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“Cristiano—” she began.
“First, the counterargument, if you please.”
And he indulged himself, because he no longer had the strength to hold himself back. Or the will. Or the slightest inclination.
Cristiano reached over, taking his time as he slid his palm along her jawline to cup her cheek. Because he wanted to feel her silky softness. And her heat.
Her breath fanned out, half a gasp and half something else. It was like music to him.
And her eyes were sweet like candy, if darker tonight. Dark enough to remind him of the precise shade they’d been when he’d been deep inside of her. He felt himself harden, until his need was more like an ache.
He felt those iron chains he kept locked tight around him, to keep all his compartments in a tidy order, snap open—but not as if she’d broken them.
It was as if she was the key.
And Cristiano couldn’t allow himself to think about that.
Instead, he leaned forward and nipped at that lower lip of hers, full and tempting.
And maybe she said his name. He couldn’t tell because his blood was roaring in his ears, and the faintest taste of her was enough to make his whole body clench tight.
He bent again, and covered her mouth with his.
And on some level he expected it to be a disappointment. Because no kiss could possibly live up to his memories. He had exaggerated her taste. Her fit. He expected to find that he’d sold himself a fantasy no reality could ever match.
But instead, Julienne took the top of his head off.
He forgot where they were. He forgot the crowd, the weather. The ancient cathedral that blocked out the better part of the sky.
All of that was so much dust in the wind to him, because Julienne was kissing him again, and it was better than anything Cristiano could possibly have remembered.
It was better.
It was her.
He swept her into his arms like the romantic he had never been, tilting her back so he could take more, taste more, lose himself more—
And it was only when he heard the high-pitched tittering sound of a set of teenage girls nearby that reality reasserted itself.
“Dio santo!”he growled furiously, there against her mouth. “What have you done to me, woman?”
But Julienne pulled back, stepping out of his embrace. And the expression he saw on her face made no sense at all, because she looked...stricken. More, she’d gone pale, leaving only two bright splotches on those cheekbones of hers, like flags.
“I’m afraid my sister was right.” Her voice was husky. Distressed. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Indeed not,” he agreed. “You should have found me somewhere private, so I could greet you properly. And without risk of arrest.”
And he watched her change again, a sweep of pink taking over her face as if she’d leaped from an ice bath into a furnace. She even laughed a little, fanning at her face while she did.
“You’re overheating, Julienne,” he said shortly. “It is obviously that ridiculous coat.”
Cristiano reached over, grasped the zipper that she’d tugged up to just beneath her chin, and pulled it loose.
And later, he would remember that she’d made a noise. That her arms came up as if to ward him off.
Here, now, he watched her mouth drop open. He watched her eyes darken, just the way he liked them. And then his gaze dropped down to trace the curves of that body he’d learned in such exquisite detail that their single night together was branded forever into his mind.
His first thought was that she must have augmented her breasts, however little that made sense with what he knew of her, because they were bigger. Rounder and plumper, which made his mouth water. His palms itch.
