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“I’m thinking that you are an amazing woman, Anna Orsini.” He gathered her into his arms, brushed his lips lightly over hers. “And I’m very glad I came here tonight.”
“So am I. Very glad you came here.” She hesitated. “Not that I realized it until I opened the door and found you standing outside it, glowering at me.”
He laughed softly.
“Glowering, huh?”
“Like a thundercloud.”
“Well, I came here because I was angry.”
“I know. I was, too.”
“But then you opened the door and I saw you.”
“All dressed up,” Anna said, fluttering her lashes. “That designer robe. My hair in my eyes. And you couldn’t resist me.”
Draco grinned. Then his smile faded.
“And I knew I’d been lying to myself. That I’d come because I wanted you. I was just too thickheaded to see it.”
“Too proud, you mean.”
“No,” he said quickly. Then he shrugged. “Maybe. Hell, not maybe. Yes. You’re right.” He kissed her, luxuriating in the sweetness of her mouth. “And you figured this out because …?”
“Because I can be the same sometimes. Proud. And a little arrogant.” She sighed. “Which adds up to sometimes refusing to admit the truth to myself. See, you were supposed to be a chicken sandwich and a pot of tea.”
“I am shocked, bellissima,” he said sternly, “shocked to learn that you were waiting for a chicken sandwich and not for me.”
Anna laughed. “You aren’t my type at all, you know.”
“Well, you aren’t mine. You’re too beautiful, too sexy, too—”
“I’m serious.”
She was. He could see it in her eyes.
“Because?”
“Because I’m not into arrogant, ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ guys.”
“Me? Arrogant?”
“You, Prince Valenti. Impossibly, egotistically arrogant.” Her voice fell to a husky whisper. “And overdressed.”
“Over …?” Draco laughed. She was right. She lay naked beneath him, but he was still wearing all his clothes. “You’re right. But that’s an easy problem to solve.”
He rose to his feet, toed off his mocs, stripped off his clothes, watched her eyes darken when she saw that he was hard and erect again.
“Better now?” he said as he came down to her and gathered her in his arms.
“Much better. Much, much …”
He stopped her with a kiss. And then another kiss. He kissed his way down her throat, to her breasts, heard her breath catch as he sucked her nipples.
“Draco,” she whispered, and he wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrists, lifted her hands to the bed’s headboard, to its pale oak latticework.
“Hold on to that,” he said gruffly, and he grasped her thighs and spread them wide. He looked at her for long seconds and then he gave a soft groan. “Such a perfect flower,” he whispered, and he put his mouth to her and kissed her.
