he whispered, and she shook her head.
No, she was not cold. It was a balmy spring evening, and the hotel suite was warm. The shiver was because of him, and he knew it, and she didn’t care.
He kissed her again, working his way down her jaw and collar bone to press his lips against the V between her breasts. She threaded her fingers through his hair, anchoring herself to him. She felt adrift in sensation, and his touch was the only thing that tethered her to earth.
Then he was moving his mouth lower, peeling away her bra and pants with his hands, sinking down onto his knees in front of her so Allegra swayed, shocked and overwhelmed by the feel of his hands on her hips, his mouth...
‘Oh...’ Her breath came out in shattered gasps. It was so unbearably intimate, to have him looking at the very essence of her, revering her in an act so selfless and giving and... ‘Oh.’
Rafael’s dark chuckle reverberated through her bones as her body trembled on the precipice of an orgasm that felt like an explosion. He rose again and drew her to the bed, leaving her trembling and aching and wanting more.
She watched, dazed, as he shucked off his clothes, revealing a bronzed torso, the muscles of his abdomen scored into hard, perfect ridges. His legs were long and powerful, and as for the most male part of him...
He was a work of beauty.
‘You may look,’ Rafael said as he covered her body with his. ‘And you may also touch.’ And then he was kissing her again, his arousal pressing into her with thrilling insistence, and that restless ache became an overwhelming clamour in her body, drowning out all thought, all doubt.
She gasped out loud as his fingers touched her in her most intimate and feminine places, teasing, toying, exploring, knowing. Her fingernails dug into the satiny skin of his shoulders as her body strained for the glittering apex she felt, just out of her reach, a pinnacle she needed to find, that she wanted them to ascend together.
And then, finally, he was sliding inside her, his breathing harsh and ragged as he filled her up, the momentary twinge of pain lost in the utter rightness of the sensation, the union complete and total.
He stopped, swearing under his breath, and, lost in a haze of need, Allegra stilled underneath him.
‘Rafael...?’
‘You are vergine?’ he demanded, and she gulped.
‘Yes...’
He swore again, his forehead pressed to hers. ‘I had no idea...’
‘Why would you?’ she managed, and he let out a shudder, his eyes clenched closed.
‘You should have told me.’
‘Rafael...’ She arched her hips upwards, letting her body plead in a way her words could not. She couldn’t let him stop now, not when everything in her was aching and demanding. With a groan he kept moving, the delicious slide of his body in hers making Allegra forget that tense moment as she gave herself up to the sensations cascading through her, building in a beautiful crescendo, and then the glittering apex burst into crystalline shards of pleasure around her as she let out a cry that rent the still air and then fell away like the most sacred note of music she’d ever heard.
* * *
Rafael rolled off Allegra, managing to suppress the curse that sprang to his lips once more. She’d been a virgin. He hadn’t expected that, not even when he’d decided she was artless and genuine, and guilt soured like acid in his stomach. He’d stolen someone’s innocence. He’d used someone who should have been protected, cared for. He’d done something he’d sworn he would never do again. Break a sacred trust.
He’d assumed she was a woman of some experience, even if she’d seemed a little shy. He never would have brought her upstairs otherwise. He never would have gone ahead with his seduction.
And yet...the music, the mood, the way Allegra had looked at him with hungry hope...all of it had made him yearn in a way that now left him feeling deeply uneasy. Sex was a transaction, nothing more, pleasurable and easy as it was. He didn’t ever let it mean anything, and he hoped like hell Allegra wasn’t imbuing it with some kind of emotion he would never let himself feel.
And yet it had been the innocent purity of her response that had been his undoing. He hadn’t even used birth control. The realisation crystallised like ice inside him. He’d meant to reach for a condom, but in the moment he’d completely forgotten. He’d lost his head. He’d certainly lost control of his body.
Next to him Allegra was still, a rosy flush covering her pale, porcelain body, the perfect foil for the creaminess of her skin. Her hair was spread across the pillow in a tangle of red-gold curls, making him want to thread his fingers through them even now, and pull her towards him for an open-mouthed kiss. Even now, with his climax still thudding through him, knowing how innocent she’d been, he wanted her. He’d never wanted a woman so quickly, or so much.
Allegra rolled on her side, curling into him, her arms wrapped around his chest. Rafael froze, confusion colliding with alarm, irritation with guilt. He didn’t do pillow talk. Ever. All of his bed partners knew what he expected in bed, and what he definitely didn’t want. He made it very clear from the beginning that emotional attachments were a no-go zone, except Allegra, of course, hadn’t received that memo. And as a virgin she would no doubt expect some intimacy now, some soft talk that he knew he was utterly incapable of. He didn’t let people get close. People he could hurt. People he could fail.
As he’d already hurt Allegra, deflowering her in what amounted to a tawdry one-night stand.
Her leg found its way between his, her damp cheek pressed to his chest. She let out a shuddering sigh.
‘I miss him,’ she whispered, her voice sounding broken. ‘I miss him so much.’
Shock had Rafael stilling. What the hell...? ‘Miss him?’ he repeated tonelessly.
‘I know I shouldn’t, there’s nothing to miss,’ she continued softly. ‘I hadn’t even seen him in fifteen years. But I do miss him. I miss what we once had, what I thought we had. That’s why I came tonight, I think. Because I was looking for something, some kind of closure...’
She was talking about Mancini. But fifteen years... She couldn’t have been his mistress. She was in her late twenties at most.
‘Allegra,’ Rafael asked hoarsely, turning to stare down into her pale, lovely face. ‘Who are you?’
She looked up at him with tear-drenched eyes. ‘I’m his daughter,’ she said simply, and Rafael bit down on the curse that sprang to his lips.
Allegra was Alberto Mancini’s daughter. The daughter of his enemy, his nemesis, was lying in his arms, seeking his comfort, because her dear father, the man who had as good as murdered his own, was dead.
His stomach heaved. He felt a thousand different emotions—fury and guilt, disgust and alarm, regret and sorrow. He was sickened by his own part in this unexpected drama, taking a woman’s innocence, a woman who he should, by rights, have nothing to do with. He’d hated the Mancinis for so long, had wanted only justice...but what was this? What was he? Allegra was looking for comfort and he had none to give.
He rolled away from her and out of bed, grabbing his boxers
