Page 28 of Marriage Made In Hate

She laughed again, her hands lifting to the back of her head, and a moment later her hair…

her glorious Titian hair…was cascading over her shoulders.

She shook it free and he seized it with his hands, drawing her mouth to his once again.

Her lush breasts were straining from her bra, and he slid his hand beneath the open front of her blouse, unfastening the catch so that her breasts, coral-tipped and engorged, spilled free.

A groan broke from him, and his mouth swooped.

She gave a cry of pleasure, her hands going to his head, keeping his mouth on her.

Her thighs were splayed, constrained by the tightness of her skirt, and he took instant objection to it.

Lifting his mouth away, he flipped her on to her back, reaching for her zip.

In seconds the restraining garment was gone, and then it was her turn to minister to him.

Her hands reached for his waist, unfastening his belt… more than his belt…

His arousal was mounting, becoming unsustainable. With a groan he shucked himself free of the rest of his useless clothes as she threw aside her blouse, pushed her discarded skirt off the bed, whisked her bra away…her panties.

For a moment they paused, gazing at each other. He was ready for her…so ready…and she was ready for him. They were hungry for each other…

Memory seared in his head. Their lovemaking in that long-ago time of heady passion and desire had been eager and fervent. They had gloried in each other’s bodies, fulfilled, taken to the heights that they could give each other and take for themselves, free and uninhibited.

He caught her hand now, lowered it to his groin. ‘Take me,’ he said. His voice was hoarse. His eyes locked to hers. ‘Take me, Bianca…my most beautiful, irresistible Bianca…because I am all yours…’

She gave another laugh, glorious and joyous, and lowered her naked, eager, oh-so-ready body to his…

And passion, hot and searing, voluptuous and indulgent, consumed them both in its furnace of desire. Until they burned together in its flames.

* * *

Luca’s arm was warm around her naked shoulders and Bianca lay beside him. One of his hands cradled her elbow and his other hand was across her body, pressed by hers, as if she wanted to hold him there.

For ever.

After the heady passion of their union, when she had cried out with him as their moment came, their bodies fusing and the white heat of almost unbearable pleasure searing through her, she had clung, half sobbing, to his chest. After the very last echoes and eddies of that ebbing pleasure she had rested against the exhausted thudding of his heart as slowly, oh-so-slowly, their bodies cooled and eased and slipped apart, yielding to the peace that filled her now.

Such peace…

Thoughts, drifting and easeful, glided across the surface of her mind.

How wrong she had been…how wrong to fear what she had feared.

If she had stayed that blissful morning after the party…

if she had woken with Luca in the bright, warm light of day, not in the doubting reaches of the dawn…

he would have told her then what he had told her now.

That they had found each other again, their union complete.

A wash of wonder, of happiness, lifted through her as she laced her fingers with his, warm on the smooth softness of her waist. One thigh nestled against his, and she felt the fall of her hair across his strong chest as they lay beside each other, the tangled bedding strewn around them, pillows awry beneath their heads.

As if he could sense her happiness—and surely it was radiating from her like brightest sunshine—Luca lifted his head to kiss her softly, sensuously. Smiling as he did so.

‘My Bianca—my beautiful bellissima Bianca,’ he said, lifting his mouth away.

His dark, lustrous gaze was pouring into hers. She touched her fingers to his face. ‘My Luca,’ she answered. ‘My irresistible, my very own Luca. Mine—all mine!’ Her voice was as warm as his, as warm as their bodies lying together.

He laughed, softly and seductively, and held her yet closer against him. Desire would come again, she knew, but for now all she wanted was to go on lying here like this, warm against him, soft against him, close against him.

He was speaking again, his voice full of confidence and contentment.

‘How right we are for each other, Bianca!’ He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her.

‘I know that till now we’ve only…conspired in the fantasy Matteo has woven about us, but…

’ He took a breath. ‘Why should it be a fantasy? Hasn’t it been real since the night of the party?

Then we only went through the play-acting of being an engaged couple, but now—’

He broke off, his eyes still pouring into hers, alight with a flame that made her feel faint.

‘Let’s make it real, Bianca! Why shouldn’t it be?

It’s what Matteo dreams of, and it’s what the rest of the world assumes anyway—thanks to that party!

And why wouldn’t they? They saw how ideal you are for me—how could I want for more?

They saw you that night…the perfect future viscontessa , so beautiful, so elegant, so absolutely right for me.

And the daughter of my godfather’s brother… Matteo’s beloved niece…’

Slowly, with infinite care, Bianca drew away from him. Cold was pooling inside her. A creeping arctic, icy chill.

She lifted Luca’s hand off her, slid her thigh away from his.

She looked at him looking down at her. Smiling down at her.

It was a smile that slayed her.

‘But I’m not,’ she said. ‘I’m not Matteo’s niece.’