Capelli's Captive Virgin

Control slid away from her and she moaned and lifted herself against the warmth of his mouth, desperate for his touch. Her frantic response obviously met with his approval because he gave a soft, appreciative laugh.

‘Adoro il tuo corpo.’ His voice husky, he concentrated his attention on one dusky pink nipple. ‘I love your body.’ As if to prove just how much he loved her body, his hand slid slowly down her thigh, the touch of his fingers creating havoc with her senses.

It was exciting, terrifying and utterly, utterly addictive.

Desperately she tried to regain some control over what was happening, but every time she tried to gasp out a protest he’d touch her in a particular way and she’d be sucked back down into a whirlpool of wicked, delicious pleasure from which there was no escape.

It was the heavy thrust of his erection against her thigh that finally shocked her out of her state of dizzy stupor.

‘No—Alessio, no—’ With a groan of denial, she put her hand on his chest, resisting the impulse to stroke rather than stop. But she had to stop. ‘I can’t—not like this—’

He was above her, his weight pressing her into the soft sand, powerfully male and unashamedly aroused. ‘What’s wrong with this? I am too heavy for you?’ Suddenly he sounded impossibly Italian, his normally confide

nt English slightly less fluent than usual. Slowly, he trailed a gentle, exploratory finger over her mouth. ‘You are feeling shy?’

There was no way she could put into words what she was feeling because she’d never felt it before. She was used to being in control. Normally she thought of herself as assertive and self-reliant, but where were those qualities now? She was lying passive, dominated by a sexually confident male, and that was bad enough, but the thing that really shamed her was that she was enjoying it. A small secret part of her was thrilled by his strength and virility.

Alessio Capelli had never heard the phrase ‘politically correct’, she thought dizzily, closing her eyes to break the sizzling connection between them. ‘We haven’t—this is just impulse and it’s all wrong. Sex should be a conscious decision, not an impulse. It should be planned.’ Oh, Lindsay, Lindsay, you really shouldn’t be doing this. If you eat too much chocolate you put on weight, and if you sleep with men like Alessio Capelli—

‘So far, this is going exactly the way I planned, tesoro,’ he murmured, amusement in his voice as he lowered his dark head and delivered a lingering kiss to her neck. ‘Tell me something, Lindsay—’ his voice was a soft, dangerous purr ‘—if there was no tomorrow, would you do this?’

He dangled temptation in front of her without hesitation or conscience and she gave a low moan, rejecting the answer that came into her head.

‘There is a tomorrow.’

‘But sometimes it is good to live your life as though there isn’t,’ he murmured, his fingers gently tracing her cheek. ‘That is good, no?’

For a moment Lindsay lay there dazed and then gradually his words sank into her brain. ‘Wait a minute.’ Her voice was husky and she cleared her throat. ‘Did you just say that you planned this?’

‘We’re alone and half-naked on a desert island, tesoro.’ His mouth discovered a sensitive spot just under her jawbone and Lindsay’s insides clenched.

‘And that makes sex inevitable?’

‘I hate to let an opportunity go to waste,’ he breathed softly and she closed her eyes tightly because the shift from meltdown to misery had happened in the space of a heartbeat.

Dear God, she was a fool.

‘I’m a person, Alessio, not an opportunity.’ Her voice breaking slightly, she pushed at his chest and he shifted away from her, his dark eyes narrowed in question.

‘You appeared to be enjoying yourself.’

‘I enjoy chocolate—but I know when to say no. Don’t you have any morals?’

‘Obviously I do.’ His tone cool, Alessio rolled onto his back. ‘You said no. I stopped.’

‘Do us both a favour next time—don’t start.’ Her body felt warm and alive, as if someone had flicked a switch that could never again be turned off. ‘Don’t touch me again, Alessio.’

‘Sì, you are right—it was good.’ He gave a low laugh and she looked at him fiercely.

‘I didn’t say it was good—’

‘But you don’t want me to touch you again—’ his eyes drifted shut, the smile on his hard mouth one of raw male arrogance ‘—and that says everything there is to be said.’

‘It says, I don’t want you to touch me again!’ Her heart was pumping like an athlete in a sprint. ‘Are you having trouble with your English?’

‘No, but I think you’re having trouble with your “choices”,’ he said silkily. ‘You were sure what you wanted—now, you’re not so sure.’

She scrambled to her feet, averting her eyes from the haze of dark hair on his bronzed chest. ‘I want to go back to Kingfisher Cay. I want to go back right now.’ Before she did something, really, really foolish.