He kissed her, his mouth caressing hers, asking for a response. She wanted to give it. To kiss him back. Or to beat her fists against his shoulders. How could she want both? How could fear and desire be the same?
They couldn’t be.
He was confusing her.
Her lashes fell to her cheeks as his lips traced the vein that pulsed in her throat. She moaned. God, she was melting, melting…
“Stop!” Gasping, she tore her mouth from his. “What do you want from me?”
“I want us to do something we have not done, cara. I want to make love.”
“We had sex. And I don’t want to have it again. I told you, I want to go home.”
“I don’t want to have sex, either.”
Another kiss. She felt her lips soften and cling to his. What for? This wasn’t about tenderness. It was about need and release.
“What I want,” he said, “is to make love.”
“You’re trying to seduce me.”
His laugh was soft and incredibly sexy.
“I’m trying to enlighten you, bellissima. What is there to be afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” she said quickly. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
Luca swung her into his arms.
“Prove it,” he said, and silenced what might have been her protest with a kiss.
She sighed at his taste. She had never paid attention to the taste of a man’s mouth before. His was wonderful. Clean. Smoky. He’d ordered champagne for the table at the party, but now she remembered that he’d ordered Scotch for himself. Was this what Scotch tasted like? If it was…if it was…
Her thoughts blurred. It was impossible to think.
She could only feel.
The firmness of his lips.
The strength of his arms.
The thud of his heart.
The whisper of his breath.
Her hands rose. Clasped the sides of his face. There was a tiny cleft in his chin. Stubble on his jaw. She brushed her fingers over it. The slight abrasion was exciting.
How would it feel against her breasts?
“Luca,” she said, her voice raw with uncertainty. “Luca, please…”
“Please what, cara? All you have to do is tell me what you want.”
But that was the problem. What did she want? Surely not this. This feeling of helplessness. Of being overcome.
Of wanting to be taken.
She said his name again.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s the way. Say my name, Cheyenne. Know who I am. Let me show you how this can be.”
They were in his bedroom. Darkness lay in the corners, lay everywhere except for the soft glow of the Manhattan skyline visible across the vast expanse of Central Park.
His bed dominated the room.
It was big. Handsome. A slatted headboard and footboard. Soft-looking black and white pillows.
A bed made for pleasure.
She trembled as he brought her to it.
“Easy,” he whispered, kissing her gently as he laid her down on the silk duvet. “Nothing will happen unless you wish it to.”
The pillows seemed to sigh as she settled against them.
He gave her a long, searching look, his gaze moving slowly over her face, her breasts, her belly and her legs.
She moved restlessly.
Why didn’t he do something? Come down beside her? Touch her?
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world, cara,” he said, very softly. “Do you know that?”
She didn’t know anything. Not anymore. What game was this? Why was she playing it?
“I want to kiss you again,” he said. “Would you like that?”
Yes, oh yes, she wanted his kiss.
“You have to tell me,” he said. “You have to ask me to kiss you.”
She couldn’t. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Say it,” he said. “Tell me that you want me.”
She whispered his name.
An eternity seemed to slip by. Then he bent and brushed his lips over hers. It wasn’t enough, but she couldn’t tell him that. Surely, it wasn’t enough for him, but he was so calm. It wasn’t fair, that he was calm and she was—she was—
He sat down next to her.
Ah.
That was better.
His mask of calm was slipping.
She could see desire in his eyes. In the set of his mouth. A thick strand of dark hair had fallen over his forehead and when he thumbed it back… Was that a tremor in his hand?
The world began righting itself.
He wasn’t cool and composed after all; it was an act. He wasn’t in command. She was. She always was, and what was that tiny feeling of disappointment all about?
This was the way she wanted things to be.
So she smiled. Sat up against the pillows. Reached for him, for the buttons on his shirt…
He clasped her wrists.
“No.”
She laughed. Tugged her hands from his…
His grip on her tightened.
“I said no, bellissima.”
He read the confusion in her eyes. Such beautiful eyes.
“Don’t you want me?”
He turned her hands over. Kissed her palms.
“More than my next breath.” He lifted his head. “But I told you, we’re going to do this my way.”
She laughed. It sounded forced, even to her own ears. She could only hope it didn’t sound that way to him.
“Doesn’t your way involve taking off your clothes?”
“It involves many things.” His voice was low. “The fi
rst is that I am the one who establishes the rules.”
Rules. His rules. The words made her breathless. She felt a rush of fear—and then a sizzle of heat.
“Luca. We’re both adults. Surely we don’t have to—”
Slowly, he eased her back against the pillows.
“And rule number one is that I am in charge tonight.”
There it was again. That breathless feeling, as if she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. That whisper of excitement, sighing through her bones.
No. No! How could she possibly want him to be in charge? It was impossible.
“No,” she said. She’d meant to sound decisive, but the word was a broken whisper. “I don’t want you to make rules for me. You don’t know anything about —”
He touched her.
Jus one light stroke of his fingers over her silk-covered nipples, and then his tongue replaced his fingers.
She heard a soft whimper of pleasure. Had she made that sound?
“I’m going to take what I want, cara. What we both want.”
No, she thought…
Images flashed through her head. Luca, moving over her. His hands, his body, his lips holding her captive.
Captive to his touch, to his kisses, to his slow possession.
A honeyed weakness stole through her muscles. She began to tremble.
“Cheyenne,” he whispered.
His hand closed around her breast. She felt the nipple furl, begging for the heat of his mouth.
Her breath hissed between her teeth. What was happening to her? She couldn’t possibly want this. To be in his control. To succumb to his commands.
His demands, and her desires.
She whispered his name.
He captured her mouth with his.
It took all his strength to end the kiss, but he knew he had to stop now or he would be lost. His need for her had reached a level of intensity that was almost painful. Another few minutes and he’d let her do whatever she wanted, just as long as it finished with him deep inside her.
“Rule number two,” he said, raising his head.
Her eyes widened with shock as his black silk tie replaced his hands around her wrists.
Her heart began to race.
“Luca?”
He kissed her again, hard, deep.
“Luca,” she whispered as he drew her arms above her head and fastened the ends of the tie to the slatted headboard.
“Rule number three, cara. Tonight, you belong to me.”