Читать книгу Modern Romance - The Best of the Year - Ким Лоренс, Miranda Lee - Страница 31
ОглавлениеTHAT EVENING SAM realised a fundamental flaw in her plan to join Rafaele for his function. She had no dress. She hadn’t even thought about it earlier, while in Milan, too caught up in the whistlestop sightseeing tour Rafaele had arranged for Bridie and Milo, who obviously hadn’t been there before. Then they’d picked Umberto up from the doctor’s and met Rafaele for lunch.
Biting her lip and wondering what to do, Sam went to the wardrobe, fully expecting it to be empty. When she opened the door, though, she gasped and her heart stopped cold in her chest. There was a dress hanging up inside, and it was the dress Rafaele had bought her four years before. She remembered the big white box it had come in, along with the matching underwear, shoes and jewels. She’d left it all behind at the palazzo because she’d felt as if it had never really belonged to her.
About two months after Sam had returned to England the box containing the dress, shoes, underwear and jewellery had arrived via a courier company. As soon as she’d realised what it was and had read the accompanying note—I bought this for you. Rafaele—Sam had sent it back with the note torn in two pieces.
And now it was here.
Sam felt short of breath. She took the dress out of the wardrobe, its material heavy and slinky, and stalked out of her bedroom and across the hall to Rafaele’s, not bothering to knock on the door.
Her eyes widened when she took in a naked Rafaele, strolling out of his bathroom and rubbing his hair with a towel. For a long moment he just stood there, and Sam’s eyes were glued to that broad, magnificent chest. Instant heat bloomed in her belly.
With a strangled sound she lifted her eyes and held the dress out. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
With supreme nonchalance Rafaele secured the towel around his waist and quirked his mouth sexily on one side. ‘It’s amazing how you can still blush, cara.’
Sam gritted out, ‘Don’t call me that. I’m not your cara. Why do you still have this dress?’
Rafaele’s face was inscrutable. He shrugged. ‘It seemed a shame to throw it away just because you didn’t want it.’
Bile rose inside Sam. ‘And how many lucky women have worn it since me?’
A muscle popped in Rafaele’s jaw. ‘None. I thought you’d appreciate blending in with the crowd tonight instead of appearing in your habitual tomboy uniform.’
To Sam’s disgust she felt tears prick her eyes. ‘I’ll try not to disappoint you, Rafaele. After all, I know what an honour it is to be taken out in public with you, because you never deemed it appropriate before.’
She whirled around and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Rafaele winced and put his hands on his hips. His chest was a tight ball of blackness. He cursed himself. He should have followed his head and thrown that dress out as soon as he’d realised she’d left it behind—instead of sending it to her, almost intrigued as to how she might respond when even then he’d known that he couldn’t have anything more to do with her.
When it had arrived back with the torn note, then he should have thrown it out. But instead he’d instructed his housekeeper to hang it up and had refused to analyse why he’d done such a thing.
It was just a dress.
Thoroughly disgruntled now, and regretting the impulse he’d had earlier to ask Sam to accompany him this evening, Rafaele got dressed.
* * *
Sam was still tight-lipped in the back of one of Rafaele’s chauffeur-driven cars about an hour later. She was as far away from him as she could get without falling out of the door, and she hated the electric awareness that pulsed between them.
As they’d been leaving Milo had been holding Umberto’s hand in the grand hallway of the palazzo and he’d gasped. ‘Mummy, you look like a princess.’
Sam had gone red, and then grown even hotter when Rafaele had appeared, looking stupendously gorgeous in a classic tuxedo. Suddenly she’d been glad of the effort she’d made. She needed all the armour she could muster.
Her hair was up in a topknot, held in place with a jewelled pin loaned to her by Bridie. She’d put on more make-up than she’d normally wear, outlining her eyes and thickening her lashes. And wearing the vertiginous heels that had come with the dress Sam reached to Rafaele’s shoulder.
He hadn’t touched her while they were leaving. He’d merely indicated that she should precede him and, feeling horribly exposed under his cool gaze, Sam had walked out, praying she wouldn’t fall over.
Now they were pulling up outside the glittering façade of a building with men in uniforms waiting to assist all the guests in their finery. Butterflies swarmed into Sam’s belly.
She felt her arm being taken in a warm grip and showers of electric shocks seemed to spread through her body. Reluctantly she looked at Rafaele, and the momentarily unguarded look on his face took her by surprise.
