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She flattened her hand over his chest and…his heartbeat quickened. And threw her leg over his.
High over his.
She was damn near sprawled over him now, hand on his heart, thigh on his thigh, face buried in his shoulder. He could feel the heat of her through her scrubs, through his jeans, feel her heartbeat, breathe her in and out.
No, he thought, but it was too late.
His early-morning, male-in-the-prime-of-his-life reaction was as swift as it was predictable.
He had an erection the size of Manhattan.
And she’d had a nightmare about rape.
Idiot!
Okay. Back to last night’s concentration on cold and ice and, hell, it wasn’t working. He’d have to grit his teeth, put some space between them and do it without waking her. Carefully, slowly, he began easing away.
Good. Half an inch. Half an inch more.
Not good.
Moving away had changed the angle of his body. Her leg was still over his. His penis was within kissing distance of—
“Matteo?”
Her voice was blurry with sleep. How could she be so soft? So warm?
“Yes,” he said briskly, directing his gaze at the ceiling. “Good morning, cara. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just—I was just—”
“What time is it?”
Time to get the hell out of the bed.
“I’m not sure. Early.”
She lifted up a little. Her cotton top strained against her breasts, outlining them with perfect clarity.
What would her nipples taste like? Honey? Cream? Wildflowers?
His damnable penis twitched.
Roll over, he told himself sternly, and get out of this bed.
I will, his self answered, in another hour or two.
“Matteo?” She paused. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For last night. For getting me through that nightmare.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“If you hadn’t been here…”
“But I was.” He cleared his throat. It struck him that he’d been doing a lot of throat-clearing lately. “I’m the one who should thank you. For letting me sleep with you.”
“Oh.”
Brilliant, he thought, biting back a groan. Just the thing to say. She must have thought so, too, because she seemed suddenly aware of how they were lying and she drew back, putting the distance between them he’d tried, and failed, to achieve.
She also took her leg off his. He fought the desire to wrap his hand around it and bring it back where it belonged.
“I’ve never slept with a man before.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I said, I’ve never slept with a man before.”
Impossible, he wanted to say. You’re married. Of course you’ve slept with a man before.
“I’ve had sex.” Color rose in her face. “I mean, I know I have. I don’t—I don’t recall the specifics, but I know it. But sleeping this way, in someone’s arms all night… That’s new for me. Don’t ask me how I can be so sure because I can’t tell you. I just am.”
Her tone was grave. He wanted to pull her into his arms again, but he sensed the fragility of the moment so he reached for a tendril of her hair instead and let it sift through his fingers.
“Well, that makes us even, cara,” he said softly, “because I’ve never spent the entire night with a woman in my arms before.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Because?”
“Because I never wanted to.”
“Oh,” she said again, but this time he could almost see the smile within the softly spoken word. “Well, I didn’t give you much choice. I mean, we only have this one bed.”
He chuckled. “We have that chair. You could have left me to its not-very-tender mercies.”
“You mean…” She blushed. “You mean I invited you to share the bed?” She hesitated. “I kind of recall that.”
“Your good deed for the day. If I’d stayed in that chair, I’d be Quasimodo this morning.”
She laughed. How could he not lean in and kiss her?
God, she tasted so sweet. And the feel of her mouth under his…so soft. So tender.
He didn’t think, he simply drew her closer. Closer. Drew her into the cradle of his body.
She melted against him.
The feel of her. The heat. The delicate press of her breasts against his bare chest, the instant pout of her nipples—he could feel those tiny nubbins of flesh seek him through her soft cotton top.
His response was as swift as it had been before, his penis rising hard and hot and rigid against her.
She gasped as he slid his hand under the cotton top and cupped her breast. He rubbed his thumb over the taut nipple; her breath shuddered and she kissed him, her lips parting, giving him access to the honeyed sweetness of her mouth. Her fingers swept into the hair at the nape of his neck and he shoved her cotton top up, dipped his head and took her nipple between his teeth.
Magic.
This was magic.
She moaned and shifted her body against his, lifted herself so that his penis nuzzled at the apex of her thighs.
“Ariel.” His voice was thick. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” she said, “oh please, Matteo, yes!”
His hands went to the drawstring at her waist. His fingers felt thick. Clumsy. He fumbled with the string, cursed, finally undid it.
The pants fell like the petals of a flower.
She was naked beneath them, her skin warm and silken. He stroked her hip. Her belly. His fingers dipped lower. Lower…
She cried out.
He groaned.
She was hot. Slick. Ready, so ready…
No, he thought. Don’t do this. She doesn’t know anything about herself, doesn’t know she has a husband.
Her hands were at his fly. The zipper gave, not all the way but enough so her fingers brushed against his cock.
“Help me,” she whispered, and he was lost.
He tumbled her onto her back. Brushed her hand away so he could finish undoing the zipper. His penis sprang free and she touched the tip with one finger, just that, but he shuddered and knew he would come if she did it again.
“Wait,” he said, tugging down her pants, and then he was between her thighs. She arched toward him and he thrust into her, hard and deep.
Her muscles convulsed around him and s
he cried out with pleasure as her orgasm swept through her.
“Matteo. Oh God, Matteo…”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s right. Say my name. Say it.” He slid his hands under her bottom, lifted her to him, pulled back, thrust forward within her silken walls.
A sob of pure ecstasy burst from her throat.
He wanted to follow her into oblivion, but not yet. Not yet. He was close; he could feel his balls tightening, his thoughts starting to blur, and he told himself to wait, to hold on, because even this wasn’t enough.
“Ariel.” His voice was hoarse. “Ariel. Open your eyes.”
Slowly, her lashes lifted.
“Look at me,” he demanded. “I want to see myself in your eyes.”
She reached up, caught his face, lifted herself to him and brought his mouth to hers for a deep, hot kiss.
“Matteo,” she sobbed, and the world spun away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He collapsed on her, his breathing hard and fast.
He kissed her throat. Her mouth. Her eyelids. Drew the scent of her—woman, sweat, sex—deep into his lungs.
She whispered his name. Stroked his shoulders. His back.
He kissed her mouth again, lingered over the sweetness of it. Then he rolled off her and drew her into his arms so they were breast to breast, belly to belly, her face an inch from his on the pillow. Tendrils of dark gold curled damply against her forehead.
“Sei bellissima,” he said softly. “You are so very beautiful.”
Her mouth, rosy from his kisses, curled in a Mona Lisa smile.
“Black eyes, cross-stitching, and all?”
He smiled back at her. “Beautiful,” he said again, and kissed her.
“So are you.”
That made him laugh. “Me? No, sweetheart, I don’t think so. “
“But you are.” She cupped his jaw, smoothed the tips of her fingers over his five o’clock stubble. “In such a sexy, masculine way.”
He grinned, caught the tip of one finger between his teeth, sucked it gently into the warm, wet heat of his mouth.
“Sexy and masculine, huh?”
She smiled. “Uh huh. There are some men who are beautiful, but in a different way. When I was dancing, I knew a couple of guys like that. Not that male dancers are always gay. I know people think they are, but it’s not true. For instance, there was a married couple I danced with. In fact, she was the prima ballerina and he was the premier danseur, you know, the lead male dancer, and they…and they…” Her words tumbled to a halt. “Ohmygod,” she said, “ohmygod, Matteo! Did you hear what I said?” Her voice shook with amazed delight. “I remembered something! That I’m a dancer. With…”
