Shadow Warrior (Shadow Riders 4)

She occupied his thoughts day and night. He studied her with the same complete focus with which he’d trained. He knew everything about her that he could possibly learn in the weeks he’d been with her. Every expression. The way she moved when she was tired. The habits that gave away her moods. He knew how she liked her coffee or tea. She had a certain expression that crept over her face when she didn’t like something but was determined to go through with it.

He kissed her gently, with no demand, determined to go slowly, but in spite of his determination and all of his discipline, there was no way to keep from deepening the kiss. She set up an addiction, a craving he was never going to get over. The way she surrendered to him was the most amazing feeling in the world. She gave herself completely to him. Pleasure washed through him until his pulse thundered in his ears and beat through his cock. He’d never felt more alive, or more in need of his woman, not even after coming out of the shadows after a mission when the adrenaline poured through his body.

Vittorio had known, almost from the first glimpse of her as she leapt out of the trunk, all fury and fire, furious with her foster brother, that the passion in her would be wild and explosive.

He guided her down to the mattress, so she was lying on her back, legs over the edge, all the while his mouth refusing to leave hers. He kissed her repeatedly, long drugging kisses, wanting to consume her, devour her, seeking more of her surrender. Demanding more. All the while his hands began a slow exploration of her body.

She was exquisite. The feel of her skin, soft beneath the pads of his fingers. He splayed them wide to take in as much of her as possible. He went slow, refusing to hurry, no matter the demands of his body. He savored her, letting himself absorb the feel of her surrender to him, everything about the experience with her. The rise and fall of her breasts. How they looked, twin alluring mounds, the curves drawing his eye as he lifted his head to take in her body.

He liked having her under him, at his mercy, her body open to him, his hands moving over her possessively, letting her know who she belonged to. Grace was elegance, her body fine-boned, her rib cage delicate and small. Her hips flared, matching the sweet line of her breasts. He traced every line of her body, every curve, memorizing her, etching her into his brain, taking his time, appreciating every inch of her.

Grace was very responsive to him. Shivering. Moaning. Every sound served to heighten his pleasure. Her nipples peaked so that he couldn’t resist the temptation and he flicked his tongue over them and tugged and rolled just to hear her soft cries. He spent time on her breasts, filing away every shudder of her body, every buck of her hips. He wanted to know what she liked and what she didn’t. Every trigger point that brought her pleasure. There was no reason to hurry and every reason not to. He wanted this first time to be perfect for her. This was about loving Grace and showing her how he felt about her.

Grace stared at Vittorio’s brutally handsome face. There was nothing soft or feminine about it, not even the long sweep of lashes that framed his strange, blue eyes. He was utterly masculine yet managed not to be brutishly so. She knew surrendering to him meant giving him everything. He’d laid out very carefully what he wanted in a relationship and expected her to live with his rules.

A million butterflies took flight when he spoke to her in that velvet tone. She craved the life he offered to her. She loved her work and her mind grasped details. Planning dream weddings and fairy-tale parties to fulfill people’s fantasies was the perfect job for her. She needed to make others happy and she was meticulous about getting every detail perfect and right for them. They told her what they wanted, and she found the best way to provide that dream event for them.

It was always at home, when she was alone with herself, the way she’d been her entire life, that she was lost. She had no purpose. No focus. No center to balance her. Now, this man, Vittorio Ferraro, an amazing, sensual, intelligent man, offered those things to her. He was exactly what she needed—and wanted.

Grace sank her fingers into the thick mass of hair spilling onto his forehead. She loved that she could touch his hair. She’d fantasized over doing just that. When she inhaled, there was that elusive, masculine scent that appealed to her. It was faint, but there, all spice and woods, something she found hard to describe, but she knew she’d be able to find him blindfolded, with a hundred other men in the same room.