Emily: Sex and Sensibility (The Wilde Sisters 1)

“I’m not a small-town girl. Not really.”

“Dallas is a big city, cara, but it could not have prepared you for New York or the kind of neighborhood in which I found you.”

Emily’s chin came up. Dio, he loved the way she did that, all her determination and independence shown in one small, perfectly feminine gesture.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be desperate for a job?”

“I know precisely what it is like.” His voice hardened. “I know what it is like to have to take work you hate. To sweat and struggle because you have no one to help you. No one who can pay your bills or see that you don’t have to worry about putting food in your belly.”

“See? That’s what I mean about our being strangers. I have family. And they would have helped me if—”

“If they could. I am sure that is true, cara. But clearly they couldn’t.”

“You don’t understand. My relationship with them is—”

“Difficult? Ah, sweetheart, I am sorry.” His hands cupped her shoulders. “But you have me now.” His gaze drifted the length of her body; he felt his muscles tighten, his blood start to thicken. “And we have more important things to do tonight than talk.”

He bent his head, kissed the place where her throat and shoulder joined. How could a simple kiss be so electrifying?

“That’s not fair,” she whispered. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

His laugh was rough and low and sexy.

“I am indeed. Why would I want to talk about anything but you and me and how you look right now? So beautiful. So well-loved—and yet, not loved enough.”

“Marco. Please listen to me.”

“I am listening.” He laid his hand over her breast. “I can feel what your heart is saying, that you need me to make love to you again.”

She wanted to deny it but he was right. She needed the strength of his embrace, the heat of his body, the taste of his skin. She wanted him, all of him. It was a wonderful feeling. A terrifying feeling. To give herself over so completely to a man when she had never, ever dreamed of doing something that would leave her so vulnerable, so exposed.

He lifted her face to his and kissed her. She told herself not to respond but, God, the feel of his mouth on hers, the touch of his hands…

“How does this thing fasten?” He turned her so that her back was to him. “Hooks? Buttons? Ah. A zipper.”

“You’re impossible,” she said, so softly, so sweetly that he felt his pulse thud.

“Not wanting to make love to you again is what is impossible.”

The gown slid slowly off her shoulders, exposing golden, silky skin. He swept her hair aside, bent his head and pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck.

“I love the taste of you,” he said thickly.

And she loved the feel of his mouth on her flesh. The delicate nip of his teeth. She moaned, leaned back against him and turned her head so she could offer him her lips. He captured them with his, swept the tip of his tongue into her honeyed mouth and as he did, he slid his hands inside the gown and cupped her breasts.

Her moan of pleasure sent a jolt of need straight to his balls. He closed his eyes as his fingers moved over her lace-covered nipples.

The front clasp of the bra came apart in his hands and joined the silk thong he had torn away only moments ago.

Her gown began slipping down her body. She caught at it but he clasped her wrists and the gown fell to her waist, her hips, her thighs.

It fell to the floor and pooled at her ankles.

She was naked now.

Almost naked.

All she wore were the impossibly skinny heels and the filmy black stockings.