Untamed Italians. Janette Kenny

Stefano had similar tastes until she made to flip the lock to ensure privacy. There was none, just a simple catch on the bathroom door.

      She hesitated, torn between refreshing herself with a shower and risking being caught in the nude by Stefano.

      Gemma bit her lower lip and checked her watch. He wouldn’t return for nearly thirty minutes. She’d be done way before then.

      Without giving herself time to change her mind, she undressed and stepped into la doccia which was certainly large enough for two.

      Standing in the shower with warm water pelting her tired body was a refreshing break after a tense day. She did not want to think of Stefano, yet even as warm water pelted her tense muscles she imagined his gaze caressing her. Probing magnetic eyes that could adore and scold in turn.

      It annoyed her that thoughts of him invaded her private moments. Couldn’t she block him from her mind at all?

      She stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a thick, thirsty towel that swallowed her. These had to have been specially ordered for Stefano’s big frame, and just thinking of him stripped to the skin and wet left her trembling with want.

      How could she possibly desire a man she didn’t respect?

      A brisk toweling and she quickly donned her new teal dress. She hated that he’d purchased it, but she loved the design. She’d never owned anything this exquisite.

      How could something so simple be so sensual? She didn’t know and surely didn’t wish to project that aura around Stefano.

      She’d repay him for the gown, even though it would take time. She would not be beholden to him.

      Gemma quit the bathing room to find Stefano lounging in the doorway. His hot gaze roamed the length of her slowly, pausing at her mouth, her breasts and the juncture of the thighs.

      Desire speared low in her belly, more intense than she’d ever felt before. She tightened her hold on the door, knowing she should look away but finding it impossible to tear her gaze from his magnetic stare.

      Even the air was charged with an energy that make her skin sizzle and burn as if she’d brushed too close to the sun.

      This was lust. Bold. Sensual. Tempting.

      Oh, so very tempting.

      And dangerous.

      Stefano Marinetti was the embodiment of seductive Italian males that one read about, only on a pinnacle above the others. This was the primo playboy who always had a bevy of woman lusting after him.

      She’d quickly learned that he’d refined flirting to a fine art. He could adore every inch of the woman he was with and make her feel as if she were the most desired woman in the world. As if she were the only woman in the world for him.

      He was the kind of man young girls dreamed about, and the one that mammas and papas feared.

      He’d take what he wanted from a woman, and toss her aside when he tired of her.

      “Bella. You take my breath away.”

      “Thank you,” she said, finding it difficult to breathe normally around him. “But I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

      “Not in the least.”

      She didn’t know what to say to that statement. In true Italian form, he could argue fiercely one moment and revert into the flirt the next.

      Now that was an image she didn’t wish to conjure up about him. But the idea was in her head and growing stronger, thanks to the sensual energy that crackled in the air, leaving her tingling from head to toe.

      “I am a lucky man to have you as my dinner companion tonight,” he said.

      How could he make a business dinner sound intimate? A business dinner that was a step above blackmail for her? How could he for a moment make her forget the dire importance of this night to her future?

      “Shouldn’t we be leaving for Viareggio?”

      “There is something I must do first, something I have wanted to do since we met.”

      Stefano pushed away from the doorway and crossed to her with the grace of a jungle cat on the prowl, all sleek muscle and feral energy.

      This time there was no doubt he made love to her with his eyes. There was no doubt that she saw her own needs reflected in the smoldering depths of his own.

      “What would that be?” she managed to ask, holding her ground because she simply couldn’t force her feet to move.

      He reached for her, threading the fingers of both hands through her hair to curve over her scalp. The move was as much an anchor as a caress. She knew he meant to kiss her.

      Though her mind was screaming at her to run, her body was instinctively bowing into his.

      “No,” she breathed, a feeble refusal at best, but she found it difficult to do more as his mouth swept down to hers.

      Not surprising, he didn’t listen to her.

      That first crush of his mouth on hers sent new sensations rocketing through her. She swayed, certain she’d have crumbled if he hadn’t been holding her close.

      Dio mio! He kissed her with a ravenous intensity that thrilled and terrified her, for she knew if he unleashed his sensual appetite on her she’d be powerless to stop him.

      More, she’d be powerless to stop herself from surrendering to the promise in his kiss, his touch. In the strong arms that held her fast.

      She slammed both hands against Stefano’s broad chest to end this madness. But instead of pushing him away as she’d intended, her palms lost their purchase on his silken shirt.

      “Bella,” he breathed, holding her fast and deepening the kiss.

      Her splayed fingers pressed against the breadth of his chest. He was so big. So powerful.

      Touching him was like touching the sun. Sizzling, erotic heat spiraled through her.

      She’d surely burn to a crisp if she stayed too close. But her attempt to push him away was feeble at best. She couldn’t think of anything but the intense pleasure engulfing her.

      A low groan rumbled from him. He pulled her flush against his body without a break in the kiss that was now singing through her senses with the passion of an aria.

      She wasn’t a neophyte to kissing, but she’d waited all her life to have a man make love to her with his mouth like this. This slow dueling of tongues and adoration of lips. Unchained. Earthy. Passionate.

      She was awash in a froth of longing with him the center of her universe, the sun that fired her blood. Her arms slipped around him as if to anchor him close now.

      Not that she needed to.

      One of his hands cradled her head while the other made a long, leisurely caress that was so seductively gentle it brought tears to her eyes. She’d never been touched so emotionally before. It thrilled and terrified her, and like a moth to the flame she kept inching closer for more.

      And he gave her more. Not in a bold push as she’d expected but a more languid exploration of her mouth and body—an adoration really.

      His lips sipped at the corner of her mouth before he lifted his head. She groaned in protest of the kiss ending too soon and looked up into his eyes.

      The glimmer of desire was fading, replaced by a harder glint that smacked of mockery. Suddenly she was all too aware of standing in his embrace, her breasts pressed to his chest, her belly flush with the flat planes of his abdomen, and the hard evidence of his desire pulsing between them.

      “I want fare l’amore and so you do,” he said, gently pushing her from him and gliding a finger down her flushed cheek. “But we must return to Viareggio and our appointed dinner. Later, hmm?”

      It took a moment