Ruthlessly Bedded Forcibly Wedded(19)

Cara whirled around, her heart in her mouth, and promptly dropped the jar of pesto on the immaculate slate floor. In an instant Vicenzo was there, bending down to pick up the biggest glass pieces, but the speckled green sauce was splattered everywhere. Her heart was still hammering as she looked down at his dark glossy head. She moved jerkily to help, but gasped in sudden pain as a piece of glass lanced the underside of her bare foot.



Vicenzo stood and caught her expertly just as she was about to lose balance, and before Cara knew it he was lifting her bodily over the mess as if she weighed little more than a feather, sitting her on top of the island in the middle of the kitchen. He bent down to inspect her foot, which was throbbing painfully now.



‘I’m sorry,’ she gritted out. ‘You startled me.’



He lifted her foot into his big warm hands and looked at her briefly, coolly. ‘You shouldn’t have moved.’



Suddenly Cara felt huge emotion well up within her at the way he was so gently holding her foot, at such odds with his coolness. It was almost as if his touch was melting the ice she’d tried to pack around her heart to get through the day. But now everything threatened to overwhelm her… Her eyes smarted and she said chokily, ‘I’m sorry. It was an accident.’



Vicenzo stood to his full height, cradling her foot in his hand, and looked at the downbent head, gleaming dark copper under the lights of the kitchen. Was that true emotion he’d heard in her voice? He’d watched her from the doorway, banging around the kitchen, looking heart-stoppingly young in a plain black T-shirt and black skirt. The black had made his hackles rise. Her hair was caught up haphazardly.



He supposed she must be angry because now she knew she was truly trapped; she’d signed the pre-nuptial agreement that morning and, while she hadn’t shown obvious frustration, it couldn’t have been easy for her to sign away the potential fortune she could have claimed if there had been no agreement. He’d made it starkly obvious and easy; if she left and gave up her rights to the child she’d be compensated well. He didn’t doubt for a second that she would take that option.



Yet he had to admit to himself now that the previous night he’d almost expected her to seduce him—just to try and secure more money for herself…but she hadn’t. He’d jumped on her.



He forced himself to focus on taking out the surprisingly large splinter of glass, hearing her soft gasp of pain as he did so, and then busied himself with getting something to clean the wound. Her gasp of pain had affected him more than he cared to admit. But as he placed a plaster over the cut he became aware of her shoulders shaking, her head still downbent.



He tipped up her face but her eyes were shut tight, her mouth in a thin line. Yet he could see the track of a tear down one cheek. Something moved within him, and instinctively he rubbed it away with a thumb.



‘The splinter is gone now.’



She just nodded jerkily, her jaw tight with tension against his hand. And as Vicenzo looked down at her face all his thoughts scattered in an instant. His blood grew hot. He couldn’t resist doing what he’d held back from doing that night in London, what she’d stopped him from doing earlier…he kissed her.



Shock disabled any defense Cara might have put up if she’d known what Vicenzo was about to do. It was too late. His two hands cradled her head, threading through the strands of her hair, loosening it so that it fell in a heavy mass down her back.





She knew she should fight, but she could barely breathe as she felt Vicenzo’s mouth slant over hers in a warm, intoxicating pressure to open and allow him to deepen the kiss. The pain was still acute, his rejection vivid. And she couldn’t believe she’d just let him see her crying. She was so mixed up; she was here with her mortal enemy, someone who had hurt her deeply, and yet all she wanted to do was sink into his embrace. It was like that first night all over again—the intense building desire drowning out extraneous concerns, the reasons why she shouldn’t want this…



The pressure of his mouth changed, became firmer, harder. His tongue traced along the seam of her tightly shut mouth, and still Cara fought not to give in. But her treacherous heart had started beating again, and the blood pounded through her veins. His mouth feathered kisses all over her lips, touching, tasting… It was becoming a battle of wills, and in that instant something gave way within Cara and she knew she was weakening. She couldn’t win against him. It was too hard to remain rigid and unmoved. The raw emotion was still close to the surface, and she couldn’t be sure she would be able to pull away without shattering completely and revealing herself.



