Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian

‘And there is one more thing you must become accustomed to.’

She notched her chin. Quietly defiant. Utterly beautiful. ‘And that is...?’

He captured her jaw between thumb and forefinger. ‘Me.’

CHAPTER FIVE

HELENA SWALLOWED. THE generous mouthful of bubbles she’d foolishly imbibed on an empty stomach was meant to give her sass and courage. Instead she felt lightheaded and shaky on her feet. She wanted to turn her head, tear her gaze from those mesmerising eyes, but his fingers held her captive.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Then I will demonstrate.’

The instant his head lowered, panic seized her. ‘Wait!’ Her hands flew to his chest. ‘What are you doing?’

He halted, his lips mere inches from hers, his black-fringed eyes glittering like a star-studded night. With what? Amusement? Desire?

‘Demonstrating my point.’

She pushed harder, her fingers tingling, his warmth—his vitality—seeping through the fabric of his shirt and into her nerve-endings. ‘What point?’

‘That you seem to have developed an untimely aversion to me.’

He grasped her wrists, the latent strength in his long fingers making her bones feel small. Fragile.

‘No one will believe we are lovers if you balk at my touch.’

She tried to free herself but he held fast, keeping her hands anchored to his chest. Under her palms his heart beat

strong and steady, unlike hers, which had launched into the cardiac equivalent of a Fred and Ginger tap routine.

‘We agreed to play lovers in public.’ Why did her voice sound so high and breathless? ‘Not in private. And I’ve proved to you I can do this.’

‘Yet you stiffen in my arms like an innocent.’

He pulled her hands upward, linking them behind his neck. Dragging her body into agonising contact with his.

‘It will not do, Helena. Carlos Santino is an astute man, his daughter no fool. If we are to convince them you must learn to relax with me.’ His big hands circled her waist. ‘And now is the perfect time for a lesson.’

Heat spiralled through her, but she fought the shiver of desire gathering momentum in her muscles. He was testing her boundaries, pushing her limits, and she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her quiver. She dropped her arms and willed her body to go lax. Unresponsive. She could struggle, make it difficult for him, but he was strong. He’d kiss her anyway. Better to play it cool and aloof and retain at least some scrap of dignity.

She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together and waited, but the expected pressure of his mouth didn’t come.

His hot breath skimmed her lips as he spoke. ‘Your little martyr act doesn’t wash with me, cara. Admit it. You want my kiss. My touch. Your body craves it—’ his hand rose to the back of her head and closed around a fistful of curls ‘—just as mine does.’

She opened her eyes and shook her head—or tried to. Moving was difficult with his long fingers tangled in her hair. ‘You’re wrong.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ His teeth flashed, his quick smile too sharp. Too knowing. ‘I remember the nights you begged for my touch...the nights you lay naked beneath me, panting and pleading—’

‘Stop!’ His brazen words evoked a hot rush of erotic memories. Fresh panic spurted in her chest. ‘Maybe this was a...a mistake.’

His eyebrows hiked. ‘This was your idea, remember? What are you afraid of?’

Myself.

‘Nothing.’

Amusement rumbled deep in his chest. ‘Liar.’