Читать книгу The Sicilian's Christmas Bride - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 7

HE WAS KISSING HER, Dante told himself, because she’d lied to him a few minutes ago.

Why else would he want her in his arms, except to make her confess to the lie?

Taylor had never faked her responses in bed, and he’d be damned if he’d let her pretend she had.

He was over her, but she knew just the right buttons to push. Well, so did he. He’d kiss her until she melted against him the way she used to and then he’d step back and say, You see, Taylor? That’s the price liars pay.

Which was why he was kissing her.

Or trying to.

The problem was that he had cornered a wildcat. She fought back, twisted her head to the side to avoid his mouth and pummeled his shoulders with her fists.

When none of that worked, she sank her teeth in his ear lobe so hard he hissed with pain.

“Damn you, woman!”

“Let go of me, you—you—”

Her fist flew by his jaw. Grimly, Dante snared both her hands in one of his and pinned them to his chest. Her knee came up but he felt it happening and yanked her hard against him to immobilize her. She was helpless now, pinned between him and the wall beside the double doors.

“Take your hands off me, Russo! If you don’t, so help me—”

“So help you, what? What will you do? How will you stop me from proving what a little liar you are?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am not a—”

He bent his head and captured her mouth with his. She nipped his lip, her teeth sharp as a cat’s. He tasted blood but if she thought that would stop him, she didn’t know him very well.

He would win this battle.

He had the right to know why she’d lied about what she’d felt when he made love to her. And to know why she’d left him.

He wanted answers and, damn it, he was going to get them.

He caught her face in his hands. Kissed her again, angling his mouth over hers, penetrating her with his tongue. He remembered how she’d loved it when he kissed her this way. Deep. Wet. Hot. He’d loved kisses like this, too…

He still did.

Dio, the feel of her in his arms. Her breasts, soft against his chest. Her hips, cradling his erection.

He wanted her, and it had nothing to do with anger.