The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario. Jane Porter

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      He’d never been one to back down when there was something that needed doing.

      Stroking her damp hair out of her eyes, he dried her tears, ruthlessly closing down that side of him that retreated from the prospect of upsetting her further. She breathed with a hitch and a judder, everything uneven, but there was no sign of an impending asthma attack. Which was a relief because nothing, not volcanic eruption or earthquake, nor the sharp sting of his conscience was going to interrupt this conversation.

      Her eyes were reddened and swollen, her mouth bruised from his kisses. His kisses.

      His resolve turned to steel and he stared down at her, knowing that he couldn’t allow her time to put those barriers up again. He was still inside her. Still hard, he realised as he ruefully acknowledged the effect she had on him.

      It didn’t get any more intimate than this, he thought grimly, and he wanted intimate.

      He wanted it all.

      Everything they’d lost, and more.

      Holding her still, trapping her with his strength, he took her chin in his hand and turned her tear-streaked face to his. ‘Now tell me you’re not in love with me.’

      Laurel lay in shock, wrung out from the deluge of emotion and the mind-blowing sex. Emotionally and physically spent, she just wanted to roll over and bury her head in the pillow but he lay in a position of domination, the muscles of his sleek, powerful shoulders bunched as he protected her from his weight, waiting for her response to his all male command. She tried to pull herself back, to separate herself, but they were entwined in every way possible. She could still feel him, hard and heavy, and her body tensed around him, drawing a soft curse from his lips.

      ‘Don’t move—’

      ‘You move then—’

      ‘I’m not going anywhere until you admit the way you feel—’ His voice was a thickened growl and she knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to back off until she’d spoken the words he wanted to hear.

      And she had no intention of doing that. ‘You’re heavy. I can’t breathe properly.’

      The connection was sweet and terrifying at the same time and her hips moved without her consent, the unconsciously sensuous movement dragging another curse from his lips.

      Drawing in a long breath, he closed one strong hand over her hip, holding her still while he struggled for control. ‘I said don’t move.’

      ‘I need fresh air.’ ‘Coward.’

      Was she a coward? No, she wasn’t. She was strong. She’d survived an upbringing that would have wrecked many people but the grim, cold reality of her early life had taught her one important lesson: that life was about choices. And she’d been fiercely determined to make the best choices she could.

       So what was she doing back in Cristiano’s bed?

      Bad choice, she thought desperately, but then remembered that the length of time he’d allowed her to make that choice could have been measured in milliseconds.

      ‘You’re a very attractive guy, Cristiano, no woman is likely to dispute that. So we just had sex.’

      ‘I noticed.’ His mouth curved into a satisfied masculine smile and he shifted his body just enough to make her gasp. ‘So what does that make you?’

      ‘Stupid.’

      Despite the fact she wasn’t saying the words he wanted to hear, he was still smiling, but this time there were hints of the sardonic about the curve of his mouth. ‘You’re not stupid, but you are a liar, tesoro. And you are in love with me.’

      ‘You’re so arrogant. The world does not begin and end with you.’

      ‘It does to you. Admit it.’ He held her trapped and she squirmed beneath him and then stilled as she felt him grow harder.

      ‘Get off me or I’m going to have to hurt you.’

      ‘You’re strong, but I’m stronger.’ He spoke through his teeth, clearly as affected by their physical connection as she was. ‘Tell me why you walked out on us. Why didn’t you just yell at me and fix it?’

      ‘Because I didn’t want to fix it.’ She wasn’t used to feeling helpless and he made her feel helpless. ‘You’re a selfish bastard and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with you. We’re not good together.’

      ‘No, you’re right. We’re terrible together.’ His mouth was right up against hers, his words blending with her lips, his breath warm and seductive. ‘I may be a selfish bastard but I love you.’

      Her heart melted. He always did this. He always knew exactly what to say to thrust her off balance. ‘You’ll get over it.’

      Choices, she reminded herself. It was all about choices.

      His low laugh was accompanied by the slow, sneaky brush of his mouth against hers. ‘Just for the record, how many men do you scream underneath in an average week?’

      ‘You’re disgusting.’

      ‘I’m honest. And maybe a touch possessive,’ he conceded, ‘but I have no problems with you being the same. I happen to believe what we have is worth fighting hard to protect, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.’ Strong fingers caught her chin and the humour died in his eyes. ‘Say it. Say I love you.’

      ‘Because we just had sex? Your superior technique was supposed to have the same effect as a mind wipe? It was a physical act, Cristiano. It had no emotional meaning.’

      He swore under his breath and finally shifted his weight. Rolling onto his back, he jabbed his fingers into his hair in a gesture of frustration. ‘You drive me insane, you know that, don’t you?’

      ‘Likewise.’ She’d wanted him to let her go, but now that he had she felt the loss of it keenly.

      That was the way they’d always slept, she remembered, holding onto each other. She’d never depended on anyone, ever, but the way she’d slept with Cristiano had been the nearest she’d come to relaxing that rule.

      It had made night her favourite time.

      She felt herself weaken.

      She was about to turn to him when he rose from the bed, gloriously indifferent to the fact he was naked. He was completely comfortable with himself. His ego had been nurtured by an adoring family and fattened by the admiration of all who came into contact with him. He was the golden boy. The Prince.

      The muscles of his torso rippled as he moved and she felt her instant response, although how she could even contemplate more sex after what they’d just shared she had no idea.

      Even so, everything inside her softened and melted and when he turned his dark, proud head to look at her she felt the same connection that had drawn them together the first time they’d met.

      ‘Why do women always turn everything into a major drama?’ СКАЧАТЬ