Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит

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      She dipped her head to study the wine in her glass, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she did so. “If you don’t want me, it’s okay. I understand. I’m not sophisticated or experienced enough for a man like you, and maybe it is better if we continue to be professional after all.”

      He reached across the table to tip her chin up. She tried to keep her eyes from meeting his. “Look at me,” he commanded.

      Her lashes lifted until he was staring into the deepest, greenest eyes he’d ever seen. He felt a jolt in his gut, a visceral need for her that stunned him with its intensity.

      “What I want is you beneath me. Naked, cara mia. Right now would not be soon enough.”

      There was an electrical current in the air, sliding between them on invisible pathways that sparked and sizzled with each look, each touch, that flowed between them. Faith’s blood felt hot, thick, and her chest ached as if she couldn’t quite breathe properly.

      Anticipation coiled in her belly. Naked. She tried to imagine it, tried to imagine what he said he wanted, and her vision swam as she did so.

      She could hear Renzo’s soft laugh, and then he was standing and pulling her to her feet, holding her close. “Breathe, Faith. Don’t pass out on me.”

      She clutched her fingers into the expensive silk of his shirt and sucked air into her lungs. Air that smelled like him, spicy and male and clean.

      “You must think me ridiculous,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

      He stroked her hair. “Not at all. I think you’re refreshing. Lovely.”

      “This is not quite how I imagined my first time would go.”

      His voice was smooth, warm. “And what did you imagine, cara?”

      She shrugged. She’d imagined love, though she wouldn’t tell him that. She wasn’t naive—she was a grown woman who’d had to take care of herself for the past eight years. She’d had roommates, she’d watched movies and she’d listened to bedroom tales when her roommates wanted to share. But, through it all, she’d imagined some sort of special moment when Faith Black—Faith Winston—met her Prince Charming. The man who would love her the way she loved him, and who would pledge his soul to hers when he made love to her for the first time.

      It was a crazy fantasy, a girlish fantasy. She knew better. Relationships were messy and imperfect, and you kissed a lot of frogs before you found Prince Charming.

      “I’m not sure,” she said softly. “Music, dancing, candles. Romantic nonsense.”

      “It’s not nonsense if it’s what you want.” He took her hand and led her into the living area. The room was beautiful, she thought wistfully, as she sat on the plush couch at his direction and let her eyes roam over the wood beams and the original artwork that graced the stuccoed walls. Renzo picked up a remote control, and then the soft strains of smooth jazz filled the background.

      There were candles clustered in the hearth, she realized, when he struck a long match and lit them. Then he returned to the couch and sat beside her. She thought he might pull her into his arms, kiss her, but he simply sat back and put his arm around her. After a moment’s hesitation, she curled into him and watched the flames.

      “Do you want me to tell you about my first time?” he asked.

      Faith nodded. She could feel his smile against her temple. “This is top secret information, cara. It would surely ruin me if it got out.”

      “I doubt that.”

      He laughed at the sarcasm in her voice. “I was seventeen,” he said. “And very green. She was older than I, so sexy and experienced that I could not believe she wanted me.”

      “I can,” Faith said, and meant it.

      “Nevertheless, I fumbled quite badly. She was very patient.”

      Faith pushed back until she could see his face. “What do you mean, fumbled?”

      His blue eyes were sharp. Sexy. She could drown in those eyes. “I mean that I failed. That I lasted about as long as it takes the Viper to go from zero to one hundred.”

      Faith could only blink.

      “Don’t look so surprised,” he said.

      “But you did it right the second time.”

      He nodded. “The second time was about fifteen minutes later. It was quite an improvement.”

      “You’re only saying this to make me feel better. You didn’t really, um …”

      “Come too quickly? I did.” He dipped his head and kissed her, his voice a soft, sensual growl when next he spoke. “I assure you this is no longer a problem.”

      Faith strained toward him, even though she was already close. She wanted him to kiss her again, to kiss her the way he had in his office, to make her forget everything but him and this moment together. Her body hummed with excitement, with anticipation and nerves and a zillion other feelings that were sparking and zapping inside her.

      So long as he kissed her, the fear was submersed beneath the need.

      One hand spanned her jaw, and then his mouth slanted over hers again, taking her roughly. She was shocked—and aroused. She wanted this kiss, wanted it just like this. Because it reminded her of last night, in the car, when he’d seemed so barely controlled that she’d thought he would tear her clothes off and make her his in a too-small sports car parked in the Tuscan countryside.

      “Faith,” he murmured. “You are so sweet. So intoxicating. Why did I not realize this before?”

      “Renzo.” His name was a sigh.

      His lips touched hers again, and then his tongue slid against hers like silk and she moaned. She knew the rhythm so well now. Knew it as if she’d been born to kiss this one particular man for eternity.

      She expected that he would quickly tire of the kissing and try to move on to the main event. That’s what Jason had done on the fateful night when she’d refused him. She’d felt so badly afterward that she’d committed the single biggest error of her life.

      Tonight, however, was not an error. She was twenty-six, more than responsible for herself—and more than ready to experience lovemaking.

      Renzo kissed her endlessly, tirelessly, as if he had all night to do so. The tension in her body wound tighter and tighter until she throbbed with it. She wanted him so badly that it hurt—physically hurt—not to have him.

      She was on fire. She wanted her clothes off, wanted to feel the cool air wafting over her sweat-sheened skin. Renzo must have sensed it, because he stood then and pulled her with him. Without a word, they climbed the stairs to the second floor, where he tugged her into his arms and kissed her even while he moved her inexorably toward her bedroom.

      A moment later, he scooped her up and carried her into the room—not hers, she realized, but his. This room was even bigger than the one she was staying in, and furnished with antiques, priceless art and a large СКАЧАТЬ