The Fabrizio Bride

Chapter Three

The kiss coaxed a response from Sarika. It didn't demand...it tempted. She stiffened for an instant, hands wedged between them to push him away, but then his fingers trembled against her cheek.

That one sign of need broke through all the protective layers she'd wrapped around her heart, and she melted into his embrace, lips and body soft, open.

His hands stroked everywhere—arms, face, hips, hair—as if trying to remember every inch. He pulled her closer, cradled her. Took her over with kisses that nibbled and licked, kisses that left her knees weak, kisses that mimicked the grinding, unconscious thrust of their hips.

It was so familiar, so erotic, and so very, very good.

She welcomed the invasion of his tongue. Sucked it deeper. Wove her fingers into his hair and grasped the back of his head. His hands dipped down, around the curve of her ass, and pulled her higher against him, pushing her back against the window. His heat and hardness hit just the right spot, and she wrapped her legs around his waist for better contact.

"God, what you do to me," he said, planting kisses along her cheekbone to her ear. He drew the lobe into his mouth, and she was filled with a rush of heat that left her moaning.

"That sound. Again," he pleaded.

She wanted to. She really did, especially when he slid his hands beneath her T-shirt and claimed her breasts, brushing his thumbs back and forth over stiff nipples, then rolling them between his fingers with just the right amount of pressure.

Instead, she buried her face in the crook of his neck to muffle the whimpers coming from her throat—and to fight for control.

"Rafe, stop. Please," she gasped.

"What's the matter? Did I hurt you?"

"No. It's not that..." She pulled away so she could see his face—flushed and heavy lidded with desire. "Where is this going? What do you want from me?"

If she hadn't been staring at him, she wouldn't have seen the change, the confusion and regret that flashed in his eyes. But he didn't move away, almost as if he couldn't let go no matter what his mind told him to do.

She pushed on his chest, shaking her head. "This just made things ten times worse. Back up."

"Because of Berrucci?" he asked as he stepped away, breathing heavily, that muscle ticking wildly in his jaw again.

"Because of me. Look, I'm not dating Lorenzo. I never was."

"I saw pictures of you with him on his yacht, Sarika."

"Other people were in the photo, too. The magazine made it look like we were a couple, but we weren't."

"He kissed you on the patio at Ana Lisa's seventieth birthday party. I saw that with my own eyes." His tone was accusing and she frowned.

"Let's be clear. You broke up with me. I can kiss whomever I want."

"Were we?"

"What?"

"Broken up when you first kissed him?"

"How can you even ask me that? I loved you. I would never have cheated."

"You don't know him like I do. He'd do anything to one-up me with a girl."

"Rafe, you're not seventeen anymore. Lorenzo has better things to do than play games."

"So you're saying he didn't know I was there?"

"No, he did. I'm saying it didn't mean anything. I was still upset you'd left, and it was his way of making me feel better."