beautiful brunette who had been exquisitely confident...
He pushed the memory of his fiancée, Adelisa, from mind, but her memory served a purpose. It reminded him of his vow that he’d never let a woman have the upper hand again. Fortunately, he knew that stories could be massaged, and facts weren’t always objective. Rachel had come to give the photographers a fantastic shot, something they could take to every newspaper and magazine, and Gio could help her with that. He could ensure the paparazzi photographers with their telephoto lenses had something significant to capture, something that would derail her strategy.
Giovanni pulled her to him, one arm locking around her waist, the other hand free to lift her face. Holding her captive, he cupped her chin and jaw, angling her face up to his. He saw a flare of panic in her eyes, the brown irises shot with flecks of green and gold, before he dropped his head, capturing her mouth with his.
She stiffened, her lips still, her breath bottling. He could feel her fear and tension and he instantly gentled the kiss. Although he’d reached for her in anger, he wasn’t in the habit of kissing a woman in anger.
Her mouth was soft and warm. Despite her tension, she was soft and warm and he pulled her closer, tipping her head farther back to tease her lips. He stroked the seam with the tip of his tongue, her mouth generous and pliant. A quiver raced through her, her body shuddering against him and he stroked the seam again, playing with the full upper lip, catching the bow gently in his teeth.
She made a hoarse sound, not in pain, but pleasure, and a lance of hot desire streaked through him, making him hard all over.
He deepened the kiss, her lips parting for him, giving him access to the sweet heat of her mouth. It had been months since he’d enjoyed a kiss half so much, and he took his time, the kiss an exploration of taste and texture and response. His tongue traced the edge of her upper lip and he felt her shudder, her mouth opening wider.
She tasted sweet and hot, but also surprisingly innocent, and his body throbbed, blood drumming in his veins. With his arm in the small of her back, he pulled her even closer, stroking her mouth, over her lower lip, and then finding her tongue, making her shiver again.
Her breathless sighs and little shivers whetted his appetite. It’d been a long time since he felt hunger like this. It had been a year and a half since he’d broken things off with his last mistress, and he’d spent evenings with different women since, but he hadn’t slept with any of them. How could he when there was no desire? Antonio’s death had numbed him to everything, until now.
Abruptly Gio released Rachel and took a step back, his pulse thudding hard and heavy, echoing the hot ache in his groin. She stood dazed and motionless, her brown eyes cloudy and bemused.
“That should give your photographer friends something intriguing to sell.” His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. “It will be interesting to see what story the papers run with the addition of these news shots. Is it really about the baby? Or is this more? A lover’s quarrel, their passionate encounter, an emotional goodbye?”
She exhaled, her cheeks flushed with color, her eyes overly bright. “Why?” she choked.
“Because this is my city and my home, and you are the outsider here. If there is to be a story, it’s going to be my story, not yours.”
“And what is that story, Signor Marcello?”
“Let’s make this easier. It’s always best to keep the story simple. I am Giovanni—close friends and family call me Gio, and you may call me Gio—and I shall call you Rachel.”
“I prefer the formal.”
“But it rings false,” he answered, reaching out to lift a dark glossy tendril of hair from her cheek and carefully smooth it back from her face. Her skin was soft and so very warm and he was reminded of the kiss, and the heat and the sweetness of her mouth. Such a mouth. The things he could do to her mouth. He still felt carnal and hungry. Desire still ran hot in his veins. It was a novelty after so many months of grief and emptiness. “We are no longer strangers. We have a history. A story. And the media, I think, will be enamored with our story.”
“The only story is the truth. You have a nephew you refuse to acknowledge, never mind support.”
“But is he my nephew?”
“Yes, you know he is. I’ve sent you the birth certificate and we can do a DNA test while I’m here—”
“Proving what?” he retorted. Before she could answer, he reached for her again, his hand coiling in her long dark hair, tilting her head back to take her mouth in a long, searing kiss.
She didn’t stiffen or resist. If anything, she leaned into him and he wrapped an arm around her slender frame holding her against him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping her mouth, tasting her, weakening her defenses. By the time he lifted his head, she was silent, no fight left in her. Her wide brown eyes looked up into his.
“You should never underestimate your opponent, Rachel,” he said quietly, running his thumb lightly across her soft flushed cheek. “And you most definitely shouldn’t have underestimated me.”
RACHEL COULDN’T THINK. Her brain was foggy, and her body had gone to mush. She could barely control her limbs much less her wild emotions. What had just happened? And how had she lost power so quickly?
It was the kiss. The kiss had been her undoing. It was that good. He was that good. And if Antonio had kissed Juliet this way, Rachel almost understood why Juliet lost her head.
“Now you’re going to wrap your arm about my waist,” Giovanni said, his hand settling low on her back, hand warm against the base of her spine, “and we’re going to retrace our steps and we’ll return to my house together.”
“I’m not going to—”
He captured her face, kissing her again, deeply, teasing, stroking her lips and the inside of her mouth, setting her body on fire, destroying her resistance. She reached for his sweater, clinging to the softness, needing support, but the cashmere stretched, yielding, and she leaned against his chest, unable to stand.
“Stop fighting me, and put your arm around me,” he murmured, his deep voice in her ear. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”
Her hand turned into a fist and she pressed it against his torso, pushing back at him, angry and off balance, not sure how he’d flipped everything around, seizing control from her. His body was so warm, heat emanated from him, making her want to step closer, not farther away. It was so confusing. She pressed her fist into him, pressing against the lean, hard muscle of his torso. “You’re the one playing a game, Giovanni.”
“Oh, yes, and it is my game.”
She licked the swollen fullness of her upper lip. Her mouth still tingled and throbbed from the kisses. “The rules don’t make sense.”
“That’s because you’re not thinking clearly. Later it will be clear to you.”
“But that could be too late.”
He stroked her hot cheek. “Very true.”
That
