Italian Surgeon to the Stars by Melanie Milburne Page B

for what seemed like most of my life.
    His freshly shaved jaw scraped the skin of my face as he changed position to deepenthe kiss. His arms relaxed their iron grip on me and moved to cup one of my breasts in a caressing and yet possessive movement that made my insides twist and contort with lust. His other hand went to the nape of my neck, underneath my hair. He knew instinctively that it was one of my most sensitive erogenous zones. As his fingers moved in amongst those finer hairs, I tingled all over and my toes curled in my shoes.
    His mouth softened against mine, his kiss less punishing now, but no less passionate. Our tongues danced around each other in a cat-and-mouse caper, stopping to play every now and again before doing another round. I heard myself whimper as his lips nipped at mine in playful little nudges and bites that made every cell in my body shudder with delight. His warm breath mingled with mine, his taste lingering in my mouth like the bouquet of a top-shelf wine.
    I wanted more. I wanted to get drunk on his kiss. To be completely and utterly intoxicated with him.
    He slowly pulled back from me, but my lips clung to his as if they didn’t want to let him go. He cradled my face in his hands—a gesture that was sure to win any girl’s heart, inmy opinion. I looked into molasses-dark eyes that were glittering with hot-blooded desire and felt another fissure open like a fault line in the cold, hard armour around my heart.
    His thumbs stroked over my cheeks in slow motion, back and forth in a mesmerising caress that made it impossible for me to think of anything witty or pithy to say. I was in a sensual stupor. Stoned on the power and potency of his masterful mouth and the combustion of passion it had triggered in me.
    There was a pleated frown between his brows. ‘That was…’ he paused for a moment, as if searching for the right word ‘…unforgivable.’
    Unforgettable, more like , I thought.
    I moistened my lips with a quick dart of my tongue. ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘It was just a kiss. No big deal.’
    One of his hands cupped my cheek as if it were a priceless piece of porcelain. His touch was so gentle it made the tight knot of my bitterness towards him unfurl like satin ribbon spilling away from its spool. The pad of his thumb pressed ever so lightly against my lower lip. The desire to suck his thumb into my mouth was almost unbearable. His eyes met mine and I felt a jolt of something hotand electric run through me from head to foot and back again.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
    ‘For…?’ I could barely get my voice to work, let alone sound normal. It came out husky and breathy. So not like matter-of-fact me.
    He drew in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, his hand still cradling my cheek. ‘I don’t want it to be like this between us,’ he said. ‘Fighting. Scoring points. Being bitter.’
    I moistened my lips again. ‘So…what are you saying?’
    His eyes went to my mouth, as if he found it the most fascinating thing in the world. And I must admit I found his pretty fascinating—especially when I could see a trace of my lip gloss on his lower lip.
    I lifted my hand and blotted it away. ‘Buy your own lip gloss,’ I said, with an attempt to lighten things.
    I was feeling threatened by his disarming gentleness. It was reminding me of how easily I had fallen in love with him in the past. It was his gentle sensuality that had bewitched me. He wasn’t a man to lose control of his emotions or his passions. He had always been in control. He had shown me that in so manyways. It had built my confidence, made me feel secure and safe and able to express my own sensuality without fear of exploitation. He hadn’t steamrollered me or pressured me.
    And yet he was a deeply passionate man. I could feel the heat of that simmering passion in his body, sitting so close to mine. I could see it in his gaze when it meshed with mine. I was left in no doubt of his desire for me. I suspected he