Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child. Annie West

effervescent excitement of his kiss.

      With a muffled groan, Alessandro lashed his other arm around her, lower, wrapping round her buttocks and lifting her off the ground.

      Yes! Carys gave herself up to each exquisite sensation: of their mouths meshing, of his formidable strength enveloping her, of burning hot skin beneath her fingers as she moulded his jaw and cheeks.

      Alessandro moved. She felt his thighs shift around her as he walked, and then there was something solid behind her while Alessandro pressed close. A wall? A couch? She’d lost all sense of perspective.

      He tilted his hips in a slow grinding movement and desire blasted through her. His pelvis and hers were in perfect alignment, the heavy bulge in his trousers a portent of pleasure to come.

      Instinctively she curved her body up to meet him. A throb began deep between her legs, an edgy neediness that strung her tight with anticipation.

      ‘Temptress. Siren.’ His muttered words were hoarse, as if squeezed out under duress.

      Carys let her head loll against a hard surface and gulped oxygen into her air-starved lungs. Alessandro ravished her face and throat with burning kisses that ignited tiny explosions of pleasure through her taut body. And all the while he pushed close as if he could melt the barrier of their clothes and bring them both the bliss they craved.

      One large hand slid down her hip and over her thigh, igniting tremors of fresh awareness. When his palm climbed back, her skirt bunched beneath it, riding higher and higher.

      Carys opened her mouth, vaguely aware of the need to protest, but his mouth slammed into hers again, robbing her of breath and the beginnings of thought.

      Once more Alessandro pleasured her, this time with a kiss so sweet yet so demanding it devoured the last of her resistance. She lolled back as he drew forth every last shred of hidden longing.

      Willingly Carys complied as he lifted her leg up around his hip, and then the other. The bittersweet ache between her legs, and deeper, inside her womb, became a steady throb. Encircling him with her legs, she squeezed tight.

      As if he understood, Alessandro pressed close again, pushing his erection just…there.

      Yes! That was what she wanted. To have him warm the empty places in her body and her soul that had been chilled for so long.

      Large hands slid under the tight, rumpled fabric of her skirt, up her thighs till they reached bare, quivering flesh.

      ‘Stockings,’ he breathed against her mouth. ‘You dress to drive a man insane.’

      She wasn’t listening. Carys heard the low burr of his voice, felt his breath against her lips, but the words made no sense. Only the approval in his tone was real.

      Haphazardly she ripped at his bow tie, desperate for his hot skin bare beneath her palms.

      Long fingers slid around her thighs, stroking and teasing her sensitive skin. She jerked and squirmed, tugging at his shirt till, with a rip, it tore open.

      A torrent of slurred Italian signalled his approval. But she barely noticed for heaven was in the touch of wiry hair and steamy satiny flesh under her hands. In the rapid pulse of his heart pounding against her touch.

      His hands moved, and a knuckle brushed against the damp cotton of her panties.

      ‘Cara,’ he growled deep in his throat. ‘I knew you wanted this as much as I do.’ He insinuated probing fingers beneath the elastic of her underwear while, with his other hand, he fumbled at his belt.

      Reality, hard and relentless, broke upon her in an instant of icy clarity. The heady, exquisite arousal faded as her mind kicked into gear.

      Was it the greedy touch of his fingers in that most intimate of places? The practised way he undid his belt and ripped open the fastening of his trousers? The smug satisfaction in his voice?

      He didn’t even want her, an outraged voice cried in her head. He wanted ‘this’. Sex. Physical satisfaction.

      Presumably any woman would do. Carys was just conveniently available.

      More than available. Willing. Desperate for him.

      Aghast, Carys stiffened.

      What had she done? She’d let her loneliness, memories of the bliss they’d once shared, lead her into self-destructive temptation.

      ‘No! Stop.’ Mortified, she shoved with all her might, wriggling to dislodge his questing fingers and unwrap her legs. ‘Let me go!’

      She moved so unexpectedly he didn’t prevent her and even moved back a precious few centimetres, allowing her to slide her legs free. That was when she registered it was a wall behind her, as her stockinged feet hit the floor. She had to brace herself against the weakness in her knees so she didn’t collapse.

      He’d almost had her, up against the wall of his suite! Fully clothed!

      The glorious heat they’d shared bled away as mortification and disbelief welled. After all that had happened how could she have been so weak?

      ‘Carys…’

      She batted his hands away, stumbling to escape and tripping over a discarded shoe.

      Her self respect was in shreds. Her chest heaved with distress as she fumbled with shaky fingers to push her straight skirt down her hips. Her eyes blurred.

      ‘Let me.’

      ‘No!’ Carys whirled to face him, arms outstretched to keep him at bay.

      Even with lipstick on his jaw, and his jacket and dress shirt torn open to reveal a dusky, hair-dusted chest, he looked in command, powerful and controlled.

      Sexier than any man had a right to be.

      Then she saw the way his chest rose and fell, as if from exertion. The tendons in his neck stood out and his facial muscles were drawn too tight. A flush of colour slanted across his cheeks and his nostrils flared as if he fought for oxygen.

      The evidence of simple animal lust. That was all Alessandro had ever felt for her.

      When would she learn? Self-disgust filled her.

      Her poor tortured heart compressed as a weight as big as Flinders Street Station pushed down on her chest. Breathing was agony.

      But the realisation of what she’d almost done was worse. One kiss…one kiss and she’d been scrabbling at his shirt, desperate to feel his body against hers, urging him on to take her.

      Her chin crumpled and she bit her lip. She’d invited her own degradation.

      Once again Alessandro had proved himself a consummate seducer. But that was no excuse. She should be able to resist him. She had to. Where was her self-respect?

      ‘Don’t touch me,’ she whispered as she wriggled her hips, tugging the skirt down. She kept her eyes above his waist, not wanting to see what she’d felt pressing intimately against her, inviting her to mindless pleasure.

      Involuntarily her internal muscles clenched. Her betraying body was still ready for his possession. The knowledge flattened the last remnant of her pride.

      ‘Va bene. As you wish.’ The feral gleam in Alessandro’s eyes warned her he wouldn’t be thwarted for long. ‘Instead we will talk. For now.’

      Fire scorched her throat and she looked away, unable to meet his dark scrutiny any longer.

      Slowly Carys backed across the floor, feet sinking into the plush depth of carpet. He didn’t follow her but stood, arms akimbo, as if waiting for her to come to her senses.

      ‘We have to talk, Carys.’

      Like hell they did. They’d done enough talking for one night. The brush of cool air on her heated skin made her frown and reach for her throat, only to discover her blouse hung open to reveal her white cotton bra.

      How