Convenient Brides by Lindsay Armstrong, Catherine Spencer, Melanie Milburne Page B

mouth everywhere on her, but that he did so with the reverence of a connoisseur examining a rare, exquisite work of art. Touches so fleeting they caressed her like a benediction.
    Had he shown her the same tenderness the first time he’d seduced her, she’d probably have thought the melting delight he induced now was reward enough for giving him her virginity. But he’d taught her too well. She knew this was but a preface to much more explosive pleasure, and so did her body. The faint humming along her nerve endings, growing in volume until they buzzed, was evidence enough of that.
    “Paolo…!” she sighed, squirming to free her hands from his grip. “Let me touch you…”
    “Patience, my lovely,” he breathed in Italian, settling his mouth again at her throat. “We have all night to enjoy one another.”
    “Not if your father finds you here.”
    She wished she hadn’t reminded him. Abandoning her without a second’s hesitation, he rose from the bed and strode to the door. “Indeed not. He would awaken the entire household with his outrage.”
    Regret leached away all the lovely anticipation building in her blood, and left her aching with disappointment. No point trying to delude herself that she’d feel differently in the morning and be glad she’d called a halt to things. She wanted him with a deep and vital yearning that had its roots in something far more enduring than the temporary release of good sex. She wanted to belong to him in every way that counted: physically, emotionally, spiritually.
    She’d grown up without a father, or uncles or brothers. Of course, she had a son, as well as a daughter, but even for them,she had Paolo to thank. At the end of the day, he was the only man ever to have left an indelible impression on her soul.
    At last accepting that it was something that neither time nor circumstance would ever change, she tossed aside the last of her pride and begged, “Paolo, please don’t go!”
    “I must,” he said roughly, and before she could repeat her plea, the door had closed behind him.
    Desolated, she gathered a fistful of sheet, and crushed it against her mouth to silence the wave of anguish threatening toerupt. To have come so close to heaven, and then, with a few ill-chosen words, to lose it all, was beyond cruel. It was inhumane, torture of the worst kind, and she wanted to howl at the unfairness of a world which would allow such suffering.
    Then, miraculously, the door opened again, and Paolo was there again. Stunned, delighted, grateful, she said, “I thought you’d left and weren’t coming back.”
    “Not coming back?” Locking her door, he tossed the key on the nearby dresser, and began to remove his clothes. “Caroline, my angel, I couldn’t stay away, even if I wanted to.”
    By the time he reached the bed again, he was as naked as she was. And, like her, he’d changed over the years. The younger playboy son of the almighty Salvatore Rainero had matured into a man of impressive stature, and she was mesmerized by the magnificence of him.
    He’d always been classically tall, dark and handsome, but at twenty-four there’d been a hint of softness in his build, an indication of too much fast living, coupled with a distinct lack of self-discipline. He’d worn too much jewelry. A heavy gold chain hung around his neck. Diamonds rimmed the dial of his gold watch. Another diamond graced the signet ring on his little finger. Smitten though she’d been at the time, she’d found such a conspicuous display of wealth somewhat tasteless.
    Now, he wore only a slim gold watch which he discarded along with his clothes, and a simple chain that glimmeredsoftly against his deep olive skin. His chest had deepened, his shoulders broadened with muscle more cleanly defined than before. His limbs were strong, his flanks lean, his belly flat and hard. And his masculinity…?
    “Will I do?” he asked, standing close enough for her to reach out and touch him.
    Heavenly days, but he