“I’m not goading you,” she denied, shaking a little at the turn their conversation had taken.
“You think I am not human, that I lack normal human feelings, and perhaps in some ways you are right. But I am very much a man, Isabella, and if you weren’t seeking protection under my roof, I’d be happy to arrange a demonstration of that fact.”
She stared up at him, her brain signal jammed in some vital way, so she couldn’t think straight and certainly couldn’t move.
“Are you offended that I haven’t hit on you? Is that what you want?” He moved closer still, his body touching hers now, his powerful legs flanking her on either side, surrounding her, so she was engulfed by him in every sense of the word.
“Do you want me to say that I’m attracted to you?”
She shook her head, but her heart was fluttering in her chest and desire made her stomach swoop.
“You are just a little girl, with no idea what you’re doing,” he said scathingly. “You are way out of your depth.”
Her lips parted but she couldn’t deny that. She did feel as though she were truly way, way out of her depth.
“I could kiss you right now, and you would beg me to make love to you, but it would just be sex. I’d be using you because you’re here and available, and we’d both hate me in the morning. So do me a favour and go to bed now.”
Anger flared inside of her. He was so goddamned cocky! She’d never beg a man to make love to her, and especially this man. She had too much pride for that. And suddenly, she wanted to teach him a lesson – arrogant so and so! Telling herself she had the situation completely under control, she pushed up onto the tips of her toes, a challenge in the smooth tones of her voice. “It sounds to me like you’re scared of what might happen if you were to kiss me.”
She saw the answering flare in his eyes and knew he was tempted.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” he snapped, but didn’t move away. In fact, his head dropped lower, so their lips were only a hair’s breadth from brushing. She shivered, anticipation tingling at all her nerve points. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you were still a virgin.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wrong.”
“But you don’t have much experience with men.”
Heat stirred in her cheeks. She didn’t want to talk about her experience with members of the opposite sex – nor the lessons it had taught her.
“Chicken,” she taunted, because it was more satisfying to do that than to answer his questions.
He made a groaning noise of dismissal. “Fool.”
“Maybe,” she shrugged, adding, inwardly, undoubtedly. It didn’t make any sense but something was pushing her to this point, making her act in a way that wasn’t sensible or logical but that absolutely demanded she do this. “But at least I’m not scared, Gabe.”
“You should be, little fool,” he swore in Italian, shaking his head and because she thought he might pull away, she acted swiftly, closing the gap between them by lifting higher onto her toes, and hovering her lips over his. Just lightly, a silent invitation. The air between them hissed – was it him, or her?
She closed the gap, kissing him properly now, and the second their lips locked it was as though the universe shifted gear; light seemed to stream around them, something universal and intimate slammed into place. She’d kissed him out of anger, wanting to teach him a lesson, but there was total surrender in the kiss, acquiescence to the rightness of this, even when it made very little sense on a rational level.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, her lips parting as his tongue thrust into her mouth, duelling with hers, so she had to grab hold of something, a thought, a memory, a warning that was flashing in her mind. But what?
Don’t beg. Don’t plead.
She remembered just in time, on the brink of crying his name into his mouth, she knew a plea wouldn’t be far behind. He kissed her and she felt her anger eroding, leaving only desire in its place, hot and urgent, insistent for indulgence. She wanted him to keep kissing her.
She’d never felt like this before. She’d only been with two men – a boyfriend in high school and then Andrew, who she’d dated for a few years. Long enough to get to know him intimately, to feel comfortable with him, and she’d never once felt this. It was as though she was being ignited, cell by cell, as though he was sparking a fever in her blood, a tsunami of heart-pounding desire that was ravaging her system and yet for all there was a drowning, apocalyptic, terrifying slipping sensation, she couldn’t get enough. Alarm bells were sounding in her brain but they were impossible to hear above the rushing of her blood.
Her fingers held his chest as though that grip alone could save her from being subsumed by this, yet even that wasn’t enough, because beneath the grip of her fingers was the warmth of his chest and the solid thumping of his heart, a heart that hammered in unison with hers, so in that way they were perfectly, completely in synch.
His kiss was not gentle.
It was demanding.
Fierce.
And she bent to it in every way. Her body clung to his, her soul submitted, resistance be damned. Need stirred within her, primal and consuming, and everything she was demanded more. More of him, this, the maddening feelings that were throbbing through her. She made a whimpering noise deep in her throat – all she was capable of – as she held tight. It was the smallest
