‘Signore doce in nel cielo!’ he groaned. He couldn’t remember the last time it had felt like this. And although he couldn’t work out why it should feel that way—and why with this woman—at that moment he didn’t care. Deliberately he circled his hips against her, so that she could feel the rock-hard cradle of him.
The tight band of wanting inside her snapped, exploded into a need so fervent that Eve was swept away by it. She ran her fingers through his hair while he kissed her, his lips moving from mouth to cheek, to neck and back to her mouth again, and she was transported into a whole new land. A place where nothing mattered other than the moment, and the moment was now.
‘Luca!’
It was a strangled little cry. A pleading. A prayer. A need which matched his. He had thought that she might try to resist him and he was taken aback by her eagerness. With an effort he dragged his lips from the pure temptation of hers, his breathing ragged, his normal sang-froid briefly deserting him. For this was wild and sweet and instant and unexpected. Like being driven by a terrible aching hunger and stumbling upon a feast.
He captured her face between his hands, his eyes burning into her. ‘Your bed?’ he demanded. ‘Take me there—now.’
Dear Lord! Her blood was on fire—any minute now and she would go up in flames. She felt strength and weakness in equal measures, overwhelmed by a desire which banished everything other than the need to have him close to her, as close as it was possible for a man and woman to be.
But it was not right. It could not possibly be. How did he see her—as one of those women driven only by some kind of carnal hunger? And, more importantly, how would this make her feel about herself?
With an effort she tore herself away from the temptation of his arms. ‘No. Stop it. I mean it. I can’t.’
He stilled, his eyes narrowing in question, feeling the deep, dark throb of frustration. He steadied his breathing. ‘What?’ The word came out as hard and clipped as gunfire.
‘I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Luca. I got carried away.’ His face was like stone, but she guessed she couldn’t blame him. She had behaved like the worst kind of woman—she had led him on and left him wanting, and left herself aching into the bargain.
‘You certainly did.’
‘It’s just…hopeless, isn’t it?’
He arched her a look of imperious query. ‘Hopeless?’
She shrugged her shoulders as if in a silent request that the sudden icy set of his features might melt, but she met no answering response. ‘Of course it’s hopeless—you live in Rome, I live in England.’
His laugh was sardonic. ‘I thought we were going to spend the afternoon in bed,’ he drawled. ‘I wasn’t planning to link up our diaries for all eternity!’
She stared at him. ‘How very opportunistic of you!’
‘Only a fool doesn’t seize opportunity when he is presented with it.’
And only a fool would give him house-room after a statement like that.
‘I think you’d better leave, don’t you?’ she said, in a low voice.
‘I think perhaps I had.’ The black eyes were lit now, sparking with angry fire. ‘But perhaps I could give you a word of advice for the future, cara.’ He drew a deep, unsteady breath. ‘Don’t you think it unwise to lead a man on to such a point if you then change your mind so abruptly? Not every man would be as accepting of it as I am.’
She stared at him incredulously. ‘What are you saying?’ she demanded. ‘That I have no right to change my mind? That “no” sometimes means “yes”?’
‘That is not what I am saying at all,’ he ground out heatedly. ‘I mean that a lot of men might have attempted to persuade you to change your mind.’
‘Well, they wouldn’t have succeeded!’
‘Oh, really?’ The black eyes mocked her, challenged her. ‘I think you delude yourself, Eve. I think we both know that if I had continued to kiss you, then your submission would have been inevitable.’
‘Submission?’ she demanded incredulously. ‘Submission? Tell me, just which century do you think you’re living in?’ She stared at him furiously. ‘Words like that imply some kind of gross inequality. When I make love with a man, I don’t submit, and neither does he! It’s equal. It’s soft. It’s gentle—’
He gave a short laugh. ‘You make it sound like knitting a sweater!’
Her cheeks flamed as she instantly understood the implication behind his words. That it would not be soft and gentle with him, and her pulses leapt even as she steeled her heart against him. ‘Just go. Go. Please.’
‘I am going,’ he said, in a voice which was coiled like a snake with tension, though not nearly as tense as his aching body. ‘But something like this cannot be left unfinished.’
Oh, but it could!
His eyes glittered. ‘Goodbye, cara,’ he said softly.