“Yes,” he said, and he grasped her slender thighs and brought them around his hips.
He thought of taking her to his hotel. To her apartment. To a place where he could undress her, touch her, watch her eyes as he entered her.
But not now.
Now, he needed this. Needed her. Needed to bury himself in her, needed it more than his next breath.
Locked in a dance as old as time, mouths fused in mutual hunger, Nicolo carried Aimee to the marble vanity. Sat her on its edge. Fumbled between them. Unzipped. Freed himself. Put his hand between her thighs, groaning as he felt the wet heat of her against his fingers, and tore aside the scrap of silk that kept her from him.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She did, fixing those incredible violet eyes on his face.
“Yes,” she said, and he thrust forward, sank into her, felt her close around him.
She cried out instantly; he felt the pulse of her muscles as she came and then he exploded within her, came in a rush of almost unbearable ecstasy.
She trembled.
Then she gave a little sob and dropped her head on his shoulder.
Nicolo put his arms around her. Stroked her silken hair. Whispered to her, his native language soft on his tongue while he tried to figure out what in hell had just happened.
This was not the first time he’d had quick, hot sex. It was not the first time he’d had sex in the hidden heart of a public place.
Both could be exciting.
The truth was, sex was always exciting. But this, what had just happened…He’d never experienced anything like it.
He didn’t even know this woman’s name.
He hadn’t used a condom.
Madre del dio, was he losing his mind?
And then she sighed. Her breath tickled his throat. She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty, her mouth gently swollen from his kisses, and Nicolo forgot everything but the soft, sweet feel of her mouth, her arms, her thighs.
“I don’t—I don’t know what happened.” Her voice was shaky, her face white except for two spots of color high on her cheeks. “I never—God, I never—”
“No. Nor have I.”
She started to speak again and he knew what she would say, that this was wrong, that he had to let her go.
He knew of only one way to keep her from saying those words.
He kissed her.
Gently at first but then—then, the fierce wave of desire swept over him. And over her. He felt her swift intake of breath, the whispered plea against his lips, and suddenly he was deep inside her again, rocking against her, swallowing her cries, coming when she came and knowing that it still wasn’t enough, that he needed more….
Someone pounded on the locked door.
The woman in his arms blanched.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, but she shook her head.
“No. Someone’s outside. They’ll see—”
He brushed his lips over hers. Then he set her on her feet and did what needed to be done to make himself presentable. She did the same, but he saw that her hands were shaking.