The Italians: Alessandro, Luca & Dizo. Rebecca Winters

he was done he dried his hands and turned towards her, and she became trapped by the darkness in his eyes, the hint of something she didn’t want to explore as he lifted a hand and trailed light fingers down her cheek.

      Her eyes flared momentarily before she attempted to mask them, and his own darkened as he cupped her face and touched his mouth to her own, tracing the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue.

      He felt her stiffen, but didn’t stop, teasing gently as he sought her response, which she fought against giving, until her body betrayed her and she succumbed with a despairing groan.

      It was a kiss like no other she’d experienced, and she recalled beating a helpless fist against his shoulder as he deepened the kiss into something more before gently releasing her, his hands holding her steady as she stood locked into immobility, wide-eyed with a mixture of shock, dismay and wonder, that she’d allowed him so close.

      ‘I think you should leave,’ Lily managed shakily, her eyes darkening as he brushed gentle fingers over the swollen curve of her lower lip.

      ‘If that’s what you want.’

      Want? She daredn’t even consider what she wanted, because if she listened to the heat of desire, she’d lead him into the bedroom, tear off his clothes, her own, and indulge in wild wanton sex.

      Except treading that path would only lead to disaster.

      He watched as she reassembled her resolve … the way she swallowed a sudden lump in her throat; the telltale pulse slow its rapid beat; the tinge of pink colouring her cheeks.

      ‘Yes.’

      He used his thumbs to soothe the curve of her shoulders, then slowly slid his hands down her arms before releasing her.

      ‘Your call.’

      His very presence was a threat to her peace of mind, and she crossed her arms over her midriff in a gesture of self-protection. ‘I’d prefer not to see you again.’

      No sooner were the words out of her mouth before she realized the futility of them. Alessandro del Marco was as much Sophia’s son as if he bore the dalla Silvestri name.

      He looked at her in silence for what seemed an age, and she had to consciously force herself to meet and hold his gaze.

      ‘Afraid, Lily?’

      ‘Of you? No.’ Myself, she owned silently, and for a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of humour in his dark gaze as he ventured softly,

      ‘You’re sure about that?’

      She didn’t answer, couldn’t for a few heart-stopping seconds. ‘Yes.’

      ‘And you’d prefer me to leave.’

      ‘Please.’

      He reached for his jacket and shrugged it on as she crossed the lounge to the front door.

      ‘Grazie, Lily. For a pleasant evening.’

      He made no attempt to touch her, and she tamped down the contrary urge to feel his lips brush her own.

      Which was crazy.

      ‘You’re welcome.’ The polite words were an automatic acknowledgment as she opened the door and stood aside for him to pass.

      Then he was gone, and she locked up the apartment, doused the lights and went to bed.