She didn’t stiffen or resist. If anything, she leaned into him and he wrapped an arm around her slender frame holding her against him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping her mouth, tasting her, weakening her defenses. By the time he lifted his head, she was silent, no fight left in her. Her wide brown eyes looked up into his.
“You should never underestimate your opponent, Rachel,” he said quietly, running his thumb lightly across her soft flushed cheek. “And you most definitely shouldn’t have underestimated me.”
RACHEL COULDN’T THINK. Her brain was foggy, and her body had gone to mush. She could barely control her limbs much less her wild emotions. What had just happened? And how had she lost power so quickly?
It was the kiss. The kiss had been her undoing. It was that good. He was that good. And if Antonio had kissed Juliet this way, Rachel almost understood why Juliet lost her head.
“Now you’re going to wrap your arm about my waist,” Giovanni said, his hand settling low on her back, hand warm against the base of her spine, “and we’re going to retrace our steps and we’ll return to my house together.”
“I’m not going to—”
He captured her face, kissing her again, deeply, teasing, stroking her lips and the inside of her mouth, setting her body on fire, destroying her resistance. She reached for his sweater, clinging to the softness, needing support, but the cashmere stretched, yielding, and she leaned against his chest, unable to stand.
“Stop fighting me, and put your arm around me,” he murmured, his deep voice in her ear. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”
Her hand turned into a fist and she pressed it against his torso, pushing back at him, angry and off balance, not sure how he’d flipped everything around, seizing control from her. His body was so warm, heat emanated from him, making her want to step closer, not farther away. It was so confusing. She pressed her fist into him, pressing against the lean, hard muscle of his torso. “You’re the one playing a game, Giovanni.”
“Oh, yes, and it is my game.”
She licked the swollen fullness of her upper lip. Her mouth still tingled and throbbed from the kisses. “The rules don’t make sense.”
“That’s because you’re not thinking clearly. Later it will be clear to you.”
“But that could be too late.”
He stroked her hot cheek. “Very true.”
That light caress made her pulse jump. Her legs still weren’t steady. “You need to stop touching me.”
His head dipped, his lips against her brow, and then another light kiss high on her cheekbone, his deep voice humming through her. “You shouldn’t have started this.”
She closed her eyes as his lips brushed her earlobe, the touch warm and light, making her skin tingle. “Stop. This is about Michael, and only Michael,” she protested, but her voice was weak and she didn’t sound convincing, not even to herself.
He knew, too. She could tell by the glint in his eyes, a bright fierce flash of triumph. He thought he’d won, and maybe he had won this one battle, but it was an isolated battle and he hadn’t won the war. At the same time, she couldn’t secure Michael’s future by remaining outside, bickering.
Or kissing. Because she didn’t kiss strangers. She wasn’t free with her affections. If anything, she was a little nervous around men, not having a lot of confidence in herself as a woman. It’d been years since she’d been out on a proper date, and Juliet used to say that men would like her better if she’d just relax and not take herself so seriously.
It wasn’t that Rachel took herself so seriously, but she didn’t know how to flirt, and she wasn’t about to resort to flattery just to make a man feel good. Fortunately, in her job she didn’t have to flatter and charm, she just needed to know her aircraft, and she did. It was easy to be enthusiastic about luxury planes and all the different ways one could customize an AeroDynamics jet interior.
“Ready to go in?” Giovanni asked, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Or do we need to give our photographer friends another passionate embrace?”
“No!” Reluctantly she slid her arm around his waist, shuddering as he drew her close to his hip, and then they were walking, but she couldn’t even feel her legs.
This was crazy. She couldn’t wrap her head around everything that had just happened. Perhaps he was crazy. Perhaps she’d just thrown herself from the fire into the frying pan. Was that the expression? In her dazed state, she couldn’t be sure of anything right now. His kisses... They’d wrecked her. His touch absolutely baffled her.
No one touched her. No one wanted to kiss her. And she knew he didn’t really want to kiss her, but he’d done it to shift the power, seize control. It had been a shocking move but surprisingly effective. That’s the part she didn’t understand. When had kissing someone become the way to handle a situation? And why had it worked so well on her? She should have been able to resist him. She should have been outraged and offended and not melted.
And she had melted. Into a puddle of boneless, spineless sensation.
But now she needed to gather herself and focus and think. Think. She needed a new plan, and quickly.
They were crossing the pavement, approaching the palazzo, and while she dreaded entering Giovanni’s home, she’d at least have Michael back.
Rachel suddenly stumbled, tripping over her own feet. His arm tightened around her, and he drew her firmly against his side. “Too close,” she protested.
“I can feel you trembling. If I let you go, you’ll fall.”
“Blame yourself. You had no business kissing me.”
“Has it been that long since you’ve been properly kissed?”
“I wouldn’t call it a proper kiss. In America we don’t manhandle women.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that American men don’t know how to handle women. Such a shame.” They paused several feet from the door. He tilted her face up, stared into her eyes. “You look better now that you’ve been kissed, though. Less pale and pinched.” He smiled into her eyes but there was a predatory gleam in the blue depths. “Do you want to thank me now, or later?”
She knew what he was doing, striking a pose, giving the photographers more pictures with different angles for a wide variety of shots, but it infuriated her that he’d taken her big moment and turned it into his. “This is going to end badly,” she said tightly.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and he stared down into her face for a long, tense moment, before laughing shortly. “Are you just now figuring that out?”
The front door suddenly swung open, and he kept her close as they entered the palazzo, passing through the high wooden doors and into the cavernous central hall lit by an enormous Murano chandelier, at least seven feet tall, a masterpiece of sparkling glass leaves, flowers and fruits all set amongst intricate, delicate glass rods and fanciful, fragile arabesques.
A member of his staff had obviously been at the front door watching and waiting for them, as the front door opened before Giovanni could touch it, and then closed quietly behind them. Rachel turned her head, craning to see if it was the old man who’d answered the door earlier, but Giovanni was urging her forward, moving her toward the stairs.
Think, she told herself. She needed to clear her head and follow a thought all the way through instead of this—this capitulation of reason and control.
“You can let me go