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But even while his big body shuddered with unstoppable desire his response angered him. Which buttons did she always press which so weakened him—he, a man who neither needed nor wanted anyone? His anger transmuted itself into a desire to show her exactly that. To give her a coldly efficient demonstration of his sexual powers.
He dragged his mouth away from hers and brushed it over her neck. Her head tipped back as he did so, and the ponytail of her fiery hair dangled behind her. He wrapped it around his wrist like a bright, silken rope. His other hand reached for her breast, splaying possessively over the silk-covered curve and feeling the nipple peak and harden beneath his questing fingers.
"Cesare’ she cried.
"What is it, cara? Is that good? '
"It's...It's...Oh, Cesare." She wanted to call him darling—her darling—her sweet and wonderful and beautiful darling—Cesare. But he wasn't her darling, was he? Not any more. He was just a proud and angry man who was setting her on fire with the mastery of his touch.
'I should have done this years ago’ he ground out, and pushed her back against the table, brushing aside all the papers and sliding her bottom onto the cleared space, scarcely aware of what he was doing, only that he was being driven on by a power greater than himself. 'And then I could have rid myself of your face. Rid myself of your pale, beautiful body. Taken the memory of you and screwed it up into a tiny ball and tossed it onto the fire.'
That didn't sound like affection—it sounded like the very opposite. Almost as if he despised her. Resented her. It should have killed her desire stone-dead—so why was it only escalating? 'Maybe you should—'
'Should what?'
'Stop what you're doing’ she breathed.
'But you don't want me to stop, do you?'
'Cesare—'
'Do you? You would kill me if I stopped, wouldn't you, my haunting green-eyed witch? You would rake those talons down over my bare back and draw blood, and then you would suck it off, like a vampire.'
'Yes! No!' No—no, of course she didn't want him to stop, and the visual imagery of his words almost made her faint. He was right. She had wanted this to happen since for ever, and even before that. 'Do it,' she whispered. 'Do it and get it over with. And then leave me with the peace that you so obviously crave, too.'
'Oh, don't worry,' he vowed furiously. 'I intend to.'
The skirt was tricky, but there wasn't a skirt in the world which would have defeated Cesare di Arcangelo. Never had his experienced hands trembled so much. He rucked it up over her knees, and then further still, to reveal hold-up stockings clinging to pale thighs, and he sucked in a ragged breath, his resolve almost leaving him, but not quite.
Now he could see the fine triangle of lace which hinted at the soft red-gold tangle of hair beneath, and he touched her there with ruthless precision—lightly grazing his finger against her moist heat so that she cried out.
'Shut up!' he bit out. "We don't want any of the secretaries coming in. There is only going to be one woman coming, and it is going to be you, my beauty.'
'Oh, Cesare,' she whispered helplessly.
He skated his fingers over the cool silk of her inner thigh and she writhed restlessly, impatiently—Cesare knew then that he had her completely in his power, but that he
must use that power wisely.
For once he gave her the orgasm her body was so badly craving might she not just turn around and tell him to go to hell?
His fingers stilled and she groaned.
Or would it make her more compliant if he satisfied her now?
He needed her co-operation just as badly as he wanted to have sex with her if his scheme were to succeed. Wouldn't leaving her wanting him more make her much more acquiescent to his wishes? For hunger was one of life's great motivators, and sexual hunger the most powerful of all...
He thought of all the times he had pulled back from the brink that long, hot summer, and it gave him the strength to resist pulling her panties right off and plunging into her there and then.
But she writhed her hips again, giving a little whimpering sound of something fast approaching pain, and Cesare knew that she was past the point of no return. His smile was cruel and triumphant as he acted quickly, swiftly disentangling from her to stride across the room and lock the door. And then he came back and began to unbutton her blouse, and suddenly his triumph became a kind of submission.
'Oh, cara’ he groaned as he peeled away the silk to reveal the twin thrust of her lush breasts encased in pure white lace. Like a virgin, he thought helplessly, and bent his head to suckle her through the lace, feeling her buck wildly beneath him.
Blindly, he felt for her again, his hand sliding up her skirt and finding her damp warmth, and suddenly he wanted to taste it. Taste her. He tugged at her panties and she lifted her bottom as he edged them down, over her knees and past her ankles, until they dropped to the floor.
She was positioned perfectly, he realised as he began to trace the tip of his tongue up over her stockings to where lace became skin and then beyond, where the skin was
softest of all and exquisitely sensitive. And then the folds themselves—moist, warm, secret entrances to her most honeyed treasure.
