and recessed sconces that made the stained glass behind the altar glow, it was the perfect setting for his soon to be wife to walk down the aisle.
Tara’s mother and Danette were seated in front on one of the polished wooden pews. Angelo’s private investigator and long-time friend, Hawk, sat across the aisle from them.
The music of a pipe organ swelled, filling the space with the strains of the wedding march.
Angelo’s gaze snapped to the back of the church where the open double doors framed Tara, her head held high, her dark brown eyes pools of feminine mystery and her hand curled around her stepdad’s arm.
They started forward and a wave of something indefinable washed over Angelo.
Possessive desire was certainly part of it. Soon, this woman would be his to have, to hold and to make love to…over and over again.
Tara wasn’t wearing a traditional wedding gown, but the designer original filmy white concoction she had on clung to every single one of her curves. It dipped in the front to reveal the top swells of her creamy, smooth breasts. Sexy and feminine, the dress was the stuff masculine fantasies were made of.
Those fantasies vied for his attention with the minister as he went through the wedding service. Angelo managed to give all the right answers, however, and smiled in victory when Tara did the same thing.
Afterward, he took everyone out for a celebratory dinner at the five-star restaurant his assistant had made reservations at. All he really wanted to do was take Tara up to their suite and make her his completely.
The glow on her face made it worth it however. Her mom and Darren were important to her, which was something he needed to remember. It had been a long time since he’d had close family.
After his parents’ deaths, he’d pushed away his Sicilian family, only going home to visit infrequently.
“You know, when I gave you that information on Randall, I never would have guessed this is where it would lead you to,” Hawk said from beside Angelo.
Tara’s mother and her husband were dancing while Danette and Tara had gone to the ladies’ room.
Angelo turned, lifting a sardonic brow. “What better way to ensure he doesn’t get his hands on her again?”
His friend’s eyes narrowed. “I know you can be a cold and ruthless bastard, Angelo, but tell me that’s not the only reason you married her.”
“Do you think she would be better off having that egomaniac people user back in her life?”
“Tara doesn’t strike me as a woman stupid enough to make the same mistakes twice.”
“He can be damn convincing.”
“Not enough to get her to agree to be his mistress.”
“No, Tara would never agree to that kind of arrangement.” But once Randall was divorced, the rules would change.
He’d just taken steps to make sure the other man could never again enter the game.
“Do you feel anything for her besides the need to get the better of your enemy?” Hawk asked, sounding like a man with a stronger conscience than Angelo had ever suspected.
“I want her.”
“Is that all?”
“None of your damn business.”
“I’m your friend, Angelo.”
“But you aren’t my confessor.”
Hawk just stared at him, the look disconcerting, even for Angelo.
“I want her. I respect her. I like her. It’s enough.”
“I wonder.”
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
“Have you taken any time to consider how she’s going to react once she learns about Randall?”
“With any luck, she’ll never have to know about Randall. I’m sure as hell not going to tell her.”
“I’ve never been much of a believer in luck.”
Angelo wasn’t, either.
TARA was as nervous as a virgin when Angelo carried her into their honeymoon suite, his midnight gaze burning hotter than any blue flame. The sexual energy emanating off him had been growing all night until she fairly sizzled from the impact.
Despite the elegance of their surroundings, she felt like she was about to be devoured by a mountain lion. A very hungry, powerful lion with sharp teeth and claws that could tear through the barriers she had erected around her emotions.
That shouldn’t frighten her.
She’d married him, after all.
But it did.
He stopped on the other side of the threshold, kicked the door shut and then looked down at her, predatory intent and primitive satisfaction exuding from his every pore. “You are mine now, Mrs. Gordon.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” Then he kissed her.
It was hot; it was carnal; it was a statement of intent to possess.
His hot mouth molded hers, letting her taste the essence of this man she’d married. Could determination have a flavor? Strength? Desire? Intelligence? Masculine dominance? She could taste all of that and the spiciness of his need in his kiss. They’d never shared a kiss like this and yet her soul responded to it on a level of recognition she could not begin to dismiss.
Swirling sensation spiraled to the core of her and then outward in radiating waves of delight until it was all she could do not to cry out.
He carried her to the bed and stood her on her feet at the end of it and then gave her a once-over that left her trembling. “You are incredibly beautiful, my wife.”
“Thank you. You clean up nice in a tux yourself.”
His smile slashed through her with heat, leaving her stomach quivering in a way she’d only ever experienced with him.
He reached around her, enveloping her in his warmth and teasing her with his nearness. He started tugging her zipper down. His fingertips played along her spine as each new inch of flesh was revealed.
“Angelo?” Was that hesitant, high-pitched voice hers?
“Yes?”
“Other than the other night, it’s been two years and then we didn’t…you know.”
“Make love?”
“Right.”
