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“That is many adverbs,” she says. “Muchly?”
“My favorite word.” I smile. “I want to marry you. Properly.” Feeling a little calmer, I kiss her hair once more. “What did you say to him?”
“I told him no. I told him we were getting married. He left.”
“I hope that’s the last we see of him.” Gently, I fist my hand in her hair, tugging her head back and planting a soft kiss on her lips. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that arsehole. I’m glad you stood up to him, my courageous girl.”
* * *
Alessia stares into his glittering green eyes and sees her love reflected in the depths of his. She skims her hands up his muscled arms, his shoulders, his face, and into his chestnut hair. His scent is so achingly familiar—Maxim and sandalwood. She guides his mouth back to hers, driven by a desperate longing as she coaxes his lips with her own and opens her mouth to him. Maxim groans as her tongue pleads with his. She wants to climb inside his skin and obliterate the memory of her encounter with Anatoli. He tightens his hold on her, one hand traveling to and gripping her backside, the other grasping her hair at the nape and holding her fast as he takes what she so freely gives. He moves, steering them backward while they consume each other until Alessia feels the wall at her back. Desire pulses through her body and pools deep inside her, feeding her need.
Maxim breaks the kiss, his breathing accelerated. “Alessia, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He leans his forehead against hers. “We can’t do this right now.”
“Please,” she whispers. She wants him.
“With your extended family upstairs? Any one of whom could come looking for you?”
Alessia trails a finger down his throat to the collar of his sweater, making her intention clear.
“Baby, I don’t think this is a good idea.” He places his hand over hers, his eyes dark emerald and, if she’s not mistaken, conflicted… yet he’s saying no.
Alessia doesn’t understand. Her first instinct is to withdraw.
It is not her place to question him. But this is her future husband, and his words, spoken on a winter’s afternoon at the big house in Cornwall, come back to her.
Talk to me. Ask me questions. About anything. I’m here. I’ll listen. Argue with me. Shout at me. I’ll argue with you. I’ll shout at you. I’ll get it wrong. You’ll get it wrong. That’s all okay. But to resolve our differences, we have to communicate.
* * *
What the hell, dude?
I’m having a crisis of conscience or something. I don’t want to get caught in flagrante delicto by a member of the Demachi clan. Frankly, it’s just so weird when I can hear the gaggle of women laughing and joking above us with her mother, and knowing that her mad dad isn’t far away with his shotgun.
I’ve stepped into the wrong century, and it’s messing with my head.
Alessia’s eyes widen. “You don’t want to?”
“Oh, baby, nothing could be further than the truth. Here.” I take her hand and press it against my rigid dick.
“Oh,” she says, her cheeks pinking, and her fingers start exploring.
Fuck.
“Alessia,” I growl, not knowing if it’s a warning or an entreaty.
She peeks at me, all dark, dark eyes full of longing, and I can take no more. I haul her into my arms and start kissing her. Properly. Fervently, like a starving man. My fingers are in her hair, holding her in place while our tongues explore. Desire, hot and molten, fires my blood, and I think I’ll explode. She matches my passion, pushing me back toward the bed, yanking the hem of my shirt from my jeans and tugging at my sweater. I cradle the back of her head with one hand, my mouth on hers, reveling in the taste of her, my other hand on her fine, fine arse.
“Alessia!”
There’s a knock at the door.
Fuck.
We spring apart—each of us breathless and dark-eyed and panting and slack-jawed.
I run my hands through my hair. “Fuck!” I whisper, and Alessia giggles.
Blowing out a breath, I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. “Come in,” I call, my voice hoarse. “We never have long together, do we?” I say to Alessia.
“Except at night.” Her eyes flash with a needy carnality.
Oh. It’s like she’s directly addressing my over-interested dick.
* * *
Shpresa comes into the room and frowns at Alessia in Maxim’s embrace. “There you are, my heart.” Her mother addresses her in Albanian. “We have guests.”
“I know, Mama,” Alessia replies, sounding out of breath.
“Put that man down, and let’s continue with our plans. They’ll be going soon.”
Alessia smiles at Maxim.
“Are you going back to your relatives?” Maxim asks.
“Yes, I must. We were discussing food and decorations for the wedding,” Alessia responds with a sigh. “Don’t worry; they won’t be here long. And then we start cleaning.” Alessia huffs out a breath.