‘I should have told you earlier... You look beautiful.’
‘I...’ Sam’s voice failed. ‘Thank you.’
And just like that she felt the animosity drain away. She realised that as soon as she’d seen the dress hanging up she’d harboured a very treacherous wish that Rafaele had kept it for sentimental reasons, and that was the basis for her lashing out at him. It had been anger at herself for her own pathetic weakness.
Rafaele had let her go. Sam’s door was being opened and someone was waiting for her to step out. When she did so, Rafaele was standing there, his face unreadable again. She wondered if she had imagined what he’d just said...
He took her arm and led her inside and Sam was glad he was supporting her, because nothing could have prepared her for the dazzling display of wealth and beauty as soon as they walked in.
She felt instantly gauche: both underdressed and overdressed. Rafaele got them drinks and almost immediately was surrounded by gushing acolytes—a mixture of men and women. As they stood there the number of women seemed to increase. They shot Sam glances ranging from the curious to the downright angry—as if he had no right to come here with a woman.
Clearly Rafaele was a prize to be fought over, and Sam really didn’t like the way her own hackles rose and her blood started to boil in response. She felt a very disturbing primal urge rise up within her to claim him in some way. The fact that she had borne his child seemed to resonate deep within her, and she wanted to snarl at the women to back off.
With a lazy insouciance that did nothing to help cool her blood, Rafaele reached out and drew her to his side. The level of malevolence coming from the women increased exponentially.
He said to the people surrounding them, ‘I’d like to introduce you to Samantha Rourke.’
Something in Sam went cold at this very bare introduction, which left her in some kind of limbo land—what exactly was she to him?
But what had she expected him to say? Meet the mother of my child, who is such a pushover that she lets me sleep with her even though she knows I hate her...?
Sam caught one or two smug looks from a couple of the women. As if to say, She’s no competition. Her blood boiled over.
She managed to keep it together until they were alone again and then she rounded on him. ‘If you brought me here just to deflect the attention from those man-eaters then I think I’ve done my bit. I’d prefer to be at home with Milo than to witness your simpering fan club line up to tell you how marvellous you are.’
Furious at herself for feeling so emotional, Sam stabbed Rafaele’s chest with a finger. ‘I’m the mother of your child—tell that to your next prospective mistress.’
Rafaele looked at Sam and felt something pierce his chest. Her words were lost to him for a second in the glare from those grey eyes. She looked so young, so stunning. Her neck was long and graceful, her skin so pale he could see the delicate veins underneath. The dress hugged and emphasised every curve, fitting her better now than it had four years ago. His eyes dropped down over the swell of her breasts and her words resounded within him: I’m the mother of your child.
Moments ago, when he’d reached out to pull her to him and introduce her, he’d felt a second of blind panic. The realisation had been immediate and stark: he’d just introduced his peers to Sam and when the news emerged of his son, and that she was his mother, they would assume that they were together. And that thought wasn’t making him want to flee.
Rafaele had not even considered this prospect when he’d asked Sam to the function. He’d just looked at her that morning and the words had spilled out... Proving once again how she scrambled his thought processes. How she effortlessly tapped into something deep and instinctive within him that led to choices and decisions that his head might normally balk at.
He couldn’t even blame her. It wasn’t as if she’d inveigled her way to an invitation—if anything she’d looked horrified at the suggestion. Rafaele’s blood simmered. He felt the imprint of Sam’s finger in his chest. The rest of the room died away and he saw only her. Need and desire rose up to strangle him and magnified his feeling of exposure.
Reaching out a hand, he snaked it around her neck and brought her closer. Something triumphant moved through him when he saw those eyes flare with awareness. But the realisation of how comfortable he was with people knowing who Sam was, assuming they were together, was too raw, too new. He needed to push it back. Push her back.
‘I have the only mistress I need right here, Sam. Why would I go looking when you’ve already proved yourself so amenable?’
Her cheeks went white and Rafaele felt the punch of something dirty and dark down low.
‘You bastard.’
She pulled away from him and spun around, moving through the crowd. It was a long second before Rafaele could function again, and then he set off after her, a dense darkness expanding in his chest when he thought of those huge eyes and the pain in their depths that he’d just witnessed. That he’d just caused. Wilfully. From weakness.
* * *
Sam could barely drag enough oxygen into her lungs. She was seething. Hurt and angry with herself for letting Rafaele get to her. For feeling so possessive and jealous around those other women. For ever hoping even for a second that his bringing her here tonight had meant something...
