The Italian's Future Bride(12)

'You have a lover?' Her chin shot up, her slender neck twisting to show  him blue eyes stark with horror and the glittering evidence of held-in  tears. His inner senses shifted, stirring awake from what had only been a  very light slumber anyway.



'Do you?' he fed back.



'Of course not!' she snapped. 'Do you really think I would have got  involved in any of this if I had a lover who could be embarrassed by  it?'



'Whereas I was not allowed to make that choice,' he pointed out. 'So  stop feeling sorry for yourself,' he finished coolly. 'You are still  less the victim here than I am, so-'



'And you are justso loving being able to keep saying that to me!' Rachel got to her feet, restless, tense without knowing why.



Then she did know and she turned on him. 'So who is she-?' she speared at him as if she had the right to ask such a question.



Which she didn't, as the mocking glint in his eyes told her.



But it did not stop her stupid brain from conjuring up some other leggy  blonde creature with a very expensive pedigree draping herself over him  while he lounged in much the same way he was now-all long limbs and  tight muscles and rampant sex appeal waiting to be adored because it was  his due.



She took in a short breath, despising the heat of jealousy she could  feel burning in her chest, as if a few angry kisses and a sham  announcement had given her exclusive rights of possession over him!



It did not, but nor did it stop her crazy imagination from imprinting  her own image of him. Her heart began pounding out a suffocating rhythm.  This time she couldn't even look away! And to make it so much worse,  having been crushed against him more times than was decent, she could  even smell his sexy scent in her nostrils, feel the warmth of his mouth  and the possessive touch of his hands on her-



'There is no one-fortunately … '



His deep voice slunk into her brain but she had to blink to make herself  hear the words he'd spoken-then blink again to make herself understand  what they meant.



He meant that there was no other lover in his life right now. Her mouth fell dry and her legs went hollow.



'I was just curious as to whether you had a man hanging about in the  wings of this charade, ready to jump out and cause me more trouble.'



'Well, there isn't,' she confirmed and spun away, hating to hear him  make that sardonic denunciation of her character because she knew he had  every right to suspect her of every underhand trick there was going.



'Good,' he said. 'So I can sit here and enjoy looking at my newly  betrothed's fabulous legs without worrying if I am encroaching on  someone else's territory.'



The aforementioned legs tingled. She moved tensely. 'We are not betrothed-'



'And the way the neat shape of herderrière is teasing me as it moves inside that tight little dress … '                       
       
           



       



Rachel swung round. 'Is this your idea of having fun, just to get your own back on me?'



'With compliments?' he quizzed innocently.



'Those are not compliments!'



'You don't like me to tell you that I like what I see-?'



'No-!' she lashed out.



'But it's okay for you to look me over as if you cannot believe your good fortune, is it?'



Rachel froze as a guilty blush ran right up her body and into her face. 'I w-was not-'



'Are your breasts your own?' he cut in on her insolently.



Her mouth dropped open in complete disbelief that he had actually voiced that question. 'How dare you ask me that?' she seethed.



'Easily,' he replied cynically. 'They look real, but who can tell by just looking these days-'



'They are real!' she choked out. 'And I've had enough of this-'



'No, you haven't.'



With only that small hint that something was coming, he sat forward and  snaked an arm around her waist, then tumbled her down on to his lap.



Her cry of alarm doubled as a shimmering gasp when she found herself  contained inside all of that long-limbed, hard-muscled strength.



'W-what do you think you're doing?' Her clenched fists pushed at his shoulders.



The gleam in his eyes mocked her. 'The way you keep looking at me, count yourself lucky that I lasted as long as I did.'



Oh, God, she'd been that obvious? 'You said y-you wouldn't do this-!'



'You are no longer helpless.'



He caught hold of her chin and pushed it upwards, his eyes hiding  beneath half-lowered eyelashes as he waited for her lips to part with  her next cry of protest-then he pounced, dipping his dark head to match  the full pink quivering shape of her mouth with his.



So they'd kissed in anger. They'd kissed in a terrifying state of  untrammelled lust. They'd kissed to shock and to subdue. But this-this  was different. This contained so much hungry, frustrated, heated desire  that it stirred her up more turbulently than any kiss she'd experienced  in her entire life.



He explored her mouth so deeply that the feeling of being taken over  completely drained her of the will to fight. Her clenched fists stopped  pushing and opened to begin stroking in tight, tense, restless movements  that only stopped when she found the warmly scented skin at his nape.



One of his arms held her clamped against him, the other stroked the  length of her silk-covered thigh. Her dress had rucked up and the higher  his hand glided the more she had to brace her inner thighs to try to  contain what was happening there. And her breasts were tight, the  nipples two stinging pinpricks pressing against the solid wall of his  chest through his shirt.



Her fingers became restless again, one set moving to his satin  cheekbone, then down in a delicate tremor to the corners of their  straining mouths. He muttered something as he caught hold of her fingers  and fed them down between them, until she was covering the hard ridge  of aroused flesh pushing at his trousers. Frenzy arrived, a hot feverish  frenzy of mutual desire that had been bubbling beneath the surface ever  since their first kiss. Now it quickly spiralled out of control.



He caught hold of her hair and pulled her head back, his mouth deserting  hers to wreak a trail of hot kisses down the arching stretch of her  throat.



She was writhing with excitement, her skin alive to every brush of his  lips and flickering lick of his tongue. A simple tug and the strap  holding up her dress slipped off her shoulder. As clear air hit the  thrust of her breast his mouth was continuing its delicious torment  across its swollen quivering slope until he claimed the nipple with a  luxurious suck.



An explosion of pleasure swept down from her nipple to low in her body,  making her shudder, making her scythe out hot breaths as she clung to  him.



Then his mouth came back to hers again and his tongue stung deep. Her  deserted nipple was pulsating in protest at the loss of his exquisite  suckling. She groaned into his mouth. He responded by lifting her up and  bringing her back down straddling him without breaking the deep  hot-mouthed kiss. She felt the thickness of his erection and couldn't  stop herself from pressing into it. He encouraged her by clasping the  tight mounds of her behind, now fully exposed because her dress was  bunched to her waist. Flaming heat ignited between her thighs and she  rocked her lower body, her fingers clutching at his silk-black hair.



When he stood up with her she didn't bother to protest. She knew what he  was doing and where he was taking her. How he made it there without  staggering she didn't know because his breathing was shot and his mouth  had still not given up possession of hers.                       
       
           



       



The bed felt soft beneath her as he laid her down on it and she clung to  his neck in case he decided to straighten and leave her, but he did no  such thing.



Her dress was shimmied down her body. He stripped it from her legs with  the deftness of a man who knew the easiest way to undress a woman  without interrupting what was already happening with their mouths. There  was no bra to remove-this dress was not the kind that permitted the  wearing of one-and her stockings held themselves up, which left only her  panties as a flimsy barrier to her complete nudity, but they stayed in  place because he was now busy with his shirt.



She wanted to help; it was a feverish need that sent her fingers frantic  as they tugged at shirt buttons, while his slipped lower to deal with  his trouser-clasp and zip …



An impatient rustle of clothing, the fevered hiss of their breath, the  heated scents from their bodies and the urgent touch of their fingers on  newly exposed eager flesh …



And that deep drugging kiss just did not stop throughout all of it, not  as she explored his muscle-packed contours or throughout each quivering  gasp she made of pleasure when he explored her softer rounded flesh.



The impatient tug he gave at his shoes to remove them coincided with the reckless way that she dragged off his shirt.