‘Mmm?’
The whisper confused her. How could he whisper her name like that while he was kissing her so passionately at the exact same time?
‘Katie?’
She breathed in deeply, not wanting to move, floating in a cocoon of warmth, relaxed and happy. She slowly blinked, opened her eyes and smiled.
And then immediately froze.
Reality rushed in on her with sickening speed. She wasn’t being kissed in some dream world. She was in bed and she wasn’t alone.
Alessandro Zetticci was only inches away, lying facing her, his head propped on his hand. There was an odd expression in his eyes.
‘You were moaning,’ he said, watching her too closely.
She couldn’t reply. Was he naked? The part of him she could see above the sheet covering them was naked. There was a vast expanse of bronzed, muscular torso on show.
Katie stared. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
‘Katie?’
‘What are you doing in here?’
He blinked and that wicked smile widened. ‘Should I leave?’ He pushed down the sheet.
‘No!’ Huge mistake. Huge. Oh. So huge.
The man just had everything, didn’t he? Long, powerful limbs. Long, powerful... Well, everything.
She hurriedly tugged the sheet back up to cover him. ‘You’re not wearing anything.’
He stared at her for a second and then seemed to take in a steadying breath.
‘Actually, I’m not quite naked,’ he corrected her. ‘I kept my boxers on—which is kind of me, given I don’t like underwear.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ she muttered desperately, wondering how on earth they’d—
‘I get a rash from cheap synthetic fabrics,’ he offered in explanation, but wicked humour danced in his eyes.
‘Are you sure it’s from the fabric?’ she snapped back before she could think.
He laughed as he rubbed a hand through his sinfully sexy, slightly-too-long-to-be-good hair. ‘I knew the kitten had claws...’ He drew in a deep breath and stretched out.
‘I’m not a kitten. But I am devastated to discover you’re not perfect.’
‘I never said I was perfect—that was your assumption.’ He grinned at her. ‘I prefer cotton, or silk—or, better yet, nothing at all.’ His eyes glinted.
He was a naturist? Wonderful.
They’d been in bed together. Of course it was nothing to him to get into bed with a woman—he did it all the time. But she didn’t. He was the most masculine thing ever to have graced her bed. Okay, he was the only thing ever to have graced her bed.
She swallowed as she remembered the madness of the night before.
‘Did we...?’ She trailed off, still distracted by all the skin he had on show.
His gaze narrowed on her. ‘Do you not remember?’
Her brain was too fried by the sight of him in all his near nude glory to remember her own name, let alone much else.
‘Did we—?’
‘Sleep together? Sure.’ His eyebrows lifted. ‘Katie,’ he said, as if lecturing an imbecile, ‘if we’d done anything more you wouldn’t need to ask. Your virtue is safe.’
Yeah, she’d figured that. Because while he might be all but naked she was still completely dressed. Her blouse, skirt, bra, panties...everything. But she was still mortified—so mortified.
‘We got married,’ she whispered.
He stilled and his teasing smile froze. ‘Yes, we did.’
She closed her eyes. She ought to feel relief. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? Only all she could feel was heat.
That dream she’d been having was a memory, and she’d been reliving it. Her brain had picked the highlight to replay. Not those phone messages from Brian, nor that engagement announcement, nor Alessandro’s rapid, decisive response. Not even the fact that he’d marched her off and married her in less than an hour. All she could think about was the kiss that had sealed the deal.
‘Here.’
She opened her eyes. He’d picked something up from the bedside table and now held it out to her. She gingerly took the photograph, as if she was afraid it might spring to life and bite her.
It showed the two of them next to each other, posing alongside some random staff at the chapel who’d acted as their witnesses.
She read the caption. ‘There’s a download code for the video...’
‘You want to relive the magic?’ Alessandro picked up his phone.
Not really—because the flash flood of memories was scalding her with enough humiliation. But it was as if she was stuck on the roller coaster ride from hell.
‘We selected the music video option?’ she muttered as he scanned the code.
He grinned, apparently as relaxed as ever. ‘We’re in Vegas—there’s every option.’
He scooted a little closer so she could see the screen next to him.
She tried not to blush, but it was impossible.
Set to what she could only describe as a generic boy band ballad—a love song that she didn’t recognise but that sounded familiar—a series of appalling images flashed on the screen. She was in her ugly navy skirt and crumpled blouse, while he looked as unbearably handsome as ever, despite that long flight and the horror of the messages they’d got on landing. And he was smiling at her—a smile that made everything inside her light up.
Unable to tear her eyes from the small screen, Katie watched the playback of her exchanging vows and promising to honour him, to love him. In the video Alessandro was turning to her with a playful gleam in his eyes. He was framing her face and holding her still...
As if she’d have been able to run when he was looking at her like that. She’d been bolted in place—mesmerised not by his good looks, but by that look in his eyes. That dance of amusement, of warmth and wit underpinned by heat and hunger.
The second he swooped the camera zoomed in. And as a result almost the entire last minute of their wedding video showed them kissing. She watched herself ditch the posy of flowers the hotel had provided. She’d dropped it to the floor so she could slide her arms up his body and kiss him back. She’d forgotten anyone else was even present, let alone that there was a camera filming them.
Katie couldn’t tear her gaze from the final frozen frame. She’d got married in a cheap nylon
skirt. She’d looked just like all those other girls he’d kissed—as hungry, as willing... Except at the same time she didn’t. She wasn’t glamorous and beautiful and sex kittenish.
And she’d had stars in her eyes.
But he’d had laughter on his face.
Alessandro had pulled back from the kiss first. She’d leaned after him—literally swooning into his embrace. He’d held her upright, away from him. And then he’d laughed. He’d thrown his head back and laughed.
It was horrendous.
It wasn’t the over-the-top decor of the twenty-four-hour wedding chapel, or even her awful outfit and lack of anything pretty. It was the look on her face. She looked flushed and willing and it was so obvious. She looked infatuated. And everyone could see it.
Most of all him.
And now he was almost naked in her bed. But that was only because in her overwrought state at the end of last night she’d asked him to stay with her.
When they’d got back to the suite she’d turned to him with tears in her eyes and told him she was tired. He’d come to the bedroom with her and sat down beside her. He’d reassured her. He’d rescued her. He’d been a perfect gentleman.
And she must have fallen asleep a second later—like an incompetent, dependent child.
She’d never been as mortified in all her life.
Now he put his phone back on the table with telltale quickness and edged away.
Katie’s vulnerable heart thudded as she recognised the horrible truth.
He hadn’t wanted to do any of it at all.
* * *
Alessandro’s head was killing him. Tension, not a hangover. He’d stopped drinking to excess years ago—though admittedly he’d contemplated it earlier as a displacement activity, a distraction to deny the desire coursing through his veins. But he hadn’t. Because of Dominque’s call.
Hell and damnation.
He’d been so tired last night, so thrown by Katie’s visible distress, that he’d seen a quickie marriage as their only option. Memories flitted—her softness and the sweet but tart taste of apricots. He’d kissed her off her feet, and right now he was rocked by the urge to repeat the experience.