Susan Stephens - At Her Latin Lover's Command - The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command

But she found herself somehow in his arms and his mouth was hard on hers, driving hard as if violent passions were being released.

Fire roared through her body as if she’d been ignited. Everything would be all right! she thought exultantly as his hands pulled her hard to him, echoing her desperate need to feel every inch of him, to be so close that not a hair’s breadth lay between them.

‘Miranda, Miranda!’ he breathed into her eager mouth.

She felt she was soaring to the sky. Her hands locked around his beautiful head and she could feel the clean silk of his hair and smell his familiar smell of subtle vanilla and man.

Her straps were being eased down. His mouth wandered hotly over her naked shoulders, skimming over her skin in tense, passionate kisses. She felt delicate fingers slipping into her lacy bra, his lips exploring the deep V of her cleavage.

She let out a gasp and then a little whimper of pleasure when he lightly touched a straining nipple. Forcing his head up, she kissed him deeply, luxuriating in his expert touch, the fierce stabs of desire, and the hard promise of his body.

At some time she must have torn open his shirt because her hands could now move unhindered over his muscular chest, every inch of which had become familiar to her. And her fingers lingered over his heavily beating heart because it was a miraculous confirmation that he, too, must be experiencing a wild and unstoppable arousal.

Her conscious mind no longer operated. It was as if she was intoxicated by the drug of love. He could make her forget everything when he made love to her. She had no will of her own, only a pagan drive to become part of him.

Fiercely demanding, she pushed him against the wall and pressed herself harder against the contours of his body, moving in the sinuous way that always made him lose control.

Almost immediately he bucked and groaned, lifting her skirts and curving his hands beneath her taut buttocks to lift her up.

Wantonly she tucked her naked legs around his waist and pulled off her top. As she did so, Dante buried his mouth in her breasts, his fingers busy with the fastening of her bra.

She took his face between her hands and kissed him with slow and tender passion, shuddering when the lace barrier had been removed and they were skin to skin.

Her senses were filled with him, her heart hammering loudly in her ears.

‘I love you! I love you!’ she breathed.

And then he froze. Jerked back, a stunned expression on his face.

She shouldn’t have said that! She’d scared him away! Wide-eyed, she stared at him as he slowly lowered her to the ground, his eyes black and fathomless.

Her skirts fell back into place with a sensual whisper but it was lost on Dante. He was going to reject her and call her a sex-crazed harlot, she thought hysterically. And felt a feral wail of misery and frustration rise up within her.

CHAPTER NINE

‘DANTE! Dante!’

She blinked. Someone was calling from downstairs.

‘It’s Guido!’ Dante grated, looking angry.

Though whether he was annoyed with himself for succumbing to her, or with Guido for choosing that moment to arrive, she didn’t know.

‘What…?’ She swallowed, to lubricate her throat, and then frantically snatched up her bra. ‘What’s he doing here?’

Hastily dealing with the buttons of his shirt, he shot her an unreadable look.

‘I expect he’s brought your things from England. You’d better tidy yourself up,’ he rasped, smoothing down his ruffled hair and avoiding eye contact. He pushed open a door, to reveal a bedroom. ‘It would look odd if you didn’t come down to thank him.’

Biting her lip, she scooped up her top and pulled it on, following him into the bedroom as he checked his appearance in the dressing-table mirror. His eyes were black and liquid, his lips parted to allow his shortened breath to escape.

‘Dante?’ she said uncertainly.

‘Please,’ he muttered, closing his eyes. ‘I have to come back to earth.’

Miranda felt a sudden stab of elation. Maybe, she thought with rising hope, he had pulled away from her because he’d heard his brother calling—and not for any other reason.

‘We are married,’ she pointed out.

Still avoiding her eyes, he said softly, ‘Yes. But we have a guest.’

‘You look terribly flushed,’ she observed in amusement.

‘We’ve been playing with Carlo. That would flush anyone!’ With a shaky grin he swept past her. ‘Come down as quickly as you can.’

‘Hmm. You’ll need to wipe the lipstick from your neck first,’ she murmured.

He whirled, frowning at the mirror, as Guido’s voice echoed through the hall.

‘Damn!’ Dante muttered. ‘I didn’t notice—!’

‘Come here.’

Miranda drew a small handkerchief from her pocket. He hesitated, then strode over to her. Reaching up on tiptoe, she gently rubbed at the offending mark. Then kissed him on the mouth.

He groaned and his lips softened beneath hers. ‘I’ve got to go!’ he whispered. Then called, ‘Guido! I’m coming!’ and hurried from the room.

Light-hearted, humming a little tune, Miranda ran into her quarters as if treading on air. She refreshed her lipstick and brushed her hair and smiled at her reflection, thinking how different she looked with her eyes sparkling and her skin glowing from a new, inner radiance.

Still humming under her breath, she flew down the stairs and headed for the sound of voices.

‘Guido!’ she cried, managing to smile at Dante’s much-loved younger brother.

Curly-haired, shorter than Dante and stockier, he came towards her, his arms open wide in greeting.

‘Miranda! You look sensational!’ he purred.

And something odd happened. She looked into his eyes and felt a spurt of fear travel right through her. It took all her willpower not to take a step back.

‘Thank you!’ she said breathily and found herself wrapped in Guido’s bear hug. Panic screamed through her. She began to breathe harshly as he kissed her enthusiastically on her hot cheeks, his body too intimate with hers. ‘Hey! Put me down!’ she cried, choking back the nausea and pretending to be amused. But his mocking eyes told her that he knew she wasn’t comfortable. ‘What will my husband say?’

‘I’m family!’ Guido protested, but he did let her go.

Miranda had to get away before she was sick right there. ‘Was that Carlo?’ she fudged, her head on one side as though she’d heard a cry. ‘I’d better go up. Shan’t be long.’

In her bathroom, after a rather undignified scuttle up the stairs on incredibly shaky legs, she cooled her face with cold water and stood with her eyes shut, mastering her nausea.

What an odd reaction! She’d never felt like this before! She’d eaten nothing strange to make her sick…

She froze. Her eyes snapped open in shock. No. She couldn’t be! Not… pregnant? Would that explain the odd feelings?

Her period was overdue. And she had always been regular. But there had only been that one occasion—at least a month ago—when she and Dante had made love, she calculated. He had been away so much. It seemed unlikely that she’d become pregnant then, but it was possible, of course. It only took the once.

Pale and dizzy, she clutched at the basin, not sure whether to be delighted or horrified. The last thing she wanted was for Dante to come back to her just because she was carrying his child. She needed him to choose her , not because she was producing another addition to the Severini dynasty—the heir and a spare.

Her hand strayed to her flat, hard stomach and she found herself smiling blissfully to think that Dante’s child might be already growing inside her. It would be lovely, she thought dreamily. And prayed that she was pregnant. However, if she was, then she would keep it a secret until she knew for sure that Dante really cared for her.