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СКАЧАТЬ Just the way that he spoke sent warm waves of sensation running over her skin, easing the cold of her drenching in the sea, warming her blood. ‘Not until I’m sure that you can stand on your own.’

      And most likely not even then, Vito told himself. He had hold of this woman now; he wasn’t going to let her go.

      His heart had barely stopped racing, hardly slowed from the moment he had seen her dancing wildly in the sea, her hair swirling round her face, arms waving in the air. But then there had been that pulse-stopping moment when she had seemed to stumble, when her hands had flown up into the air. She had spun on one leg, fallen—and the white-crested waves had crashed over her head.

      He hadn’t even been aware of moving, of racing down the strand to the sea. At some point he had kicked off his shoes and left them, careless of where they fell. His jacket had followed somewhere and all the time he had been running, running through the sand, into the water…

      When he reached the spot where he’d last seen her he’d thought he’d lost her, the sea had already closed over her head. But then he’d seen, in the depths, the swirl of pale hair, an even paler face; the white of her T-shirt. And he’d plunged into the water. Eyes struggling against the sting, hands reaching out, closing over her arms, dragging her close, lifting her up and out…

      At first he’d feared he was too late. She was terribly limp—too limp. But then she’d choked, coughed, and the air had rushed into her lungs on a huge, gasping sigh. Her head had fallen back against his shoulder, blonde hair splaying out across his chest.

      And suddenly everything had changed.

      She was cold and wet. He was cold and wet. But what he actually felt was a heavy, heated pulse that throbbed through every vein. The soft weight of her in his arms, made his own body tighten in hungry need and it was all he could do not to turn his head to hers and press a wild, demanding kiss on her parted lips.

      But for now practicality was what mattered. Already the woman was starting to shiver in his arms. He had to get her to the shore, check that she had suffered no ill-effects from her accident. And so, gritting his teeth against the clamour from his inner senses, he turned and ploughed his way back towards the land.

      ‘Don’t let me go,’ she said again. ‘Don’t let me go!’

      Didn’t she know that that wouldn’t be the problem? That the thought of letting her go had never entered his head? From the moment he had first seen her arrive at the beach, he had been caught, entranced, and now that he actually had her in his arms there was no way he was going to let her go. Not without exploring what this whole thing meant. Not without taking this unexpected, fiery connection to the furthest limits possible.

      ‘Oh, I’ve no intention of letting you go,’ he said again, disturbing himself even with the intensity of the way it came out. So much so that he amended it hastily, adding some nonsense about wanting to see her on her feet first.

      And why, when they finally reached the shore, when his feet were on solid land, with the sand firm beneath them, did he not act on that? Why did he not let her down, still holding her, still supporting her, waiting to see if she could stand up by herself?

      Because his whole body, everything that was in him, rebelled at the idea.

      He had her where he wanted her and he wasn’t about to let go.

      ‘We’re here,’ he said when she didn’t appear to be about to stir either. Certainly she showed no sign of wanting to move but just lay in his hold as if she belonged there. ‘Signorina…’

      That caught her attention, brought her head up. Her eyes—they were, he now saw, the softest, clearest blue, blue like the sky reflected in the sea—widened, looked straight into his.

      ‘You’re Italian!’

      ‘Sicilian.’

      ‘Oh…’

      It was the last thing Emily had expected. When she had fallen into the cold, turbulent waters of the English Channel on a very English beach, she had never imagined that the man who had come to her rescue, like some knight of old racing to the defence of his lady, would be anything other than local. But now, looking up into his face, she saw that there was no way he could ever be taken for an Englishman. The olive-toned skin covering powerfully carved features, high, angular cheekbones, and the full, sensual mouth that now curved in a devastating smile, revealing white, white teeth, were definitely not the sort of looks she saw around her every day.

      ‘Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Vito…’

      ‘Emily…’ she managed awkwardly, her tongue stumbling even over her own name as she struggled with the over-heated race of her heart.

      Those deep-set dark eyes burned down into hers with an intensity that seared her skin, making it flame with heat. It was as if the sun had suddenly come out from behind a cloud, almost blinding her, and she had to turn her head away, closing her eyes and burying her face in his shoulder.

      She should say thank you, she knew. She should say thank you for rescuing me and now would you please put me down? Let me stand on my feet…?

      But she couldn’t do it.

      She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t say anything.

      The scent of his skin surrounded her. Warm and musky and still overlaid by the ozone from the sea. She took it in with every breath, felt it enfold her like the strength of his arms. No man had touched her, no man had held her in too long. No man except Mark, but Mark’s hold had never affected her like this. Even in the beginning. Mark’s arms had never felt so strong, his skin hadn’t had that wild, intoxicating scent that went straight to her head like a swallow of the most potent of spirits, making her thoughts spin.

      ‘Emily…’

      That voice, that accent made her name into a totally different sound. They took away the clipped, essentially English, pronunciation she was so used to hearing every day and transformed it into a warm, lyrical sound, one that stirred her senses so that she nestled even closer, burying her face against Vito’s chest, in the curve between his neck and his shoulder.

      The warmth of his skin was against her cheek, the still damp strands of his hair brushing her ear as he moved his head, making her draw in a long, ragged breath. And with that breath she took in once more the essence of him, the scent of his skin, the taste…

      In the warm, concealing darkness her closed eyes fluttered open, fixed on the point where just inches away from her, the heavy, regular throb of his pulse beat just under the skin. The firm stretch of olive skin was so smooth, so tempting…If she just moved her head…

      It was only when her lips touched the warmth of his flesh that she realised what she’d done. And by then it was too late, way too late. Just the feel of it underneath her mouth, the taste of it on her tongue, was like a drug, making her blood heat, her senses yearn. Something hot and hungry and uncontrollable was uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, sending shivers of reaction along the pathway of every nerve. She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her lips to that pulse again, breathing in the scent of his skin, tasting it with her tongue.

      ‘Emilia,’ Vito said again but this time on a very different note. One that matched the thunder in her head, the sensations in her body.

      ‘Vito…’ she breathed against his neck and slowly lifted СКАЧАТЬ