Claimed by the Sicilian. Kate Walker

his nostrils.

      And the claw of lust was harder than ever before.

      ‘Want any help?’ Guido offered.

      ‘No!’

      Did she know what she was doing to him with those small, sensual, wriggling movements? Rationally, he knew they were designed to enable her to reach the handle of the long zip at the back of the dress, ease it down. But the effect they were having on him was very, very far from rational.

      She’d got the damned zip down partway now. Far enough down to reveal the bones and lace of some corset type of underwear. Underwear that exposed the delicate pink of her skin above and that skimmed downwards towards the narrow line of her waist, the sensual swell of her hips. And still she kept up those little movements, twisting, arching her back as she struggled to reach the bit right in the middle of her back.

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Positive. You come near me and I’ll—Ouch!’

      It was a sharp, instinctive cry of pain and it had him out of his chair in a second, taking a step forward hastily and then freezing sharply, trying to assess the situation; see what had happened.

      Amber too had stilled, one hand halfway up her back from below, the other reaching from her shoulder, both of them straining for and not quite reaching the small white handle of the fine zip fastener. Her head was also pulled slightly back, held at an unnatural angle.

      ‘The veil has caught in the zip. That’s why it won’t move down.’

      ‘I know!’ It was a sound of frustrated exasperation, hissed out from between gritted teeth. ‘But I can manage.’

      ‘Of course you can.’ He deliberately laced the words with sarcasm.

      ‘I can—I just need to…Ouch!’

      And then it came, muffled, uneven, and very low.

      ‘Guido…please…’

      He was at her side in a moment, bending to the spot where the delicate lace of her veil had snagged in the runners of the zip fastening. He could see now why she had been exclaiming in pain. Not only had the veil caught, but it was pulled tight, dragging her head back, tugging against the ornate hairstyle, the fine tiara too, in a way that must have been desperately uncomfortable. And each time she moved she only entangled herself further, adding to her discomfort.

      ‘Hold still.’

      The best thing to do was to remove the tiara and the veil. With them loose…

      His fingers were busy as his thoughts, reaching for and pulling out the hundreds of pins, or so it seemed, that held the headdress in place. Soft tendrils of hair fell about his hands as he worked. They stroked his face in silken caresses, soft as the touch of her hands. The heated scent of her body rose up to surround him, tugging on his senses, making him even harder than before so that he swore softly and savagely in his own language.

      ‘What?’

      Amber heard him mutter but the sound was muffled by the way he had his head bent, his attention apparently focused on disentangling her from the veil and the headdress.

      ‘What did you say?’

      No answer. He really was concentrating on what he was doing. And for that she should be grateful.

      If he was absorbed in extricating her from the tangled veil and headdress, then he wouldn’t notice the way her colour came and went as heat suffused her body and then fled from it, leaving her cold and shivery as if she was in the grip of a fever. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was sure he must hear it, even through the boned and stiffened basque she wore underneath the silk dress. Her breath was ragged and uneven, and her head swam so that she swayed uncertainly on her feet, her eyes staring, unfocused, at the opposite wall.

      His touch on her hair was soft but sure; it felt like a caress even though she knew that was not what he meant it to be.

      Admit it! she reproached herself. Admit that you want it to be a caress. That you have wanted him to touch you—to caress you—ever since that kiss in the church.

      That kiss.

      Her skin flamed, her senses yearning, just to remember it. It was as if that kiss had swept away all the intervening days and months since she had walked out on Guido and their marriage. She had spent a long year trying to get over him and it had taken just one touch, one kiss and she was right back where she had started. Back in the yearning hunger, the demanding passion that his touch sparked in every nerve in her body. Back in the throes of the powerful sexual need that this man—and only this man—could awaken in her.

      She’d grabbed back the vulnerable heart she’d given him, and guarded it from him ever since she had discovered his duplicity and his callousness, but the truth was that she was only safe from her sexual enslavement to Guido Corsentino while he was thousands of miles away, safely out of her life.

      He had merely to walk back into her world and she was lost again. Adrift on a heated sea of longing and need without a compass or any sort of guiding star. The only recognisable landmark on her horizon was Guido himself. And, like the compass needle that was always pulled to the north, she was drawn to him whether she wanted to be or not.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘STAY still, cara,’ Guido advised as the shocking realisation made her jump nervously, wanting to jerk away from his touch and yet longing to stay right where she was. ‘Almost done…There.’

      The release of the pull on her scalp told Amber that the veil was free, the headdress off and she sighed in relief as she felt it fall to the floor. But the next moment the sense of tension was back again, but in a very different way. This time it was screaming through every nerve of her body as Guido straightened up and, instead of moving away, took a step closer.

      He was still behind her and she could feel the heat from his body reaching out to her, surrounding her. Where the back of her dress hung open, revealing her shoulders, her spine, she could feel tiny prickles of awareness start to shiver over her skin in anticipation of a touch she yearned for so much that she could almost will herself to feel it.

      ‘Thank you,’ she managed, her voice croaking.

       ‘É niente…’

      It was so soft it was just a breath, a warm breath that feathered along every nerve, whispered over the exposed flesh of her back. She felt her throat close, her mouth dry. She couldn’t have moved if she tried. But she didn’t want to try.

      Touch me! her mind screamed silently. Please, please, touch me!

      She had stopped breathing. Stopped thinking…

      And then she felt it.

      Felt the touch, the lightest, softest, warmest touch of fingertips brushing her skin. Felt the feather-light movement of a caress that traced the line of her spine, from the nape of her neck, down to where her skin disappeared under the white lace edge of the basque.

      Down. Softly, slowly…

      And then it stopped. Lingered with just the pressure of a single finger on her skin.

      ‘Shall I help you with the rest?’ Guido said and she knew that he was not just asking about easing the zip all the way down.

      ‘Please…’

      Oh, please…

      His touch was so light that she barely felt the zip move down, only knew that it had by the loosening of the bodice of her dress, the way that it slid off her shoulders, slipped halfway down her arms. In the front, it gaped over her breasts, the neckline dipping lower and lower, but she couldn’t even find the strength to raise a hand to support it, to hold it concealingly to her.

      Behind her she heard Guido sigh, then his hands closed over her hips, holding her firmly. Her skin prickled with awareness as she felt him come closer, closer…

      The