He stood stiller than a statue.
Legs apart, she put her hands on her hips, filled with a new confidence—just from the way he was watching her. ‘What are you waiting for?’
He answered slowly, through clenched teeth. ‘Some degree of control.’
She dropped to her knees and crawled to the end of the bed. Straightened up and put her hand on his chest—watching it rise and fall. Then she looked up into his searing black gaze.
His fingers tangled in her hair, twisting in her curls, and he pulled. She didn’t resist, let her head fall back so her mouth was his to plunder. And he did.
But then she ran both hands through his hair, holding him to her as she let herself fall back onto the mattress. As she intended, he overbalanced and came down hard on top of her.
‘Sophy,’ he grunted, automatically bracing a hand on either side of her, lifting his weight off her. ‘You okay?’
She hooked her legs around him, arched up to stop him moving too far away. ‘No. I’m tired of waiting for you.’
‘I can’t wait any more.’
She smiled and rippled beneath him. ‘Good.’
He stayed braced above her for a long moment, gazing into her eyes. She lifted her hips, trying to hurry him. He just smiled—that heart-meltingly brilliant smile. Then he lowered his weight half onto her again. Her heartbeat rocketed. Anticipation made breathing difficult. At last he moved, a smooth powerful stroke forward, filling her in the one hit.
She gasped, expelled an even harsher breath as she shook.
‘You okay?’ He moved again.
‘Yes,’ she panted. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’ But her breathing pitched wildly, the blackness threatening again as she gasped, struggling to cope with the blissful sensations. Too much, it was too much.
‘Easy honey.’ He pressed into her once more—slow, deliberate—and held there until she steadied. The weight of him and his careful hold anchored her, but his power had the potential to pull her apart. After a wavering moment, she began to breathe more deeply, softening, increasingly able to handle the intensity.
He kissed her, a soothing kiss. ‘Stay with me,’ he muttered.
She nodded, feeling his slow rhythm begin again, and she started to move with him this time. She ran her hands over his back, feeling the strength he had to offer her. She smiled as she felt it surge beneath her fingers. In her most secret fantasies she’d never imagined it would be like this.
‘Yeah.’ He kissed her properly then.
She took his face in her hands and kissed him back—as deeply as she possibly could. As the feelings ratcheted she felt him grow more tense. Until he wrenched his mouth from hers and bored a burning look into her, the smile gone, his breathing ragged and uneven now.
He rose higher above her, working them both harder, until she started to lose it again. Then he kissed her jaw, her ears, her brow, her neck, while his hips moved in that maddening, magical way. All at once the sensations rushed at her from every direction. She was half panting, half crying, mostly screaming. And just like that, too soon, not soon enough, she shattered. Her body convulsed in ecstasy, clamping hard—forcing utter capitulation from him too.
The tips of his fingers touched her damp skin. ‘So you do sweat.’
‘Contrary to popular opinion, I am actually human,’ she answered with her eyes closed.
‘And do you like it when I make you sweat?’
She didn’t answer. He’d had enough from her already. He’d had everything.
‘Your hair is still perfect.’ He ran his fingers through it. ‘What do you do to it?’
She made herself answer this time—keep the conversation on this light level. Even though she felt as if she were on shakier ground than if she were standing on the rim of an active volcano. Really she didn’t want to talk at all. She just wanted to absorb herself again. Right now she felt all that was precious in her was hanging up in the air, able to be seen—and shot down. She wanted to suck it back up. ‘Nothing. It’s just the way it is.’ She knew he didn’t believe her. But it was true—she could only have the one style. Boring as anything.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so still.’
She turned her head and looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’
He lay on his side, facing her, watching her with an impudent grin. ‘You’re usually doing a million things, ever so efficiently, never stopping.’
‘I only work fast because I want to get the job done. There are other things I want to be doing.’
He levered up higher on his arm, glanced around her room. At the table. ‘Making the necklaces?’
She was such an open book, wasn’t she? ‘Yes. And other pieces.’ She watched him closely. If he dared laugh she’d brain him one. She’d hidden it from her parents. Her brother and sister had teased her one too many times about never getting over the toddler threading beads phase. She was just the child who’d been unable to live up to their achievements, was only useful as the errand girl.
And the silly thing was she was like a child—eager for their acceptance. But she couldn’t help that craving. She’d never been one to disrespect her parents, always had been dutiful. But she wanted more than that; she wanted to make them proud. She wanted them to value her contribution to the world as much as they valued her brother and sister’s and their own. Trouble was, she was hardly off saving people as they were.
He’d hopped off the bed and was looking at the pieces on the desk. ‘They’re pretty good.’
‘And you’re an expert?’
He whirled, looked all wolf. ‘I’ve seen a few necklaces in my time.’
Of course he had. He’d seen a few necks, hadn’t he? And he knew how to make love to a woman’s neck, that was for sure. The niggle she felt about that was shamefully fleeting. She just wanted him to do it again.
He looked at the tray of beads and glass and trinkets. ‘They’re different.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’ve got a few done.’
Sophy hesitated. Then the small burst of pride beat over her usual reticence. She wanted to impress him—just a little. ‘I’m putting them in a show.’
As soon as she’d said it she regretted it. The nerves flared—what if no one liked them? What if she sold none?
‘What show?’
‘There’s a film festival coming up at the academy. My jewellery is going to be showcased in the foyer.’
‘Cool.’ He nodded. ‘That’ll be great.’
Sophy’s bubble of excitement popped. ‘I just have to finish enough to mount a decent display.’
He looked at the table. ‘This is where you work?’
‘Sometimes I use the dining table, but it’s easier in here.’ Less mess for Rosanna.
His brows flickered, but then he looked at her. She knew the subject had gone from his mind and something else was in its place. It was obvious—his body gave him away.
Lorenzo hadn’t snuck out of a girl’s room in years. Usually he could manage breakfast. He’d mastered the art of a sweet departure—a kiss, a smile, some lush words. But final. Always final.
But he didn’t want to touch Sophy again. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. And he refused to mess with