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‘Why?’
‘It just is.’ If he gave her a moment she could probably come up with a thousand reasons. Just because she couldn’t think of any right this second…
His hands caressed her scalp, making it hard for her to think straight. ‘Issy, the past’s over,’ he murmured. ‘But if you’re still hung up on—’
‘Of course I’m not,’ she cut in. ‘This has nothing to do with our past.’ She pulled out of his arms. ‘And everything to do with your unbelievable arrogance. How dare you trick me into coming to Florence? When exactly were you going to tell me about your plans to ravage me senseless?’
His lips quirked some more. ‘I’m telling you now.’
‘Well, that’s not good enough. What if I want to say no?’
He drew a thumb down her cheek, his eyes black with arousal. ‘And do you?’
Even as the denial formed in her mind, it was muted by the long, liquid pull low in her belly. ‘No…I mean, yes,’ she said, scrambling to keep a firm grip on her indignation.
His palm settled on her nape. ‘Let’s finish what we started.’ His thumb stroked her throat, stoking the fire at her core. ‘Then we can both move on.’
Could it really be that simple? Was this thing between them just left-over sexual chemistry?
But even as she tried to make sense of her feelings he tugged her towards him and took her mouth in another mind-numbing kiss.
Her fingers curled into the cotton of his T-shirt, but this time she couldn’t find the will to push him away. The pent-up hunger of only a few hours ago burst free as her tongue tangled with his.
He drew back first, the slow smile melting the last of her resistance. ‘No ties. No strings. Just some great sex and then we go our separate ways. It’s your choice. If you can’t handle it, we part now. I’m not interested in anything serious.’
‘I’m perfectly well aware of your commitment problems,’ she countered.
Not only did she have personal experience, but when she’d been Googling him yesterday she’d found numerous paparazzi shots of him with supermodels and starlets and society princesses on his arm. And not one photo of him with the same woman twice. The man’s track record when it came to relationships sucked. Any fool could see that.
‘As long as that’s understood,’ he said easily, clearly not insulted in the least, ‘I don’t see a problem.’ The sensual smile made the heat pound harder. ‘Florence is spectacular at this time of year, and I have a villa in the hills where we can satisfy all our prurient sexual fantasies. And, believe me, after ten years I’ve stored up quite a few.’ He threaded his fingers into her hair, pushed the heavy curls away from her face. ‘We had fun together when we were kids, Issy. We could have more fun now.’
Issy swallowed, the rough feel of his palm on her cheek making the promise of pleasure all but irresistible. ‘And the theatre’s sponsorship will be okay either way?’ she clarified, desperate not to get swept away on a sea of lust too soon.
He gave his head a small shake. ‘I already told you—’
‘Okay. Yes,’ she interrupted, placing her hands on his shoulders. ‘I accept.’
Gio was dangerous. Yes. But danger could be thrilling as well as frightening. And right now the thrill was winning. Big-time. She felt like Alice, tumbling head first into Wonderland. Exhilarated, excited, and totally terrified.
His arms banded around her waist. ‘Good.’
Issy had bounced up on her toes, eager to seal their devil’s bargain, when she heard a gruff chuckle from behind them.
‘You’ll have to save that for later, Hamilton,’ said an unfamiliar voice.
She jerked round, spotting a stout, older man in a pilot’s uniform.
‘Our slot’s in ten minutes,’ the man said, sending her an indulgent smile. ‘I’m sorry, miss, but we need to do the final equipment check.’
Gio swore softly, touched his forehead to hers, then stepped to one side. ‘Issy, this is James Braithwaite,’ he said, keeping his arm round her waist. ‘Co-pilot and all-round killjoy.’
Issy shook the man’s hand before her foggy brain registered the information. ‘Did you say co-pilot?’
‘That’s right,’ Gio said nonchalantly, giving her a quick kiss on the nose and letting her go. ‘You’d better get strapped in.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Issy held his arm, her fingers trembling. ‘You’re not flying this thing yourself?’
The sleek jet suddenly morphed into a metallic death trap. Images flashed through her mind of Gio as a teenager after he’d totalled his father’s vintage Bentley, or Gio on his motorbike with her clinging on the back, shooting around blind bends at twenty miles above the speed limit.