With a tiny, frustrated moan of reluctant supplication Cara softened her lips. Vicenzo clasped her head even tighter and stepped between her legs with his whole body. It made a fire race through her. And then, with devastating and skilful finesse, he kissed her until she could resist no more. Her mouth opened to his totally, accepting the invasion of his tongue, allowing him to taste her exactly as she’d yearned for him to do that night in London.



The mixture of relief and lust was dizzying as her hands crept up over his shoulders to anchor herself in this maelstrom of sensations. Tentatively she allowed her tongue to follow when he retreated, and the heady feeling of tongue touching tongue made her arch to get closer.



Amidst the raging desire, Cara was only hazily aware when he drew back and said throatily, ‘Wrap your legs around me.’ She did it automatically.



He brought a hand down to her bottom and carried her bodily out of the kitchen. She wanted him to kiss her again and never stop kissing her. She wanted him to make her forget, like he had before. And she wanted him with a bone-deep ache. She pressed kisses against his neck, his jaw, anywhere she could reach. The taste of his skin under her mouth was making her blood hum and her belly tighten even more.





When he laid her down on the bed in his room he filled her vision. Cara was incapable of thinking through the ramifications of what was happening. Perhaps if he’d allowed a moment for reality to sink in…but he stripped with impatient haste, and any chance of sanity intruding disappeared when he came down on the bed, gloriously naked beside her, his skin gleaming dark golden in the dim room.



When he reached for the hem of her T-shirt, his fingers against her bare skin made it prickle and her belly contracted. She let him pull it up and off completely, aware of him throwing it away. Her bra was dispensed with. Her breasts felt tight and sensitive, the tips tingling almost painfully, and as he ran a hand over one she arched her back, her eyes closing as she bit her lip.



He drew off her skirt and she felt a moment of trepidation as he looked down into her eyes for a long moment. Finally he bent his head, blocking out the light, and took her mouth in a long, drugging, soul-destroying kiss. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t kiss her again, and for a second had felt all that awful yearning she’d felt before. But now their tongues tangled feverishly and Cara arched into him, relishing the friction of his chest against her breasts.



He pulled her into him even tighter, and with one hand trailing down her back, leaving a line of fire in its wake, he cupped her bottom before pulling her pants off and down her legs. That familiar ache was building and coiling, tighter and tighter, that wetness between her legs… She brought her leg up over his, instinctively opening herself up to him in a way that had him groaning deep in his throat.



Cara put down a hand to touch and feel his silken length, like velvet over steel. He tensed against her and his mouth left hers. She looked into his eyes, saw his cheeks flush. She consciously shut out all concerns. This fire building within her was the anchor she had to cling onto. And she did—with a kind of desperation. She’d dreamt of this during the long sleepless nights since London—much as she hated to admit it.



Vicenzo pulled her leg up higher over his hip and, still facing her, reached down and pulled her hand away from its innocent caress. He found the moist centre of her desire, his fingers searching and seeking for that place where all her nerve-endings seemed to react, and her hands gripped his shoulders, her breath ragged. But he took his hand away and before she could protest she felt the hard masculine core of him thrusting upwards, a hand on her buttocks anchoring her more firmly against him.



She gasped and felt her eyes widen as she felt that intrusion again, deliciously familiar and yet still slightly alien.



She was so inexperienced. Somewhere deep within Vicenzo he recognized that, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t allowed himself to really acknowledge it the first time. Her breasts moved up and down against his chest with her urgent breaths. As he pushed in deeper he felt her accommodate to his size, his length, with a series of convulsive movements, a twitch of her hips. This was what had bewitched him before, made him think that she was more experienced, and yet now he could appreciate the untutored nature of her movements, the gaucheness… He’d dismissed it because it hadn’t fitted with his image, and they’d fitted so well together that he’d not questioned his own assessment. Yet he’d been wrong. But he couldn’t think about that now.