Page 50 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

Kissing Isabella isn’t wise.

Not when it’s not for pretend like at the wedding.

My lips press against Isabella's with a heat I didn't expect. Her mouth is soft, yielding, and I'm lost in the sensation before I can stop myself.

I’m not a man prone to losing control, not even in the heat of passion.

And yet, as much as I know I shouldn’t be kissing this woman who betrayed us all, who could still be betraying us all, I’m unable to stop.

This physical pull toward her complicates everything. I've spent years keeping women at arm's length, focusing on Angelica and the family business.

Now Isabella's under my roof, in my life, and apparently, under my skin.

I pull back from the kiss, searching Isabella's face. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed.

The tension between us has been building for days, and now it's a living thing, electric and dangerous. I need more.

My lips crush down on hers again, more possessive and demanding this time.

Again she submits, and I’m lost. This woman who should be my enemy, who might still be my undoing, has me losing control.

I maneuver her toward my desk. I clear the surface with one sweep of my arm, sending papers fluttering to the floor. Business can wait. This can't.

I lift her onto the desk's edge, stepping between her thighs.

She arches against me, a soft sound escaping her lips.

Her sweater is soft beneath my fingers as I slide my hands up her sides, testing, exploring.

I find the warm skin of her stomach, tracing patterns there that make her shiver.

The boundaries between us are dissolving with each touch.

Enemy, wife, informant, woman, all these labels blur as I trace the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist.

I'm charting her body like undiscovered territory, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her reach for me with increasing urgency.

I press my hips forward, grinding against her through our clothes, and Isabella gasps sharply. I freeze immediately, searching her face.

The sound wasn't pleasure.

It was something else. Alarm? Fear?

"What's wrong?" I pull back slightly, giving her space. "Did I hurt you?"

She shakes her head, but her eyes won't meet mine. "No, it's not that."

"Isabella." I cup her face gently, tilting it up so she has to look at me. “What’s wrong?”

Her cheeks flush crimson, and she tries to turn away again. "It's embarrassing."

"What is?"

She bites her lip, hesitating. "I haven't… I've never…"

Understanding dawns on me. "You're a virgin?"

Isabella nods, her embarrassment plain.