The Sicilian's Innocent Mistress

He had known he wasn’t going to like the explanation for Darci’s strange behaviour towards him, but until this moment he’d had no idea just how much he wasn’t going to like it.

The whole of their relationship had been based upon Darci’s plan to exact revenge for what she considered his callous treatment of her friend. It had become obvious that Darci herself didn’t even like him!

She liked it when he touched her, though—and that was what he intended doing right now!

‘You can’t do this, Luc,’ Darci protested, as she saw that intent in his dark eyes.

‘But I thought this was exactly what you believed I could and would do, Darci?’ he came back tauntingly, and he moved so that his hands rested on the wall either side of her head and his body was moulded against hers from chest to thigh. The heated throb of his hardened thighs told Darci all too clearly of his arousal. An arousal fuelled by anger rather than desire…

‘No!’ was all she had time to groan before Luc’s head bent down and his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that seared.

Punished.

Consumed.

Conquered…

She was caught, captured between the hard wall behind her and the equally hard wall of Luc’s body, as his mouth continued to plunder hers, taking it, claiming it for his own. His tongue moved between her parted lips in a hard thrust at the same time as his thighs moved evocatively against hers and melted all resistance.

She wanted this man.

Wanted Luc.

Wanted him with an ache that was almost painful in its intensity.

Luc increased the pressure of his mouth on hers, and he heard Darci’s groan of surrender only seconds before she angled her head and began to kiss him back, to take and demand his response. Her arms moved up about his shoulders and her fingers became entangled in the thickness of the hair at his nape.

He was furious with this woman—more furious than he had ever been before in his life.

For deliberately enticing him into asking her out when all the time she was intent only on retribution. For not believing him when he claimed he had no idea what or who she was talking about as she accused him of hurting her friend Mellie.

But none of that seemed to matter now as their kisses deepened, became hungry, a sweet torture—until just kisses weren’t enough, and Luc knew he had to touch her, that he wanted to feel Darci’s naked flesh in his hands, to kiss and touch every heated inch of her until she was pleading for his possession.

He pushed her T-shirt out of the way, his eyes dark as he looked down at the breasts he had bared, so firm and upsweeping, their tips already as hard as pebbles. He reached to roll one between his thumb and finger, raising his head to watch as pleasure suffused Darci’s face, heavy lids falling down over misty green eyes as she pressed herself closer against his hand in silent invitation.

Luc took up that invitation as he reached down to clasp one of her legs and bring it up about his thigh. He moved in closer to her, his hardness pressing against silk as he began to move against her, knowing from the way Darci melted against him and her increasingly breathless groans that his erection was rubbing at the very heart of her pleasure.

He wanted to release himself, push aside that silk barrier and bury himself inside her. Deep inside her. Wanted to bury himself to the hilt before stroking deep and hard. Wanted to bring Darci to her knees as she released herself hotly around him.

Instead his hands moved up to capture both of hers, moving them above her head before grasping them tightly in one of his, leaving his other hand free to capture those invitingly thrusting breasts, kneading, caressing, but not quite touching the turgid nipple as he looked down at Darci’s flushed face and feverish eyes.

‘Please, Luc!’ Darci breathed achingly as she offered herself to him. ‘Oh, please…!’

Oh, yes, he would please her. He intended pleasuring Darci until she begged. Intended her to know that no woman had ever gone away from his bed less than satisfied, let alone bent on the type of revenge she had tried to exact on him.

‘Tell me what you want, Darci,’ he encouraged hardly.

She looked stricken as she shook her head. ‘I can’t…!’

‘Yes, you can,’ he assured her softly, his fingertips now like butterfly wings against her breast. ‘Tell me, Darci!’ he repeated harshly.