Christina Hollis - His to Command - the Housekeeper - The Prince's Chambermaid / The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress / The Tuscan Tycoon's Pregnant Housekeeper

‘And there’s nothing I hate more than unfinished business,’ he murmured. ‘So I think we’d better do it all over again, don’t you? Kiss me again, Cathy. Only this time without stopping.’

His words both shocked and excited her but Cathy could feel her body thrilling in eager response to the way he was looking at her. Wanting to feel the warm brush of his lips against hers once more. Was that so very wrong?

Xaviero’s eyes narrowed, her hesitation surprising him as he reached out his hand and touched the smooth flush of her cheek. He couldn’t remember ever having to ask twice before. ‘Unless there is something preventing us? Some commitment you have made to another man perhaps?’ But he spoke with the natural arrogance of someone who knew that there was not another man who could not be cast aside in the light of his own wishes. The Prince’s desire overrode anything. The only thing was that meant he might have to wait…and he did not want to wait—not when his appetite felt so exquisitely and unexpectedly sharpened.

Cathy shook her head—her pulse racing erratically. How could she think straight when he was looking at her like that? ‘No. There isn’t.’ She bit her lip as she remembered the sense of aloneness and rejection which had flooded through her on receipt of Peter’s letter. ‘There was…there was someone. I was engaged to be married, but…but…’

‘But what?’ prompted Xaviero, eager to get this one last obstacle out of the way.

‘He…he…well, it’s over.’

Xaviero allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. A fiancé meant that she was experienced—but that she had been faithful, too. Had the man broken her heart? he wondered idly. And if that were the case—couldn’t he, Xaviero, show her that there was life after the end of a love affair? And that she could enjoy the caresses of another man…

He traced the outline of her quivering lips almost thoughtfully, recognising that in a way she would be getting the very best and yet the very worst of a postfiancé lover. Because he was undoubtedly the finest lover she would ever know—but she would spend her whole life searching fruitlessly for a man to equal him.

‘So let’s make love,’ he said simply.

‘Your Highness!’ she breathed, even though she realised that her protest lacked any real conviction. The look of intent which had darkened his golden eyes was just too beguiling—the expectation that he was about to hold her too tantalising to resist. And the sense of burning hunger in her empty heart was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Should she stop him? Shouldn’t she even try?

She would never know. Because now he was pulling her into his arms with a smile on his lips which made her desperately want to kiss him. To relive the amazing sensations he’d awoken in her the other day. Half-heartedly Cathy twisted in his arms but the movement brought from him a low and mocking laugh and she quickly realised why—as she collided with a rock-hard and very formidable groin. She felt the mad, frantic race of her heart and the intoxicating fizz of her blood—her body blindly reacting to the sweet sensation of his touch.

‘Sir!’ she gasped.

‘Xaviero,’ he corrected, on a groan. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

What could she tell him other than that this felt like heaven itself? As if she’d never been properly alive before that moment—because no man had ever made her feel like this . He was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face and it felt so unbelievably intimate that she felt weak. Already she was way out of her depth—and every atom of common sense she possessed was telling her to get away from him before it was too late. But common sense was immediately scrambled into a hot and senseless desire as his lips came down to meet hers—and Cathy knew she was lost.

His last kiss had been lazy, almost careless—like someone dipping a toe into a pool of water to test the temperature. But not today. Today it was as if he had dived straight in. His lips were seeking. Expert. Driving down on hers with sensual insistence and making her gasp with pleasure.

Without preamble, Xaviero pushed her down onto the soft bed, seeing her eyes widen in surprise as he began to unbutton her dress. ‘You thought perhaps we would—how do you say it— pet for hours? The struggle on the bed as we remove first one item of clothing, and then the other? No.’ He smiled as her milky flesh began to be revealed to him. ‘I like my women naked,’he murmured and touched his lips to the pulse which fluttered wildly at the base of her neck.

Her thoughts struggled to make themselves known over the clamour of her senses. My women , he had said. Which implied he had known quite a few. She swallowed as his lips began to graze over the line of her jaw. Of course he has known quite a few—did you really think that a man like this wouldn’t have done? Another button popped open and Cathy closed her eyes as she felt the whisper of his fingertip skating over her belly. Should she tell him?

But now he was sliding her shoes off. And her tights. And his fingertip was sliding over the insole of her bare foot—tracing a tantalising circle there—and Cathy thought it incredible that such a sensation could come from so provocative and yet so innocent a gesture.

‘Ooh,’ she breathed, forgetting all her misgivings as she thrilled to his touch. Because in this setting all the pomp and circumstance surrounding him had dissolved. Suddenly he was simply the man in denim again. The man with the golden eyes who had so bewitched her. Who was bringing her to life beneath his expert, seeking fingertips. ‘That’s…that’s just gorgeous…’

Briefly, Xaviero smiled as he peeled off the uniform dress, briefly assessing her underwear. You could tell a lot about a woman from her underwear—and he had experienced more than his fair share of it. Virginal white lace—never applicable—or sensual scarlet satin chosen to send out a very specific message about the wearer. He’d seen just about every variation on black—and garments where less was supposed to equal more. He’d seen bottoms clad in French knickers and bottoms almost naked in Brazilian thongs. He’d seen stockings, suspenders and hold-ups, which always seemed to slide down at the most inopportune moments. But he had never seen underwear like Cathy’s before.

It was… His fingers moved around her narrow back to find the clasp of her bra. Functional was pretty much the only word you could use to describe it—because it certainly hadn’t been chosen with eye appeal in mind. Flesh-coloured briefs and a flesh-coloured bra—but then the latter had quite a tough and supportive job to do, he acknowledged.

But when the catch sprang free, it was Xaviero’s turn to moan with pleasure as her breasts tumbled out, glorious and unfettered and free.

‘Porca miseria!’ he groaned, staring at them in disbelief before eagerly taking them in his hands.

Cathy let her head fall back against the pillow, vaguely aware that perhaps she should be objecting—but unable to form a single coherent thought, because now his lips were trailing sweet fire over her breasts.

‘Oh!’ she gasped.

His tongue stilled for a fraction of a second and he dragged in a shuddering breath, feeling the jerk of his erection and the hot fever of his blood. She was as responsive as he could have hoped for—even more responsive than she had been in his dreams. And dreams were powerful things, he recognised—sometimes they intruded on your reality and altered it. So that for a moment he felt he knew this woman because he had met a version of her in the unconscious world he inhabited while asleep. Was that why he felt so intensely turned on? Or was it simply because his body was so hungry for a woman’s touch?