She raised a hand to get the doorman’s attention, to ask him to call her a cab, but just then it was caught by a firm grip and she was whirled around.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Rafaele looked as livid as she felt, and he had no right to be. Sam pulled her arm free. ‘I’m going home, Rafaele. I don’t need to be reminded publicly how little you like to acknowledge me in your life.’
She turned around again, but gave a gasp of dismay when she saw Rafaele’s chauffeur-driven car stopping at the foot of the steps. He was marching her down to the open door before she could do anything. The door was quickly shut and he was sliding in the other side. Sam had a perverse urge to open the door and jump out but she curbed the childish desire. And also she realised she didn’t have enough money for a cab. She scowled at herself. Being with Rafaele was eroding her very independence.
Rafaele issued a terse instruction to the driver and the privacy window slid up noiselessly. His eyes glittered at her in the gloom of the backseat but even now Sam’s muscles clenched in her pelvis, and she felt the betraying heat of desire getting her body ready for this man. Her man. The stupid assertion flashed again. She could have growled with frustration.
Eventually he bit out, ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did back there. You didn’t deserve that.’
It was the last thing Sam had expected to hear, and she said faintly, ‘No, I didn’t.’ And then, ‘Why did you bring me with you, Rafaele? People will only ask questions...when they find out about Milo... We shouldn’t be seen together. It doesn’t help matters.’
Rafaele’s face looked as if it was carved out of stone. ‘You’re the mother of my child, Samantha. It’s inevitable that we’ll be seen together, no matter what happens in the future.’
Sam had an image then of Rafaele, married to some cool blonde beauty, and of an older Milo heading off on a plane on his own to stay with his father and his new family. The image made her suck in a breath of pain and she scooted as far away from him in the back of the car as she could.
Mixed in with the pain she was feeling was the ever-present and building sexual frustration. She felt as if she was going mad. Heat burned her insides and made her skin prickle. All she could see in her peripheral vision was the huge dark shape of Rafaele and imagined that powerful body, naked and surging into hers, thrusting so deep that she’d finally feel some measure of peace.
She had to hold back a groan, and was aware of Rafaele’s quick glance at her through the thick tension between them.
Lord. It had been a long time since Sam had had to pleasure herself, but if this need wasn’t assuaged soon she’d go mad.
‘Sam.’
Rafaele’s voice was thick and Sam’s heart palpitated. Reluctantly she looked at him and a pulse throbbed between her legs. She clamped her thighs together desperately.
He reached over and took her hand and Sam almost cried out at the sensation. She tried to pull back but he wouldn’t release her.
‘I want you.’
His face was in shadow but she could sense his desperation. It was little comfort. Inevitability rose up inside her. She could resist anything but this declaration. This promise that soon, if she allowed it, he would ease this ache that was inside her, tearing her apart. It transcended even what had just happened.
Helplessly, in a whisper of supplication that she hated, Sam just replied, ‘Yes...’
* * *
Yes.
Rafaele felt primal satisfaction rush through him, hardening his body. He wanted to devour Sam, consume her, brand her. He wanted her for ever.
No!
Rafaele rejected that rogue assertion, which had slid into his mind before he’d even acknowledged it.
He couldn’t let her hand go, though, even when she turned her head away to look out of the window. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath the dress made him curl his other hand to a fist, just to stop himself reaching out to cup their heavy weight.
Sam was clearly aware of the same ramifications as he, of being seen together and how that might be construed. But the thought of her rejecting that suddenly made him want to claim her. In any way that he could. Publicly and in private.
But right now he couldn’t really focus on what that meant. Right now he wanted the physical.
As the car swept gracefully through the palazzo gates anticipation spiked like a fever in his blood. When the car came to a halt he got out and strode around to Sam’s door, helping her out himself. She looked up at him with those huge expressive eyes and desire was hot and urgent inside him—part of the tangled mess of emotions this woman inspired in him on a regular basis.
With one smooth move he picked her up into his arms. Her mouth was tight with a need that resonated within him. He felt like a beast. He couldn’t speak. What he needed right now was not something he could even articulate. It was visceral, physical. Urgent.
* * *
Sam was in Rafaele’s arms and he was striding through the front door of the palazzo. All she could feel was her breasts crushed to the solid wall of his chest and the pulse of awareness between them, like a tangible forcefield of energy.
