The Amalfi Bride - Page 85

“Have it your way.”

Before she could protest, he ripped her jeans and panties down and pushed her against the wall again. Then he knelt in front of her in an attitude of worship and spread her legs.

“No! What are you doing?” She felt too intimately exposed.

His broad brown hands locked around her waist. “I want to remember you and this day for the rest of my life.”

When the tip of his tongue touched her outer lips and then slid upward and then down with slow, thrilling strokes, her mouth went dry. Heat from his lips poured into all her secret feminine places. Lava washed up her spine, flowed into every cell, drenching her in flames. Even her heart could not remain unaffected from such fire, and the cold place in its center melted, too.

When his tongue flicked deeply inside her and then went still, every pore in her being felt sexually charged. Instead of feeling ashamed, she forgot herself and clawed the wall.

He was what she wanted, what she’d always wanted. Without knowing who she was or what she did, she began to twist and writhe against his lips and tongue. Crying out his name, she wept.

Sensing how near she was to climaxing, he gripped her bottom and hauled her against his mouth. His tongue plunged inside her again and again until she screamed in ecstasy.

As the explosion ripped through her, she sank her fingers into his hair and dug her nails into his scalp. She held on to him, the chaos of her emotions tearing her apart as the shattering experience consumed her.

When it was over, he jerked his head back, and she sagged against the cool wall. Then her knees collapsed and she slid down beside him.

She wanted to hate him. At the same time she wanted his mouth to lick her intimately forever.

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

Her heart was pounding and her hair was dripping with perspiration. She was afraid because she’d lost all control. Because somehow, some way, against her will, in less than twenty-four hours, he’d made her his forever.

“I hate you,” she vowed softly, “for what you just did.”

“You only wish you did.”

“Then I wish I’d never met you.”

“So do I. So the hell do I.”

He clasped her chin tightly, forcing her to stare into his tortured blue eyes. “What gives you the high moral ground? You’re the one who wanted your own personal stud and hired a gigolo. Well, maybe you just got him, Cara.”

She gasped. Then she bristled with all sorts of self-righteous indignation that he’d so aptly pointed out she had no right to feel.

“When the hell are you going to figure out neither one of us is in control here?” he said, his tone gentler, his eyes softer. “This thing has us.”

When he pulled her close, she shuddered, willing herself to resist him. But, as always, she was weak and needy, so she let him hold her. At the thought of their impossible relationship, her mood grew unbearably sad—and angry, too.

This was all his fault! It had to be!

Or was it? Somehow her needs and emotions were all mixed up. How could this have happened in such a short time? She’d left Austin to sort out her life, not for confusion like this.

“You’re a bastard,” she whispered. “A royal bastard.”

“You don’t know how right you are,” he muttered.

She’d been right to want to control things, too. Leaving him, even though she knew he was marrying another woman for money, was going to break her as nothing else ever had.

“You’re a bastard!” she repeated. “How can you look so sick at heart when I know you’re slime? I want you out of my life—gone! I don’t want to ever think about you again!”

“You think you have all the answers, don’t you? Well, you don’t! Before you go back to Austin, there’s something I’ve got to show you!”

“Nothing you could say or do or show me could change the way I feel about you!”

“We’ll see then, won’t we?”


“Y ou can’t drive my car. You’re not on the contract.”

Regina was in lawyer mode. Translation: she was in the mood to argue about anything.

Nico shot her a look before he unlocked the passenger door for her.

She glared at him and refused to get in.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “It’s a long walk back to Ravello.” He strode around the front of the Fiat.

“You can’t just drive off in my car and leave me here.”

“Watch me.” He got in and slammed his door hard. “I’m a bastard, remember!”

When he started the car, she jumped in and slammed hers, too, harder.

He adjusted the mirror and the seat, so that he had more leg room. “The road is dangerous. I know it and you don’t.”