The Ranieri Bride

‘I married you because I am crazy,’ he put in as he turned with her still clamped to his body. ‘Mad,’ he expanded. ‘Cut up. Gut-wrenchingly guilty. On fire. In love. Scared of it and you and of losing it all again because I had been too blind to see the truth three years ago.’

‘Because he told you the truth at last?’

‘Because you told me the truth,’ he sighed out impatiently. ‘Because you made me open my eyes and see that damn truth!’

She opened her mouth to say something. He kissed her to stop her from a

rguing and she fell into the kiss the way she always did.

None of this should be happening—none of it! Freya told herself as the familiar fever erupted and she could not stop herself from responding. They still had things to discuss!

‘Later…’ he murmured.

He could even read her mind now. ‘OK,’ she heard herself mumble weakly—and recaptured his mouth.

Just like that—just like that!

‘Madre de Dio, you are a contrary creature,’ he gritted out as he stopped beside the bed and let her feet touch the floor so he could start taking his clothes off.

‘Let me,’ she said and flipped his hands away so her own could do the job.

It was like unwrapping the best wedding present ever. Her man, her possession—she had the vow of love and the gold wedding ring to prove it.

She laughed.

He growled something not very pleasant about teasing women, then sent her flying backwards onto the bed and followed her.

The dress could have been a rag. Maybe she should have married him in a rag, bearing in mind the lack of care and respect he used for the exquisite fabric of her wedding dress as he removed it.

His shirt was hanging open, his trousers half undone. While she knelt up so he could deal with the million and one tiny buttons down the back of her dress, she was busy removing his shoes and socks.

‘No finesse—no finesse,’ she accused the both of them. ‘And it’s my proper wedding night!’

‘We will do the finesse bit later,’ he assured her as the dress fell away to reveal sheer lace-cupped breasts that pouted creamily and a shapely backside dressed in almost nothing at all.

He smoothed his hands possessively over her rear. He leant forward and buried his teeth in its tight satin flesh. She quivered with pleasure and raked off his trousers.

After that, everything was forgotten as passion took over: hungry, sensory, hot, greedy, giving, taking, lusty and loving passion….

More adjectives, Freya thought hazily. Good adjectives. Beautiful, meaningful, wonderful adjectives.

‘I love you so much,’ she sighed out.

His hand curved around her nape, gently tugging it back so he could look into her eyes. It was there. Their greenness was lit by a love he had seen three years before, but only now did he realise that it had been missing recently.

‘I don’t deserve you,’ he responded roughly.

‘I know,’ she smiled. ‘Aren’t you lucky? And you never know, if I’m very persistent I might even get you to say the love word again.’

His dark eyes began to gleam. ‘Maybe, if you press all the right buttons.’

‘Ah,’ she said. It was a challenge. ‘What about this button…?’

‘You green-eyed witch,’ he groaned. ‘Yes. Si—si—si…!’