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More champagne, and now, the other breast. She tilted her head back, surrendering to the feeling, the bliss, the building need. Surrendering to the certainty that at this point, she would do whatever he wanted, go wherever he said, be anything, anyone, for him. It terrified her but, yes, it was also utterly exhilarating.

“That—explains—me—,” she managed to breathe out, when she could make her mouth cooperate. “But—what—about?—,”

“I’m sorry, are you trying to say something there,bella?”

She glared at him, even then, as he moved his mouth lower, the hint of a grin visible just before he connected with her stomach and flicked her with his tongue.

“This is—normal—for you?—,”

“No, it’s not,” he responded swiftly. “You are the first person I’ve ever slept with that I’ve been raised to hate everything about.”

She flinched, even when the same could be said of her.

“But I do like the need for secrecy. I do like the risks here.”

“You do?”

He tilted his face then, resting his chin against her belly. “Yes. It’s…exciting.”

“Exciting.” She bit into her lower lip, trying—and failing—to ignore the implication that this had less to do with her and more to do with the fact that they had to be careful to keep this off anyone’s radar.

“So it’s not me you want, but the drama?”

“Actually, I don’t like drama,” he drawled, taking another sip of champagne, which he swallowed. “Excitement is not the same thing.”

“And the sex on its own isn’t exciting enough?”

He grinned then, moving his mouth lower, until his head was between her legs. “I wouldn’t say that, either.” He took another drink of champagne and this time, it was her most intimate skin that felt the thrilling contradiction of ice cold liquid and warm, desperate mouth.

5

HOW MANY TIMES COULD she think to herself, ‘that shouldn’t have happened’, then fall back into bed with this guy? On how many levels could she keep wanting what she knew she shouldn’t? And worse than wanting, actually reaching out and taking? It was like some kind of illicit drug addiction, a craving she couldn’t control, and for Emilia, who had—as Salvatore so aptly pointed out—always been everyone’s perfect ‘good girl’, it was hard to reconcile her actions now.

Why couldn’t she just walk away from him? Why couldn’t she resist?

She turned to look at him in the bed beside her, and told herself this absolutelyhadto be the last time. No matter what she wanted, this was a course of action lined with potential fall out that neither wanted. If her parents and brothers knew that she was literally in bed with the enemy, they’d be furious.

No, they’d be disappointed, and that was so much worse.

As if her gaze had a physical pull on him, Salvatore turned then, to look at her, and something shifted in her gut the moment their eyes connected, bringing with it a rolling of awareness. And appreciation, too, because he truly was the mostincredibly beautiful man she’d ever seen in the real world. It wasn’t even that his face was perfect, because there was a bump halfway down his nose, as though it had been broken at one point. But somehow that little defect only added to his overall appeal, making him different and special.

She swallowed quickly, as if that could erase the direction of her thoughts.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, and she almost laughed, because it was such a frivolous thing to ask after the sin of betrayal they’d just committed. Like he didn’t care at all that they’d had sex—again.

“No,” she said, though in fact, maybe she was? She’d had a crab puff at the party, but other than that, had been too busy to eat all day.

“But you’ll eat something?”

Despite herself, she laughed a little. “Will I?”

“I’m going to. Keep me company.”

“I—should go,” she said, pushing the sheets back and moving to stand up. She ignored the sense of disappointment when he made no move to stop her.

“Or, you could stay, have some food, and then we can keep making the most of this room we have access to.”

Temptation zipped through her, like lightning forking across the sky. “This is so wrong.”