her opening, and her whole being focused on that one spot, that one sensation, where her muscles instinctively tightened to draw him in. She reached for him then, unable to pretend she was uninvolved, that this was merely something happening to her. For she was part of this too. Hot and smooth, skin had never felt so delicious, and it was impossible to resist running her hands down his toned sides to his flanks, drinking in the heat through her palms, testing the firmness of his tight buttocks with her fingers.
He groaned against her throat, and gave a thrust of his hips that sent him surging into her. So this was how it felt, she thought, as every nerve ending in her body lurched with the thrill, every muscle focused on accommodating him; this was what it should be like.
He pulled away, and she wanted to cry out with the sense of loss, but he returned on another stroke, pressing deeper, giving her more of him. She accepted hungrily, a delicious pressure mounting inside her, and each successive thrust taking him further until he was planted deep inside. He paused then, and if that had been the end of it it would have been enough, the sensations he’d awakened in her already too many and too wondrous to catalogue. But he started to move again, to rock back and forth, setting up a rhythm, a delicious friction. She angled her hips up to receive him, as if it were possible to take him deeper still, using muscles she’d never known she had, making moves she hadn’t known she knew, feeling things she hadn’t known possible to feel.
Already she wanted to cry out in exhilaration for all she felt, and still he was taking her higher.
Her hands clung to his chest, clung to heated skin now slick with sweat, against chest hair that coiled possessively around her fingers, against a nipple that intruded tight into her palm as his heartbeat thumped out a song to lure her in. She tossed her head from side to side as he continued the onslaught, leaving her gasping for air as her senses seemed determined to spiral out of control.
But instead of oxygen the air she breathed was filled with the scent of him, the testosterone-laden notes intoxicating, compelling, compounding the experience until he was everywhere—inside her, around her, in the air she breathed.
His pace was frantic, her own need building with it, having no choice but to go with the forces spiralling inside her. He dropped his head to one breast and took a nipple deep into his mouth, suckling on it tightly and triggering what felt like lightning bolts inside her. Her back arched and her fingers lodged tight in his skin, the combination of excruciating pleasure and exquisite pain connecting with the delicious fullness between her thighs, completing the circuit.
She came apart like the force of a sky rocket, exploding into myriad tiny stars that sparkled and shone and floated on the breeze as they drifted back down to earth.
He followed her, pumping his release with a roar that sounded like a cry of victory, before collapsing alongside her on the bed.
She dragged up the sheet and lay there panting, staring up at the darkened ceiling, disbelief uppermost in her mind. Disbelief that someone who’d been told she was frostier than the polar ice-caps could have burned up so completely with a stranger. Disbelief that that stranger should be none other than Dante Carrazzo.
Fear zipped down her spine. Now that she’d been satisfied, now that she’d given into her body’s desperate desires, there was no place for her mind to hide, no place for her fear.
What the hell had she done?
She squeezed her eyes closed, clamping one hand over her mouth to prevent her from crying out in distress. What had she been thinking? How could she have allowed anyone—especially him—to do that to her?
But there’d been no room for thinking, no room for logic, not with the bevy of sensations he’d triggered off inside her. Even now her muscles still hummed, as if clinging onto the memories of unfamiliar passion. Unfamiliar yet very welcome passion.
Would she have done anything differently if she’d had her time over? She doubted it. She dragged in a breath, sorting out her options.
He’ll never know it’s you. The words of her mantra came back to her. She stole a sideways look at him. Oh no, it wasn’t as simple as that. Dante Carrazzo couldn’t recognize her—or her cause was doomed even before she’d started.
She sensed the subtle change in him that she hoped signalled sleep. She turned her head as the digital clock behind him flicked over to three a. m., the light from the display casting a red glow on his outline, making him look even more ruthless than she knew him to be, the chiselled line of his jaw hard and uncompromising, his mouth set and unyielding.
Unlike before…
She waited a few moments more, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing and assuring herself he was really asleep, before easing herself from the bed, gathering up the pile of folded clothes she’d left on an armchair and bolting from the room.
Oh no. She would not think about how amazing that mouth had felt on her skin.
She would not!
CHAPTER THREE
HE WAS ALREADY waiting for her, seated in a private alcove at the far side of the busy restaurant, his attitude bearing all the hallmarks of one reputed to be so ruthless in business, his expression grim and with a jaw that looked as if it was used to being permanently clenched. Even so, there was a something about him that kept female heads around him turning. It wasn’t that he was classically handsome under that dark scowl, with too many strong angles, too many shadowed recesses, and too little compassion marking his features. It was more a kind of terrible beauty that he wore, a smouldering intensity. Compelling. Dangerous.
Just looking at him was enough to make Mackenzi’s internal muscles clench involuntarily with memories of how that smouldering intensity had felt inside her. Dante Carrazzo was the most striking man in the restaurant, exuding power in every movement and impatient gesture— and thinking about how he’d filled her so completely just a few short hours ago…
Mackenzi tried to ignore the sick feeling roiling through her gut and smoothed her palms down her skirt, telling herself for the hundredth time that he’d never recognize her. Not with her clothes on. And with her hair up, and her reading glasses perched defensively on her nose, she must look radically different. Besides, it had been dark in the suite, and he’d been far more interested in getting his rocks off than being bothered with introductions.
What the hell kind of man did something like that anyway—launched himself on a sleeping woman like he had a God-given right to have sex with her? She might have been sleeping in the bed reserved for him, but he hadn’t been expected to arrive for hours, and she certainly didn’t recall tattooing ‘take me’ on her forehead before she’d gone to sleep.
She swallowed back on her guilt. Just because she hadn’t backed away when she’d had the chance, didn’t make it right. And just because she’d enjoyed it didn’t make it right. He’d taken advantage of the situation, and of her.
A couple emerged from the lift behind, making their way past her into the busy restaurant, reminding her that she should be doing likewise. Standing in the doorway was no way to save the hotel. A deep breath later, her face schooled into cool professionalism, she once again clamped down on the fear that threatened to turn her stomach.
He wouldn’t recognize her. He couldn’t…
The maître d’ threw her a worried frown as she entered the buzzing
