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Her naked shoulders.
Actually, she was entirely naked except for a tiny pair of cream lace panties—a fact that his groin had apparently registered several moments before his eyes.
His body hardening to stone, he stood hypnotised by her small rounded breasts and rose-coloured nipples. Her skin was the colour of the purest cold-pressed virgin olive oil, and just looking at it made his ribcage tighten around his chest.
He was used to nudity, and blasé about beauty, but there was a vulnerability to her pose that had everything and nothing to do with sex.
His pact with Ciro was forgotten. And his anger and grief and guilt—everything that had propelled him to this softly lit room—was swept away by a need he had never experienced before.
He stared at her, dry-mouthed, feeling the blood throb through his body.
She took a step forward, reaching out to touch him.
‘Wait,’ he said gently. ‘Let me look at you first.’
She looked up at him, and he took his time absorbing her beauty.
Expression shuttered, he stepped closer and stroked the curve of her cheek. ‘Don’t be shy. You’re beautiful.’
‘So are you.’
Heat flared inside him as she touched his chest, her warm fingers sending shock waves over his skin. Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth lightly over hers, sliding his hand through her hair.
It wasn’t a kiss—more a prelude to a kiss. She drew a quick breath and her eyes met his. Then, taking his hand, she led him to the bed.
He stripped quickly and slid in beside her. As he ran his hand lightly down her arm, she shivered against him.
* * *
‘Are you sure about this?’
Heart pounding, Imma stared up at his beautiful face. She had never been surer about anything. Her whole body felt as though it was clamouring for him.
But as he shifted closer she felt a rush of panic. Up close and naked, there seemed to be even more of him than before. His limbs seemed more solid, and—she glanced down at his erection—he was very hard, and bigger than she’d imagined.
Her pulse accelerated. This wasn’t going to work. Vicè had a wealth of sexual experience. No doubt he was expert at all kinds of lovemaking and used to sophisticated, skilful lovers. But beyond the mechanics of sex she knew absolutely nothing.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Are you?’
‘Am I sure?’ He seemed to consider her question, frowning. Then, ‘Yeah, of course.’
His hand moved to cover her hip, his fingers gliding over the crest of bone in a way that made her skin tingle.
‘I mean, as long as you respect me in the morning...’ he added.
His eyes gleamed and she started to laugh.
Dipping his head, he brushed his mouth against her. ‘Tell me what you want.’ His voice was warm with desire. ‘What you like.’
She didn’t know what she liked. She didn’t know where to start. Where it would end.
‘I like this...’ Her finger trembled against the curve of his jaw. ‘And this...’ She touched his chest, the smooth contours of his muscles. ‘And this.’ She flattened her hand against the trail of fine dark hair that ran down the centre of his stomach.
He sucked in a breath, his pupils flaring.
‘I like that too,’ he said unsteadily and, lowering his mouth, he kissed her.
He kissed her lightly, then more deeply, slowing the kiss down, slowing her pulse and her breath, kissing her so that she forgot her doubts, forgot his past—forgot everything except the touch of his mouth and the heat of his skin and the unchecked hunger in his dark eyes.
