A Convenient Bridegroom. Helen Bianchin

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      She hesitated, checked the time, then shook her head. ‘I said I’d be home around nine.’

      Carlo stood to his feet and collected the tray. ‘I’ll take this downstairs.’

      Ten minutes later she had showered, dressed and was ready to face the day. Light blue jeans sheathed her slim legs, hugged her hips, and she wore a fitted top that accentuated the delicate curve of her breasts.

      She skirted the servery, reached up and planted a light kiss against the edge of his jaw. ‘Thanks for breakfast.’

      He caught her close and slanted his mouth over hers with a possession that wreaked havoc with her equilibrium. Then he eased the pressure and brushed his lips over the swollen contours of her own, lingered at one corner, then gently released her.

      ‘I consider myself thanked.’

      Her eyes felt too large, and she quickly blinked in an effort to clear her vision. That had been … ‘cataclysmic’ was a word that came immediately to mind. And passionate, definitely passionate.

      Maybe she was beginning to scratch the surface of his control after all.

      That thought stayed with her as she took the lift down to the underground car park, and during the few kilometres to her parents’ home.