jerked her head back but it was too late. Just as she realised what Gianni intended and as he pressed her even closer, his head swooped and his mouth covered hers.
Keelin had been kissed before. Plenty of times. She’d become something of an expert in her teens, having perfected the art of kissing and going so far with boys without going further—until that traumatic night when she’d realised just how close she’d skirted to the edges of danger in a bid to seek male attention.
But Gianni was no lanky twenty-year-old testosterone-fuelled guy. He was all man. In his virile prime. And Keelin had no defences.
She was pressed so hard into his body that she could feel every taut sinew and hard muscle. His mouth on hers was firm, but demanding. Hard. His tongue touched the seam of her lips and without even being really conscious of what she was doing her mouth opened to him.
And then Gianni dominated her with sensual ease. His tongue swept in, stroking hers roughly, eliciting a response that made her legs weak, and hot sensations eddy between her legs. Her lower gut tightened with a kind of need she’d never felt before.
That finally sent some kind of awareness to her brain and Keelin pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide, staring into pools of dark brown.
Gianni’s face was all stark lines and an unsmiling mouth. Keelin’s lips tingled and felt swollen.
‘I think it’s time to leave, cara, don’t you?’
He didn’t wait for an answer; he just took his arms from around her and led her off the dance floor, taking her hand when people crushed around them. The music had changed to fast again and Keelin felt humiliated to imagine how they’d looked standing in the middle of energetically dancing couples while Gianni had demonstrated his easy dominance.
Everything in her chafed at that and when they got back up to the seating area she pulled her hand free. A girl was approaching with her short gold jacket and Gianni took it and held it out, for all the world the solicitous fiancé who was eager to get to a more private location.
Keelin had half a mind to stalk out and made a minute move but Gianni was blocking her way, as if reading her mind. She glared at him and he stared back.
With the utmost reluctance she put her arms in the jacket and let him settle it on her shoulders. Was it her imagination or was his slightly heavy-handed touch a warning?
When she turned again he had her clutch bag. She took it, just as he reached for her other hand again. But just like that kiss hadn’t been a lover’s kiss, his touch now was not gentle. It was an exercise in proving his strength and will.
And all she could think about was how she’d arched closer to him and let her tongue slip into his own mouth to explore all that heat and his intoxicating male taste. Humiliation burned her again; the minute he’d touched her she should have been flouncing off the dance floor, not pressing closer to him like a needy little kitten.
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