Happy Mother's Day!

‘TAKE down your hair,’ Gianluca instructed silkily. ‘No. You take it down.’

‘Very well, bella donna!’ And he began to untie Aisling’s hair.

The walk to his suite had been the longest of his life and once inside Gianluca had imagined that he might just rip the clothes from her body—but no. Something had made him want to prolong the exquisite anticipation. Instead, he lifted his hand to remove pin after pin, so that streams of her hair fell like dark ribbons over her shoulders and breasts.

Gianluca let out a long sigh of pure desire as he watched it spill down like shadowy water. He had only seen it like this once before and then, as now, it seemed not only to symbolise her sexuality, but also to make her look softer and so much more feminine. Was that why she never normally wore it this way? ‘Why do you hide it away?’ he murmured.

‘Because …’ she swallowed, closing her eyes as he began to stroke his hand down over her hips, as if he were petting a cat ‘… it isn’t practical when it’s loose.’

‘And are you always practical, cara?’

‘Mostly.’

‘This is a pity. Why?’

‘It’s called basic survival. But does it.’ she gasped as he raked his fingers through the ebony tumble, his breath warm on her cheek as he brought her right up close to his hard body ‘. matter?’

No. Maybe not now. In fact, nothing seemed to matter right now other than his urgent need to kiss her.

But the long, leisurely kiss surprised him. Had he thought that he might just take her swiftly in order to appease the terrible sexual hunger which had been eating away at him for weeks? Yet here he was savouring every slow, delicious mouthful.

Aisling swayed—her eyes closing as she gave herself up to the sweetness of his lips. This time they weren’t beneath a starry ceiling of Italian stars, serenaded by the massed choirs of cicadas—but this was still Gianluca of whom she had dreamed. In his arms she could surrender to the powerful ache of her own need and forget everything except pure pleasure.

And this time there were no hordes of people who might come spilling out of a party and catch them. This time they were alone.

The kiss changed—became deeper and more intense. He kissed her until there was no breath in his lungs, until he had to drag his mouth away from hers and suck in some muchneeded air while he steadied himself. And then he groaned, running his hands luxuriantly over her silk-clad body.

‘What is it that you do to me? For you are hot and cold—like the tap,’ he breathed unsteadily. ‘One minute the iceberg and the next—so sexy and so vibrant that it takes my breath away. Is this a clever game you play, Aisling? For you are a clever woman. Do you do this to make me want you more?’

Surely it would be a mistake to tell him that it was uniquely him who could transform her into this wildly passionate creature? Wouldn’t doing that only expose her vulnerability and appeal to his remarkable arrogance? And anyway—how could she think straight when his hands were stroking her like that? ‘It’s not a … game,’ she stumbled.

‘No?’ He kissed her again, flicking his tongue into her mouth. Then what was it? When had he last felt like this? As if this were what he had been created for? Yet with this vitality came an odd and debilitating weakness—a feeling that she had him in her power—and Gianluca sought to wrest it back again, for no woman ever had supremacy over him.

He slid his hand further down, feeling her squirm beneath his fingers as he let it drift down to her thighs and then let out a small groan of dismay. ‘You’re wearing tights!’ he accused hotly. ‘Why not stockings?’

‘Because they’re impractical,’ she breathed. ‘And they can sometimes show, if you’re not careful. Tights are much more suitable for a dress like this.’

‘Not with legs like yours,’ he murmured. But it interested him to think that she was wearing the biggest turnoff known to man. Which suggested that she had not come out tonight with seduction in mind. Either that, or she was playing a remarkably disingenuous game.

He brushed the silken ebony hair back from her pale skin and stared into the blue eyes. ‘Shall I play a game with you?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘Shall I take you now? Here? On the floor? Or up against the wall? Do you have any objections to that, cara?’

Aisling shook her head. Was he trying to shock her? To remind her that this meant nothing more than one night? Her knees weakened as she clung to his broad shoulders. Everything about him was designed to make her want him. The lean, hard body and the muscular shaft of his thigh which was pushing against hers. Only the clinical words jarred—but not enough to make her push him away.

‘Shall I?’ he murmured, skating a provocative little circle at the top of her thigh. ‘Or shall I make you wait?’

But the way he was stroking her was making her tremble. ‘No. Don’t. Anything but that.’ She shook her head as she moved her body distractedly against his. ‘Please don’t make me wait.’ Because it seemed like an eternity since he had last held her like this.

His mouth was at her throat and he smiled with triumph at her eager capitulation. He could feel the pulse of her beating against his lips, her silk-covered breasts pressing against him, and he felt himself growing hard.

And suddenly he didn’t want to wait, either. Couldn’t wait. Not when she was writhing into him like that. Sensual little witch. Even with the tights. With an unexpectedly violent tug, he began to jerk down the side zip of the dress, but he felt a resistance and when he lifted his head to see that it was stuck, he swore in heated Italian. ‘Do something,’ he clipped out. ‘Let me rip the whole damned thing off!’

She stared down at it, hot breath spilling out—tempted to tell him to go right ahead. But years of living from handto-mouth could not be overcome in a moment of passion and Aisling stayed his hand with her own. ‘No!’ she protested. ‘These are the only clothes I have with me. And how can I possibly walk out of here in a ripped dress?’

‘I will send out for a new one,’ he stated arrogantly.

But his words only increased her resolve. She wasn’t some little wannabe—eager to be fobbed off with Gianluca’s charity in the form of a replacement wardrobe. She could buy her own clothes, thank you very much. She shook her head and began to fiddle around with the zip. ‘No. Let me.’

Gianluca’s eyes narrowed for a moment in anger and then he began to laugh. ‘Ever the practical!’ he mocked, but he watched as she freed the zip, and then carefully stepped out of the dress.