“Give me a break. Do women really fall for that line? Because if they do, they must come from the land of the stupid. Take your hands—”
His lips covered hers.
His warm, soft mouth stopped the angry flow of words and distracted her from any other thought she’d ever had except how this man kissed.
Her senses short-circuited. She liked kissing and had experienced her fair share, but with Michael everything seemed different. His body heat reminded her of a werewolf in those Twilight films she secretly loved. His tongue probed the seam of her lips, then dove in without apology. She could have fought him if he got greedy; instead, the slide of his tongue seduced and asked for her to come and play. His stubble rubbed the sensitive curve of her jaw. His hips slanted against hers as his arms came down and cupped her rear, bringing her up to meet the hard bulge between his thighs.
She moaned. He caught it and pressed a bit deeper, and Maggie opened her mouth and gave in.
He plundered and commanded in complete thrusts, reminding her of how he’d claim her body if she gave him a chance. She tried to surface and gain control of the kiss, but her mind crumbled and her body sang. He murmured her name, and her legs got shaky as she held on to him for dear life and kissed him back.
How long had passed? Minutes? An hour? He finally pulled away, slowly, as if he regretted ever breaking the contact. She hated herself in that moment. Instead of slapping him away, or coming up with a smart-aleck comment, she just stared helplessly. Her tongue ran over her swollen lower lip.
He groaned. Uneven breaths lifted his chest. “You’re right,” he said softly. “You fake it really well.”
She jerked back and prayed her cheeks didn’t look flushed. She forced out the words. “Told you.”
He turned and stacked the luggage in the corner of the room and opened the closet door. “There’s plenty of space for both of us. This will be our room for the week.”
Reality crashed over her. Rich details made the room comfortable yet masculine, from the royal-blue throw rugs, cherrywood furniture, and lack of frilly clutter. A deep red quilt finished off the polished look of the bed that took up the center of the room. Maggie stared at the bed, a bit smaller than what she expected, and realized there was no sofa or cushy rug. The knowledge they’d be squished together rattled her nerves. Dear God, she’d just melted from a lousy kiss. What if she rolled over in her sleep? What if her fingers accidentally hit one of those sleek pec muscles and she made a fool out of herself?
Irritation bit at her from the ridiculous situation so she did what she learned best. Go on the attack first. “Nice bed.”
He cleared his throat. “Is this acceptable? If not, I can always put a blanket on the floor.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl, Count, just stay on your side. I’ll take the left.”
“As you wish.”
“You don’t snore, do you?”
A twinkle of amusement glinted in his eyes. “I’ve never had anyone complain before.”
“Well, I’ll let you know for future reference if they’re lying.”
He gestured toward the bathroom and glass doors that led to a balcony. “Why don’t you take some time to freshen up and come downstairs when you’re ready? I’ll show you the property and the rest of the house then. When is your Milan shoot?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be there most of the day.”
“Very well. I’ll meet you there in the afternoon so we can file our Atto Notorio and Nulla Osta at the consulate’s office. I’ve already arranged for witnesses. Don’t forget to bring all your papers—I had to pull some strings so Mama wouldn’t suspect we wish any delay.”
Maggie swallowed a gulp. “I thought you said it was impossible to get a priest to marry us?”
“It is quite difficult to get a priest to perform a ceremony last minute, and Mama will only accept this type of wedding. There’s no way they can be approved in a week.”
“Okay.”
They stared at each other for a few moments in silence. He shifted his weight, and the fabric of his jeans strained against the bulge dead center. His black T-shirt did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders and chest. Or the corded, sinewy length of his arms covered with dark hair. Her traitorous body responded to his confidence as heat burned between her thighs and her nipples tightened to achy points.
When was the last time she’d been so turned on by a man? Maybe it was the chase. Women always craved men who were off-limits. Especially if they obviously had it bad for another woman.
Right?
“Maggie? Are you okay?”
She shook off the reaction and blamed it on jet lag. “Sure. I’m going to shower. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He nodded and shut the door behind him.
Maggie groaned and quickly rummaged through her suitcase for a change of clothes. All she had to do was get through seven days without making an ass of herself, and she’d be free of Michael Conte for good. She wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into him at Alexa’s home, and she’d have her family all to herself.
The bitterness of the image mocked her satisfaction and screamed she was a liar. She’d gotten used to him over the past year. Too much so. And every time she gazed into those wicked dark eyes, the thought of her humiliation flashed in her mind and made her squirm.
The bathroom was small but boasted a deep marble tub and a shower stall. She decided to keep it quick and have a long soak later. She stepped under the stinging jets and let the heat relax her knotted muscles. Accustomed to forced blind dates from many colleagues, Maggie hadn’t thought twice when Alexa swore she’d found the perfect man for her. She remembered entering the expensive, intimate Italian restaurant and expecting a certain sort of man. A little cocky. A little too smooth. A little too attractive.
She’d been wrong.
Except for the attractive part.
Maggie scrubbed her skin and tried to whisk the memory away. But the images flickered before her eyes. The instant connection when their hands touched, like lightning bottled up tight and released from the cap to scorch. She’d almost jerked back. Almost. The walls she’d built held firm, but his conversation pulled her in and wrapped her like a warm hug. Yes, he was smooth, and charming, and funny, but there was a sense of realness in his core that spoke to her.
When dessert came, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t want the evening to end. And she sensed that he didn’t, either.
She learned her one motto from experience. Control the date, control the result. For some strange reason, she opened up and gave him a peek of her inner soul. The sensual pull twisted between them, and a lightness spread through her body. Maybe she was finally ready for something more. Maybe Alexa had been right all along. Maybe she’d discover a rainbow or a waterfall on that hidden path, or something that could finally surprise her and fill the aching void inside.
“I enjoyed this,” she said softly. “Maybe we can do it again.” When the impulsive invitation stumbled out over the rich tiramisu, she almost bit her tongue in horror, but it was too late.
He studied her in silence. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Maggie.”
Her name drifted to her ears in a caress, but his words bit like the family dog gone mean. Rejection had never been considered.