The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ desperate laugh because she knew it was never going to happen.

      ‘What would you do? If you could go out and not be recognised—what would you do?’

      ‘I don’t know. Just go to a concert or something and stand in the crowd. Blend in. But seeing as that isn’t going to happen, I choose to do things that give me some privacy. Do you even like opera? It seemed like a good idea but now I’m not sure.’

      ‘I’m Sicilian. I love opera.’

      She relaxed slightly. Even the most persistent observer was unlikely to interrupt the opera to ask them questions about their relationship, and the bonus was that they wouldn’t be able to talk. He wouldn’t be able to make some sharp comment that showed how easily he saw through to the person she really was.

      He already knew far too much about her.

      An evening at the opera should be perfect.

      Except that it didn’t turn out that way.

      She’d thought that the dark would protect them from prying eyes, but it turned out she was wrong about that too.

      Seated close together in the privacy of a box, his leg brushed against hers and she immediately ceased to focus on anything that was happening on the stage. She was aware of heads turning towards them in the darkness and felt a brief flicker of frustration that even here, in the protected atmosphere of the opera theatre, they couldn’t escape the scrutiny of the public.

      But that irritation gave way to deeper, darker concerns. Like the fact that although their engagement might be fake there was nothing fake about the sexual tension simmering between them. It was raw, hot and real and becoming harder to ignore with each burning look they exchanged. And the intensity of the feeling confused her. He was insanely handsome, of course, but she’d met enough handsome men during the course of her career to be immune to the combination of perfectly proportioned features and a powerful physique. No, the connection came from something deeper. Something she saw beneath the surface layers of eye-catching masculinity. And whatever it was that drew her, drew her now as they sat close together, thigh pressed against thigh in the dark intimacy of the opera house.

      As drama unfolded on the stage beneath them, so drama unfolded in the box.

      She was aware of every beat of her heart. Aware of him and when Luca’s hand covered hers she knew she ought to pull hers way but she didn’t. Couldn’t. So instead of ending it there she laced Her fingers with his and he drew her hand onto his thigh. It was a subtle, sensual dance between man and woman. Her gaze was fixed on the stage but she saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing except the strength of his fingers on hers and the hard muscle of his thigh under her palm. Heat traced her skin, desire knotted low in her pelvis and she opened her eyes because closing them left the world to her imagination and that was a dangerous place to be right now.

      She’d promised herself no more relationships. She’d trained herself to ignore that wild, passionate part of herself that had got her into trouble in the past. She’d decided there would be no more unguarded moments where she trusted a man only to wake up the next morning and discover the personal had become public.

      But this—this was more temptation than she knew how to deal with.

      She’d chosen to wear a floor-length dress but that proved to be no barrier because somehow his hand was on her bare thigh, his long skilled fingers tantalisingly close to that part of her. She clamped her thighs together but the movement didn’t dislodge his hand and she felt his fingers stroke inside her panties and her face burned in the darkness because she knew he’d find her already aroused. She turned her head and was scorched by the dark heat in his eyes. Her breathing was shallow and so was his and he held her gaze as his fingers slid deeper, exploring her with erotic precision and unapologetic intimacy until not moving took all her willpower. But she couldn’t move or make a sound because that would have risked drawing the attention of the audience away from the performance onstage and so she was forced to stay totally still and silent. And he took ruthless advantage, relentless in his delivery of pleasure as he explored the slick heat of her, creating sensation so wickedly good she was forced to clamp her jaws closed to hold back the sound.

      She wanted him to stop. She didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t know what she wanted but he knew and he took her there, with nothing but his fingers and the intensity of his hot, dark gaze that held hers all the way through the pulsing shock waves of her climax.

      On stage the soprano was singing her way to the grave but here, in the shaded darkness of the box, it was all about life and passion.

      Shattered and trembling, Taylor stared at him. He leaned in, bringing his mouth close to hers. His kiss was slow, lingering, deliberate. Personal. Less of an assault and more a promise and she realised there was no way this was over. His hand was still between her legs. Her hand was in his lap and he was painfully aroused, rock hard under her warm palm.

      Time passed. She had no idea how much time until applause washed around her. For a terrible moment she thought they were clapping for her and then realised that the singing had stopped. The opera had finished. And she was expected to stand up and act as if nothing had happened.

      It was Luca who gently eased away from her and smoothed her dress before the lights came up and she was grateful for the dress because it concealed how much her legs were shaking. She wasn’t sure she was capable of walking, but he took her arm calmly and somehow she managed to walk out of the box, through the crowd, as if the passion had all been on the stage and not between the two of them.

      There were stares, of course, but she was used to that.

      What she wasn’t used to was feeling so out of control.

      Taylor kept her head down as they walked, ignoring the demands of the press to know when they were getting married, afraid to look at him because she had no idea what was in her eyes.

      Flashbulbs blinded her as Luca accelerated away in the Ferrari and she was so relieved by the burst of speed that left everyone else far behind she didn’t even snipe at him.

      She didn’t speak.

      He didn’t speak.

      But the tension throbbed between them like a living force, thickening the air until it was almost impossible to breathe, the atmosphere sexually charged and the heat almost unbearable.

      Their restraint lasted until they closed the bedroom door and then they both moved. Together. At the same time, mouths fused, hands desperate, tearing at fabric, sliding over skin, greedy for each other and determined to feed the hunger.

      His jacket hit the floor.

      Her dress slithered after it.

      Her hands ripped at his shirt, exposing wide shoulders and hard male muscle, and she felt that muscle flex as he lifted her easily and flattened her against the wall. her eyes closed. His mouth was hot on her neck and on the exposed curve of her breasts. He dragged down the lace of her bra and fastened his mouth over her nipple, the skilled flick of his tongue dragging a gasp from her. It was a relief to be able to let the sound escape.

      She wound her leg around his hips and felt him shift slightly as he loosened his belt. Desperate, he fumbled for something and then his trousers hit the floor with the rest of their clothes and she felt the silken hardness of him against her thigh.

      ‘Ti voglio tanto—I want you.’ Switching between languages, Luca stumbled over СКАЧАТЬ