Smooch -
Gina had seen it coming.
She’d seen the feral light in his eyes. Read
the brutal intent in that hard body.
Had she twisted away?
Had she ducked her head?
Had she tried to placate him?
She told herself she’d done none of those
because she had every right to her anger. Because it was time someone stood up
to Massimo and brought him to book when he rode roughshod over them.
But as his mouth plastered over hers, his
tongue sweeping past her lips in a forceful invasion that demanded everything,
Gina knew the truth.
She’d goaded him. Deliberately.
She hadn’t been able to stand there, toe to toe
with this man who drove her crazy in the worst and best of ways. She hadn’t had
the strength to walk away.
Because
she wanted this. Wanted him.
Want? Is
that what you called this driving force that hammered with every pounding pulse
beat?
Want was
too weak a word.
Need engulfed her. It was marrow-deep. It was
in every pore of every centimetre of her flesh.
She’d needed Massimo for years and she’d just
given up denying it.
His tongue probed her mouth, demanding and at
the same time challenging her to respond. His kiss was pure carnal invitation.
He pushed her up against the doorway so she was
pinioned between it and Massimo’s hot, sculpted body. Gina went into meltdown. It
wasn’t simply that she’d had no lover since him. She hadn’t wanted one. Because
Massimo had always been the one she wanted, even when she hated him for making
her feel that way.
For a moment Gina hovered on the brink of
self-pitying tears. It was cruel that the only man she’d ever loved was so bad
for her. The only logical response was to break away. Despite his imposing size
and his ire he wouldn’t force her. He’d have to let her go.
But Gina hadn’t cried in years, she wasn’t
about to start now. Nor would she pull away.
For she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t.
Not when
being in Massimo’s embrace felt like coming home.
Through his fine suit Gina felt the outline of
bone and muscle, the solid thighs, the jut of ribs, the press of that powerful
chest. His heart throbbed a staccato rhythm against her. She tried to tell
herself Massimo was motivated only by anger, not real desire. But already the
big hands running up and down her bare arms gentled, confounding her.
He tilted his head, searching for the best angle
to seduce her mouth. And he found it. Massimo had always kissed like a fallen
angel, one who’d mastered both torment and bliss.
Bliss coursed through her now as she tangled
her tongue against his, lifting her chin and responding in kind.
A rough sound of approval vibrated from his
mouth to hers, from his chest to hers. It sent pleasure spearing to her womb,
her breasts, the place inside her elbows where his thumbs brushed, making her
shiver.
Gina’s hands rose to his arms, fingers digging
into fine fabric and taut muscle. She needed more. Their kiss was no longer a
demand but a seesawing dance of give and take.
It shouldn’t be possible to get closer to him
but she tried, rising on her toes and planting her hands on his shoulders to
bring her nearer his height.
Massimo’s response was to slide one arm around
her waist and haul her up till her feet left the floor. She heard a shoe drop
as she snaked her arms over his shoulders and clamped her fingers into the
thick, dark hair at the back of his skull. Her lips welded to his as rapture
beckoned.
He tasted better than the finest wines, better
than fresh-picked strawberries still warm from the sun. He tasted like every
dream of happiness she’d ever known, and then some.
And when he shifted against her, thrusting a
thigh between her legs so she balanced astride it, Gina’s urgency took on a new
dimension. One that matched his, given the unmistakeable arousal pushing
against her.
Her dress rode higher as she squirmed closer,
excited by the sensation of Massimo’s clothes against her bare skin.
‘Gina.’ It sounded like a plea or perhaps a
vow. But Massimo’s broad hand on her leg, pushing the silky material up her
thigh was as earthy as it got. She shivered as his baritone growl scraped her
soul and those hard fingers curled around tender flesh.
She wanted this, wanted him so badly. How had
she gone so long without his touch? Only by freezing her emotions and her needs
under a blanket of ice. By living a cold, half-life these last few years.
Gina had forgotten how feminine he made her
feel. Feminine and sexy and powerful, despite the shivers turning her body to
putty in his hold. Turning her into a woman who’d give her all to this man.
As if sensing her capitulation, Massimo broke
the kiss, lifting his head to stare down at her with eyes that glowed with
silvery fire. The air was thick with the sound of their gasps and the rapid
thrum of her pulse in her ears.
‘Mio
dolce amore.’ It was what he’d called her when they’d been in love. When
Gina had believed nothing would ever break them apart. Then he smiled. That
rare, beautiful smile of welcome she’d always thought Massimo reserved just for
her. Because he loved her.
Her throat shut convulsively, almost choking
her.
Massimo didn’t love her. He was using her.
So if that smile wasn’t a look of love it was
just part of his arsenal of seductive weapons.
Gina hadn’t thought it
possible to hurt more than she’d hurt before. Yet now...
It's autumn here in Australia, one of my favourite times of year. For some reason I always feel rejuvenated and ready to tackle all sorts of new projects when the seasons change. Plus there's the joy of the change of season colours in the garden and the crisp promise of new season apples to look forward to.
Do you have a favourite season? What is it you look forward to at that time of year?
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Annie writes for Harlequin Mills and Boon - "Modern" in the UK, "Presents" in the US and "Sexy" in Australia/New Zealand. To her delight, and her family's amusement, that means she can call herself a Sexy Author! Annie has devoted her life to an in depth study of tall, dark, charismatic heroes - it's hard but someone has to do it.
I write short, contemporary romances set wherever the heart takes me. And I read. A lot.
