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Francesco could pinpoint the exact moment when the determination to keep her out of his bed had shifted. It had been when he’d looked at that cheating thief, a man so like all those other men who’d been fawning over her during the poker tournament. Now that Hannah’s sexuality had awoken, it wouldn’t meekly lie back down when she returned to London and return to its former dormancy. Eventually she would meet another man she wanted enough to make love to. It could be any of those men. It could be any man, not one of whom could be trusted to treat her with the tenderness she deserved.
Hannah wanted him.
And, caro Dio, he wanted her, too, with a need that burned in the very fabric of his being.
But he knew that this final step had to come from her and her alone, however agonising the wait for her decision would be.
Stepping out of the shower, he towelled himself dry, brushed his teeth, and wandered naked through the doorway of the en suite bathroom into his bedroom....
While he’d showered, Hannah had crept into his room. She stood before the window, her eyes widening as she took in his nude form.
‘You’ve taken your make-up off,’ he said, walking slowly towards her. She’d showered, too, her hair damp, her body wrapped in the thick white bathrobe kept in the guest room.
She raised a hand to a cheek, which, even in the dim light, he could see had flushed with colour.
He covered her hand with his own. ‘This is better. You’re beautiful as you are.’
She trembled, although whether that was down to the hoarseness of his voice or a reaction to his touch he could not say.
Slowly he trailed a hand down the swan of her neck to the V made by the bathrobe, slipping a finger between the bunched material to loosen it, exposing the cleavage of her creamy breasts. Slower still, he slid down to the sash and, using both hands, untied it before pushing the robe apart, exposing her to him.
Hannah’s breaths became shallow. Her chest hitched. She stood as still as a statue, staring at him with a look that somehow managed to be both bold and shy. He pushed the shoulders of the robe so it fell softly to the floor.
His own breath hitched as he drank her in.
Her body was everything he’d imagined and more—her breasts fuller and higher, her belly softly toned, her hips curvier, her legs longer and smoother.
He swallowed, the ache in his groin so deep it was painful.
He forced himself to remember that she was a virgin. No matter how badly he wanted to go ahead and devour her, he needed to keep the reins on himself.
Hannah had never felt so exposed—had never been so exposed—as she was at that moment. Her heart thundered, her blood surged, but none of it mattered. The hunger in Francesco’s eyes was enough to evaporate the shyness and quell any last-minute fears, although, when she dared cast her eyes down to his jutting erection, she experienced a different, more primitive fear that was accompanied by a wild surge of heat through her loins.
Naked except for the gold cross that rested at the top of his muscular chest, Francesco was truly glorious. For such a tall, powerful man he had a surprising grace about him, an elegance to his raw masculinity that tempered the powerhouse he was.
Moisture filled her mouth. She swallowed it away, her eyes captured by the heat of hot chocolate fudge that gleamed.
She wanted to touch him. She wanted to rake her fingers through the whorls of dark hair covering his chest, to feel his skin beneath her lips.
Except she was rooted to the spot on which she stood, helpless to do anything but receive his study of her naked form.
‘We’ll take it very slowly,’ he said, his words thick.
She couldn’t speak, could only jerk a nod, aching for it to start, yearning for it to be over, a whole jumble of thoughts and emotions careering through her. Out of the fear and excitement, though, it was the latter that rose to the top.
This was it....
And then she was aloft, clutched against Francesco’s hard torso as he swept her into his arms and carried her over to the enormous four-poster bed, her private fantasy coming to life.
Gently he laid her down on her back before lying beside her. He placed a hand on her collarbone—the same bone that had been broken during the moment that had brought him into her life—before slanting his lips on hers.
The heat from his mouth, the mintiness of his breath, the fresh oaky scent of him...sent her senses reeling. His kiss was light but assured, a tender pressure that slowly deepened until her lips parted and his tongue swept into her mouth.
Finally she touched him, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the smoothness of his skin while she revelled in the headiness evoked by his increasingly hungry kisses.
