present. Mina felt her breath hitch in her throat . “I want to know what your heart thinks.” He leaned closer, his face barely an inch from hers. “What your heart knows.” He kissed her and she felt the familiar lightning flash between them, her heart slamming in her chest as she gave herself to the feelings he unleashed in her. His lips demanded a response and she gave it to him.

“Amore.” His voice was low, the single word cutting through her resistance like it was made of gossamer. Love… he’d never called her Love before. She froze, the promise in that word more than she could contemplate. More than she’d ever dreamed.

Sex with him was incredible--books could be written about how good--but his love? That would be cataclysmic.

Desperately she tried to remind herself of all the reasons why this wasn’t a good idea, why she should be running away from him, not towards him, but her body refused to move.

“Mina mia.” Her bones were melting under her skin. If she didn’t get away she’d liquefy in his hands.

He caressed her skin, holding on but not restraining her. She could pull away if she really wanted to, but what she really wanted was more. She felt her heart against her breastbone, her pulse racing as she shivered in his hands.

She couldn’t meet his eyes or he’d know how close to the edge she was. He’d made it clear that the next move was hers, and while he’d never force her to accept his touch, he wouldn’t hesitate to force her to make a decision. One push and she’d fall, and there’d be no going back. Ever.

“I need something.” The voice didn’t sound like her own, it was thick and rough, but she knew it was hers.

Marco paused, his hands stilling on her back, and his eyes glittered down at her. “Anything.”

Mina imagined a cliff and she knew she was speeding toward it. She slowly, intentionally looked at the face above her and threw herself over the edge.

“You told me that what I saw in that room,” she paused. The words were awkward extensions of her thoughts, but she had to make him understand. “You said it wasn’t real.”

Marco shook his head with such force that it was a full-body denial. “It wasn’t. None of it was real.” He slid roughly up her arms and cupped her face, lifting her chin in his hands. “I swear to you. I want no one but you.”

She wet her lips and watched Marco’s eyes follow the path left by her tongue. “Prove it.”

Black eyes snapped to hers, his body suddenly still. “Prove what? That I want you?” He pulled her closer and she felt the heavy hardness of his erection as it pressed against her. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Mina’s feminine ego basked in the attention, thrilled at how open he was about her effect on him, but that wasn’t what she was aiming for. She rolled her hips against him, feeling another flash of satisfaction as he closed his eyes, and she watched control himself by sheer force of will.

“That’s part of it,” she admitted, “but not nearly enough.” She took his hand and led him further into the house. Silent steps carried them along the same path that she remembered from the last time she was here… through the foyer, through the hall, towards the stairs, and finally… into his office.

It looked the same, but there were papers scattered on the floor, and the chair that sat behind the desk was pulled out where he must have pushed it when he chased after her. It was more proof of his story, that he followed her, wanted her, cared for her… loved her… but every time she thought of this room she thought of her pain and she refused to build a shrine to it. She would knock it down and replace it.