again—’
The emotion caught him full in the chest and he felt his own throat close. With a rough curse he held her tightly, crushing her against him in a possessive gesture as they both slowly recovered.
She trembled and sobbed against him until his chest was damp, strands of her hair caught between the two of them. Two years ago he would have been appalled if someone had told him he’d be pleased to see her crying. But in a savage, primitive way he
was
pleased. In fact he was close to exultant because Laurel so rarely showed her emotions. For her to do so now was an indication of what she was feeling and he knew that if there was ever a time to persuade her to talk to him then it was now, while she was weakened and vulnerable.
Cruel? Maybe. She’d already accused him of that, hadn’t she?
He’d never been one to back down when there was something that needed doing.
Stroking her damp hair out of her eyes, he dried her tears, ruthlessly closing down that side of him that retreated from the prospect of upsetting her further. She breathed with a hitch and a judder, everything uneven, but there was no sign of an impending asthma attack. Which was a relief because nothing, not volcanic eruption or earthquake, nor the sharp sting of his conscience was going to interrupt
this
conversation.
Her eyes were reddened and swollen, her mouth bruised from his kisses.
His
kisses.
His resolve turned to steel and he stared down at her, knowing that he couldn’t allow her time to put those barriersup again. He was still inside her.
Still hard,
he realised as he ruefully acknowledged the effect she had on him.
It didn’t get any more intimate than this, he thought grimly, and he wanted intimate.
He wanted it all.
Everything they’d lost, and more.
Holding her still, trapping her with his strength, he took her chin in his hand and turned her tear-streaked face to his.
‘Now
tell me you’re not in love with me.’
Laurel lay in shock, wrung out from the deluge of emotion and the mind-blowing sex. Emotionally and physically spent, she just wanted to roll over and bury her head in the pillow but he lay in a position of domination, the muscles of his sleek, powerful shoulders bunched as he protected her from his weight, waiting for her response to his all male command. She tried to pull herself back, to separate herself, but they were entwined in every way possible. She could still feel him, hard and heavy, and her body tensed around him, drawing a soft curse from his lips.
‘Don’t move—’
‘You move then—’
‘I’m not going anywhere until you admit the way you feel—’ His voice was a thickened growl and she knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to back off until she’d spoken the words he wanted to hear.
And she had no intention of doing that. ‘You’re heavy. I can’t breathe properly.’
The connection was sweet and terrifying at the same time and her hips moved without her consent, the unconsciously sensuous movement dragging another curse from his lips.
Drawing in a long breath, he closed one strong hand over her hip, holding her still while he struggled for control. ‘I said
don’t
move.’
‘I need fresh air.’ ‘Coward.’
Was she a coward? No, she wasn’t. She was strong. She’d survived an upbringing that would have wrecked many people but the grim, cold reality of her early life had taught her one important lesson: that life was about choices. And she’d been fiercely determined to make the best choices she could.
So what was she doing back in Cristiano’s bed?
Bad
choice, she thought desperately, but then remembered that the length of time he’d allowed her to make that choice could have been measured in milliseconds.
‘You’re a very attractive guy, Cristiano, no woman is likely to dispute that. So we just had sex.’
‘I noticed.’ His mouth curved into a satisfied masculine smile and he shifted his body just enough to make her gasp. ‘So what does that
The emotion caught him full in the chest and he felt his own throat close. With a rough curse he held her tightly, crushing her against him in a possessive gesture as they both slowly recovered.
She trembled and sobbed against him until his chest was damp, strands of her hair caught between the two of them. Two years ago he would have been appalled if someone had told him he’d be pleased to see her crying. But in a savage, primitive way he
was
pleased. In fact he was close to exultant because Laurel so rarely showed her emotions. For her to do so now was an indication of what she was feeling and he knew that if there was ever a time to persuade her to talk to him then it was now, while she was weakened and vulnerable.
Cruel? Maybe. She’d already accused him of that, hadn’t she?
He’d never been one to back down when there was something that needed doing.
Stroking her damp hair out of her eyes, he dried her tears, ruthlessly closing down that side of him that retreated from the prospect of upsetting her further. She breathed with a hitch and a judder, everything uneven, but there was no sign of an impending asthma attack. Which was a relief because nothing, not volcanic eruption or earthquake, nor the sharp sting of his conscience was going to interrupt
this
conversation.
Her eyes were reddened and swollen, her mouth bruised from his kisses.
His
kisses.
His resolve turned to steel and he stared down at her, knowing that he couldn’t allow her time to put those barriersup again. He was still inside her.
Still hard,
he realised as he ruefully acknowledged the effect she had on him.
It didn’t get any more intimate than this, he thought grimly, and he wanted intimate.
He wanted it all.
Everything they’d lost, and more.
Holding her still, trapping her with his strength, he took her chin in his hand and turned her tear-streaked face to his.
‘Now
tell me you’re not in love with me.’
Laurel lay in shock, wrung out from the deluge of emotion and the mind-blowing sex. Emotionally and physically spent, she just wanted to roll over and bury her head in the pillow but he lay in a position of domination, the muscles of his sleek, powerful shoulders bunched as he protected her from his weight, waiting for her response to his all male command. She tried to pull herself back, to separate herself, but they were entwined in every way possible. She could still feel him, hard and heavy, and her body tensed around him, drawing a soft curse from his lips.
‘Don’t move—’
‘You move then—’
‘I’m not going anywhere until you admit the way you feel—’ His voice was a thickened growl and she knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to back off until she’d spoken the words he wanted to hear.
And she had no intention of doing that. ‘You’re heavy. I can’t breathe properly.’
The connection was sweet and terrifying at the same time and her hips moved without her consent, the unconsciously sensuous movement dragging another curse from his lips.
Drawing in a long breath, he closed one strong hand over her hip, holding her still while he struggled for control. ‘I said
don’t
move.’
‘I need fresh air.’ ‘Coward.’
Was she a coward? No, she wasn’t. She was strong. She’d survived an upbringing that would have wrecked many people but the grim, cold reality of her early life had taught her one important lesson: that life was about choices. And she’d been fiercely determined to make the best choices she could.
So what was she doing back in Cristiano’s bed?
Bad
choice, she thought desperately, but then remembered that the length of time he’d allowed her to make that choice could have been measured in milliseconds.
‘You’re a very attractive guy, Cristiano, no woman is likely to dispute that. So we just had sex.’
‘I noticed.’ His mouth curved into a satisfied masculine smile and he shifted his body just enough to make her gasp. ‘So what does that
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