But Gianni was no lanky twenty-year-old testosterone-fuelled guy. He was all man. In his virile prime. And Keelin had no defences.
She was pressed so hard into his body that she could feel every taut sinew and hard muscle. His mouth on hers was firm, but demanding. Hard. His tongue touched the seam of her lips and without even being really conscious of what she was doing her mouth opened to him.
And then Gianni dominated her with sensual ease. His tongue swept in, stroking hers roughly, eliciting a response that made her legs weak, and hot sensations eddy between her legs. Her lower gut tightened with a kind of need she’d never felt before.
That finally sent some kind of awareness to her brain and Keelin pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide, staring into pools of dark brown.
Gianni’s face was all stark lines and an unsmiling mouth. Keelin’s lips tingled and felt swollen.
‘I think it’s time to leave, cara, don’t you?’
He didn’t wait for an answer; he just took his arms from around her and led her off the dance floor, taking her hand when people crushed around them. The music had changed to fast again and Keelin felt humiliated to imagine how they’d looked standing in the middle of energetically dancing couples while Gianni had demonstrated his easy dominance.
Everything in her chafed at that and when they got back up to the seating area she pulled her hand free. A girl was approaching with her short gold jacket and Gianni took it and held it out, for all the world the solicitous fiancé who was eager to get to a more private location.
Keelin had half a mind to stalk out and made a minute move but Gianni was blocking her way, as if reading her mind. She glared at him and he stared back.
With the utmost reluctance she put her arms in the jacket and let him settle it on her shoulders. Was it her imagination or was his slightly heavy-handed touch a warning?
When she turned again he had her clutch bag. She took it, just as he reached for her other hand again. But just like that kiss hadn’t been a lover’s kiss, his touch now was not gentle. It was an exercise in proving his strength and will.
And all she could think about was how she’d arched closer to him and let her tongue slip into his own mouth to explore all that heat and his intoxicating male taste. Humiliation burned her again; the minute he’d touched her she should have been flouncing off the dance floor, not pressing closer to him like a needy little kitten.
A sleek chauffeur-driven car was waiting outside the entrance to the nightclub. There was also a crowd of baying paparazzi. They started snapping as soon as Gianni appeared and he brought Keelin protectively forward with his arm around her, turning her into him so she was shielded.
The feel of all that taut musculature scrambled her brain cells again and he was saying something indistinct in Italian just before he all but pushed her into the back of the car and the door slammed. Before she had time to formulate a thought, Gianni was sliding in the other side and the car was pulling away.
Trapped.
Keelin was breathing hard. She looked at Gianni and there was ice in his expression. Her belly sank.
And then he said with more than a hint of steel, ‘What the hell do you think you’re up to?’
* * *
Gianni did not like to admit that he could still feel the imprint of Keelin’s lush curves against his body from when he’d pulled her close on the dance floor. He’d meant it as an exercise in getting her away from that sweaty-handed creep, but all it had done was fire up his libido so much that he’d been sporting his first unwarranted erection in public since he was an oversexed teenager.
Dio. She should be turning him off with her over-the-top persona, but all he wanted to do was rip off that jumpsuit and get his hands on her naked curves. He could barely keep his gaze from roving over the firm swells of those generous breasts and those ridiculously long legs. He dragged his brain back from the edge.
‘Well?’
She was all but curled into the door, looking at him as if he had two heads. And then she blinked, and straightened her shoulders. And pouted.
‘I was having a good time, you know.’
Gianni curbed a grimace at her sulky tone. It was perfectly pitched and she could very well still be fooling him with it, if he didn’t know better. A sense of humiliation made him smart again.
‘Yes,’ he said dryly. ‘You looked like it with Federico Prezzi, one of Rome’s most notorious porn kings.’
She couldn’t disguise her instantaneous look of shock and disgust, but before she could manufacture some other false response Gianni put up a hand. ‘Look, you might be happy to continue this ridiculous charade, but frankly, I’ve better things to be doing than hauling my fiancée out of nightclubs at three a.m.’
Her eyes went wide and wounded. ‘Charade? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Gianni snorted. They were pulling up outside the sleekly exclusive Harrington Hotel for the second time that night and he got out to open Keelin’s door when being polite was the last thing on his mind. Especially when he saw a flash of one long bare leg through the slit in her jumpsuit as she got out.
He took her arm and all but marched her into the hotel. When they were in the lift she pulled free and looked at him accusingly. ‘There’s no need to manhandle me.’
Her big green eyes shone suspiciously and even though Gianni knew it was an act, he had to steel something inside of him, which only made his irritation levels rise further.