Behind the Castello Doors by Chantelle Shaw

registered all those things in the timeless seconds that trembled between them. And then his head swooped and he covered her mouth with his own.
    Starbursts of pleasure instantly exploded inside her, and without conscious thought she parted her lips beneath his. Perhaps she should have been shocked, but in truth she had imagined his kiss from the moment her eyes had locked with his in the ballroom of his castle. She felt as though she had been waiting for him all her life, that she had been born for this moment with this man, and there was no thought in her head to resist him when he plundered her lips with a hunger that touched her soul.
    He was not gentle, but she hadn’t expected him to be, and his fierce desire, the bold thrust of his tongue into her mouth, evoked a desperate longing for him to pull her down onto the wet earth and claim her body with every pagan demand she sensed throbbed in his blood.
    The few chaste kisses she had shared when she’d been on occasional dates with other men had not prepared her for Cesario’s sensual onslaught. His lips grazed hers again and again, drawing a response that she was powerless to deny.

    The teeming rain pounded them, running down their faces and slicking Beth’s shirt to her body. The feel of the sodden material clinging to her breasts was deliciously erotic, and she could not repress a soft moan when he ran his hands down her front and traced her taut nipples jutting through the wet cotton. Sensation arrowed through her and, driven by an instinctive need to be even closer to him, she lifted her arms and curved them around his neck.
    He muttered something in Italian and crushed her to him, so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. She was conscious of his hard sinews and muscles imprinted on her softer flesh, and the solid ridge of his arousal jabbed her belly, causing molten heat to pool between her thighs.
    The dark stubble shading his jaw felt abrasive against her cheek but she did not care. Nothing mattered except that he should never, ever stop kissing her. Some pagan force deep inside her told her that she belonged here in his arms. That she belonged to him. She curled her fingers into his hair and then, like a blind person wanting to imprint his image on her brain, stroked his face, exploring every angle and plane and tracing the sharp edges of his cheekbones.
    Her fingertips fluttered over the raised ridge of his scar. At her touch he stiffened and tore his mouth from hers, his actions so abrupt that she was unprepared and swayed dizzily for a moment. Deprived of the warmth and strength of his body she felt bereft, and wondered with a flash of despair how she could bear the aching loneliness of her life.
    He dropped his arms to his sides, allowing her to step back from him. As the reality of what had happened sank in she lifted her hand to her mouth and felt its swollen softness, staring at Cesario with stunned eyes.

    ‘Why did you do that?’ she whispered.
    He gave a harsh laugh, his eyes hooded and glittering with a savage hunger. ‘Why? You know why, cara. You feel this intense attraction as strongly as I do. Maybe you resent it, and are shocked by it—just as I am. But you cannot deny the fire that burns between us.’
    She could not deny her awareness of him, but she was startled by his stark admission that he desired her. He cupped her face in his hands and she watched, her heart hammering, as he lowered his head once more. Her lips parted involuntarily in readiness for him to kiss her again, but a sudden memory forced its way into her head and with a cry she pulled away from him.
    ‘The dog! I found a dog caught in a trap,’ she explained when he stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘We have to set it free or it will die. Please.’ She caught hold of his arm. ‘Will you come?’
    ‘Where?’ Cesario demanded tersely, fighting the temptation to snatch her back into his arms and finish what they had started, here and now on the sodden grass.