Relief had flooded through him, but he knew there was more to be said.
“Still, I should have thought—” He’d paused. “You need to know that I am free of disease,” he’d said, hating the way passion had succumbed to science.
“So am—”
Marco had stopped her with a kiss. Of course she was free of disease. She was Emily.
And if he had made her pregnant, he thought now, he would ha
ve done the right thing. Married her. Raised their child with her. It would have been the right thing. That would have been why he would have done it, the only reason, because marriage or children or even permanence in a relationship was not on the agenda…
Deep, deep within him, some emotion he could not quite identify fluttered its wings.
“What are you thinking?” Emily said softly.
Marco bent to her, captured her lips with his, drew her into a deep kiss that left her breathless and left him aching.
“I was thinking about my dream. Shall I tell you what it was?”
She smiled and put her palm against his jaw. The dark stubble was soft against her skin.
“Yes.”
“I dreamed of you,” he said in a low voice. “Just like this. All golden hair and creamy skin. I imagined you in my bed, wanting me as I wanted you.”
Her heart beat picked up, became a staccato beat at the dark edge in his words. When he cupped her breast and teased her nipple between his fingers, she could feel that edge of danger in his touch.
“You’re always so sure of yourself,” she heard herself whisper. “What if you were wrong about me wanting you?”
The look in his eyes sent a wave of honeyed excitement licking along her skin.
“Then I’d take you anyway. I’d ravish you until you begged for mercy.” He bent his head, tongued her nipples. “And if you begged, “he said in a rough growl, “I would ignore your plea because you are mine, inamorata, to do with as I wish.”
Dio, what was he doing? Hell, he knew the answer. He was driving them both toward the edge of a cliff. He could feel every muscle in his body trembling and Emily was right there with him, trembling, making incoherent little sounds, lifting her hips so that his swollen penis brushed against her slick, hot skin.
“I was merciless,” he whispered.
“How?” she said, so softly that the word seemed to drift on the still air.
“I captured your hands,” he growled, curving his fingers around her wrists. “And raised them high over your head.”
Her body arched toward his as he drew her arms up.
She cried out.
Her lover’s sweat glittered on his wide shoulders and tight torso. His face was that of a conqueror.
She shuddered.
This was torment.
This was paradise.
It was too much.
It was not enough.
Her lashes fell to her cheeks. A rainbow of light shimmered against her closed eyelids.