The Italian Prince's Pregnant Bride. Sandra Marton

a dance as old as time, mouths fused in mutual hunger, Nicolo carried Aimee to the marble vanity. Sat her on its edge. Fumbled between them. Unzipped. Freed himself. Put his hand between her thighs, groaning as he felt the wet heat of her against his fingers, and tore aside the scrap of silk that kept her from him.

      “Look at me,” he commanded.

      She did, fixing those incredible violet eyes on his face.

      “Yes,” she said, and he thrust forward, sank into her, felt her close around him.

      She cried out instantly; he felt the pulse of her muscles as she came and then he exploded within her, came in a rush of almost unbearable ecstasy.

      She trembled.

      Then she gave a little sob and dropped her head on his shoulder.

      Nicolo put his arms around her. Stroked her silken hair. Whispered to her, his native language soft on his tongue while he tried to figure out what in hell had just happened.

      This was not the first time he’d had quick, hot sex. It was not the first time he’d had sex in the hidden heart of a public place.

      Both could be exciting.

      The truth was, sex was always exciting. But this, what had just happened…He’d never experienced anything like it.

      He didn’t even know this woman’s name.

      He hadn’t used a condom.

      Madre del dio, was he losing his mind?

      And then she sighed. Her breath tickled his throat. She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty, her mouth gently swollen from his kisses, and Nicolo forgot everything but the soft, sweet feel of her mouth, her arms, her thighs.

      “I don’t—I don’t know what happened.” Her voice was shaky, her face white except for two spots of color high on her cheeks. “I never—God, I never—”

      “No. Nor have I.”

      She started to speak again and he knew what she would say, that this was wrong, that he had to let her go.

      He knew of only one way to keep her from saying those words.

      He kissed her.

      Gently at first but then—then, the fierce wave of desire swept over him. And over her. He felt her swift intake of breath, the whispered plea against his lips, and suddenly he was deep inside her again, rocking against her, swallowing her cries, coming when she came and knowing that it still wasn’t enough, that he needed more….

      Someone pounded on the locked door.

      The woman in his arms blanched.

      “It’s all right,” he whispered, but she shook her head.

      “No. Someone’s outside. They’ll see—”

      He brushed his lips over hers. Then he set her on her feet and did what needed to be done to make himself presentable. She did the same, but he saw that her hands were shaking.

      “Cara. Don’t be—”

      “Hey, you gonna be in there all night?”

      Nicolo looked down into the face of the woman he’d just made love to. “It’s time we introduced ourselves,” he said softly. “My name is—”

      She put her palm over his mouth. “No. No names. This was—it was only a dream.”

      He caught her hand, pressed his lips to it, then closed her fingers over the kiss.

      “A dream. Si. And there is no need for the dream to end so soon.”

      “No. I can’t. I—”

      “We can,” he said fiercely. “We can do anything, if this is a dream.”

      She shook her head but he drew her into his arms and kissed her, telling her without words how it could be between them, how it would be when they had all the time and privacy they needed.

      Her lips softened. Clung to his. She sighed, and he cupped her face with his hands.

      “Come with me,” he whispered.

      She shook her head again; he kissed her again.

      “Is there another man?”

      “No,” she said quickly. “But—”

      “We’re adults, cara. Both of us are free. Come with me. Be with me tonight.”

      He kissed her and the world spun around them. Then he lifted his head and looked down into her eyes.

      “Yes,” she said softly.

      Nicolo felt his heart soar. He encircled her waist with his arm, drew her against him, led her to the door and unlocked it.

      A man was waiting outside.

      “It’s about time. I mean, how long did you…” His gaze fell on Aimee and he raised his eyebrows. “Oh. I get it. Hey, no problem. I had a babe like this with me, I’d—”

      “Watch your mouth,” Nicolo said, his voice cold and flat.

      The man’s face went pale. He stepped out of their way. And Aimee thought, What am I doing?

      She’d just had sex with a stranger. A stranger she knew nothing about, except that he could be hard and cold and terrifying….

      Her nameless lover drew her close. “Don’t think,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “Not tonight.”

      She looked up at him, into those blue eyes that could go from winter ice to summer sun. Remembered the feel of his hands on her. The feel of him in her, and let the last vestige of sanity slip away.

      There was a taxi at the curb. It took them uptown, to a hotel on the park.

      He had a suite. It was huge. Luxurious.

      Was money a good character reference? she thought, and would have laughed but he was taking her into his arms, slipping the straps of her dress from her shoulders. Cupping her breasts, tasting them, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod…

      The hours after that were a blur of excitement. Of whispers and sighs and explorations. Aimee lost herself in a sea of sensation….

      And shot awake in the gray hours before dawn, suddenly aware that she was wrapped in the embrace of a man she didn’t know.

      A hot tide of shame engulfed her.

      Trembling, she disentangled herself from the possessive curve of his arm. Dressed in the dark, slipped from the sumptuous suite and sneaked down the service staircase because the thought of facing the elevator operator made her feel ill.

      Moments later, Nicolo came awake and reached for his lover.

      The bed, the sitting room, the bathroom were empty.

      He cursed, pulled on trousers and shirt, hurried out into the corridor, but she was gone. He rang for the elevator. No, the operator said, he hadn’t taken anyone down to the lobby.

      He went to the reception desk, demanded to know if the clerk had seen a woman with honey-blond hair and violet eyes. The answer there was the same.