stiffened. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he is the only man to feature here.’ His voice was level. ‘Were there no previous men in your life, Flora mia ? No minor indiscretions of any kind? Or have they been whitewashed away too?’
‘I’ve had other boyfriends,’ she said coldly. ‘But no one who mattered. All right?’
He looked down again at the photograph, his mouth twisting. ‘And he means the world to you—as you do to him?’
‘Of course. Why do you keep asking me all these questions.’
‘Because I want to know all about you, mia cara . Every last thing.’
Her throat tightened. ‘But no one can ever know another person that well.’
‘Then perhaps I shall be the first.’ He closed the photograph album and laid it aside. He rose, taking off his jacket and tossing it across the back of the sofa, then walked across to her, taking her hands in his and pulling her to her feet. She went unresistingly, her heart beating a frantic, alarmed tattoo, her eyes widening in a mixture of panic and strange excitement.
He said softly, ‘And I shall start with your mouth.’
‘No,’ Flora said hoarsely as his arms went round her, drawing her against the hard heat of his body. ‘You can’t. You said—you promised—that I’d be safe tonight.’
‘And so you have been, mia bella .’ There was laughter in his voice, mingled with another note, more dangerous, more insidious. ‘But midnight has come and gone. It is no longer tonight, but tomorrow. And from this moment on I guarantee nothing.’
He added softly, ‘You can command me not to touch you, but not to stop wanting you. Because that has become impossible.’
Then he bent his head, and his lips met hers.
CHAPTER FOUR
S OME distant voice in her mind was telling her that she should fight him. That she should kick, bite and punch, if necessary, before the warmth of his mouth on hers sapped every last scrap of resistance from her being.
That she should hang on, with every ounce of will she possessed, to her life—her safe, planned future with Chris.
And to her reason—her sanity.
But it was too late. Indeed, she realised helplessly, it had always been too late—from that first time she had seen him in the restaurant. And, even more, from that fleeting moment when his lips had first touched hers.
It was pointless to remind herself that she had no moral right to be doing this. That she was engaged—committed—soon to be married. That this was a madness she could not afford. Because logic, reason, even decency no longer seemed to matter.
And the most shaming thing of all was that he was using no force—because he didn’t have to. Because her lips were already parting in acceptance, and welcome. And with a growing hunger she was no longer able to disguise, even had she wanted to.
Her mind—her will—was in free fall—cascading into surrender.
And the hands which had been braced in the beginnings of protest against the wall of his chest lifted and locked at the nape of his neck.
At first it was a gentle, almost leisurely exploration of her mouth, as if he was learning the taste—the texture of her. Then, slowly, the kiss deepened, imposing new demands. Testing the outer limits of her control. And his.
Her body was pressed against him, making her aware that he was powerfully aroused. The hurry of his heartbeat seemed translated into her own being.
He pushed a hand into her hair, twining the silky strands round his fingers, drawing her head backwards so that the long, lovely line of her throat was exposed and vulnerable to the lingering passage of his caress. His lips found the pink shell of her ear, then travelled down to the frantic tumult of her pulse.
She gasped as she felt the heated, animal surge in her blood. As his lips encountered the delicate hollows at the base of her throat, pushing aside the narrow strap, baring the curve of her shoulder.
The long fingers found the rounded curve of her breast, moulding it
‘Because he is the only man to feature here.’ His voice was level. ‘Were there no previous men in your life, Flora mia ? No minor indiscretions of any kind? Or have they been whitewashed away too?’
‘I’ve had other boyfriends,’ she said coldly. ‘But no one who mattered. All right?’
He looked down again at the photograph, his mouth twisting. ‘And he means the world to you—as you do to him?’
‘Of course. Why do you keep asking me all these questions.’
‘Because I want to know all about you, mia cara . Every last thing.’
Her throat tightened. ‘But no one can ever know another person that well.’
‘Then perhaps I shall be the first.’ He closed the photograph album and laid it aside. He rose, taking off his jacket and tossing it across the back of the sofa, then walked across to her, taking her hands in his and pulling her to her feet. She went unresistingly, her heart beating a frantic, alarmed tattoo, her eyes widening in a mixture of panic and strange excitement.
He said softly, ‘And I shall start with your mouth.’
‘No,’ Flora said hoarsely as his arms went round her, drawing her against the hard heat of his body. ‘You can’t. You said—you promised—that I’d be safe tonight.’
‘And so you have been, mia bella .’ There was laughter in his voice, mingled with another note, more dangerous, more insidious. ‘But midnight has come and gone. It is no longer tonight, but tomorrow. And from this moment on I guarantee nothing.’
He added softly, ‘You can command me not to touch you, but not to stop wanting you. Because that has become impossible.’
Then he bent his head, and his lips met hers.
CHAPTER FOUR
S OME distant voice in her mind was telling her that she should fight him. That she should kick, bite and punch, if necessary, before the warmth of his mouth on hers sapped every last scrap of resistance from her being.
That she should hang on, with every ounce of will she possessed, to her life—her safe, planned future with Chris.
And to her reason—her sanity.
But it was too late. Indeed, she realised helplessly, it had always been too late—from that first time she had seen him in the restaurant. And, even more, from that fleeting moment when his lips had first touched hers.
It was pointless to remind herself that she had no moral right to be doing this. That she was engaged—committed—soon to be married. That this was a madness she could not afford. Because logic, reason, even decency no longer seemed to matter.
And the most shaming thing of all was that he was using no force—because he didn’t have to. Because her lips were already parting in acceptance, and welcome. And with a growing hunger she was no longer able to disguise, even had she wanted to.
Her mind—her will—was in free fall—cascading into surrender.
And the hands which had been braced in the beginnings of protest against the wall of his chest lifted and locked at the nape of his neck.
At first it was a gentle, almost leisurely exploration of her mouth, as if he was learning the taste—the texture of her. Then, slowly, the kiss deepened, imposing new demands. Testing the outer limits of her control. And his.
Her body was pressed against him, making her aware that he was powerfully aroused. The hurry of his heartbeat seemed translated into her own being.
He pushed a hand into her hair, twining the silky strands round his fingers, drawing her head backwards so that the long, lovely line of her throat was exposed and vulnerable to the lingering passage of his caress. His lips found the pink shell of her ear, then travelled down to the frantic tumult of her pulse.
She gasped as she felt the heated, animal surge in her blood. As his lips encountered the delicate hollows at the base of her throat, pushing aside the narrow strap, baring the curve of her shoulder.
The long fingers found the rounded curve of her breast, moulding it
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