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“Not until you’re in my bed,” he said grimly, never breaking stride as he crashed through the forest. “I’m not giving you the chance to change your mind.”
Back at the paddock, he carried her to the gentle mare he’d saddled for her. As if she weighed nothing, Stefano lifted her onto the dappled horse, then swung onto the saddle behind her. Thrusting their crumpled-up clothes into the saddle’s pack, he wrapped both of his arms around Annabelle. With a flick of the reins, he tapped his heels against the horse’s sides.
The mare leaped forward, and Annabelle rested her head back against Stefano’s chest.
She closed her eyes, hearing his heartbeat, feeling protected in his arms. They flew forward through the trees and back down the hillside, back toward the golden fields that surrounded the hacienda.
Sitting in Stefano’s lap astride the horse, leaning against his muscled chest with his arms wrapped around her, Annabelle drowsed in a sensual dream. Her lips were bruised from his kiss. Her silk camisole clung to her bare skin where he’d suckled her with his wet mouth.
Red and purple flower petals flew from her loose blond hair, whirling in the breeze as the horse soared over the ground, sharp hooves flying.
With every leap of the animal’s long stride, Annabelle felt the warmth and strength of the powerful man who held her. She felt how much he still wanted her.
Annabelle twisted her head to look back at him as he guided the horse. His dark eyes were focused intently on the horizon. He looked like a knight, she thought, riding a charger to save a medieval castle. She felt every jarring step of the horse’s fast gallop against the earth.
She saw the sharp hooves and the distance to the ground, but in Stefano’s arms, she wasn’t afraid. Not even of what waited for her.
His bedroom.
His bed.
When they arrived in the courtyard, Stefano pulled the mare to a stop with a low whistle. Tossing the reins to one of the young stablehands, he leaped down. Not bothering to explain, he lifted Annabelle into his strong arms.
She had a single vision of the teenager’s shocked face as Stefano carried her to the house.
His fast stride never wavered as he took her upstairs. They were inside his bedroom before Annabelle’s eyes had adjusted from the bright sunlight to the cool darkness inside. She blinked and saw his bedroom, the mirror of her own but with Spartan, masculine furniture.
Stefano put her down on his enormous bed. He looked down at her, bare-chested, dark-eyed and impossibly handsome. The rest of the world disappeared. She could see only him. Wanted only him.
Even if it destroyed her.
Stefano pushed her back against his pillows. He kissed her, his lips deliciously hard, and she felt his hands reach for her camisole. Roughly, he ripped the silk apart in his bare hands and dropped it to the floor.
“Don’t rip my clothes!” she gasped.
“I want it all off,” he growled. “Now.”
Flinging himself on top of her, he moved his hands down her body, stroking her naked breasts to her flat belly. His gaze locked with hers as he undid the zipper of her pants and yanked them down over the curve of her hips, past her feet, before tossing them to the floor.
Annabelle’s mouth parted in shock as he knelt at the foot of the bed.
Roughly pushing her legs apart, he kissed up the inside of her naked thighs. He cupped the mound between her legs over her underwear, causing her to tremble and arch her back, rising to meet him. She closed her eyes, gripping the white cotton sheet in her fists, as if she were afraid she might otherwise go spinning upward into the sky. His mouth moved to the edge of the cotton fabric, licking just beneath the elastic with a flick of his tongue. Then he ripped it off her body entirely, and she gasped.
She realized she was naked, spread-eagled across his enormous bed. No man had ever seen her naked before. She opened her eyes.
Looking at the hunger in his eyes, she sucked in her breath. Slowly, never taking his gaze from hers, he took off his jeans and dark boxers. Naked, he knelt before her on the bed.
Staring up at him in the half shadows slatted with streaks of light from the blinds, Annabelle sucked in her breath at his masculine beauty. He was so hard, and so ready for her. But he was so huge. Ho
w would he ever fit inside her? How badly would it hurt?
Biting her lip, Annabelle looked up at him, her eyes dazed with wonder and desire and fear. With a groan, he lowered his head to kiss her. He kissed her softly on the forehead, her eyelids, then finally her mouth with a long, intense kiss.
“Look at me,” he whispered, biting her lower lip, “and ask me if I think you’re beautiful.”
He pulled away, his knees braced on the mattress as he straddled her hips, and even as the question rose to Annabelle’s mouth, she had no need to ask. The physical proof of his desire jutted hard from his body.
“Touch me,” he said roughly. “And ask if I want you.”
