one hand to gently move her dark hair off her shoulders, he leaned down to speak in her ear. She felt the whisper of his breath against her neck, causing prickles to spread up and down her body. The flicker of his lips, the tease of his tongue against her sensitive earlobe, ricocheted down her nerve endings.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Countess.”
She exhaled only when he moved back from her.
“Thank you,” she managed. She raised her chin, desperately trying to hide the feelings he was creating in her. “And thank you for your million-dollar donation to the park. Children all over the city will be—”
“I don’t give a damn about them,” he said, cutting her off. His dark eyes sizzled through hers. “I did it for you.”
“For me?” she whispered, feeling her whole body go off-kilter again, growing dizzy as he moved her across the dance floor.
“A million dollars is nothing.” He gave a sudden searching look. “I would pay far more than that to get what I want.”
“And what do you want?”
“Right now?” He pulled her close, holding her hand entwined with his larger one against his chest. “You, Lia.”
Lia.
No man had called her by her first name like that. Acquaintances called her Countess. Giovanni had called her by her full name, Amelia.
Hearing her dance partner’s lips caress her name as his hands caressed her body caused a shiver to scatter her soul.
But the heat in his dark eyes was steady. Controlled. As if the overwhelming desire that was ripping her self-control to shreds was nothing more than of passing interest to him. A momentary pleasure in his life that was full of pleasures—like a single sip of champagne, hardly to be noticed in the endless crystal flutes.
But it was new to Lia. It made her knees weak. Made her dizzy, filling her with longing and fear.
He held her tightly, swaying in time to the scorching passion of the song. Lia was dimly aware of all New York society watching them. She could feel the stares, hear the first whispers at the impropriety of this dance. Holding her as he was, without even a sliver of space between them, he held her like a lover.
As if no one in the world mattered to him but her.
She knew she should push him away. She was, after all, a new widow. Allowing him to hold her like this not only disgraced Giovanni’s memory, it caused injury to her reputation. And yet his powerful control over her senses caused her body to betray her mind’s commands.
She tried to put some distance between them.
She could not.
She didn’t even know this man, but something about the way he held her made Lia feel she’d been waiting for this moment all her life.
He spoke in a low voice for her ears only. “I knew it from the moment I saw you.”
“What?” she whispered.
“What it would feel like to touch you.”
She trembled. Did he know what he made her feel? Did he have any idea how he affected her?
She forced herself to toss her head, to act as if nothing were wrong. “I feel nothing.”
“You’re lying.” He ran his hand down her glossy black hair, stroking the bare skin of her shoulders.
The tremble deepened, making her knees shake. She had to get ahold of herself. Before the situation was too far out of her control. Before she was utterly lost! “This is just a dance, nothing more.”
He stopped suddenly on the dance floor. “Prove your words.”
All the bravado left her when she saw the intent in his eyes. Here, on the dance floor, he meant to kiss her—staking his claim of possession for the entire world to see.
“No,” she gasped.
Ruthlessly he lowered his lips to hers.
His kiss was demanding and hungry. It seared her to the core. His lips moved against her own, suffusing her with his heat. Against her will, she fell against him, surrendering to the sweet languorous stroke of his tongue.
She wanted him. Wanted this.
She wanted it like a drowning woman wanted air.
As she felt him move against her, his strong hands moving against the soft skin of her naked back, a low moan escaped her. His power and warmth enveloped her as his sensual lips seduced her, allowing her to hold nothing back.
How long had she been drowning?
How long had she been all but dead?
Her breaths came in little shallow gasps as his kiss deepened. She heard the shocked hiss and jealous mutters of the crowds around them. “Crikey,” one man muttered, “I would have paid a million for that.”
But as Lia tried to pull away, he only held her more forcefully, plundering her lips until she again sagged in his arms. She forgot her name. Forgot everything but her desire to give anything—anything at all—to keep his heat and fire hard against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close against her body as she kissed him back with the ravenous hunger of fresh new life—
Then he released her, and her body instantly fell back into the icy breath of winter.
Opening her eyes, she looked into the face of the man who’d so cruelly brought her to life only to discard her. She expected to see smug, masculine arrogance. After all, he’d amply proven his point.
Instead he looked shocked. Almost as dazed as she felt. He gave his head a slight shake, as if clearing the fog from his mind.
Then his expression again became arrogant and ruthless. Leaving Lia to wonder if she’d just imagined a momentary bewilderment to match her own.
She touched her still-throbbing lips in shock. Oh, my God, what was wrong with her? With Giovanni not two weeks in his grave!
With the commanding force of the handsome stranger’s kiss, he’d made her forget everything—her grief, her pain, her emptiness—and surrender herself completely. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. And even at this moment she wanted more of him. Thirsted for him like a woman abandoned in the desert…
She took another short breath, gasping for air, for sanity and control.
Putting her hands on her head in despair, Lia backed away from him. “What have you done?” she whispered.
His dark gaze sharpened on her own. His eyes were hot enough to melt glass, skewering her heart. Burning her.
“The dance isn’t done.” The deep fiber of his voice commanded her, compelling her to return to his arms.
“Stay away from me!” Turning too quickly in a jerky, uneven movement,
