The Italian's Token Wife

She gave another little sigh. She had nothing to be sad about, she knew. Tonight had been magical and its memory would be treasured for ever, along with every other moment she had spent with Rafaello di Viscenti. Wanting him so much and knowing she would never have more of him than she had now. He was not for her, nor she for him, however beautiful he made her feel…

‘That, I should inform you, cara, is a very dangerous position for you to be in.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE deep voice behind her was a drawl, shot with humour—and something more. Magda started, drawing back and straightening up, turning towards him.

‘I…I won’t fall out,’ she protested.

Rafaello sauntered towards her, hands in his trouser pockets. He must have emerged from the bathroom, through the previously locked adjoining door. Though he still wore his tuxedo jacket he had loosened his tie, and it hung on either side of his undone top shirt button. Magda felt her insides turn over.

‘That was not the danger I referred to,’ he corrected her. ‘It was this.’

He closed in on her. A hand slid around her back and spanned her derrière.

‘It was projecting far too temptingly,’ he murmured down at her.

There was a light in his eye that made her insides churn again.

‘Rafaello—’ she gasped faintly, trying to draw away from him. But that only made the warm, devastating pressure on her rear increase. As if unwilling to tolerate her escape, he simply pulled her closer against him, moving his hand upwards into the small of her back and curving his other hand beneath the cloud of her hair to hold the nape of her neck.

She had no breath in her. No breath to speak, to protest, to exclaim—or even to breathe.

Rafaello smiled down into her face.

‘There is only one way,’ he told her softly, ‘to end an evening like this.’

His head lowered to hers, and closed over her breathlessly parted lips.

He started to kiss her.

It had happened so suddenly she had had no time, no chance, to do or say anything. One moment she had been gazing out of the window into the Tuscan night, thinking the evening was over, and the next Rafaello had closed in on her and was making love to her.

Because that was what he was doing—making love to her mouth, his lips brushing over hers, moistening and laving, teasing them apart with his, sensually, devastatingly, to open her to him and take his fill of her.

She was lost, so completely lost that the roof could have caved in and she would not have noticed. His fingers speared into her hair, kneading at her scalp. His other hand slipped down over the soft mound of her bottom, and did likewise to the silk-covered flesh there.

Sensation shot through her body like fireworks. His kisses were deepening, her mouth was fully open to him now, and his tongue was meeting hers, tasting and mating. The blood pounded in her veins, her ears, and of their own volition her hands wrapped over his hard, lean spine and held him close, crushing his torso against her breasts which suddenly, extraordinarily, felt full and swollen.

He was murmuring something into her mouth, but she could make no sense of it. Could make no sense of anything, only go on, and on, kissing and being kissed.

Then his arm was around her waist, his hand at her shoulder, though his mouth never left hers, and he was urging her forward.

‘My bed,’ she heard him say, and his voice was a husk.

She found her voice, dragged it up from the depths.

‘Rafaello—please—I…I…’

‘Hush,’ he said into her mouth. ‘Hush—it will be good—this is right for us, cara—trust me. I want you so much…’

His kiss deepened again and almost, almost she gave herself to it totally, gave herself to everything he was offering, everything she had never dared even dream about.

But dreams were not real—and this was not reality. It could not be. It must not be.

She dragged her mouth away again, halting as he swept her forward.

‘Rafaello—no. Please—please listen to me—you don’t understand—’

He heard the plea in her voice and let her draw away, but only so far as he could still hold her in the circle of his arms. His dark eyes searched hers in the low light.

‘Don’t be afraid—I will not hurt you. I know it has been a long time for you, and that losing Benji’s father so tragically was hard—unbearable. But you must move on, embrace life again.’

Her eyes had widened at his words and she seemed to be trying to speak, but he would not let her.

‘You are a beautiful, desirable woman—a whole new life is opening to you now. The past is gone—remember Kaz for the son he gave you, but now embrace life again.’