What was a girl to do in the face of this rampant appeal?
The coup de grace happened, though, at the end of the day. He’d told his security to pack her remaining art and transport it to his penthouse, where she was to have a room of her own to paint. With one wave of a bold hand, he’d commanded the head of his security to attend to the details. One of the cold, lifeless bedrooms was to be turned into whatever she desired and needed.
What was a girl to do?
The leaden feeling of disillusionment and disappointment she’d felt during the last few days had slowly but surely turned back into the bright, happy feeling she’d felt as she strolled SoHo. It had whispered inside her as she saw him laugh at something Al said. Brightness wiggled through her heart as she noticed the lines of stress disappear around his eyes. Happiness had shouted out loud when he’d given her a gift she’d never, ever had.
A place of her own. For her art. The one true love of her life.
Maybe not the only love you now have?
The thought had shot through her and brought her up short.
No. No. No.
For the last few minutes, she’d waged a determined, frightened fight against the thought, the feelings, the happiness. Yet all of the emotions continued to bubble inside her. Peering at him, she watched as he fingered his mobile. Went through his emails, answered his texts, and frowned once more. Allowed tension to overtake him once again.
Why? Why did he do this to himself? He must have more money than almost every person in the world. Why didn’t he spend his time laughing, enjoying life? Loving…
Her.
The beat of her heart blasted inside her chest. Useless, she told her heart. It would never happen. She wasn’t up to the fight to save him. She couldn’t imagine ever really, really breaking through his tough hide to the man she’d only glimpsed a couple of times.
The fighting spirit inside her rebelled.
Someone had to save him from himself. Someone had to show him his work was nothing compared to what he could have. Someone had to give him the gift of living life to the fullest.
“What are you thinking?” His low voice was taut with frustration.
She glanced across the seat to meet stormy eyes. What was his problem now? Other than she’d made her escape earlier today. Something he’d alluded to, but seemed to have put behind him.
“Not much.” She certainly wasn’t going to pour out her dilemma to him. The cause of it all.
He muttered an Italian oath under his breath and turned back to his trusty phone, frowning at a message. The lines encircling his lips turned white.
She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand to see him this way.
Slipping across the seat, she placed a hand on his cheek. Turned his mouth to hers and kissed him.
His big body stiffened. His lips went slack beneath hers. She felt the slip of his breath hissing deep in his throat.
Then he changed. In a split second.
His body burned with hot passion along her side. His mouth firmed and took control. His arms surrounded her in a tight, hard grasp. The taste of him filled her as his tongue lanced inside her, pushing into her deeply, sliding along her own tongue and sipping her soul.
Masculine power, male need, potent virility.
“Ti voglio,” he murmured, his lips hovering over hers.
Her arms were around his neck now, her breasts plastered against his chest. With one strong tug from him, she found herself straddling his legs. The heat of him surrounded and enveloped her. The pulse of his passion pounded through her blood. There was no fear, no instinctive need to draw away, to pull away from his touch.
Only him. The smoky light in his eyes, the gentle curl of his hair twining through her fingers, the warmth of his body beneath hers.
“Ti ho volute dal primo momento che ti vedi.” He slurred each word, the richness of his accent making the phrase an ode to seduction.
“What?”
The grey of his eyes turned darker. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you.”
“Me too,” she managed before his mouth took hers once more and she fell headfirst into the lust he always inspired in her.
His big hands slid under her jumper, onto her hot skin. A low, hoarse sound came from him as he touched her, slipping his fingers across her belly and then higher. Higher. She gasped as he reached her sensitive breasts, her tight nipples.
“No bra,” he groaned. “Do you wish to drive every man insane?”
“Only you, Marcus. Only you.” She kissed the side of his cheek, her hands smoothing across his broad shoulders.
He stared at her. “Call me Marc.”
This was important. She didn’t know why. But she knew. “Marc.”
The limo jarred to a stop.
Jerking away, she stared into his face. A wicked smile turned him into the devil incarnate. “Should I tell the driver to keep going, carita? Or would you prefer to take this upstairs where we can be more comfortable?”