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It had been ten years since she’d been kissed, and then only a schoolboy’s brush. She’d never been kissed like this, never felt every sense blaze to life, every nerve ending tingle with awareness, nearly painful in its intensity, as Angelos’s mouth moved on hers and he pulled her tightly to him.
His hard contours collided against her softness, each point of contact creating an unbearably exquisite ache of longing as she tangled her hands in his hair and fit her mouth against his.
She was a clumsy, inexpert kisser, not sure what to do with her lips or tongue, only knowing that she wanted more of this. Of him.
She felt his hand slide down to cup her breast, his palm hot and hard through the thin material of her dre
ss, and a gasp of surprise and delight escaped her.
That small sound of pleasure was enough to jolt Angelos out of his passion-fogged daze, for he dropped his hand and in one awful, abrupt movement tore his mouth from hers and stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice coming out in a ragged gasp.
“No…” Talia pressed one shaky hand to her buzzing lips as she tried to blink the world back into focus. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispered. “It was wonderful.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Why not?” she challenged. She felt frantic with the desperate need to feel and taste him again, and more importantly, not to have him withdraw from her, not just physically, but emotionally. Angelos didn’t answer and she forced herself to ask the question again. “Why not, Angelos?”
“Because you are my employee, and I was taking advantage of you,” he gritted out. “It was not appropriate…”
“I don’t care about appropriate,” she cried. She knew she sounded desperate and even pathetic but she didn’t care. She wanted him. She needed him. “I care about you,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a choked whisper, and surprise and something worse flashed across Angelos’s face. He shook his head, the movement almost violent and terribly final.
“No, Talia,” he told her flatly. “You don’t.”
