didn’t say that!’
‘Oh, you didn’t?’ His eyes widened, like a cat’s. ‘That is exactly what I wanted to hear, bella mia,’ he murmured. He dropped the bags to the pavement, pulled her into his arms, and Natasha found herself being almost lifted against the hard, muscular length of his body. With a low laugh of what sounded like triumph he raised his hand to catch hold of her beautifully cut hair, winding his fingers through its silken depths and bringing it towards him so that her gasping face was lifted to his.
‘What is it, mia bella?’ he taunted. ‘You want me to kiss you? Is that it?’
She opened her mouth to say no, but the word never came—and, if it had, it would have been a lie. Maybe he knew that—just as he seemed to know the precise moment to crush his lips down against hers in a powerful kiss that was about possession as much as passion, like a man staking his claim.
Was it because she had not been kissed by a man for so long that Natasha reacted so completely and instinctively to Raffaele’s kiss—or was it simply Raffaele effect?
Whatever lay behind it, all Natasha knew was that she seemed powerless to do anything other than close her eyes and open her lips and submit to the sweet, heady pressure. Her