“Four…”
Maximo stroked her cheek, tilting up her head as, with agonizing slowness, he lowered his mouth near hers. “What don’t you want?”
“Three…”
Her lips were full, swollen beneath his gaze. Her breasts were taut, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.
“A kiss,” she whispered.
“Two…”
Saying a kiss caused her lips to brush against his. Her mouth sizzled, sending waves of longing from the tip of her tongue to the sudden ache between her legs.
Desire for him arched her body like an electric current—desire she was fighting with all her might. She couldn’t let him kiss her. She couldn’t let him start their marriage off that way. If she did, who knew where it would end?
“One! Happy New Year!”
The whole suite went crazy, embracing each other and tossing party hats in the air. The string quartet burst into a rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.”
And her dark prince kissed her.
His lips were featherlight. She tried to push him away, battering at his shoulders, but as his kiss became more passionate, more ardent, she sagged in his arms. He drew her closer. His large hands wrapped around her hips, holding her firmly against his body. There was no space between them as his tongue flicked against her mouth, spreading her lips, entwining her in a sensual caress.
His kiss shot through her, pulsing a burst of light down her veins, exploding from her fingertips and toes. A blast of desire crashed through her like lightning splitting the sky.
She forgot the guests around them—the senators and starlets.
Forgot the thirty million dollars.
Forgot she’d vowed never to give herself to another man.
She knew only that this was meant to be. She was meant to be his woman…
An eternity—or a second—later, he drew away from her. And he looked down into her star-filled eyes.
“Sì, cara, sì,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “You’ll be mine.”
His at last.
As his Gulfstream IV jet began the descent into Milan, Maximo closed his laptop and looked at his new bride. She was sleeping on the white leather sofa across from his, cuddling her slumbering baby in her arms.
Lucia Ferrazzi. Per miracolo, he’d found her. And with the prenuptial agreement, he’d made sure that she and her daughter would be protected and safe forever. He’d never need to feel guilty again. He’d be free.
And his revenge on her grandfather was at hand. For the rest of the old man’s life—however short it might be—he would know that he’d lost everything to Maximo. His precious company. His granddaughter. Giuseppe Ferrazzi would believe that Lucia loved her husband. He would see her and she would be completely under Maximo’s control.
The old man would hear that his granddaughter and great-granddaughter had been found, but he would never be allowed to speak to either of them. Giuseppe Ferrazzi would die penniless. Alone. Just as he deserved.
Maximo’s lips curved into a smile. He glanced at his bride. But dannazione, the girl was no fool. He’d thought it would be so easy to seduce her. He’d seen the kind of life she led—the constant struggle, the deprivation, the fight for survival. Women always fell to him so easily; he’d never once considered that he could propose marriage to Lucia and she would refuse.
Her mistake. She’d issued him a challenge. He’d accepted.
And now that he’d kissed her…
Maximo looked at Lucia, sleeping on the sofa. Her ponytail was so disheveled that i
t barely clung to her head above the cascading dark tendrils. She’d taken off her glasses, and her fresh-scrubbed skin glowed like porcelain.
There was something about her. Some quality beneath the dowdy clothes. A steely strength, a soft vulnerability. She was different from any woman he’d known.