‘Let me.’
‘No!’ Carys whirled to face him, arms outstretched to keep him at bay.
Even with lipstick on his jaw, and his jacket and dress shirt torn open to reveal a dusky, hair-dusted chest, he looked in command, powerful and controlled.
Sexier than any man had a right to be.
Then she saw the way his chest rose and fell, as if from exertion. The tendons in his neck stood out and his facial muscles were drawn too tight. A flush of colour slanted across his cheeks and his nostrils flared as if he fought for oxygen.
The evidence of simple animal lust. That was all Alessandro had ever felt for her.
When would she learn? Self-disgust filled her.
Her poor tortured heart compressed as a weight as big as Flinders Street Station pushed down on her chest. Breathing was agony.
But the realisation of what she’d almost done was worse. One kiss…one kiss and she’d been scrabbling at his shirt, desperate to feel his body against hers, urging him on to take her.
Her chin crumpled and she bit her lip. She’d invited her own degradation.
Once again Alessandro had proved himself a consummate seducer. But that was no excuse. She should be able to resist him. She had to. Where was her self-respect?
‘Don’t touch me,’ she whispered as she wriggled her hips, tugging the skirt down. She kept her eyes above his waist, not wanting to see what she’d felt pressing intimately against her, inviting her to mindless pleasure.
Involuntarily her internal muscles clenched. Her betraying body was still ready for his possession. The knowledge flattened the last remnant of her pride.
‘Va bene. As you wish.’ The feral gleam in Alessandro’s eyes warned her he wouldn’t be thwarted for long. ‘Instead we will talk. For now.’
Fire scorched her throat and she looked away, unable to meet his dark scrutiny any longer.
Slowly Carys backed across the floor, feet sinking into the plush depth of carpet. He didn’t follow her but stood, arms akimbo, as if waiting for her to come to her senses.
‘We have to talk, Carys.’
Like hell they did. They’d done enough talking for one night. The brush of cool air on her heated skin made her frown and reach for her throat, only to discover her blouse hung open to reveal her white cotton bra.
How had that happened? Carys clutched the edges of her blouse together with numb fingers. She shot an accusing glare across the room, but Alessandro said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest as if waiting for her to come to her senses.
For all his immobility she couldn’t rid herself of the notion he merely waited to pounce.
Would she have the resolve to stop him next time?
‘I’m not staying here to be attacked again.’
‘Attacked!’ He drew himself up to his full height and stared down his long aristocratic nose at her. ‘Hardly that. You were panting for my touch.’
His arrogant claim was the final straw because it was true. Her resolution had failed. She was weak and nothing could protect her from him. Nothing but bluff.
She shrugged, the movement more stiff than insouciant.
‘I was curious, that’s all. And,’ she hurried on as he opened his mouth to reject her explanation, ‘and besides, it’s been a while since I…’
‘You’ve been saving yourself, cara? Is that it?’ His smoky voice urged her to assent and blurt out that there’d been no one since him. Wouldn’t he just love that!
Fury sizzled along her veins. Glorious wrath at the man who’d taken her innocence, her love and her trust and thought he could have her again at the click of his fingers.
‘No,’ Carys lied. It would just feed his ego to know there’d been no one since him. She shifted her gaze.
He held her in thrall. What would it take to make him relinquish his pursuit? Desperation drove her to blurt out the first thing she could think of to stop him.
‘My boyfriend and I had a disagreement and—’
‘Boyfriend?’ His voice thundered through the suite. ‘You were missing your boyfriend? You can’t tell me you were thinking of him just now?’
‘Can’t I?’ Carys swung her head round and felt his dark green stare like frozen shards of crystal grazing her skin.
‘I don’t believe you.’ But she’d sown the seed of doubt. That was obvious from his sudden pallor.
A tiny fillip of triumph rose. Maybe she could make herself safe from him after all.
‘Believe what you like, Conte Mattani.’
‘Don’t use that title with me,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not some stranger.’
She said nothing, merely backed a few more steps towards the foyer.
‘You don’t intend to leave looking like that,’ he announced in a cold, disapproving tone.
Carys felt the weight of her hair tumbling round her shoulders and knew she looked as if she’d been ravaged to within an inch of her life. She was barefoot, half undressed, her lips bruised and swollen from the intensity of their passion, and her nipples thrust shamelessly against the cotton of her bra. Anyone looking at her would know precisely what she’d been doing.
She had a choice: an ignominious flight from the presidential suite looking like a complete wanton or a cosy tête a tête with Alessandro Mattani.
She was across the room before he could move a step.
‘Just watch me.’
Alessandro stood on the private terrace of his suite, watching the dark-clad workers scurry across the bridge and swarm the streets. Morning peak hour and he’d already been at work for several hours.
Habitually he started early and finished late. But this morning…he raked a hand through his hair as frustration filled him.
He’d slept even less than usual, bedevilled by tantalising dreams of luscious pale limbs entwined with his, of generous feminine curves and silky smooth skin, of smoky blue-grey eyes enticing him to the brink of sexual fulfilment. Each time he’d woken, sweating, gasping for breath and formidably aroused, to the realisation Carys Wells had fled rather than allow them the release they both craved.
He rubbed a hand over his freshly shaved jaw, as if to dispel the tension there.
Even in sleep she denied him.
He could barely believe she’d run. Especially after he’d felt the hunger in her, a hunger as ravening as his own. It was a wonder their clothes hadn’t disintegrated around them, their passion had been so combustible.
He grasped the iron balustrade savagely. Could it have been a tactic to tease him into wanting more then leave him aching with need? What could she hope to gain?
He shook his head. No woman was that good an actress. Besides, he knew every trick in the book when it came to conniving women, and Carys hadn’t played the tease. He remembered the scent of her arousal, sharp and musky.
Oh, no, Carys Wells had wanted him all right.
Why had she denied them both?
A stiff breeze blew up from the river and chilled his skin. He should have taken things slower, scoped out the situation rather than allowing his driving need free rein.
One of the first things he’d learned when he entered the commercial world was to plan carefully