The house was quiet. He was striding up the stairs now and Sam bit her lip. Rafaele carried her straight into his bedroom. She tensed against the leap of her blood at the promise of satisfaction. A moment of sanity intruded, reminding her of the certain self-recrimination she would face in the aftermath and all the uncertainty about how he felt about her.
Weakly she seized on the first thing she thought of. ‘Wait... Milo...’
Rafaele was putting her down, sliding her along the length of his hard body, one part of which in particular was very hard. He was already pulling down the strap of her dress and her skin tingled.
His voice was rough. ‘Milo is with Bridie, as you well know.’
That sliver of sanity compelled her to try again, even though every part of her protested. ‘Rafaele...’
‘Stop talking, Sam. I want you. You want me. It’s very simple.’
It wasn’t that simple, though, and Sam opened her mouth to protest again. But then Rafaele was kissing her, and pulling the strap of her dress down further, and she felt the rising lust suck her under and weakly...she gave in. She wanted to forget sanity and take this.
Between her legs she was slick and throbbing. She didn’t have a hope of resisting when Rafaele bared one breast and cupped it in his hand, squeezing the plump flesh, his thumb grazing her nipple.
Letting out a soft moan halfway between frustration at her own weakness and excitement at her building desire, Sam wound her arms around Rafaele’s neck and pressed herself against him, trapping his hand on her breast.
Rafaele’s other hand came down and cupped her buttocks, kneading the flesh, making Sam’s hips roll against him impatiently. She could feel the thick length of his erection between them and fresh heat pulsed to her core.
Rafaele pulled back for a moment, breathing harshly, his eyes glittering fiercely. It was hard for Sam to open her eyes. She felt dazed. He’d always had this effect on her—one touch and she felt drugged.
He was dragging off his jacket, tie and shirt, dropping them to the ground, unbuckling his belt, undoing his trousers.
His voice was guttural. ‘I want you naked now.’
Sam’s flesh prickled with anticipation. Her hands felt stupid as she tried to pull down her strap and, issuing something that sounded like a curse, Rafaele took over, turning her around and finding the zip, pulling it down and peeling the heavy fabric from her body.
Sam kicked off her shoes. Now she wore only black lace panties. Rafaele turned her around again and that hot green gaze swept down her body, lingering on her breasts, which seemed to swell and tighten under his look.
‘You’re so beautiful.’
Sam ducked her head. ‘No, I’m not.’
Rafaele tipped up her chin, forcing her to look at him.
‘Yes, you are.’
He’d done this before—made her feel buoyant. Feminine. And it had all been ripped to pieces when he’d rejected her. But Sam couldn’t focus on that now.
He pulled her into him again and Sam swayed towards him like a magnet. He kissed her, tongue thrusting deep, fanning the flames of lust within her. He was naked now, and her hand instinctively sought to touch him, finding and encircling his erection, moving up and down, feeling the slip and slide of satin skin over all that steely strength.
His mouth not leaving hers, Rafaele skimmed his hand down from her breast over her belly, down to her panties and underneath, his fingers seeking and finding that sweet molten spot, making her legs part so that he could have more access.
As he stroked and explored Sam broke off the kiss. And then one of Rafaele’s fingers thrust inside her and Sam’s legs went weak with the sharp, spasming pleasure that gripped her.
With dextrous hands Rafaele pushed her panties down and lifted her, to deposit her on the bed. Sam could only look up at Rafaele and marvel at his sheer masculine magnificence. He was so broad and powerful. Narrow waist and hard-muscled thighs and between them... Her mouth watered.
She sat up and looked up at Rafaele. He was watching her almost warily and she felt a heady rush of power. She moved to the edge of the bed and reached for him, her hands going to his hips, pulling him towards her.
‘Sam...’
She ignored him and drew his length into her hand, and then she took him into her mouth. The remembered taste and feel of him was like an explosion on her senses. She barely heard his deep moan of satisfaction as she swirled her tongue around the bulbous tip, relearning his shape and what made him tense. His hands were in her hair, gripping her head.
Her hand encircled him and her mouth and tongue licked and sucked. He’d taught her how to do this.
‘Dio, Sam...’
Sam felt him tensing, the instinctive thrusting of his hips towards her, as if he couldn’t help himself. His hands were trying to pull her back, but she knew it was against his will. He’d never let her go this far before but stubbornly Sam wanted to see him lose control because of her and she kept going, ignoring his rough entreaties, until finally she felt the heat of his climax gush into her mouth and throat, felt his hips jerking.
