The Revenge Collection 2018. Кейт Хьюит
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at her as he took her stiff hand in his.
Michael bustled into the room, beaming widely. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ricci.’ He spoke with a strong New York drawl. ‘What can I get you for breakfast?’
‘Erm...’
‘I can recommend his poached eggs.’ Gabriele smoothed a strand of hair away from her cheek.
As soon as Michael had disappeared back into the kitchen, Elena snatched her hand from Gabriele’s hold.
‘There was no need for that,’ she hissed.
‘There was every need,’ he answered, taking her hand back. ‘You are like a cat on hot coals around me. We’re going to the city clerk’s office later to arrange our wedding licence. Tomorrow we marry. You need to be comfortable with me holding you and touching you.’
‘I did all that last night,’ she said indignantly, though making an effort to keep her voice down.
‘No, you made a start last night,’ he corrected. ‘You were as stiff as a board under my touch but anyone would excuse that because of the paparazzi’s presence. When we see the clerk, you have to keep in mind they deal with couples in love all the time. They will know a fake when they see it.’
‘I am trying.’
‘And I’m going to help you.’
‘How?’
‘By kissing you. Properly.’
Any objection she would have made was swept away when he placed his giant palms to her cheeks and brought his mouth to hers.
The couple of times he’d kissed her before had been the briefest of touches, a flash of warmth and then done, leaving nothing but the faintest impression on her lips and a trace of his masculine body heat.
This time...
His lips caressed hers, moving softly. His long fingers traced her cheeks then spread out to thread into her hair and massage into her scalp.
Gently but authoritatively his tongue slid out to probe and caress her lips, which were still clamped tightly together.
But she was fighting a losing battle.
As hard as she tried to keep a hold of herself, to stop this subtle erotic assault from seeping into her, all the tiny atoms inside her were awakening, sensation spreading through her.
What was happening to her?
And then her lips made the tiniest of partings that was enough for him to sweep his tongue into her mouth.
Deep, dark heat suffused her, his taste seeping into her. Coffee, the faint trace of mint and a taste she didn’t recognise but she knew was his and his alone.
With shock, she suddenly realised her hand had moved of its own accord to rest on his shoulder, her fingers gripping it tightly.
And she was kissing him back. Her tongue had slipped into his mouth and was mimicking the explorations he was making in her own.
She flexed her fingers and let go, then reared her head back enough to break the kiss.
‘That’s enough,’ she muttered in a voice that sounded distant. The only sound she could make out was the ringing in her ears.
Gabriele didn’t say anything, his hold on her head still firm as he gazed intently into her eyes, the expression on his face making her stomach contract in on itself and her thundering heart crash painfully against her ribs.
Thank God Michael chose that moment to come back into the room with a pot of coffee, clearing his throat loudly to announce his presence.
Gabriele moved his hands from her hair and straightened.
‘Your breakfast will be with you in five minutes,’ Michael said, pouring her a cup and then leaving as quickly as he’d come.
Shaken, her body still singing, heat still swirling, she added a spoonful of sugar with a trembling hand.
Gabriele was her sworn enemy. She had no right to take such pleasure from his kiss.
She had no right to want more.
‘That’s much better,’ he said with approval.
‘Don’t ever do that again.’ She couldn’t look at him.
‘Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.’
‘Don’t pretend that I did.’ She hadn’t enjoyed it. What she had felt—what she still felt—was something she hadn’t known she could feel.
His voice dropped and he spoke into her ear, blowing more of that gorgeous heat over her sensitised skin. ‘You taste like nectar. Soon, I will taste all of you.’
She wrapped her hands around her cup, breathing deeply, trying in vain to take control of herself.
His gaze stayed locked on her, penetrating her skin.
This man was her sworn enemy.
‘What’s the matter, tesoro? Does your desire for me scare you?’
‘There is no desire. All I feel for you is loathing. All I want is for you to release me from this nightmare.’
Instead of being angry, he laughed. ‘There is no shame in attraction. It is natural.’
Not for her it wasn’t.
But she had no intention of sharing that with him. The contract she’d signed stipulated she gave him her body, not her thoughts. The only intimacies they would share would be in the bedroom and they would be as brief as humanly possible.
Gabriele got to his feet. ‘I have some calls to make. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?’
Thrown at his abrupt change of conversation, she looked at him.
And immediately wished she hadn’t.
Every time she looked at him her chest tightened some more.
Tomorrow she would marry this man.
She would belong to him.
And the only way to cut the bonds that would bind them was to give him the one thing she’d never given to anyone. Her body.
But the one thing she now knew above all else was that she would never allow him to kiss her again. Not as he’d just done.
It made her feel too much.
* * *
Somehow Elena made it through their meeting with the official at the city clerk’s office without incident. She’d held Gabriele’s hand and smiled adoringly every time their eyes met. She’d even managed a simper.
The only time she’d come close to crumbling that day was when Gabriele had taken her to a boutique, leaving her with the instructions, ‘You need to choose a dress to marry in. White. Nothing subversive.’
She’d thumbed through the many and varied beautiful dresses with a deep ache inside her.
She might never have expected to marry, but this...
This was an abomination. A mockery of everything marriage was supposed to stand for. She was marrying a man she despised and who loathed her with equal intensity.
You have to do it. If you don’t, he’ll destroy you all.
It was this thought that had sustained her through her chat with her father that evening, before she and Gabriele had sat down for a quiet meal prepared for them by the housekeepers.
Elena refused to give credence to Gabriele’s belief that her father had framed Alfredo, yet it echoed in her head with every word exchanged between them. But she would not ask for her father’s side. He had nothing to answer for.
It hurt so much to hear the strain in her father’s voice, knowing his fears of his only daughter seeing