Happy Mother's Day!

He knew they were perfect not because the top was suggestively skimpy, but because he had cupped them in his hands, kneaded the warm, firm flesh and aroused the tight pink nipples with his fingers and tongue.

In his head he could hear her hoarse cry of pleasure as she speared her fingers into his hair, holding him close as her body arched with pleasure.

She had been the most exquisitely sensitive creature; even the sound of his voice could draw the most incredible response from her. Still is sensitive … said the voice in his head.

In his mind he visualised the frustration building up in him as a wall, a crumbling wall with several gaping holes in it.

Breathing harder than he did during a strenuous workout he turned to pick up his clothes from the floor, presenting his back to her. The breathing space afforded him an opportunity to regain some degree of control over the compelling overpowering urge he had to slide his hand under that top and stroke the warm silky skin it covered.

Erin, who had been staring at the smooth, graceful lines of his strong, golden-skinned back with longing, blushed guiltily when he straightened up and looked at her. His lashes skimmed the hard angle of his cheekbones as his darkened glance dropped to her mouth and stayed there.

Erin’s own lashes came down in a dark silky screen. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ she said severely.

‘There are some levels at which we work very well, Erin.’

She gave a shrug that was meant to convey supreme indifference to the honeyed implication, but spoilt the effect by being unable to hold his gaze.

‘This blushing ingénue act is a little misplaced when you’re talking to a man who has an intimate knowledge of your body.’

Erin’s head lifted with a jerk. ‘If you think I find your arrogance arousing.’ she gritted her teeth and felt the heat fly to her cheeks ‘.and if you think you can embarrass me, Francesco.’ The wolfish grin that spread across his lean face made her voice dry.

‘Oh, I know I can do that, mia bella.’ Their eyes locked and his dangerous smile faded, leaving an intense burning look that was infinitely more dangerous. It was also exciting, but Erin refused to acknowledge this even to herself.

‘What are you doing, Francesco?’ she asked, trying to sound calm and practical and feeling neither as he began to walk slowly but with purpose towards her.

Framing her face in one big hand, he smiled. It was a smile that stripped away the thin veneer of urbane charm he presented to the world. When she looked into his midnight eyes Erin saw the raw, untamed, masculine heart of him.

Her pulses leapt in wild response to the primitive need stamped into every angle and plane of his strong, heartbreakingly beautiful face.

He wanted her, but not in the same way she wanted him; he wasn’t capable of that. She knew there could only ever be sex between them, but the emotions that ached in her throat didn’t understand the distinction.

The fear and fascination she felt was mirrored in her eyes as she looked through her lashes at his face.

His thumb moved gently over the curve of her cheek and her eyelids fluttered briefly. It was a light butterfly caress, but more than enough to vaporise every instinct for self-preservation she possessed.

‘I’m doing this, cara mia,’ he explained in a voice as thick and rich as warm honey. His burning dark eyes roamed over her face, examining every inch of the smooth, peachy pale skin with a hungry intensity, as though he was committing each individual freckle, every soft hollow and curve to memory.

Erin’s throat ached and her heart thudded against her breastbone as, light-headed with anticipation, she waited to feel his mouth on hers. She was sure that if Francesco didn’t kiss her soon she would become the first documented case of someone dying from not being kissed.

A whimper of relief caught in her throat when he did finally bend his dark head and fit his mouth to hers. It was as if she had been waiting a lifetime for this to happen. He kissed her slowly, tasting her, deepening the kiss as her lips parted under the seductive pressure and friction of his mouth.

With a lost sigh Erin slid her slim arms around his neck and leaned into him. She met the stabbing incursions of his tongue with her own, moaning into his mouth and tangling her fingers into the heavy silky strands of his dark hair.

When he lifted her into his arms she did not resist but moaned softly into his mouth. She lay curled up in his arms, her hands linked around his neck, her fingers trailing into the hair on his nape as he strode swiftly down the hallway to a room at the far end and kicked open the door with his foot.

Once inside he walked purposefully over to the large fourposter bed and laying her on it, came to kneel beside her.

The tightness in her chest increased as her hungry gaze roamed over his smooth golden skin. The blood pounded in her ears as she looked at him; he was so beautiful it hurt.

‘This is probably not a good idea,’ she observed in a tone that invited—no, begged for—denial.

‘Do you care?’

Her eyes lifted to his face.

Francesco’s dark, restless glance repeatedly drifted towards her mouth as though drawn by invisible forces to the soft, full, quivering outline.

‘Well, do you?’ he challenged throatily.