Innocent in the Italian's Possession(12)

Even the air was charged with an energy that make her skin sizzle and burn as if she'd brushed too close to the sun.

This was lust. Bold. Sensual. Tempting.

Oh, so very tempting.

And dangerous.

Stefano Marinetti was the embodiment of seductive Italian males that one  read about, only on a pinnacle above the others. This was the primo  playboy who always had a bevy of woman lusting after him.

She'd quickly learned that he'd refined flirting to a fine art. He could  adore every inch of the woman he was with and make her feel as if she  were the most desired woman in the world. As if she were the only woman  in the world for him.

He was the kind of man young girls dreamed about, and the one that mammas and papas feared.

He'd take what he wanted from a woman, and toss her aside when he tired of her.

"Bella. You take my breath away."

"Thank you," she said, finding it difficult to breathe normally around him. "But I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"Not in the least."

She didn't know what to say to that statement. In true Italian form, he  could argue fiercely one moment and revert into the flirt the next.

Now that was an image she didn't wish to conjure up about him. But the  idea was in her head and growing stronger, thanks to the sensual energy  that crackled in the air, leaving her tingling from head to toe.                       
       
           



       

"I am a lucky man to have you as my dinner companion tonight," he said.

How could he make a business dinner sound intimate? A business dinner  that was a step above blackmail for her? How could he for a moment make  her forget the dire importance of this night to her future?

"Shouldn't we be leaving for Viareggio?"

"There is something I must do first, something I have wanted to do since we met."

Stefano pushed away from the doorway and crossed to her with the grace  of a jungle cat on the prowl, all sleek muscle and feral energy.

This time there was no doubt he made love to her with his eyes. There  was no doubt that she saw her own needs reflected in the smoldering  depths of his own.

"What would that be?" she managed to ask, holding her ground because she simply couldn't force her feet to move.

He reached for her, threading the fingers of both hands through her hair  to curve over her scalp. The move was as much an anchor as a caress.  She knew he meant to kiss her.

Though her mind was screaming at her to run, her body was instinctively bowing into his.

"No," she breathed, a feeble refusal at best, but she found it difficult to do more as his mouth swept down to hers.

Not surprising, he didn't listen to her.

That first crush of his mouth on hers sent new sensations rocketing  through her. She swayed, certain she'd have crumbled if he hadn't been  holding her close.

Dio mio! He kissed her with a ravenous intensity that thrilled and  terrified her, for she knew if he unleashed his sensual appetite on her  she'd be powerless to stop him.

More, she'd be powerless to stop herself from surrendering to the  promise in his kiss, his touch. In the strong arms that held her fast.

She slammed both hands against Stefano's broad chest to end this  madness. But instead of pushing him away as she'd intended, her palms  lost their purchase on his silken shirt.

"Bella," he breathed, holding her fast and deepening the kiss.

Her splayed fingers pressed against the breadth of his chest. He was so big. So powerful.

Touching him was like touching the sun. Sizzling, erotic heat spiraled through her.

She'd surely burn to a crisp if she stayed too close. But her attempt to  push him away was feeble at best. She couldn't think of anything but  the intense pleasure engulfing her.

A low groan rumbled from him. He pulled her flush against his body  without a break in the kiss that was now singing through her senses with  the passion of an aria.

She wasn't a neophyte to kissing, but she'd waited all her life to have a  man make love to her with his mouth like this. This slow dueling of  tongues and adoration of lips. Unchained. Earthy. Passionate.

She was awash in a froth of longing with him the center of her universe,  the sun that fired her blood. Her arms slipped around him as if to  anchor him close now.

Not that she needed to.

One of his hands cradled her head while the other made a long, leisurely  caress that was so seductively gentle it brought tears to her eyes.  She'd never been touched so emotionally before. It thrilled and  terrified her, and like a moth to the flame she kept inching closer for  more.

And he gave her more. Not in a bold push as she'd expected but a more  languid exploration of her mouth and body-an adoration really.

His lips sipped at the corner of her mouth before he lifted his head.  She groaned in protest of the kiss ending too soon and looked up into  his eyes.

The glimmer of desire was fading, replaced by a harder glint that  smacked of mockery. Suddenly she was all too aware of standing in his  embrace, her breasts pressed to his chest, her belly flush with the flat  planes of his abdomen, and the hard evidence of his desire pulsing  between them.

"I want fare l'amore and so you do," he said, gently pushing her from  him and gliding a finger down her flushed cheek. "But we must return to  Viareggio and our appointed dinner. Later, hmm?"

It took a moment for her dazed brain to register what he was implying.  She scrambled out of his reach, hating his cool assumption that she was  his for the taking now. Hating herself even more for letting this  situation spiral out of control.

"No, not later," she said. "Not ever."

The mouth that had moved with sensuous intent on hers thinned to a hard  line. The amorous glint in his eyes died, replaced with a flash of  annoyance before narrowing on her.

"We will see," he said.

She shook her head in answer, for it was pointless to argue with him.

He was a playboy, arrogantly sure of his prowess and blessed with a  beautiful face and physique of the gods. He was rich and sought after  and likely believed every woman he met would gladly crawl into his bed.                       
       
           



       

She'd been too awed by the sensations he'd wrought to consider he'd take  her eagerness to kiss him as a sign that she wanted more. But what did  she really know about seduction?

Stefano shrugged into a suit jacket, looking for all the world like a demanding tycoon again. "We must leave now."

"Of course."

She suffered his hand at the small of her back as he guided her out of  the building. She certainly didn't want to feel this burning pull toward  him, but she couldn't squash it, either.

Yes, the sooner they got this business over with, the sooner she and  Stefano could settle into a suitable work arrangement as secretary and  boss.

Then she'd count the days until Cesare returned to the helm and Stefano was nothing more than a memory.





CHAPTER FIVE




AN HOUR later, Stefano pulled to the curb of the restaurant and set the  brake. He shouldn't have kissed her. He shouldn't have let his hands  learn the contour of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her  hips.

He damned sure shouldn't have enjoyed every second she'd been in his  arms. But he had, and the only thing that soothed his pride was the fact  she'd become as lost in the moment as he.

Now she sat as far from him as possible and stared pensively out the  window, quiet and withdrawn, as if bitten by guilt for nearly succumbing  to lust. It made the drive back to Viareggio overly long.

But then he was not of a mood to engage in chitchat, either. His own  lack of control vexed him. He'd not been the one to stop. She had.

Her body had instinctively reacted to his, pressed to his and moving in a  most delicious rhythm of desire. She couldn't deny that!

But she'd come to her senses first. He'd become so intoxicated by a  woman's taste and texture that he'd lost focus. He would've taken her  right then and there.

Her refusal to engage in an affair with him was a jab to his ego. For  her withdrawal wasn't part of the game of pursuit, the age-old attack  and parry ritual of courtship that heightened desire.

This was a firm no.

Something far stronger than lust kept her from succumbing to passion. Loyalty to Cesare Marinetti?

He slid her a glance. Did she believe that when his father recovered  they would resume their affair? Did she think because his papa was  widowed now that she could assert herself into the role of his wife?

The very idea was galling, for this situation with Gemma smacked of  another woman who'd had designs on gaining the lion's share of Marinetti  Shipyard.

Before his sister-in-law had got her claws into his brother, she'd been  Stefano's lover at university. He'd never thought to introduce her to  his family. But that holiday she'd been alone with nowhere to go.

Bringing her home had been the decent thing to do. She had seen it as the opportunity to better her lot in life.