CHAPTER ONE
âI ADMIRE YOUR TENACITY, cara, but I meant it when I said no.â
Matteo Vieri lay down and spread his body behind the woman already warming his bed. His hand curled around her slim waist. The only light in the room came from the corridor, and in the dark shadows, with her head tucked low into the pillow, he struggled to see her in detail. But beneath his fingers he felt her body edge towards him.
Irritation bit into his stomach and refused to let go, but he forced his voice to remain a low playful tease. âThe last woman who crept into my bed wasnât seen for days. Leave now, or I swear you wonât see daylight for a very long time.â
He wanted nothing but to sleep. Alone.
Earlier, when she had phoned him while he was en route to Venice, she had told him she was leaving tomorrow for her home city of New York, but she had promised him a night to remember. They had dated intermittently in the past, when their paths had crossed. It had been fun. But recently he had realised that beneath her cool sass lay fantasies of a future together, so he had good-humouredly turned down her offer. Again. But she obviously hadnât listened and now she lay in his bed.
He stifled a curse.
It was past midnight. His bones ached for a shower and the oblivion of sleep.
âCara, itâs time for you to leave.â
Beneath the silk of her nightgown her ribcage jerked.
His hand stilled.
Something was wrong. Her scent was wrong. The dip of her waist was wrong. The endless curls in her hair, brushing his hand, making him itch with the desire to thread it through his fingers and pull her towards him, were wrong.
His breathing, his heart, his thoughts went on hold. The red traffic lights of confusion waited to switch to the green of clarity.
Her head inched upwards until wide eyes met his: perplexed, scared, startled.
His own disbelief left him speechless.
Caspita! Who was this stranger lying in his bed?
And then he wanted to laugh. Could this week get any worse?
His starved lungs sucked in air. He could barely make out her features, but still a lick of attraction barrelled through him. Her scentâthe clean low notes of roseâthe enticing warmth of her body, the mass of hair tumbling on the bed sheets made him want to draw her into him. To take solace in her softness, her femininity, from the craziness of his life.
Her mouth opened. And closed. She swallowed a cartoon gulp. Her mouth opened again. Her lips were full, the hint of a deep cupidâs bow on the upper lip. A dangerous beauty.
Her body stiffened beside him. Seconds passed. Two strangers. In the most intimate of settings.
A tiny sound of disbelief hiccupped from her throat.
Then, in a shower of rising and falling sheets and blankets, she flung off the bedclothes and darted towards the door.
In one smooth movement he followed her and yanked her back.
Long narrow bones crashed into him, along with a tumble of hair, a scent that left him wanting more.
âWho are you? What do you want?â
Her voice was a husky rasp, heavily accented, sexy, English. A voice he had definitely never heard before.
Attraction kicked again. Strong enough to knock him out of his stupor. His earlier frustration lit up inside him. Bright and fierce.