The Italian's Christmas Child

Vito took the invitation, leaning down to claim that lush pink mouth that he still fantasised about and curving his hands to the swell of her hips to lift her up into his arms. Her hands locked round his neck with satisfying possessiveness and held him fast. He could feel the slight bump of the baby she was carrying against his stomach and he smiled as he lifted his head again.

‘I love you,’ he groaned.

‘Love you madly.’ Holly felt ridiculously intoxicated and happy. One kiss from Vito could do that, two were irresistible, and three would only end with her dragging him up the stairs. Evidently falling pregnant sooner than they had expected had done nothing to cool her husband’s desire for her and that truly did make her feel as alluring as some legendary temptress. That was very welcome to a woman who was five months pregnant and subject to all the usual aches and complaints of her condition.

Her redecoration schemes at the castello had led to an approach from an exclusive interiors magazine, which had taken a whole host of photos. The glossy photo spread and the accompanying article had ensured that within days of the magazine going on sale, Holly was inundated with exciting offers of design work.

This, however, was their first family Christmas and she was revelling in every detail because Vito had really thrown himself into the spirit of the holidays and she didn’t think it was solely because he had become a father. She reckoned he had put his sour childhood memories of Christmas behind him. His mother, recently divorced, was joining their festivities and hugely excited about the second grandchild on the way.

‘Please tell me turkey isn’t on the menu again tonight,’ Vito murmured.

‘No, we’re having steak. I told Franc I fancied steak,’ she admitted.

‘When are our guests arriving?’ Vito prompted.

‘Well, they were supposed to be here for dinner but Apollo’s social secretary rang to say they would be late. Why does he need a social secretary?’

‘He’s always got hundreds of invitations and he’s never at home.’ Vito paused. ‘I appreciate you being willing to give him another chance.’

Holly gave him a soothing smile that concealed her tension. It was past time to forgive and forget—she knew that. After all, Apollo was Vito’s closest friend, but Holly had only seen him twice since their wedding. And when she had made the mistake of voicing her opinion on what he considered to be his private business it had been awkward as hell. But she was madly curious to see who he was bringing with him as a guest. Another leggy underwear model? Or his wife?

That, Holly supposed, would be another story…

*

Keep reading for an excerpt from A DI SIONE FOR THE GREEK’S PLEASURE by Kate Hewitt.

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A DI SIONE FOR THE GREEK’S PLEASURE

by Kate Hewitt

“Talia…” Angelos’s voice broke on her name, and then, before she could even process what was happening, he pulled her towards him, his hands hard on her shoulders as his mouth crashed down on hers and plundered its soft depths.

It had been ten years since she’d been kissed, and then only a schoolboy’s brush. She’d never been kissed like this, never felt every sense blaze to life, every nerve ending tingle with awareness, nearly painful in its intensity, as Angelos’s mouth moved on hers and he pulled her tightly to him.

His hard contours collided against her softness, each point of contact creating an unbearably exquisite ache of longing as she tangled her hands in his hair and fit her mouth against his.

She was a clumsy, inexpert kisser, not sure what to do with her lips or tongue, only knowing that she wanted more of this. Of him.

She felt his hand slide down to cup her breast, his palm hot and hard through the thin material of her dress, and a gasp of surprise and delight escaped her.

That small sound of pleasure was enough to jolt Angelos out of his passion-fogged daze, for he dropped his hand and in one awful, abrupt movement tore his mouth from hers and stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice coming out in a ragged gasp.

“No…” Talia pressed one shaky hand to her buzzing lips as she tried to blink the world back into focus. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispered. “It was wonderful.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Why not?” she challenged. She felt frantic with the desperate need to feel and taste him again, and more importantly, not to have him withdraw from her, not just physically, but emotionally. Angelos didn’t answer and she forced herself to ask the question again. “Why not, Angelos?”

“Because you are my employee, and I was taking advantage of you,” he gritted out. “It was not appropriate…”