"The lady protests too much." The complete confidence in his voice was maddening.
"Dante," she blurted out. "I am not going to marry you. Ever."
Silence fell.
Finally, his black brows lifted. "I believe it is customary to wait until you are asked before giving your answer."
"Opportunity. Potential. Customary." The words rushed out of her, in an agitated wash of frustration at his insistence on labeling anything with emotion as merely a formality. "Are you alive in there? Do you have a heart anymore?"
His dark eyes blazed with a sudden flash of fury. "Keep putting me down. You only make me more determined."
"That's supposed to scare me? Impress me?"
"I won't give up." Moonlight spilled across the flinty muscles in his face. "I won't stop."
Relentless. Persistent. Stubborn.
A terrible exhaustion hit her. She stumbled to the other side of the tree and tried to still the thudding of her heart and head.
"I have decided." His voice was velvet over steel. "You are mine."
"Your decision? Yours only?" With a bang, her exhaustion flew away in the soft night air. The violent urge to push him until he exploded was more than she could resist. Turning, she pinned him with her glare. "A decision that involves me? And I'm supposed to go along with it?"
The dusky shadows of the night filtered around his broad shoulders as he stood still.
"Let me guess," she continued to prod. "You make the decision and I submit."
He stiffened.
"You make all the decisions, and they're always the right ones, aren't they?"
A disparaging sound came from his throat.
"I shouldn't worry my silly little head about anything. I should coo and giggle and do just what you tell me to do."
"Dio santo," he groaned. "You drive me crazy."
"Right. Exactly right. And it's not what you want, is it? You said so yourself."
"I won't let you do this," he muttered. "I won't let you do this to me."
"Ditto. I won't let you do this to me either." She stepped away, one step towards escape. "I won't let you put me in a tidy little box you control."
His hand slashed in an arc of rejection. "That is not-"
"It is." Another step away. "We are bad for each other. In every way."
"Is that so." With one stride, he was upon her. Grabbing her arms, he pulled her into his heated body. "Not in every way, damn you."
His head came down, his lips pressed on hers. His tongue dove into her mouth, pushing her, pulling her, coaxing her into his stormy need. In the dim regions of her mind, Lara heard a voice, laughing, taunting her...this is what you wanted, isn't it? … this is what you pushed for, wasn't it?
Was it? Was this what she wanted? The cold man now hot with need. The cool customer now panting with desire she'd created inside him. The haughty aristocrat brought low by his uncontrollable lust for her.
A shiver of delighted horror ran through her. Because she knew the truth. In an instant.
Yes. She wanted this. She wanted him.
Her mouth softened, then sucked him in.
He groaned in response and with one swift turn, he had her pinned to the rough bark of the tree. Yet all she felt was the heat pouring from his skin. All she felt was the air around them burn with passion. All she felt was her heart and body open to him.
To Dante.
Skidding his lips down, he nipped her chin before licking the side of her neck. A pure zip of adrenaline flooded her nerves and blood and body. Gasping, she tried to find a foothold, something to stop herself from falling completely under his spell.
But she found no help. Only him.
His hands tightened their grip on her. "Abbracciami," he husked.
Hold me.
His heated demand shot through her and before she could process it in her brain, her arms settled on his warm, wide shoulders.
"Sei bella." His breath rasped along her neck and cheek and then he covered her mouth. His tongue swept over her lips, slipping past her teeth and sliding across her own. He lifted her into him, pressing his erection on the most sensitive part of her.
She panted as the heat and power of him flamed against her.
And she lost the last lingering desire to keep herself from him.
Her hands moved across his neck into his hair. The softness was surprising after the hardness of his muscled shoulders. She weaved her fingers through the beginning of curl, her dazed sight watching the moonlight casting a glint of silver on his dark locks. Smoothing her hand down, she touched the warmth of him, the moisture gathering on the skin of his neck before she hit the top of his shirt.
The man burned, burned for her.
"Lara," he moaned. His hips pressed deeper into her, pinning her to the rough bark as both of his hands moved forward to gently cup her breasts.
She wore no bra underneath her simple silk dress. The tiny straps over her shoulders wouldn't allow for any kind of proper bra. This fact, combined with the heat of the day, had made her go without, needing only a short-sleeved cotton jumper for the church. Yet never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought of him touching her breasts and how wonderful it felt as his fingers slid on the thin silk.
His palms covered her, lifting the weight, plumping the curves closer together. The warmth of his skin penetrated the silk, heating her flesh. He softly plucked and played with her nipples. The electric zip she experienced made her arch.
Asking for more.
His groan broke through the mist of her mind for a moment, but then he flicked one of her straps down her arm and bared one breast. Before she could gather a thought, his scorching, wet mouth was on her, sucking and licking. She lost control of her thoughts, her body. He played for a long time, far longer than a ruthless businessman should have time for. Finally, he slipped the other strap off and concentrated his formidable attention on her other breast.
Sexual lightning crackled through her bloodstream.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relish the feel of a man tugging on her nipple, touching and smoothing his hand on the roundness of her breast. In her imaginings over the years, never had she understood the depths of the pleasure a man, this man, could bring to her body. The momentary thought popped into her brain: she'd never experienced such bliss. Before she could analyze this amazing discovery further, though, he slid one hand across her hip, under her dress, and into the vee of her legs.
She lost focus. She only felt.
"So hot. So wet." His deep voice slipped across the skin of one breast and tickled her nipple.
She couldn't swallow the moan of pure pleasure. The man was an artist. He played and dallied, and took his time as if he were sipping a vintage wine or contemplating a Michelangelo masterpiece. She hadn't expected this. None of this. She hadn't …
His head abruptly reared up and his mouth took hers and she was pulled into the flow of passion, her thoughts scattering into the still Italian night. Her eyes dimmed as his demanding tongue touched her own. She only heard the beat of her heart and blood as it heated her skin. Her focus narrowed to the man standing between her legs, pushing his hard erection into her, and then easing off. Then moving on her again. Only the thin silk of her thong and the smooth wool of his pants separated them.
The sound of her thong ripping jerked her head up. "Dante."
"Shhh," he breathed against her skin, licking her, tasting her essence. "Let me take care of you."
Sudden tears blurred her sight. In all her dreams of sex, all her long nights alone in bed over the years, she'd run through thousands of images. Of him. Dante naked and wanting, his body next to hers. Loving her and taking care of her needs.
Let me take care of you.
Not an adult taking care of a child. Or a controlling husband taking care of an incapable wife. No, she'd dreamt of a man taking care of his woman. She'd dreamt of this and now it was a reality.
His lips brushed across her cheeks and he stilled his fingers on the soft curls between her legs. "Lara?"
"Don't stop." She moved her hips in an instinctive feminine twist.
He didn't listen to her, taking a step away. "Why are you crying?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Mio Dio." His hand left her aching as he reached for her arms slung around his shoulders, apparently intent on stopping what was happening between them. "Certainly it matters."
A frantic, fierce desire stormed through her. Jerking herself from his grasp, she lifted her hands and fisted them in his hair, bringing his mouth to hers. Using skills she didn't know she had, she tasted him with her tongue, rubbed her bare breasts on the sleek feel of his shirt. He burned, the silk damp with his need. No longer cold. No longer distant.