Sam kept her mouth on him for a long moment and then finally pulled back. She couldn’t help a smile when she saw Rafaele’s dazed-looking expression. Slowly that expression cleared and his eyes narrowed on her. She felt a shiver of trepidation mixed with anticipation go through her and recognised that he wasn’t happy with the way she’d made him lose it like that. She felt more powerful in that moment than she’d ever felt...
Rafaele bent down and loomed over her on his hands, forcing her to move back onto the bed. She collapsed onto it.
‘I think I’m going to have to restrain you...’
Sam looked at Rafaele blankly for a second, and then watched him stand up and go to a nearby cabinet. He pulled out two long slivers of silk and she realised they were ties. Something deep inside her quivered—but it wasn’t with fear, it was excitement. She didn’t know what he intended but secretly wanted to find out...
He took each hand and quietly wound a tie around each wrist, knotting it. Sam looked at him and bit her lip. Then Rafaele stretched her hands over her head, and Sam only realised what he’d done when she couldn’t bring her hands down again...he’d tied them to one of the bed’s four posts.
‘Rafaele... What...?’
He came back down and over her. Not touching her, but letting her feel his body heat. ‘I want you to know what it feels like to lose control...’
Sam could have laughed. She lost control every time she looked at this man! And there was something that felt so wickedly decadent about being restrained it overshadowed the sliver of discomfort. She trusted Rafaele above anything else, and that deep-seated knowledge shook her now. She hadn’t realised just how much she trusted him till this moment.
He bent his head then, and his mouth was a hot brand on hers, opening her up to him, demanding a response which she gave unerringly. Already she felt the frustration of being bound. She wanted to touch him but couldn’t. She moaned softly with it, and could have sworn she heard Rafaele chuckle darkly.
His mouth moved down, trailing over her jaw and neck. His hands were smoothing over her body, touching her but staying away from erogenous zones, making her grit her jaw to stop herself from begging. Her hands pulled ineffectually at the silken ties.
And then Rafaele’s mouth was on her breast and her back arched. Yes. He lavished both taut peaks with attention until they were tingling and stinging. His hand had moved down to her belly and, like a wanton, Sam felt her legs part in mute appeal. Rafaele reared back for a moment and looked at her body. Sam gazed down to see his arousal already hard again, still glistening wetly from her mouth and tongue. She ached inside.
Rafaele’s hand went to the juncture at her legs and then he was moving down, his mouth leaving little trails of fire as he pressed kisses under her breasts, to her abdomen and down. Sam’s breath stopped when she felt him pull her legs wide apart. Her hands pulled at the ties. She’d never been so bared or so vulnerable.
Rafaele’s mouth settled there, between her legs, and Sam’s breath came back, choppy. She felt too hot, too tight, too...sensitive.
‘Rafaele...’
But his tongue was on her now, exploring her sex, finding where she was so wet for him, opening her up, stabbing deep, making her moan uncontrollably, making her hips twitch. And then his tongue was replaced by his fingers, thrusting deep, and his other hand had found her breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching a nipple.
A broken scream emerged from Sam’s mouth—a feral sound. Her hips were lifting off the bed, begging Rafaele for more, for him to drink from her as she came...as she’d done to him. And then the pleasure was peaking and spiralling out of all control, wresting her sane mind from her brain and leaving behind nothing but heat and deep, boneless satisfaction, with his mouth on her right to the end.
Rafaele slowly came up and over her body. He pressed a kiss to her mouth and Sam could taste the essence of her desire on him. Could he taste himself on her? The thought ignited new fires deep down, diminishing her need to curl up and cling onto the boneless feeling. Sam was barely aware of being restrained now. She didn’t think she could have lifted her arms even if she’d wanted to.
And then Rafaele was sliding into her...deeply. Sam sucked in a breath, her eyes going wide. He looked down at her and all she could see was green. And heat. And broad shoulders damp with sweat. He moved back out...slowly. One arm came around her back, arching her into him, making one breast pout up towards him, so he bent his head and took it into his mouth, suckling fiercely as he thrust, going a little deeper, harder.
Sam gasped. It was too much. And now she did feel the restraints and she pulled against them. She needed to anchor herself to something. She felt as if Rafaele was going to drive her over the edge completely and she’d have nothing at all to hang onto.
