He sat in the chair next to hers and leaned close, the musky scent of him teasing her senses. “Is that why you’re so independent?”
“I had to be. People aren’t going to take care of you—they’re going to take care of themselves. I just learned that at an earlier age than some. But I survived. I made my own way. My own success.”
“But there is no shame in accepting help from others.”
“That’s quite something coming from you. When was the last time you accepted help?”
A slow smile curved his lips. “I can’t remember.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But some people need more help than others,” he said, a shadow passing over his face for a moment.
“I don’t believe that. Some people wallow rather than moving forward.”
“Is that what you think? That your mother should have tried harder?”
She nodded emphatically. “Yes. That’s what I think. You can’t just self-destruct because somebody leaves you in the lurch. It’s never a good idea to depend on someone like that. You become so accustomed to leaning on them that you get weak, and then when they leave, when they fail you, you won’t be able to stand on your own anymore because you’ve lost all of your own strength. And everybody fails at some point.”
His eyes darkened. “Yes. And some damage is irreparable.”
“Yes,” she said softly, thinking of the void left by Kimberly, by her father and then, even though she’d still been there physically, by her mother. “That’s why I don’t need people.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. I earn my own living. I’ve achieved my goals on my own, without help from anyone. I don’t do need.”
“Neither do I,” he said, his voice growing thicker, deeper. “And yet, something about you …” He took her hand and placed it on his bare chest, the heat of his skin singeing her fingers, his heartbeat raging against her palm. “Something about this feels a lot like need.”
She sucked in a breath. She couldn’t deny it. Her own body was on fire with response to his. Her heart pounding in time with his, her nipples beading, aching, slick moisture dampening her core.
“That’s why we can’t,” she said bleakly, trying to pull her hand away, but he gripped it with his, held it tightly against the hard wall of his chest.
“And you think if we deny it, that it will go away? Has it faded at all in the past three weeks for you? Because I have been spending all of my nights dreaming of you. Of making love to you, touching your soft skin, thrusting into your beautiful body.”
Heat coursed through her and she knew her cheeks were bright red, but not from embarrassment. Well, not only from embarrassment, although his frank description of what he wanted to do with her was a little bit beyond her experience level. But the heat was from desire, the fierce pulse of it that pounded through her and made her limbs feel weak, made her feel as if she could be reckless. Like she could grab what she wanted with both hands and forget that such a thing as consequences even existed.
He leaned in, his mouth covering hers, his tongue parting her lips expertly. She didn’t hesitate. She opened to him, let her tongue tangle with his, wrapped her arms around his neck so that he could kiss her harder, deeper.
His hands deftly worked at the knots on her bikini top and before she realized what was happening the fabric had slipped away, leaving her breasts bare to him. She arched against his chest, the slight dusting of hair that covered his skin lightly abrading her nipples. The coarse friction sent a wave of sensation washing through her body, making her internal muscles clench in anticipation of his touch. His possession. She squirmed, trying to find some way to alleviate the hollow ache that was slowly taking over her body. She knew it wasn’t going to work, that whatever she did, even if it brought her to orgasm, wasn’t going to satisfy her. Because she wasn’t going to be satisfied until their bodies were joined together, until he was filling that void.
He lowered his dark head and she watched, completely spellbound as he sucked one pink nipple into his mouth, his tongue working the sensitized tip. She let her head fall back, let a loud moan escape her lips. She was past the point of caring about what noises she made, past the point of caring about anything except for this. Maximo. His touch. His wicked mouth doing such wonderful, shocking things to her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said thickly before lowering his head and drawing her other nipple into his mouth. He released her, laving her with the flat of his tongue before scattering kisses over her breasts, her collarbone, down to her belly button and back up again.
She was on fire, dying for him, all remnants of control long since thrown out the window. She couldn’t think when he was kissing her. Couldn’t plan. Couldn’t do anything except revel in the things he, and only he, could do to her.
Would it have been like this with any man? If she had given someone the chance sooner would they have lit her body on fire, too?
No. She knew that instinctively. She didn’t need a vast amount of experience to know that this wasn’t everyday garden-variety attraction. This was something much hotter, something much more lethal. And she was willingly partaking in it, even knowing how potentially deadly it was.
She felt the hard evidence of his arousal against her thigh and she moved her hand down, pressed her palm against his firm length and squeezed him gently.
A short curse fell from his lips and he captured her mouth again, bucking his hips against her hand, his control obviously as shredded as her own. She squeezed him again and she reveled in the low growl that rumbled in his chest. Always before when she’d imagined being intimate with a man, she’d imagined it meant giving him power over her. But what she hadn’t realized was just how much power she would have over him.
She moved her hand over the length of him, not quite able to believe just how thick and hard he felt. She hadn’t realized that men could be so big. And yet, there was no fear with that revelation, only a sensual thrill that rushed through her, making her feel light-headed, breathless.
Dimly Alison registered the chirpy tones of a cell phone. Despite the interruption, her hands continued to roam over him, to explore him, the everyday sound not quite able to penetrate the fog of desire that was totally clouding her ability for rational thought.
“Che cavolo.” Max swore and jumped away from her as though her touch burned him. He moved to the table where he’d placed his mobile phone and answered it in rough Italian, his chest rising and falling harshly with his breathing, the aggressive jut of his arousal pushing visibly against the thin fabric of his shorts.
Alison’s heart was pounding hard in her ears. Very slowly she started to come back to reality. She could feel the heat of the sun, the salt breeze … hear seagulls screaming at each other down on the beach. She had just about made love with a man outside. Correction: she had been in the process of making love with him even if they hadn’t been quite to the point of actual intercourse. And any of the household staff members could have come out and seen them, caught them in the act.
She crossed her arms over her breasts, acutely aware of her nudity. Before it had seemed freeing, so nice not to have anything between her and Max. Now it just seemed embarrassing. She didn’t feel sexy anymore. She just felt bare, exposed.
She fished her swimsuit top from beneath the chair and turned her back to Maximo, who was still engaged in his phone conversation, tying her top back on with shaking hands, her clumsy fingers taking twice as long to get herself covered again. She picked up the towel and knotted it fiercely at her breasts, craving all the cover she could get. She took advantage of Maximo’s distraction and sneaked quietly back into the villa. She was not hanging around for another postmortem on an aborted make-out session.
More importantly, she wasn’t going to