hand as if it were nothing. As if she were a bothersome mosquito flitting around his head. “Then send them away. It’s nothing to get upset about.”
“You have no idea, do you?” she flung at him. “Women are taught from the time they’re little girls to look forward to their wedding day. There are entire magazines dedicated to weddings—to gowns! You don’t pick a woman’s dress, or pick a selection of dresses, and tell her to choose one. It’s arrogant, unfeeling—what are you doing?”
He’d stepped around the desk and started moving toward her, stalking her, until she backed into the closed door with a gasp.
He looked angry—and so very handsome he stole the breath from her lungs. When he reached out and hooked an arm around her, she could only squeak in surprise. Then he hauled her against his hard body until she was pressed to him, breast to belly to hip.
“How is this for unfeeling?” he growled before his mouth came down on hers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
F OR a moment, Tina was stunned into immobility. But only for a moment.
Though her brain told her to resist his kiss, she wound her fists into his shirt instead and arched her body into his. He threaded one hand in her hair and tilted her head back, his other hand sliding down to cup her bottom.
Excitement shot through her in a chain reaction of sparks and sizzle and longing so sharp it made her moan.
She thought that she’d remembered what kissing him was like, but she hadn’t remembered even a tenth of it. He consumed her, his tongue sliding against hers, his mouth demanding everything she could give.
Had it been like this in Venice? Yes—and no. Yes, he’d kissed her with this kind of passion—but he hadn’t kissed her without restraint. Now there was no restraint. He was a sexual animal, pushed to the edge of control, and she welcomed his fierceness.
His kiss turned her inside out, and she only wanted more.
His hand slid beneath her cover-up—beneath her bikini—and she gasped. He cupped her bare bottom,squeezed, pulling her harder against him until she could feel his erection straining against her abdomen.
Liquid need melted into her core. She wanted him, wanted to feel his body inside hers again. She wanted that perfect storm of passion and heat, the tactile pleasure of touching him everywhere.
She’d never felt more beautiful, more alive and wonderful, than she had when they’d made love the last time. She desperately wanted that feeling again even if it was bad for her. Even if she’d wake up afterward, feeling hungover and hating herself for giving in.
She. Did. Not. Care.
Tina yanked his shirt from his trousers, desperate to feel his bare skin beneath her palms, but a sudden noise outside the door startled her and brought her crashing back to reality.
There were people out there. And dresses. Dresses that had made her so angry she’d come in here to confront him about his lack of respect for what she might want.
But before she could summon the energy to push him away, he stepped back abruptly. He looked wild, his eyes gleaming, his hair mussed where she’d threaded her fingers into it. Not only that, but his body was still aroused, still ready for her. She could see the outline of an impressive erection straining against the fabric of his khakis.
A part of her wanted to close the distance between them, unzip him and wrap her hand around that steely velvet part of him.
But she wouldn’t. She wasn’t that bold. And besides, she’d come in here for a different reason altogether. A reason she’d forgotten the instant he’d touched her.
“
That
is why we are marrying,” he said, his voicelashing into her with its coolness as he tucked in his shirt again. “Not because this is a fantasy, or a love affair, or any other reason that suits your romantic sensibilities. We are marrying because we have passion,
cara
. And because, as you so helpfully pointed out to me last night, there were consequences to that
“You have no idea, do you?” she flung at him. “Women are taught from the time they’re little girls to look forward to their wedding day. There are entire magazines dedicated to weddings—to gowns! You don’t pick a woman’s dress, or pick a selection of dresses, and tell her to choose one. It’s arrogant, unfeeling—what are you doing?”
He’d stepped around the desk and started moving toward her, stalking her, until she backed into the closed door with a gasp.
He looked angry—and so very handsome he stole the breath from her lungs. When he reached out and hooked an arm around her, she could only squeak in surprise. Then he hauled her against his hard body until she was pressed to him, breast to belly to hip.
“How is this for unfeeling?” he growled before his mouth came down on hers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
F OR a moment, Tina was stunned into immobility. But only for a moment.
Though her brain told her to resist his kiss, she wound her fists into his shirt instead and arched her body into his. He threaded one hand in her hair and tilted her head back, his other hand sliding down to cup her bottom.
Excitement shot through her in a chain reaction of sparks and sizzle and longing so sharp it made her moan.
She thought that she’d remembered what kissing him was like, but she hadn’t remembered even a tenth of it. He consumed her, his tongue sliding against hers, his mouth demanding everything she could give.
Had it been like this in Venice? Yes—and no. Yes, he’d kissed her with this kind of passion—but he hadn’t kissed her without restraint. Now there was no restraint. He was a sexual animal, pushed to the edge of control, and she welcomed his fierceness.
His kiss turned her inside out, and she only wanted more.
His hand slid beneath her cover-up—beneath her bikini—and she gasped. He cupped her bare bottom,squeezed, pulling her harder against him until she could feel his erection straining against her abdomen.
Liquid need melted into her core. She wanted him, wanted to feel his body inside hers again. She wanted that perfect storm of passion and heat, the tactile pleasure of touching him everywhere.
She’d never felt more beautiful, more alive and wonderful, than she had when they’d made love the last time. She desperately wanted that feeling again even if it was bad for her. Even if she’d wake up afterward, feeling hungover and hating herself for giving in.
She. Did. Not. Care.
Tina yanked his shirt from his trousers, desperate to feel his bare skin beneath her palms, but a sudden noise outside the door startled her and brought her crashing back to reality.
There were people out there. And dresses. Dresses that had made her so angry she’d come in here to confront him about his lack of respect for what she might want.
But before she could summon the energy to push him away, he stepped back abruptly. He looked wild, his eyes gleaming, his hair mussed where she’d threaded her fingers into it. Not only that, but his body was still aroused, still ready for her. She could see the outline of an impressive erection straining against the fabric of his khakis.
A part of her wanted to close the distance between them, unzip him and wrap her hand around that steely velvet part of him.
But she wouldn’t. She wasn’t that bold. And besides, she’d come in here for a different reason altogether. A reason she’d forgotten the instant he’d touched her.
“
That
is why we are marrying,” he said, his voicelashing into her with its coolness as he tucked in his shirt again. “Not because this is a fantasy, or a love affair, or any other reason that suits your romantic sensibilities. We are marrying because we have passion,
cara
. And because, as you so helpfully pointed out to me last night, there were consequences to that
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