But she couldn’t articulate any words. Rafaele’s chest against her breasts was delicious torture. The ruthless rhythm of his body in and out of hers drove her higher and higher. She could only look deep into his eyes, as if that alone could hold her to this earth.
Just at that moment something pierced her—anger at Rafaele, for reducing her to this mindless wanton, gasping and mute being. His powerful body was going so hard and deep now that Sam had to close her eyes, feeling as if a very secret part of herself was being bared to him in a way that she wasn’t ready for.
Rafaele’s voice was guttural. ‘Sam, look at me.’
But she couldn’t. He’d see it if she did. She’d never been laid so bare, made so vulnerable, and if she looked at him now he’d see how much she loved him—because she’d never stopped loving him. Even after all that had happened and the million reasons he’d given her for not loving him.
‘No,’ she said, equally guttural.
Sam heard his rough shout as he made his frustration clear, but both their bodies were locked in a primal dance now and they were equally unable to stop. They could only go on, until the tight grip of tension was shattered and they orgasmed moments after each other, Sam’s body convulsing around Rafaele’s thick length so hard that she could feel it. She was milking him, taking his very essence into her, and the feeling was so intense and powerful on top of this awful, excoriating vulnerability that tears pricked her eyes.
She turned her head away. Rafaele’s body was still within her, pulsing, slowly diminishing. She felt a tear slip down one cheek and finally managed to find the words she hadn’t been able to till now.
‘Untie me Rafaele.’
She was trembling from an overload of pleasure and the revelation of just how deep her feelings for him were, still.
‘Sam...’
‘Just untie me.’ Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears.
His hands reached up. She felt his arms and chest brush her body and she shivered convulsively against him. Even now. Deftly he undid the knots and Sam’s arms were free again, her wrists sore after pulling against the restriction. Terrified that Rafaele would see her emotions bared, Sam scooted out from under him and off the bed. She grabbed the nearest covering she could find, which was his shirt, and pulled it on and walked to the door.
She heard Rafaele curse behind her and say, ‘Sam, wait... Where are you—?’
But she was gone, walking blindly, on very wobbly legs, going anywhere that was away from his presence and his ability to reduce her to a melting mass of sensations and turbulent emotions. He’d wanted to dominate her and show her who was in control and he had done that beyond doubt. The eroticism of what she’d just been through felt tawdry now, as she imagined Rafaele coolly and clinically deciding how he would best show her who was boss. She had to get a grip before she faced him again.
* * *
Rafaele felt poleaxed. Self-recrimination rose upwards like bile. He would have an image burnt onto his retina for ever of Sam, with her hands bound above her head, her face turned away and a tear slipping down one cheek. He could still feel the strength of the pulsations of her body around his, and knew that it wasn’t pain or discomfort that had made her turn away.
His last moment of semi-rational thought, he remembered, had been just before he’d come into Sam’s mouth, his body thrusting against her, his hands holding her head so that he could— He cursed and got up off the bed, a restless jagged energy filling his body.
She’d always pushed him further than any other woman. He’d looked down at her when she’d taken her mouth from him—that wicked device of a torture more pleasurable than he could ever remember. She’d smiled at him and it had been full of something inherently feminine and mysterious... Rafaele’s first insidious thought had been...Did she do that with him? The lover she’d taken? Had he been the first to experience her mouth around him, taking him in so deep that he’d not been able to pull back but had gone to the brink and over it... Had she milked him the same way?
The thought had made him see red. He’d felt exposed—far more exposed than just being naked in front of her. Vulnerable in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. It had had echoes of the past, when he recalled his mother looking at his father so dispassionately, even though he was broken, at her feet.
And suddenly Rafaele had wanted to regain control of a situation that was careening out of all control. He’d been losing it. So he’d bound her...so she couldn’t touch him and make him forget again...but he’d still lost it anyway. Tying her up had only heightened the experience, making it even more erotic, compelling...and it had done nothing but highlight the fact that even while restrained she exerted a power over him that he couldn’t deny.
He grabbed some clothes and pulled them on perfunctorily. Rafaele’s gut felt sick as he left his room. She’d been crying. He looked in her room first, but it was dark and the bed was untouched. Then he went downstairs.
He found her in the drawing room, standing at the window through which he could see a full moon hanging low in the sky. On Sam his shirt reached down to the backs of her thighs. Her legs were long and slim underneath. She looked incredibly fragile in the voluminous white material.
‘Sam...’
